Chapter 9 - CAMILLE'S LAST WEEK IN THE HOUSE
Camille handed in her notice eleven months after the attack.
Vincent read it twice.
“You're quitting.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She smiled.
“I've been accepted into a nursing-assistant program.”
He blinked.
“You never told me you applied.”
“You aren't my guidance counselor.”
Fair.
Camille had wanted healthcare work before Adeline was born.
Then rent.
Childcare.
Life.
Housekeeping paid more reliably.
Now she had savings and a scholarship through an outside workforce program.
Vincent immediately said:
“I can pay—”
“No.”
He stopped himself halfway through.
Progress.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Where?”
“St. Catherine Rehabilitation Center.”
He stared.
“That's where I did outpatient therapy.”
“I know.”
“You planned this?”
“No.”
“Unfortunate coincidence.”
She laughed.
On her final day, Vincent gave her no money.
No car.
No apartment.
He had learned.
He gave her a framed piece of paper.
Camille stared.
It was the original security transcript.
UNIDENTIFIED CHILD: Uncle Vincent bleeding.
DISPATCH: Where are you?
UNIDENTIFIED CHILD: Office.
At the bottom, Vincent had written:
She remembered what her mother taught her.
Camille's eyes filled.
Not:
She saved me.
Not:
My little hero.
Credit placed where it belonged.
“She'll like this someday.”
“Maybe when she's thirty.”
“Reasonable.”
Camille turned to leave.
Vincent said:
“Coffee?”
She looked back.
He corrected himself quickly.
“Not today.”
Good.
She smiled.
“Not today.”
Six months later, after Camille had finished probation at the rehabilitation center and hadn't worked for the Castellano family in half a year, Vincent asked again.
“Dinner?”
She considered.
“One.”
May you like
He smiled.
“One.”
