The funeral was six days later. I almost didn't want to make it but i did.
I sat near the front, surrounded by people I barely knew, listening to a priest talk about a woman I had known almost my whole life.
Gas leak.
They say that was what killed her. I had read the police report twice before coming here, but somehow hearing the priest say it aloud made it sound even more ridiculous.
Camille barely cooked, she was bad at it and god did she try. She could barely make toast without somehow fucking it up.
I remembered college, the times when it was just us. The day she had decided she was going to make us dinner because she was convinced she had finally learned how to cook. She made a casserole that was god awful. I took one bite and realized her cooking skills had become even worse. She was at the front on me, resting her chin or her hands which rested on the island.
She kept asking me if it was good.
I know she didn't care if it was good or not, she just wanted me to taste it.
"Well?" she said softly with a sheepish smile that always cracked my defences.
"It's good."
"Just good?"
"It's really good."
"How are you even this horrible at lying?"
I nearly burst out in laughter. "What? I'm being real Cam, I'm just….. trying to process the flavour."
She stared narrowly at me as if her eyes could somehow uncover my thoughts then she loosened up with a sense of satisfaction.
"Ohh, I knew you'd love it." She shrieked with excitement. And somehow, this gave me more satisfaction that anything ever could.
She ate the whole freaking thing and for some reason enjoyed it. Spent years telling everyone that she cooked a casserole for me and I had called it the best casserole I'd ever tasted and honestly, i didn't mind the story.
Now I was sitting at her funeral wondering how fast time really flew by.
I hadn't spoken to her in four months. Four months.
That was the longest we'd ever gone without talking.
It had started with a stupid fight, a fight that seemed even more breath takingly stupid now. I had fucked up.
I convinced myself the quarrel was justified, that it needed to happen. Now i wish i could do it all again.
I hated regret and asides pain, it was the strongest thing i felt right now.
We missed each other, that was obvious. She couldn't help checking on me through James, it was the reason she called him before i came to France.
I was no different. I was constantly checking on her through her assistant whenever I could. I made sure her assistant didn't tell Camille. Four months and I had still been keeping tabs on her, I couldn't help it.
She could have called me but she didn't, neither did I. The coffin sat in front of me while the priest continued speaking. I barely heard any of it.
Camille's mother sat right beside me with her son beside her. Her father wasn't there. I had been told he couldn't do it, I didn't blame him. Not one bit. This was harder than anyone knew.
When they asked me to speak, I got up and walked to the front.
I looked at the coffin for a moment before turning toward the people sitting behind it.
"I don't really know what I'm supposed to say here."
A few people looked at me, shifted in their seats.
"Camille would probably hate this speech anyway. She'd tell me it was too serious, complain that I was depressed and i was making her funeral depressing."
There were a few quiet laughs.
"Well, umm…. She was one of the most annoying people I've ever met. She was stubborn, hot headed and somehow always convinced she was right even when she clearly wasn't. She was also one of the best people I've ever known."
My eyes moved toward her mother fighting back tears that welled in her eyes.
"She cared about people more than she let on. She'd pretend she didn't, but she did. She'd fight with you for twenty minutes and spend the next hour quietly making sure you got home safely."
My throat dried up, i could feel my pain clawing up my throat begging for a release but I had to finish this, I had to. For cam. I recollected myself and continued.
"I should have spoken to her more, should have called her more. We got into a fight and didn't speak for four months. I can't tell you how i feel about it, four months is a ridiculously long time to not speak to someone you love and i did love her, how could i not? Camille was easy to love, she was sweet, kind, beautiful in various ways but one. I kept thinking there would be time to fix it, I was wrong. I hope she finds peace if there's an afterlife cause she sure as hell deserves it, she deserves everything."
That was all I had. I clumsily stepped away from the microphone, people were watching me and whispering. The funeral hadn't even ended when I left.
James tried to stop me outside but I told him I needed to go somewhere. I didn't care that the funeral was still going on. I didn't care who thought it was inappropriate. I drove straight to the police station, I wanted the report. I wanted every piece of information they had.
The officers initially tried to explain that the investigation was already complete, but I wasn't interested in explanations. I asked them again then one officer went in and brought out the file.
Gas leak, accidental ignition. No sign of forced entry. She was the only one home.
I read everything then read it again. I read it 3 more times, some part of me hoping the words will change expecting this all to be a sick dream.
I went over the timeline, the photographs, the statements from the neighbours, the emergency response records. I studied the layout of the house and the position of the kitchen.
There was nothing.
Nothing that gave me a reason to believe someone had killed her maybe she really did try to cook.
I drove back to Camille's house after the funeral had ended.
Her mother opened the door. The grief had aged her a few more years, she looked like she had been crying. I hugged her.
She held onto me for a long time. Then she let go and muttered.
"This would have meant the world to her."
"I know."
I told her I wouldn't have missed it, that part was true. I stayed a few more minutes then left shortly after.
My flight back to Paris was quiet.
I sat in the private cabin with my laptop open but barely touched it. My assistant sat across from me for most of the flight, going through the things that had accumulated while I was away.
"Senator Kline has been trying to reach you."
"How many times?"
"Eight since this morning and the DOD, well they've contacted the office six times."
I closed the laptop.
"Why?"
"They won't say."
I stared out of the window. They didn't know exactly what I was building yet, but they knew I was building something.
Senator Kline didn't call people eight times unless he wanted something.
The Department of Defense wasn't much different.
There were sharks in the water. Normally, I would have cared.
Right now, I didn't.
I got back to Paris and went straight to the site.
The difference was noticeable immediately.
The fence had been completed around the entire perimeter, and the security infrastructure I'd demanded after Autumn's unwanted visit was finally operational. Cameras covered the approaches, access points were controlled and the site was beginning to look less like a construction project and more like my vision for it.
I walked into the main building. Twenty-five floors had already been completed.
I didn't need a skyscraper. I had enough land that building upward for the sake of height would have been pointless. The space mattered more than the number of floors.
Still, seeing the structure standing there gave me some satisfaction.
I left the building and got back into my car. Once I was inside, I opened up my laptop then a text came in from my phone.
It was cam's lawyer.
I thought he had some issues with her funeral arrangements. I opened up the text and froze, he texted to tell me the will reading was done and Camille had left me something.