After the Rains

by Deborah Raney

  Natalie gave her aunt a sheepish grin. “I’m not even sure what I just said. Something like ‘Speak slowly, please, because I’m an idiot and I can’t understand a word you’re saying.’ ”

  Betsy laughed. “Well, obviously it doesn’t take much to impress me.”

  “It’s just something we had to memorize off the tapes in Spanish II. But I do like studying Spanish. That and English are the only classes I ever ace.”

  “Well, I happen to know that anybody would be proud of the report cards you bring home. Grandma always cuts out the honor rolls from the Bristol paper,” she explained.

  “Oh yes, for her famous scrapbooks.”

  “Yes, but before they go in the scrapbook, she makes copies for your dad and me.”

  Natalie rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

  “Yes, the honor rolls and the school lunch menus. Your grandma likes us to know what the Bristol High cafeteria is serving up on any given day.”

  “Are you serious? I guess I won’t tell Grandma that I usually bring my lunch from home.”

  The two of them giggled like schoolgirls.

  Natalie closed her eyes and breathed in the rich cinnamon aroma that hung in the air. Throughout her eighteen years, time spent with Aunt Betsy had always been a bright spot in her frequent weekend visits with her birth father’s side of the family.

  Now they worked together in companionable silence, flattening the supple lumps of yeast dough with a wooden rolling pin, then spreading each with butter and sprinkling a fragrant mixture of cinnamon and sugar on top.

  Wiping a smudge of flour off her nose with the back of her hand, Betsy told Natalie, “Every time I make these I think of your dad. He used to polish off an entire batch of these things single-handedly.”

  “I can see why,” Natalie said, putting a pinch of the rich dough into her mouth. She busied herself with buttering the baking dishes. “I think of him too—every time we make these.” The truth was, she thought about her birth father often lately. She always felt closer to Nathan Camfield when she was with Grandma and Grandpa Camfield, Aunt Betsy, and Uncle Jim.

  Her aunt was silent as she cut the roll of dough into slices and handed the swirled rounds to Natalie to arrange in the bottom of the pan. After all these years, they had their routine down pat.

  Something about the warmth of the kitchen, the golden glow of afternoon sunlight that filtered through the stained-glass panel in the back door, and the quiet music that wafted from the stereo in Uncle Jim’s den made Natalie feel at ease. She could remember a time when she’d been so little she’d had to stand on a wooden stool to see over the countertop. She thought back to a long-ago day in this very kitchen. She must have been about eight years old.

  “I sure wish they’d invent a way that you didn’t have to wait for the rolls to rise, Aunt Betsy.”

  Her aunt laughed. “Nattie, Nattie, that would be cheating! Half the fun is in the waiting.”

  “Then, I guess I don’t know how to have fun. I hate waiting … for anything. Mommy says I’m too impatient for my own good.”

  “You get that from your dad,” Aunt Betsy said. “But he learned … he learned how to be patient.” A sad look came to her eyes, and for a minute Natalie thought Aunt Betsy had forgotten that she wasn’t alone in the room.

  “You mean because of—well, being lost in the jungle all that time.”

  Betsy looked up, seemingly startled. “Yes,” she whispered. “I … I guess I didn’t know you knew about all that.”

  “Mom told me some stuff. And Grandma. I don’t know all of it, but—I guess the important stuff.”

  “Oh?”

  Natalie licked a cinnamon-sugared finger and looked up at her aunt. “I know my dad went back to South America after he found out Mom got married again.”

  Aunt Betsy was silent, wiping flour off the countertop.

  “I … I wonder how that made my dad feel … You know—finding out that Mommy had married somebody else.”

  Her aunt cleared her throat. “Well, Natalie, it was very hard for Nate—for your dad—to give up your mom. He loved her very much. But I sometimes think it was even harder for him to give you up. Here he had an adorable little baby that he hadn’t even known about, and—”

  Natalie held her breath, her heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean?”

  “Mean?”

  “What do you mean he didn’t even know about me?”

  A stricken expression replaced her aunt’s smile. “Oh, honey. Maybe—maybe you should talk to your mom about all this.”

  “No! You have to tell me. My dad didn’t know about me? I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Betsy took a deep breath. “When your dad disappeared, your mom didn’t even realize she was going to have a baby. So when he came back from Colombia, you were … a surprise to him—a wonderful surprise, of course. You … didn’t know about that?”

  Natalie shook her head.

  “Oh, Nattie, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place to tell you. I hope your mom won’t be angry with me.”

  Natalie shook her head. “She won’t mind.” But her thoughts were reeling—and Mommy probably would mind. As Natalie had grown older, she’d come to realize how unusual her parents’ story was. What else had her mother failed to tell her? She wanted to know everything, and yet she wanted to forget what she already knew.

  “I bet it wasn’t such a good surprise to him about my mom, huh?” she risked now.

  “About her being remarried, you mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No,” Aunt Betsy said slowly. “That was pretty tough. On both of them. Your mom and dad were very, very much in love.”

  “You mean my Daddy-Nate?”

  Aunt Betsy nodded, and a soft smile curved the corners of her mouth. “It gets kind of confusing, doesn’t it?”

  Natalie swallowed hard. “Then … why did she get married again?”

  “Well, honey … because she thought your dad—Nate—she thought he was dead. You did know that, didn’t you, Nattie? Your mom would never have married someone else if she’d thought there was any chance that your dad was alive.”

  “Yeah, but still, if she really loved him, how could she ever marry somebody else?”

  “Honey, I know this probably seems all mixed up to you, but you have to understand that your mom did what she thought was best. She had you to think about. You were just a tiny baby, and she wanted you to have a father.”

  “Grandma thinks she should have waited,” Natalie challenged.

  Betsy’s nostrils flared. “Grandma sometimes has a mind of her own. And you’ve got to remember, honey, Nate is her son. She wanted him to be happy, and she sure didn’t want him to go back to Colombia. Not after everything he’d been through.”

  Natalie thought about the ropelike scars that marred Nathan Camfield’s hands and forearms, and for the first time she began to comprehend some of the suffering her father had endured during the time he’d been held captive in Colombia.

  “So why did he go back?” she asked.

  “Mostly, I think he just really felt like God was calling him to go back and help the people in Colombia. They kind of became like his family, you know?” She scrubbed at a countertop that was already spotless.

  “Mommy loves Daddy now, though.” It came out more like a question.

  “Cole, you mean?”

  She nodded.

  “Oh, of course she does. Cole has been a wonderful father to all of you girls. And I’m sure he loves you very much—and your mother.”

  “And she loves him,” Natalie repeated defensively.

  “Of course she does. Nobody doubts that, Nattie.”

  The timer on the stove buzzed, and Natalie jumped. She shook herself back to the present and held up a pan of rolls. “First batch, ready for the oven,” she told Betsy, hoping her aunt didn’t detect the quaver in her voice.

  “It’s hard to think about him, isn’t it?”

  Aunt Betsy’s question start
led her. It was hard to think about her father. She had a longing for him that she couldn’t explain. And yet that longing made her feel like a traitor to the man she called “Daddy.”

  Natalie nodded now, aware that Betsy wasn’t going to let her question go unanswered. “I … I wish I knew him better. I mean, sometimes when I read through all the letters he’s written me, when I look at Grandma’s picture albums, I feel pretty close to him. But then you say something as simple as ‘your dad loved cinnamon rolls,’ and I realize how much I don’t know about him.”

  Her aunt listened with her head tipped to one side, a dangly earring brushing one shoulder, and Natalie let her thoughts pour out, unguarded.

  “When I was little, I sometimes wondered what it would be like to be a real Hunter … Cole Hunter’s natural daughter. I guess sometimes I still wonder. My name—being a Camfield—has always singled me out.” She held up a hand and shook her head, aware that Betsy might misinterpret her words. “Not that I’m not proud of my name. I am. But sometimes it—well, it makes me feel like I don’t quite belong in my own family.” She cocked her head to match the tilt of Betsy’s. “Does that make any sense at all?”

  “Oh, honey, it makes perfect sense. Anyone in your shoes would feel the same way.”

  “I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I mean, I think about Sara … you remember Sara?”

  “Sure. The pretty redhead who was here with you last summer, right?”

  Natalie nodded. “I wouldn’t trade places with her for anything. She has great adoptive parents, but she didn’t know either one of her birth parents. When she did find her birth mother, the woman didn’t want anything to do with her. And Sara never did find her father. Even though I don’t get to see my real dad very much, I’ve always been glad that I at least knew him. And I never had to wonder what he was like, or if he loved me. I’ve never doubted that. I know that what Sara has to deal with would be much harder than … than what I have, but …”

  “But it still makes you feel like you’re torn between two families,” Betsy finished for her.

  “Yeah. Sometimes it does. And in a way it’s like I don’t quite belong to either one of them. When I was little it used to make me so mad that Mom and Daddy would just drop me off here and then leave. I understood that, technically, Grandma and Grandpa weren’t Nikki and Noelle’s grandparents, but I always wished so bad that the whole family could stay. And—maybe it was just my imagination—but it seemed like every single time I came up here, something wonderful happened back home. I’m not kidding. I think half the kittens on our farm purposely waited to be born until I was gone!”

  Betsy smiled sympathetically, and Natalie’s words picked up steam.

  “I can’t tell you how many times we’ll be sitting around the dinner table and we’ll start talking, and pretty soon someone will say, ‘Oh, remember that Sunday afternoon when we stopped off at that little airport and watched those skydivers?’ Or whatever the memory was. I just want to shake them and tell them, ‘No! I don’t remember! Because I wasn’t there. You did that without me, remember?’ ”

  Betsy put a warm hand to her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry to be such a whiner,” Natalie told Betsy now. “I … I know I have a lot to be thankful for, and I—”

  “Hey, we do allow occasional whining in this kitchen,” Betsy cut her off.

  Natalie smiled and gave her aunt a hug. She loved Betsy so much. It felt good to voice some of her thoughts. But sometimes talking about her feelings seemed to stir up more questions than it answered.

  Five

  Summer was almost over. Clayton County had gone six weeks without rain. A black cloud of dirt billowed behind Natalie’s car as it bumped along the country road. In spite of the hundred-degree heat and her car’s faulty air conditioning system, Natalie rolled up her windows against the gritty dust. Her Grandpa Camfield had bought her the Camry at the beginning of the summer. It was far from new, but the car was Natalie’s pride and joy.

  As she neared the driveway to their farm, Jon Dever’s car was just pulling onto the road, headed back into Bristol. She gave a halfhearted wave as he passed. Jon was leaving for college soon, and she would heave a sigh of relief when he was gone. Though she’d resigned herself to the fact that she would never have a chance with Jon, it stabbed at her every time she saw him and Nikki still together after almost a year.

  She parked the car in the garage and went in through the kitchen. The house was quiet, but the savory fragrance of a roast and potatoes filled the air.

  “I’m home,” she shouted, leafing absently through the stack of mail on the kitchen table. “Hey, where is everybody?”

  Mom’s voice floated down the stairway. “Hi, Nattie. We’re upstairs.”

  Natalie raided the refrigerator, taking an apple and a hunk of cheese up to her room. She plopped on her bed with the snack, popped in a cassette from her summer Spanish class, and put on her headphones. A soothing feminine voice was pronouncing Spanish phrases in her ears when Mom appeared in the doorway. Natalie clicked off the recorder and slid the headphones from her ears, letting them hang loosely around her neck.

  “Hola, Madre.”

  “Hi, Nattie. How was your class?”

  “Muy bien.” She knew her constant use of Spanish since she’d started the class at the junior college over in Clayton was driving her family nuts. But the instructor had told them to use the language every opportunity they got, and Natalie took him seriously. Besides, in a perverse sort of way, Natalie rather enjoyed getting under their skin.

  Mom knew a little Spanish from her days in South America and sometimes she played along, putting Natalie’s knowledge to the test. But now Mom ignored the challenge. She sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Natalie’s knee. “Hey, do me a favor and be nice to Nikki tonight, okay?” Her tone was serious.

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Oh, nothing happened really. But Jon’s leaving for K-State tomorrow, and she’s taking it kind of hard. He came by a little bit ago to say goodbye.”

  “Yeah, I saw him. He was just leaving when I drove in. Aren’t they going out tonight?”

  “I guess not. I’m not sure what’s up, but Nikki’s in her room crying her eyes out right now.”

  “Do you think they broke up or something?”

  “No,” Mom said, “I don’t think so. She’s just upset that he’s leaving. Things will be different between them now. And maybe her feelings are a little hurt because he didn’t want to go out tonight. Maribeth said they have to leave before six in the morning to take him up there, so I’m sure he has a lot to do tonight.” Mom stood to leave. “Just go easy on her, okay? This is a tough time for her, and she doesn’t need anybody giving her any grief right now.”

  Natalie hunched her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and glared at her mother. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “I know.” Mom reached down to pat her knee again. “Hey, take it easy. I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I’m just trying to head it off before—”

  Natalie didn’t wait to hear the rest. She pulled the headphones back over her ears, cranked up the volume on the Spanish tape, and turned toward the wall.

  She felt the shudder of her door closing and looked over her shoulder to be sure her mother had left the room. Seething with resentment, she stuffed her fist into her pillow and flopped back against the headboard. She didn’t recall her parents tiptoeing around her when she was so upset about Jon asking Nicole out. In fact, their attitude back then had been more like, “Get over it, sweetheart; we all have disappointments in life.” It hardly seemed fair that Nikki was getting the “you poor thing” treatment now that she was the one mourning losing Jon.

  Natalie thought about calling Sara to complain, but things got too complicated with her when it came to the subject of Jon. Besides, Natalie was over Jon. She’d given up the right to cry over him months ago.

  She turned the volume up another notch and rattled off the phrases with the
voice on the recording.

  ¿Puede ayudarme? No comprendo. Me he perdido.

  “Would you like more spaghetti, Nattie?” Maribeth Dever asked, a large spoon poised over the serving dish.

  “Oh, no thanks. It was great though.” She turned to Sara. “Hey, Dever, if we’re going to get that book report done, we’d better book it.” Natalie wiggled Groucho Marx eyebrows at Sara.

  Maribeth laughed at Natalie’s corny pun, and Sara rolled her eyes. “Very clever, Camfield. Why can’t you ever come up with this stuff when we need it?”

  Natalie grabbed her backpack from the floor by the front door, and Sara led the way to her room. They settled themselves cross-legged on Sara’s quilt and spread their books and notebooks between them. Classes now that they were seniors required more homework than they’d bargained for.

  “So, did you get invited to Lacey Franks’ party Friday?” Natalie asked, uncapping her pen.

  “Uh-huh. Did you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you going?”

  “What do you think?” Natalie smirked. “You know Daddy. He thinks he has to do a background check on a girl’s entire family before I’m allowed to associate with her. Don’t tell me you’re thinking about going.”

  Sara shook her head. “My dad did do a background check on her entire family, and they failed the test—miserably.”

  “Really?” This sounded juicy.

  “Apparently her father has a bit of a problem with”—she etched quotation marks in the air—“ ‘the bottle,’ as Dad so nicely put it.”

  “You’re serious? He really checked up on them?” And she thought Daddy was bad.

  “Well, not really. Dad works with Lacey’s uncle. He heard all this from him. Did you know Lacey has two older brothers?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Yeah, one in rehab, another one dropped out of school. It turns out her mother manages the liquor store in Clayton.”

  “Oh, that’s convenient,” Natalie said wryly. “Well, that cinches it. There’s no way I’ll be going to that party.”

  Sara giggled. “I wish my parents didn’t always have to make such a big deal about stuff like that, but to tell you the truth, it’s kind of nice to have an excuse. I mean Lacey’s okay and all, but …” Sara cocked her head to one side and wrinkled her freckle-strewn nose. “I don’t know … I mean, it’s not like I have any desire to get in with that crowd.”