Page 3 of Things We Tell Ourselves

“This car is the best,” she sighs, resting her head back. The leather is like cream against her neck.

Buck glances at her in the rearview mirror. “There’s champagne in the center console if you’re thirsty.”

Camille sits up, turning to the center seat. “Don’t mind if I do.” Finding the small indentions at the top of the cushion, she lowers the console to find it empty. Confused, she glances back at the hole where the console folded out and finds a leather strap. She pulls it open and finds a second console layer, but there is still no champagne.

“There’s one more to open,” Buck says from the front seat.

A silver-trimmed handle inlaid in the small, hard plastic clicks open, unfolding to reveal two thin glass champagne flutes latched in the small door. She snaps one out, surprised to find the glasses are chilled.It’s refrigerated!She opens the champagne, pouring herself a glass before returning it to its cooler. She takes a sip.This feels like a dream.

“Buck,” she sighs after her second, larger sip, “you’re the best.”

He keeps his gaze straight ahead, nodding slightly. “You don’t have to tell me.”

When the car slows an hour later, Camille sits up, acclimating to her surroundings. A wall of towering hedges to the left of the road stops against a tall white gate. Buck pulls up to the gate, stopping next to the call box in front, and rolls down his window to press a button.

“Yes?” a female voice calls through a speaker.

“This is Buck with Ms. Lee.”

“I’ll meet you out front,” the soft female voice calls over the speaker.

Buck rolls the window up as the gate shutters open.

They pull through the gates, and Camille stares out the window, though the tinting makes it difficult for her to see clearly in the dark. As she struggles to see out, her window lowers. “Thanks, Buck,” she smiles.

The thick hedges continue to a sprawling, wide driveway, surrounded by grass growing in evenly spaced sections and separated by large concrete squares leading to the house. She moves to the edge of her seat, peering out the front windshield. She gapes at the house as the hedges transition to palm trees towering over the car.

The driveway becomes a circle drive, looping in front of the houses. A split off to the right leads to a garage set back from the house. Buck parks in front of the large Spanish-style home. The front window on the right side of the house is wider than her entire living room. The exterior of the house seems to glow in the perfectly placed lighting tucked within the surrounding landscape. A large fireplace to the left of the front walkway takes centerstage. For a second, she thinks about taking a picture of it to send to Evelyn but worries it might look tacky. The lights are on in every room at the front of the house, adding to the estate’s welcoming glow.

Buck pops the trunk. Camille already has the backdoor open when he gets to her. The beauty of it all has her nerves taking a backseat to her excitement. To see the inside, not to mention meet the person who owns such a magnificent piece of property, has her feeling giddy.

Buck shuts the door behind her. She keeps a tight hold on the strap of her carry-on as if it were her only anchor to the real world. Not sure if she’s supposed to wait at the car as Buck collects her luggage from the trunk, she slowly heads for the house.

Halfway up the walkway to the front door, she glances back to the car. Buck is at the trunk, not paying any attention to her. Suddenly, the front door swings open. A tall, older woman pauses in the doorway, looking back into the house.

“Oh, I know precisely why you hired her, don’t worry,” she scoffs, her voice a low, resonating alto.

“Don’t be like that,” another woman calls from deeper inside of the house.

“I’ll see you when I see you,” the woman at the door tells her, turning quickly and nearly running into Camille standing in front of her. “Oh,” the woman stops, looking down at Camille. Her left brow arches as she examines the oversized bag Camille is clutching. “You must be Integrity Heights.”

Camille smiles up at the woman towering over her. Her chin-length silver hair curls into her stern, square jaw. The wrinkles surrounding her lips deepen every second Camille doesn’t reply. Camille takes a deep breath.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bloom,” she lets go of her carry-on strap and offers it to her, “I’m Camille Lee.”

The woman gives her a sly grin, taking her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says, giving her hand a surprisingly firm shake before dropping it. “I’m Nancy. Leah’s inside.” She takes a step aside as she looks over her shoulder. “You have a visitor.” She turns back to Camille, dipping her chin. “Until we meet again.”

With that, the tall, square-jawed woman strides off down the walkway, leaving Camille staring after her.

“Oh,” a surprised, gentle voice says. Camille looks around to see a woman closer to her height wheeling up to the door, her left knee resting on the scooter wheeler at her side. Her left foot is in a black boot that goes midway up her calf. “Hello, dear.” She greets her with a genuine smile. She stops at the threshold of the door, tucking a loose strand of bleach-blonde hair behind her ear, a hint of gray hair tracing her roots. “I’m Leah Bloom.”

Camille walks up to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Camille Lee.” She offers her hand to the woman she flew all this way to see.

“Ma’am,” Mrs. Bloom chuckles, taking her hand, “you certainly are from Texas, aren’t you?”

Camille’s smile tightens, forcing a chuckle that matches hers, not entirely sure how to take her comment.You can do this.

“Thank you so much for meeting with me, Mrs. Bloom. I’m sorry that my business partner wasn’t able to make the flight.”

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