Imaginary Lover // Camren Fanfiction

Chapter 24

She didn't move her eyes from the back of his head, couldn't
move her eyes anywhere else. She tried not to breathe in the smell, but it
gathered in her throat, blocking her windpipes.

"Hello?" she croaked.

He didn't move, just kept his head straight ahead.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Hello?" She detected an air of panic in her
voice. Without thinking, she stepped into the room and rushed over toward
him. She fell to her knees and examined his face. He still didn't move and
kept his eyes straight ahead. Her heart quickened. "Daddy?" rushed out of
her mouth in a panic, sounding childlike. It felt real to her then. The word
meant something. She placed one hand on his face and another on his
shoulder.

"Dad, it's me, are you OK? Talk to me." Her voice shook. His skin was warm.

He blinked and she breathed a sigh of relief.

He slowly turned to look at her. "Ah, Lauren, I didn't hear you come
in." His voice sounded like it was coming from another room. It was gentle,
gone were his gravel tones.

"I was calling you," she said gently. "I drove down the road, didn't you
see me?"

"No," he said in surprise, turning his head back to face the window.
Lauren frowned.

"Then what were you looking at?" She turned to
face the window and the view took her breath away. The vision of her window, the path, the garden gate, and the long stretch of road momentarily
threw her into the same coma as her father. 

The same hopes and wishes of
the past came back in that instant. On the windowsill sat a photograph of
her mother which had never been there before. In fact, Lauren thought
her father had gotten rid of all the photographs after her mother left. But the
image of her silenced Lauren.

It was so long since she had seen her
mother; she no longer had a face in Lauren's mind. She was just a fuzzy
memory, more like a feeling than a picture. Seeing her was a shock; it was
like looking at herself, a perfect mirror-image. When she found her voice
again, she spoke quietly.

"What are you doing, Dad?"
He didn't move his head, didn't blink, just had a faraway look in his
eye and an unfamiliar voice that came deep from within him.

"I saw her, Lauren."

Palpitations.

"Saw who?" She knew who.

"Clara, your mother. I saw her. At least I think I did. It's been so
long since I've seen her that I wasn't sure. So I got the photo just so I can remember. So that when she walks down the road, I'll remember."
Lauren gulped. "Where did you see her, Dad?"
His voice was higher-pitched and slightly bewildered.

"In a field."

"A field? What field?"

"A field of magic." His eyes glistened, seeing it all over again. "A field
of dreams, as they say. She looked so happy, dancing and laughing just like
she always did. She hasn't aged a day." He looked confused.

"But she should have, shouldn't she? She should be older, like me," he questioned
himself.

"Are you sure it was her, Dad?" Her whole body was shaking.

"Oh, aye, 'twas her, moving in the wind like the dandelions, sun shining on her like she was an angel. 'Twas her all right." He was sitting upright in the chair, two hands resting on the armrests, looking more relaxed than ever.

"She had a child with her, though, and it wasn't Taylor. No, Taylor's
grown up now," he reminded himself. "It was a boy, I think. Little blond fella, like Taylor's boy." His thick caterpillar-like eyebrows furrowed for the first time.

"When did you see her?" Lauren asked, dread and relief both filling
her body at the same time, realizing it was she her father had seen in the
field.

"Yesterday." He smiled, remembering. "Yesterday morning. She'll be
coming to me soon."

Tears filled Lauren's eyes. "Have you been sitting here since yesterday, Dad?"

"Aye, I don't mind, she'll be here soon, but I need to remember her face. I sometimes don't remember, you see."

"Dad." Lauren's voice was a whisper. "Wasn't there someone else in
the field with her?"

"No." Mike smiled. "Just her and the boy. He looked so happy too."

"What I mean is"—Lauren held his hand; hers was childlike next to
his tough-skinned fingers—"I was in the field yesterday. It was me, Dad,
catching dandelion seeds with Luke and a girl."

"No." He shook his head and scowled. "There was no girl. Clara was with no girl. She's coming home soon."

"Dad, I promise you it was me, Luke, and Camilla. Perhaps you were mistaken," she said as gently as she could.

"No!" he yelled, causing Lauren to jump. He faced her with a look of
disgust. "She's coming home to me!" He glared at her. "Get out!" he finally
yelled, waving his hand and knocking her small hand off his.

"What?" Her heart beat wildly. "Why, Dad?"

"You're a liar," he spat. "I saw no girl in the field. You know she's here
and you're keeping her from me," he hissed. "You wear suits and sit behind
desks, you know nothing of dancing in fields. You're a liar, pollutin' the
place. Get out," he repeated quietly.

She looked at him in shock. "I've met a women, Dad, a beautiful, wonderful women, who's been teaching me of all these things," she started to explain.

He moved his face in front of hers until they were almost touching nose
to nose. "GET OUT!" he yelled.

Tears spilled from her eyes and her body shook as she rushed to her feet. Her room became a whirl as she saw everything she didn't want to see
in her disoriented state, old teddies, dolls, books, a writing desk, the same
duvet cover. She charged for the door, not wanting to see any more, not being able to see anymore. Her trembling hands fumbled with the latch as her father's yells for her to leave got louder and louder.

She pulled the door open and ran outside into the garden, breathing
the fresh air into her lungs. A knocking on the window spun her around;
she faced her father, waving angrily at her to get out of his garden. She
gasped for breath. Tears raced down her face and she pulled open the gate
and left it open, not wanting to hear the creak of its joints.

She sped down the road in her car as fast as she could, not looking in
the rearview mirror, not wanting to ever see the place again, not wanting to
ever have to drive down the road of disappointment again.

There would be no more looking back.