Such a Beautiful Liar

The silence would be enough to make most sane people go crazy. But Cammie was used to her father’s silent ways. The man hardly spoke, and often responded to questions with grunts or huffs. Sometimes he would sigh, as if he wished the world would simply stop speaking to him.

Cammie often thought this was the reason why her father owned a used muggle book store. The small store was tucked away between a pub and a hat store. This was perhaps very convenient for her father, who enjoyed a good drink (and though he’d never admit it, she knew about the small hat collection he had tucked away in the back of his closet).

His customers usually consisted of elderly folk and bookish housewives that simply wished to get away from their monotonous lives and pretend that they were the main characters in some silly romance. So it was safe to say that Paul Robertson hardly had to speak when it came to his job.

Cammie learned from an early age to be patient with her father. If she truly wanted something from him, she would eventually get it if only she waited long enough. And if that was not working, then nonstop talking would eventually push him to desperation and he would do just about anything to shut her up.

“So, can I?” Cammie asked, as she followed him about the store. She carried a stack of books as she trailed behind him. He sighed again, taking a book from the stack in her arms and putting it on the shelf. “This is an opportunity of a life time, you know. It’s not everyday someone is invited to the Quidditch World Cup.”

Her father grunted, moving on down the row. Cammie quickly followed him, almost running into him when he came to an abrupt halt. She gave him a sheepish smile and handed him a book.

“Really, I can’t simply refuse Zane’s generous offer now can I?” Cammie continued, her voice getting a little louder. “I mean, I’d be a rubbish friend to throw that back in his face.”

“You don’t even like Quidditch.” Her father grumbled. A dark curl of his hair falling into his eyes. He brushed it away and glance at his only child.

Perhaps he knew he said the wrong thing. Or perhaps he knew he had said too much, for as soon as his daughters smile grew bigger he let out a loud sigh and took the stack of books from her arms. “Fine!”

Cammie squealed and jumped in place. She wasn’t sure if she should hug her father or not and decided it best to slap his arm playfully. “Thank you!”

He simply grunted and continued on down the aisle without her.

He was right, of course, she never enjoyed Quidditch. Quite honestly, she didn't really understand it. But she knew one did not simply refuse to go to the Quidditch World Cup when it was offered. Most would trade an arm or a leg in order to go. Or at least, Zane told her this in his last letter.

If only she were home she could write Zane and tell him the good news. He had been bugging her for weeks about it after all. But she had been nervous to ask her father. It was not so much asking him to go away, it was the simple fact that she knew (or at least sensed) that her father did not like Zane and his family.

This, of course, seemed silly and strange, for he had never actually met Zane before. Of course Cammie realized that he must have known Zane’s parents from back when he was in school. He had to be around the same age, give or take a few years. It was a story (if there was one) that Cammie had wanted to know since her second year. But her father never told her it, and she was not quite brave enough to ask Zane’s mother.

Two more days and she would be gone. Two more days and she could see her two best friends again. Two more days and she would be free from the silence that often occupied her summers.

Cammie loved her father, of course, but that did not mean she enjoyed spending months with him. Every summer she would think that this summer would be the one that her father actually spoke to her. It would be the summer that they would grow close; the summer where he would actually become a father and less of a stranger.

And every summer she was left feeling the same disappointment she always did.

She worried about him during the school year, and then wished to get away from him during the summer.

Being stuck at store was boring enough, but being stuck at home was as dull as staring at a wall, which is exactly what she normally did when she was left home alone.

At least at the store she could watch old men complain about how their grandchildren never visit. Or an elderly woman bickering to her husband about that scandalous book her dear friend Barbra was reading, so she simply had to read it too.

It was things like this that got Cammie through her days. But that always changed as soon the store closed and her father was putting away books and reorganizing shelves. The store would fall into that deathly silence just like home.

“Cameron,” her father was suddenly beside her, his dark brows furrowed in a look of concern, or more likely, confusion. Cammie could hardly ever tell. “It’s time to go.”

Cammie smiled brightly, grabbed her coat and flicked the lights off, gladly following her father out the door.

Just two more days.