Page 27 of Catching Camila

He nodded again.

She ran in and found Travis in the pantry. In the narrow closet, Travis slid the cylinders of canned fruit topping onto the shelves.

“Travis,” Camila said.

“What up, C? How’d trash duty go?” He tossed hair out of his eyes.

“Fine. Hey, are we done? I gotta go. I mean, if that’s okay.”

Travis’ face fell. “Yeah, hey, listen, I was thinking ’bout catching a flick. You down?”

Was he hitting on her? “I gotta go. Family stuff. Do you need me to stay?” Camila asked, her eyes flicking to the back door.

Travis waved a dismissive hand. “Naw. I got this. Go ahead and do whatcha gotta do.”

“Thanks, Travis!” She gave him a big smile. Then she spun and trotted out the back door.

She walked up to where John waited for her in the alley, the dark pressing around them, making her skin tingle. “We can walk back to my place, and I’ll get you some supper. Okay?”

He cleared his throat as if his voice was rusty. “That would be nice.”

They walked quietly side-by-side. Overhead the storm clouds thickened, plunging the world into early darkness. The air hung heavy and damp. A distant rumble and a flash of lightning crackled across the horizon. They passed a liquor store, wafting the delicious smell of pizza. John's head turned. Camila really hoped Mama had food in the fridge.

Mama. What if she got home and Mama was there? Well, that was what she wanted, right? Then she could stop worrying she was dead in a ditch somewhere. But this wasn’t the first time Mama took off when she was manic and stayed away for two, three, even four days without calling.

But if Mama were gone, they’d have the house all to themselves. Camila felt awful for even thinking it, but she let her eyes stray to John, quietly walking next to her. He towered at least a foot over her, his muscled arms swinging in time with his footfalls. The scruffy beard only added to the rugged handsomeness of his face. She wanted to be alone in a house with John. What hot-blooded woman wouldn’t? He was the kind of hot you found in magazine ads for Gucci or Hugo Boss.

Then again, women who let random guys into their bedrooms ended up on Dateline with actors portraying their last hours alive.

Plus, there was Mama’s hoarding. He couldn’t see that.

They rounded into her trailer park as the first raindrops began to splat on the warm pavement. Ms. K’s dog gave a few tired growls and tucked himself under the stoop. They slipped past a rusty Dodge with a mismatched door, the rain pinging steadily off the roof.

“Sorry. It’s not the nicest neighborhood, but it has its charm.” Camila wondered what John thought. Her trailer park had to be better than a dumpster, but still…

“It’s nice,” he said. “Homey.”

“That’s a polite way to put it.”

When they came to her trailer, her heart was pounding. Walking to the stuffed carport, she pointed inside to a green, fraying lawn chair. “Can you wait here? I gotta check something.”

Could he even hear her over the deafening rain on the metal carport roof?

He sat in the lawn chair, gripping the rusting metal arm rests, and smiled. “I’ll be right here.”

She ran up the steps and plowed into her front door.

Camila stood on the welcome mat, dripping. No sounds from inside. The trailer looked untouched from when she’d left this morning.

“Mama!” She listened. “Mama, you here?”

Nothing. Mama was out there somewhere in the rain.

An awful, selfish part of her was happy Mama was gone. She was a terrible daughter. She would rot in hell. But, what could she do with no car in a torrential downpour? And Mama had always come home unscathed before.

John was outside in the rain. She needed to make a quick decision.

She turned to step outside, but stopped with her hand on the screen door. Should she invite him in? She scanned the cluttered living room. A rancid smell wafted from the kitchen trash. Something that looked like old pizza lay on the carpet next to the couch. Could she really bring him in here? Then there was the whole inviting-a-strange-guy-into-her-home thing.

Walking to the kitchen drawer, she pulled it out, checking that Mama’s old, but loaded, handgun was in the drawer. Just in case.

She peered out the screen, rain splashing into her face. John sat, drenched to the core, blinking water out of his eyes with long dark lashes, the shirt she gave him clinging helplessly to his chest. She stared at his abs and sucked in a hot breath. Above, lightning split the sky and a rumble of thunder cracked overhead, loud enough to make them both jump. John ran both hands over his arms and shivered.

She pushed the screen open and leaned out. Rain pelted her face as she shouted, “Come on.”

He ran up and stepped into her house.

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