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Thick rotting magnolia permeates the air.
It reminds her of that song- strange fruit.
Had Virginia even changed since she left? Had it even progressed past the 30s? It didn't seem it had- the gum trees, the same debutantes with pastel dresses and mild countenance. It gave her this neon sick pit in her stomach.
Charles had left. A tantrum and he left, taking a good scoop of Francis's money on the way out.
Francis. Poor, foolish Francis. Camilla suspects, even now, Francis would act Charles's fool given the chance. Francis was really the only one who could claim to have known her. She remembers- frosty autumn evenings where they would sit and talk in code. Vague, barely-a-conversation things. Yet harbouring so much meaning only the other could understand:
"I feel as though I'm observing a painting. As though there is a veil separating me from everyone else."
"I can't understand the concept of marriage and children. Being fulfilled by that is so foreign..."
Sometimes, Camilla would observe him out of the corner of her eye, have I said too much? She wondered. Though Francis never brought it up afterwards.
Taking care of her grandmother. It was like taking care of someone else's doll: no connection, caring in a robotic haze- was this really the life she had expected of herself? The life that anyone expected of her? No. Henry would be so disappointed if he saw her now.
Henry knew more than he let on. That made her nervous. Camilla likes to maintain her distance, to be just slightly out of reach- like the creation of Adam, fingers nearly brushing. Something tangible but unattainable.
"I know." That's what Henry whispered to her.
Two simple fucking words. Knew what?
She wished she could claim ignorance. But she knew that he knew. He knew about that sleepover in Junior year with that girl. He knew about the book of Sappho's fragments stuffed under the mattress. He knew why Marion hated her. There was no judgement. It was simply a statement. That he knew Camilla was incapable of loving him.
Before she left, Judy Poovery caught her arm- to this day she still doesn't know why.
"I'm sorry, about yknow, Henry and everything."
Camilla shifted, bowing her head uncomfortably.
"Thank you."
"I just wanted to give you, Uhm, these." She awkwardly thrust a tin of cigarettes in Camilla's direction.
She slowly took them. "I- thank you." Camilla is never lost for words.
She looked up at Judy. Her russet hair fell everywhere, her saturated clothes defying the watery sun. Her make up dramatic and her lips a severe cupid's bow. Her brown eyes glimmering in earnest.
She looked real.
"I'm sorry." She said simply.
Camilla squeezed her arm.
"It's okay."
She still hadn't opened the cigarette tin. It seemed too sacred. Too personal. But now- a kind of lurid aching comes over her. Popping the lid off, and tipping the tin.
A scrap of paper.
A smudged number written in biro.
Reflexively, her hands reach for the phone.