Page 25 of Catching Camila

“You can't say that about my mom! You don't even know her.”

“I know what she did,” his voice was loud, sharp. “I don't really need to more than that.”

She flicked her eyes back to the window and found Michelle staring out at her. “How do you know your mom's not lying?” God, she was running out of time and was being sucked into a childish argument.

“I know my parents are divorced,” he said. “I remember them screaming, her throwing plates, him trying to apologize. Now I have to see my dad on long weekends and holidays thanks to your mom.”

“Well, it's our dad's fault, too.”

“Don't call him that!” he shouted into the phone. “He's not your dad.”

“From what you just told me it sounds like he is.” Camila watched as Travis headed her way. She clenched her fists. Everything was falling apart. “Look, whatever happened, it's in the past. We're family. We should put this behind us.”

“You're only saying that because you need something from us.”

“Now you listen.” She stood up, her hands trembling.

“Camila, what up, man?” Travis was at her elbow. “Everything okay?”

She gave Travis a one-minute finger. “Ben,” she said, cupping her hand around the phone, “My mom is missing. I'm all alone. She's gone manic. If we don't get help…” a sob rose up in her throat. She couldn't cry. Not now.

There was a long pause. When he answered, his voice was ice. “She should've thought of that ten years ago.”

The line went dead.

Camila turned slowly to Travis, dropping the phone.

“You okay?” he asked, touching her arm tenderly.

“I'll be fine,” she lied.

* * *

Wednesday 9:02 p.m.

Camila stoodin a cone of light, peering into the alley. The sky was deep purple, the first stars showing. The bag of trash she’d offered to take out lay forgotten at her feet.

“John!” she whisper-shouted. Her eyes searched the shadows. She peered into the dark alleyway. The dumpster was a black rectangle next to the brick wall. She didn’t see him anywhere. “John!”

She stepped forward into the puddling blackness. Goosebumps ran the length of her arms and she stopped, her eyes scanning the alley. Earlier someone mentioned a murder seven blocks from here. A homeless man had been torn to pieces. That must’ve been what happened to John, someone attached him, but he’d escaped. But what if the killer found him again?

She took a step back into the cone of light. He wasn’t out there. She was surprised at how much she'd looked forward to seeing him. After that awful phone call, it was the one thought that had carried her through the rest of her shift. She’d thought out how she’d clothe him, feed him, and send him on his way. Now it seemed silly. He wasn't a lost cat. He was a guy, a very large guy who she did not know.

She flicked her eyes to the heavy, gray clouds gathering above. Where would he sleep if it rained?

Camila wandered out front and started to pick up the scattered paper napkins and plastic spoons dropped beneath the rickety picnic tables. She scooped up a half-eaten waffle cone and tucked it in the garbage can. She smiled at the elderly couple still sharing a hot fudge sundae and gave a good rubdown to their aging terrier before they finished up and left.

The last customers gone, she sighed, big and heavy.

A deep base rumble shook the ground as a black sports car pulled into the parking lot. The headlights flashed in her eyes, making her throw a hand up to shade them. The door snapped open and a figure strode toward Camila.

“Where’s Fer?” The boy glared at her, annoyed. He was short—five-foot-six with spiked blond hair and straight white teeth. A spattering of pimples dotted his chin, but not enough to mar the smug handsomeness of his face. It took Camila a moment to place him: Gage, one of Fer’s brother’s friends.

Camila pointed toward the window, happy to divert his attention from her. “She’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Home.”

---