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But instead she says, “I’ve only coped because I’ve been able to tell him there’s nothing between us.”
My eyebrows rise. “What?”
She lowers her hand. “Cam’s jealous of you. He’s accused me of having feelings for you lots of times. That was what tonight was about, partly.”
I stare at her. “Do you? Have feelings for me?”
She moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue and doesn’t reply.
She does. My heart soars. Why else would he accuse her? Even if she doesn’t want to admit it to herself, he obviously picked up something in the way she talked about me.
So why isn’t she admitting it now?
“You and Cam,” I say softly. “Is it over?”
She covers her face again. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
It’s not the reply I wanted. But I can’t force her to say the words I want to hear. I can’t force her to do anything.
I want to get angry, tell her how resentful I feel, how furious I am that she’s still with this guy who treats her so badly. But she lowers her hand then, and there are tears in her eyes again, and my fury fades away.
“What happened with him?” I ask gently. “You seemed happy for a long time. What went wrong?”
“I’ve never talked about this,” she says. “He made me swear not to tell anyone, and if he knew I was talking to you about it… of all people…”
“I won’t say anything. You know I won’t.”
Her lips curve up a little. “I know.” She swallows hard. “But… I’m still not sure I can tell you.”
“Why?”
“It’s very personal. Are you sure you want to know?”
She means it’s about sex. Ah, jeez. I hate to think of her sleeping with anyone else. But I have to know, or how can I make it better?
I nod. I hope I don’t regret it.
She has a mouthful of martini. I turn a little and lean on the back of the sofa, propping my head on a hand. My knees are almost—but not quite—touching hers.
“When he was a kid, Cam was sexually abused,” she says.
I close my eyes for a moment. Oh fuck. It’s worse than I thought.
When I open them again, she’s looking into her drink, lost in thought. She gives a big sigh, exhaling as if she’s been holding it in for a lifetime. “It was an uncle,” she continues, “his mother’s brother. It went on for three years, and nobody knew.”
“Was it just him, or did it happen to either of his brothers?”
“Just him. He’s the youngest. When his dad left, his uncle helped his mum out with money, and he threatened to stop helping if Cam told anyone.”
“Christ.”
“When he was eleven, his mum caught his uncle in the act, and she went ballistic. She took the boys and ran to the nearest police station. The uncle was arrested and eventually put away. This was in Dunedin, and she moved to Christchurch with the boys and started again. Took Cam to counseling. She was supportive and did everything she could to put things right. He doesn’t blame her. But he’s damaged, Henry. Terribly damaged.”
I’ve never liked Cam much, mainly because I don’t think I’d have liked anyone who was with Juliette. He’s a bit lacking in the sense of humor department, he’s superior, and he’s often rude to Juliette, which I detest. But at this revelation, my heart goes out to him. It’s already a horrific story, and I know there’s more to come.
“Did you know from the beginning?” I ask.
She shakes her head and finishes off her drink. Without asking, I make us both another. I’m feeling the alcohol now, so I know she must be too, but you can’t talk about this kind of thing if you’re sober.
