Page 67 of Forget Me Not

“Cammie!” I catch her just as she starts to stumble, trying to escape my accidental punch.

“You know, I’m used to weird shit like this from Coop and the boys, but somehow I had high hopes at least you would know the common basics of approaching a door and announcing yourself via knocking or calling out a ‘hello’, or hell, a body slam into the door would have been less weird than standing out here, pre-knock for God knows how long.” She stops, straightening out her braids which got tangled up somewhere between walking out of the loft and her flustered rant. “How longhaveyou been standing here?”

“A few minutes. Maybe an hour.” I’d have to check the time to be sure. However, I’m not really in the mood to admit that to Cammie.

“Well, I really wish you’d have sent a signal of some sort. I’ve been sitting in there, experiencing slow death by boredom, waiting for you.” She steps aside and gestures for me to come in. “I assume you’re here for your stuff?”

“Cooper sent you?” Seems odd. Cowardly. Not like Cooper.

“She’s not avoiding you, if that’s what you think.” Of course, that’s what I thought.

“Then where is she?” Her shop’s closed, I checked on my way in, so she’s not working.

“Visiting Mags.”

I don’t know what that means.

“Is that a place? A person? What?”

Her left brow arches and her nose crinkles. “Mags. Her foster mom? From high school? She moved to New Orleans a few years back. So, not like Coop could just turn around and drive back here first thing this morning when you called about coming by.”

I frown, stopping somewhere between the hall and the living room area. “I thought she never stayed anywhere long enough to get attached.”

Cammie’s no longer bothered by my lack of knowledge on this subject. She’s moved on to the kitchen where she’s pouring two cups of coffee. “She didn’t. Until Mags. That’s who she was living with before the accident. I guess you wouldn’t remember that.” She shrugs and moves on to the fridge. “You take cream?”

“Just black.” I start moving again, slowly. “Why doesn’t she talk about her? Or have pictures up?” The only faces in frames around here, are Gun, Ed and Cammie along with Coop. And me. I made the list too.

“Cooper doesn’t talk about anyone or anything from the past. Ever. Unless it’s happening right now, she’s not bringing it up. You never notice that?”

Clearly, the answer is no. However, I don’t vocalize that. Instead, I go a different direction entirely. “I never noticed how normal you are.”

She laughs. It’s pretty. Mesmerizing even. “Not hard to be normal when you hang around those weirdos.” But I’ve never heard anyone use the term weirdo so lovingly.

“They ever make you feel like the odd man out?” I guess I’m curious if it was me, or if the design was flawed from the start.

She hands me my cup and cradles her own in her palm. “They don’t mean to.” She takes a tentative drink. I do too. It’s hot. “It’s the system they grew up in, never being able to depend on anyone, never experiencing any sort of security. Taught them not to trust outsiders, you know? They want to. They just don’t know how.”

“But they trust each other. Even though they’re all messed up and do weird messed up shit.”

She chuckles, but I sense it’s at my expense. “They don’t know it’s messed up. And, they’re usually doing it for each other. So, yeah, trust runs deep between them. Because of all the messed up shit they’re willing to do for one another. Messed up shit you and I would think long and hard about because we’re not keen on getting arrested, but they’d jump right in and do without wasting a second thought if they were asked or thought it could save the other.”

I dip my mouth toward my mug and have another drink. Mostly, so I have time to think about what she’s said. “You’ve really got them figured out, huh?”

She smiles. “My mom’s a psychiatrist. I pretty much spent the first year of knowing them, recounting every interaction I had with them to her so she could sort it all out for me.” She laughs again. “I learned a hell of a lot that year.”

“I bet.” I grin. It’s surprisingly pleasant. Being here. With her.

“I was rooting for you, you know,” she says, suddenly taking things back to a more serious place.

“Me too.” I smirk, not prepared to lose the light feeling chatting with her has filled me with. “Too bad no one else was.”

“Wanna know something really fucked up?” She leans in close.

“Okay.”

“They were.” She tips her head slightly sideways. “Well, my brother wasn’t. But Gun and Coop, they were both team Reed all the way.”

My eyes narrow. To describe my feelings as skeptical would be putting it mildly. “How do you figure?”

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