Blood Debt

Chapter 1

Camille Benning – Oceanside, CA

I stared at the phone. I had his number. I had his name. Twenty-two years. . . after twenty-two stinking years of fantasizing about who he was, what he was like, where he was—you’d think I would have dialed by now. The thing is—nobody, anywhere, could live up to my expectations. I’d always envisioned this successful, educated, lead-singer, movie-star, rich kind of father. It was great to think that he was this wonderful, benevolent man, who one day would swoop in and introduce himself, then whisk me away in a limo. Yeah, that never happened.

I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t dying to meet him. When I would ask my Mom, she would always tell me, Your father was a wonderful man. We had a few magical days together, and he left me with the most amazing gift to remember him by. Sure, that’s what a ten-year-old wants to hear. She would never tell me his name, where he lived, or anything about him other than he didn’t live in California.

It didn’t matter how hard I pleaded, I think she preferred that he be a mystery. Who would have guessed all those times I said I would trade anything to meet him, I never thought I’d trade my rock, my anchor. . . my mom. Ten minutes before she took her last breath, she grabbed my hand and choked out, Your father. . .lives in Charleston, South Carolina. His name is William Strayer. He deserves to know you. Tell him . . . tell him I said, ‘Goodbye.’

A few breaths later, she slipped away as death carried her to her final peace. I cried for weeks. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t process losing my mom and getting the information I’d been begging her for my whole life in the span of ten minutes. All those wagers I’d tried to make with God, to find out who he was—I’d told God I would trade anything—I never meant my mom. I’m not crazy enough to think that God had stolen my mom just so I could find out who my father was, but I had several weeks of erratic thoughts.

I googled him. He was easy to find. He’d been in the same house, in the same job, for better than thirty years. Everything I found out about him on the internet pointed to an average guy, with an average life. He wasn’t a rock star. He wasn’t famous. He wasn’t dead.

I took one final breath, steadying myself. I had my phone in one hand and the slip of paper with all his information on my lap. I dialed the number, wondering what I was going to say to him. Before I could press send, I chickened out and went back to Mom’s bedroom to go through more of her things. Peggy, my mom’s closest and only friend, had offered to come over to help me, but I was twenty-two. I shouldn’t need help with this. Even if Peggy was her best friend, I knew Mom wouldn’t want her going through her things. My mom had always been a private person.

Mom knew it was coming. She’d been sick for a long time. Her closet, that normally looked crammed with outfits from the last several decades, wasn’t as packed as the last time I’d seen it. Mom must have gone through some of her things before she died because the walk-in closet could actually be walked into.

Tucked in the far back corner, on a shelf, was a treasure box of sorts: a wooden box with the key inserted into the lock. Whatever was inside, Mom wanted me to see it. I found yellowing movie ticket stubs for a title I’d never heard of, an airline ticket from twenty-eight years ago, a crumpled up photograph of my mom holding two babies, and a tourist shot glass from the Crazy Horse Monument in South Dakota. It seemed an odd set of treasures for her to have hidden away. I looked at the old plane ticket: it was for an Angela Chiron—no one I knew. I gently closed the wooden box after I’d returned her treasures to their resting place. As I stared at sequined sweaters, stretch pants, dress slacks and dresses, I found myself wanting to make that phone call far more than I wanted to go through my mom’s life.

William. Did he even know I existed? He probably had a family of his own. What would they think of me? It had always been just my mom and me. She didn’t have any family, at least other than me. Her parents died when she was young, and she’d been an only child. I think her final gift to me – my father’s identity—was her way of not leaving me so alone in the world.

I went back to the living room, sat on the sofa, and put my feet up on the coffee table, almost begging Mom to walk into the room and tell me to get my feet off of it. A lonely tear rolled down my cheek. No one would be walking through the doorway to tell me to put my feet down. I hated the idea of being alone.

I took one more deep breath, picked up the slip of paper, and dialed his number again. This time my shaking finger pushed, Send.

A woman’s voice answered the phone, Hello.

I stammered, terrified of this call, not sure what to say to the woman. Uh . . . hi . . . is William there?

Who’s calling?

Camille.

Camille, is this a sales call?

Uh, no. Definitely, no. Is William home?

Just a minute.

I could only assume that had been William’s wife. I wanted to hang up. I saw my hand shaking and prayed that I wouldn’t have full-blown convulsions. I had practiced this phone call several times, but realized I should have written things down. My fear began crippling me, and I drew a blank. What would I say? I’m your love child from twenty-three years ago and wanted to say hi. Not the best approach.

I heard a gruff voice come on the line, Hello, this is Will.

My voice didn’t work. My mouth opened but nothing came out.

Hello, is anybody there?

I cleared my throat, closed my eyes and answered, Uh, yes. Hi, William. I’m Camille.

A friendly voice responded, Okay. Camille who?

Right. I’m Angela Benning’s daughter.

Angela Benning? I’m still not making the connection. Are you sure you have the right William?

William Strayer from Charleston, South Carolina?

Yes.

You are the only one I found in information. Have you ever been to San Diego?

Well, yes. I travel there, but I don’t know an Angela Benning.

Not even one you knew twenty-three years ago? Silence answered me back. I wasn’t sure if he had hung up the phone, if the connection had been dropped, or if he was too stunned to answer. William, are you still there?

Yes. Yes, I’m still here. I did know an Angela in San Diego. She was a bartender in a hotel.

That’s right.

Camille, how old are you?

I did have the right person, and at least I didn’t have to draw the connection out for him with big purple crayons. I’m twenty-two.

Twenty-two?

Yeah, my birthday was last month.

More silence. . . I could feel him doing the math in his head. This was a bad idea. I braced myself for him to deny he was my father, that I was some leech after him for money. His voice spoke softly, Camille, I don’t know what to say. Your mother is an incredible woman.

Was. I corrected, "She was an incredible woman."

I’m sorry, I didn’t know. What happened? Sincerity was wrapped in his voice.

She died of breast cancer a few weeks ago. Right before she died, she told me how I could contact you.

So, you’re my. . . I mean she wouldn’t have . . . if you weren’t mine.

I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Right. I don’t need anything. I just . . . I guess I wanted to talk to you.

Camille, you have to believe me, if I had known I would have . . . I didn’t know I had a daughter.

That’s okay, William. I knew I had a father – I mean from a biological perspective, but Mom would never tell me anything about you, well, not until the night she died.

His voice sounded heavy, Call me Will. Everyone does. So, she didn’t want you to contact me?

I guess not, well . . . she never told me anything about you. I never knew your name until the night she passed.

You said that was a few weeks ago?

Yeah, she went into the hospital the week after my birthday.

I heard hopefulness in his voice that I didn’t expect when he said, When can I meet you?

This was a question I wasn’t really prepared for. All those practice conversations had more to do with introducing myself and convincing him that I was his daughter. I thought I had prepared for every possible response. I never considered that he would want to meet me. Uh, maybe the next time you come to California?

Camille, I’ve got a lot going on for the next month. Getting out to the west coast would be hard. Would you consider flying to South Carolina?

My heart started doing cartwheels. Not only did I have a real father—he wanted to see me! Trying not to gush at his suggestion, Um, maybe. I’ve got a bunch of stuff I’ve got to take care of. You know, estate stuff for Mom, and a job.

I could arrange for a lawyer to take care of that for you. Camille, I don’t want to put this off. I . . . I could make arrangements now. You could be on the red eye tonight.

Will, you don’t know anything about me. I’ve got a job. I can’t just get on a plane.

You’re my blood, Camille. Angela was a magical woman, I . . . I had no idea. If you can’t come to me, I’ll juggle some things around. I have to meet you.

Huh, that’s the same thing Mom had said about him: that he was magical. I had googled him a few weeks ago. I knew he was somehow involved with finance and investments and ran a firm in Charleston. Since my job was working at a department store as a cashier, reality was that it would be much easier for me to leave my job for a few days. As I looked around the apartment, there was too much of her here. Not that it was a bad thing, but given the last several months, it might be nice to have a change of scenery, for a few days.

I took a deep breath, Okay, I can call into work and have someone cover my shifts. But I don’t have the cash for a plane ticket or motel or anything.

I’ll take care of it. How soon could you be on a plane?

I guess tonight. Do you need to talk to your wife or anything?

Gretchen will be happy to have you as a guest. She’s always wanted a daughter as much as I have. I felt a warm glow in my chest. The emptiness of losing my mom would stay with me forever, but I wasn’t alone. I had a father. We exchanged email addresses so we could coordinate the flight. I wondered if this was some sort of a dream. I had run a background investigation on him within days of finding out who he was. All I really knew about him was he paid his taxes, he owned several properties, he had never been arrested, and he hadn’t had a traffic ticket or an accident in the last seven years.

I called my best friend in the world to let him know what had just happened. He was so excited for me that he was at my door within twenty minutes. Daniel was like the brother I never had. We looked enough alike that sometimes people assumed I was his sister. He had dark hair, kind of that in between length – it was short, but shaggy. His eyelashes were gorgeous. For a long time I teased him, calling him Maybelline Eyes, and he had this way of looking at girls that made them all melt – well, all but me. Daniel was on the surf team in high school and even got a scholarship to surf in college, so there was never a shortage of beach babes looking to hang out with him. We’d never been more than friends, and I knew we both liked it that way. We each had a ready-made date for all the big social events, weddings, engagement parties, holiday parties, etc – but none of the romantic attachments that came with it.

Daniel gathered me in a large bear hug and swung me around. You talked to him? He wants to meet you?

I did! He wasn’t freaked out about it or anything. He’s flying me to South Carolina, tonight, to meet him.

Daniel’s enthusiasm diminished in front of me, Tonight? Why the rush?

I slapped his shoulder, I’m his daughter. He wants to meet me.

Did he say why he never bothered to come see you?

I think my mom hid us from each other. He didn’t even know that I existed until I called.

Just like that, he wants you on a plane? What about a DNA test?

He didn’t ask for any proof. He said he remembered her. I left out the part where he said she was magical – Daniel knew that’s what my mom had said about him.

That must have been some phone call. Are you sure he’s all right?

I’m not stupid. I did a background check.

That just means he’s never been caught.

I punched Daniel’s arm a second time, and he feigned pain. I’m just saying you don’t even know the guy. He could be a serial killer for all you know. There’s probably a reason your mom never let the two of you meet.

She told me who he was right before she died. She must have wanted me to find him.

Maybe. How about I go with you?

Um, I don’t know. I think this is something I have to do on my own, but keep your cell phone on you in case I need you.

He frowned with his eyebrows furrowed, I don’t like it. Something doesn’t feel right.

Stop worrying. I’ll be back on Sunday. If it gets weird, I’ll come back sooner.

If I don’t get a call every day, I’m getting on a plane.

Right, to fly to South Carolina and do what? I’ll be fine. He sounded nice.

You’ve wanted to meet this guy forever. Don’t get your hopes up. Angela was a smart lady. She must have kept you two apart for a reason.

Maybe she just didn’t want the hassle of sharing custody. This was the lie I’d told myself when I was little. My mom never had boyfriends. She always told me her life was full, and she didn’t have room for one more person in it.

Maybe, but maybe he’s a douche, and she didn’t want you to get hurt.

My heart sank. I didn’t have the strength to argue with him. I knew he was right. I knew Mom hid his identity from me, but I didn’t care why. Everyone needed family, no matter how weird they might be. I was willing to take a chance: one crazy father was better than nobody.

For the next fifteen hours, through two airports and the whole time I was in the air, Daniel’s words continued to echo in my mind, She must have kept you two apart for a reason. Why would she have kept us apart? Was she ashamed of him? What did he do that made her not want him in her life? She’d never, for as long as I could remember, had a boyfriend – had he done something to her?

Chapter 2

Camille Benning – Charleston, SC

The wheels touched down at the Charleston Airport. Although I wasn’t a world traveler, I recognized that it was a very small airport, two whole luggage carousels in baggage claim. I had been to San Diego’s airport lots of times; it was like a maze of endless signs and was seriously intimidating even for the locals. Charleston’s was small and felt welcoming. I had found pictures of Will on the internet. I knew he was near fifty, with graying hair, distinguished face, brown eyes, and a nose that was slightly larger than his face required. Not unattractive, but I doubt he’d ever been a huge heart-throb. The pictures I found of him were all with suit jackets and ties, so I scanned the baggage claim area for a middle-aged man in a suit. It was 10:30 a.m. on a Wednesday. I saw a few people who had the right attire, but none looked like the picture I’d downloaded of him. I kept checking my phone for a message from him, but nothing.

I felt the nervousness gripping me, wondering if this was a mistake. Daniel’s words continued in my head; I tried to shake his warning away and knew I needed to come up with a plan. How would I get to Will’s house? I checked my phone again, nothing new. This was a dumb idea. I saw my bag approaching on the carousel. As I reached down to pick it up, a guy my age in a polo shirt, khakis and dress shoes loped through the large double-doors from outside. He was carrying a piece of paper with clear block letters that read, Camille Benning.

It definitely wasn’t Will. I rolled my bag over to the guy and said, Hi. I’m Camille Benning.

I saw his eyes widen momentarily and felt him look me up and down as a huge toothy smile flashed my way. Hi, Camille, I’m Brent. Welcome to Charleston! His brown eyes looked glad to see me, and his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. His dark brown hair was cropped short, and it looked like he was either a sun worshipper or he’d never worked a day in his life – golden bronze skin was hard to come by with a full-time job.

Uh, thanks. I wasn’t expecting a car service. Will was definitely losing cool points by not bothering to meet me at the airport.

Can I help you with your bag?

I shook my head, That’s okay, I’ve got it.

He responded with a startled look, I must have said that wrong. I’ll take your bag for you. He reached for it, but my knuckles didn’t budge from the handle.

My voice stern, No, thanks. I’ve got it. Years of caution from Mom about strangers, about not looking weak, I wasn’t about to let this clown think that I wasn’t capable of rolling my own bag. If he kept this up, there was no way I was going to give him a tip.

With a snicker in his voice, Headstrong just like Dad; he’ll be thrilled. I raised my eyebrow, not understanding his comment. He must have seen my confusion because he clarified, I’m sorry, I assumed Dad mentioned that I would be picking you up. I’m your brother, Brent.

Brother? Holy crap! A father, stepmother, and a brother – all in less than a day. I felt a smile erupting as some of the loneliness I’d felt the last month offered to evaporate. Oh, uh, no. We didn’t talk that long yesterday.

That figures. Well, the car is this way. Brent led the way through the double doors while I rolled my own suitcase.

Here I was excited to be flying across the country to meet a father I had just found out about. In the back of my mind I assumed he had a family, but I never expected for him to send his son to pick me up. When I ran the background check on him, it didn’t say anything about a son. That’s something that should definitely show up if you blow forty bucks to dig into someone’s past.

As we stepped through the double doors to the outside, the heat nearly took my breath away. It was like stepping into an oven. Wow, is it always this hot?

Brent chuckled, This isn’t bad. Wait another couple hours: that’s when it starts to get uncomfortable. It felt like a hundred degrees and a hundred percent humidity. I knew July would be hot, but I didn’t think I would be slow roasting. We stepped out to the curb where Brent motioned me to a beautiful BMW sedan. It was snowy white with tan interior. A guy waited in the driver’s seat and a second in the front passenger seat.

As Brent put my bag in the trunk, I stole a glance at the two men waiting in the car. Neither looked old enough to be Will, either.

Brent stepped back to the passenger side and opened my door for me, holding it while I sat down and then closed it for me—very gentlemanly. He walked around to the other side of the car and sat next to me in the backseat. The two guys in the front seat turned around. They each shared the same big toothy smile and bore a striking resemblance to Brent. As Brent reached for his seat belt he said, Camille, these are your brothers Bart and Ben.

Uh, nice to meet you both.

Bart began driving, so it was Ben’s turn. We’re glad you’re here. I know you flew all night. Did you want to go back to the house and crash or stop for a bite first?

Until he mentioned food, I hadn’t realized I was hungry. I don’t want to be any trouble. Whatever you were going to do was fine.

Bart let out a hearty laugh, We were told to take care of you for a few hours until Dad can get home from work. There’re great restaurants here. Do you like seafood?

Bart had said the magic word. I loved seafood. Yeah, if you guys are hungry, I could eat.

Ben turned around in his seat because I was sitting directly behind him. So, you live in San Diego? Have you lived there your whole life?

Yeah. Well, near there. I live in Oceanside; it’s a little north of San Diego.

So, do you surf?

Not well. But I’ve been on a board a few times.

If you want to go surfing while you’re here, you can borrow one of mine.

Thanks.

How long are you staying?

’Til Sunday.

Wow, that’s a quick trip. So are you on summer break from school?

No, I, um . . . I never went to college. It never bothered me before that I couldn’t afford college, mainly because I never had any real desire to go. But looking at these three in this car, I, for the first time, felt a little intimidated about my choice.

Ben casually asked, So, what do you do?

Wondering if Ben was purposely trying to make me feel uncomfortable, I said confidently, I’m a cashier.

I could tell Ben sensed that he’d sort of rattled me, and he smoothly tried to make up for it. I was a cashier all through high school at a grocery store—that was a great job. I’m jealous.

Ben got an A for effort, but it was obvious that a mere cashier was not in the same league with these three. I decided I’d try to get the focus off of me. So, how old are you three?

Brent answered, I’m twenty-four, Ben’s twenty-five, Bart’s twenty-six, Bruce is twenty-seven and Beau’s twenty-eight. Bruce and Beau couldn’t fit in the car without cramming you in like a sardine. I just texted them to meet us at the Harbor Club.

I looked squarely at Brent. I didn’t know any family with five kids, Five boys?

Brent nodded enthusiastically. He was notably cautious with his next question, Um, how old are you, Camille?

I’m twenty-two.

No one responded right away, and just before the pause got seriously uncomfortable, Brent’s excitement returned, Well, great, you’re legal. We could all go hit a club or something while you’re here.

The image of me walking into a bar with five very tall, handsome guys had its merits. Maybe. Are there good clubs here?

Probably not as sophisticated as San Diego, but there’re some decent places to dance downtown.

Brent was still pressing me for more info, So, do you have any brothers or sisters, I mean . . . other than us?

I shook my head that I didn’t. It was always just Mom and me.

Brent’s jovial tone came down a few octaves when he said, Oh, yeah, I’m sorry about that. Dad said she passed away recently.

I was beyond tearing up every time someone told me they were sorry for my loss, but the sincerity in his voice and eyes struck me tenderly. I didn’t want to break into full-fledged tears, so I asked, So what does your mom do?

Ben and Bart exchanged looks, but Brent didn’t miss a beat, She’s a housewife.

Five boys, all had been born a year apart, and a mom who didn’t work outside the house. What were they, Mormon? I only had a few friends growing up whose moms stayed home: they were all wealthy. Judging from the car and the way these three were dressed, maybe my assumption was correct.

So, when did your parents split up?

I felt that same tension from before. This time Ben turned around to answer, Our parents are still together.

The reality of the situation hit me—like a Mack truck. Will, my father, met my mother twenty-three years ago. They had some sort of wild fling, with me as the result. Will was married when he met my mom, and he was still married to the same woman—Brent, Ben and Bart’s mother. My stomach cinched tight. No wonder my mom would never tell me who my father was. I could feel the color drain from my face.

Ben, still peering at me over the seat, must have seen my stupor. It’s okay, Camille. Dad called us all together last night and told us. Mom knows.

And she’s okay with me being here?

Bart, from behind the wheel piped in, I’m sure she had some words with Dad after we went to bed, but she told us all we were taking the rest of the week off to welcome you to the family.

Seriously? All three heads nodded in unison. So, you all just called your bosses and took the week off?

Brent leaned in and said, Yeah, we all work for the same guy. He understood.

Bart said, after they went to bed. Did they all still live at home? Who still lives with their parents when they’re adults and have the money to live anywhere? Were they a part of some cult? Something felt fishy. I texted