A Reason to Run (The Camdyn Series Book 1)

by Christina Coryell

  “That’s because I’m not, really,” she explained, pulling the sheet tight across from me. “Sometimes friends ask me to make meals, and I do. I don’t make a business out of it, though.”

  “You should. You’re a great cook.”

  “Oh, I think I have plenty to keep me busy as it is,” she said, fluffing a pillow and throwing it on the bed. “I don’t suppose you would want to help me, with the dinner?”

  “You want me to help you with a wedding rehearsal dinner?” I asked, feigning astonishment.

  “I’m not worried,” she said with a chuckle. “What’s the worst that could happen? The groom decides to propose to you instead? He’s too old for you, and besides, if he did that, I wouldn’t want him marrying my friend anyway!”

  “Good grief, that news report made it seem like I have quite a reputation!” I laughed. “Most guys I meet don’t propose to me, just so you know.”

  I helped her spread a cream-colored area rug over the hardwood, and then together we moved an antique chair with wooden armrests and a deep blue fabric into the corner. The room resembled a seaside getaway. She paused to rest for a minute and wiped a stray hair away from her brow with her forearm.

  “I would be happy to help you with the dinner,” I said. “Anyway, it will give me a good excuse not to go out with Jake.”

  “Well, girlie, I don’t know, maybe you do have guys on every corner after all! I thought you and Cole…” she started, but then stopped herself midsentence. “Never mind, what’s this about Jake?”

  I followed her out into the hallway, where she gathered another set of sheets to begin on the next room. I picked up the comforter that looked like it matched and stepped into the room behind her.

  “He saw me running this morning, and he asked if he could take me to lunch,” I told her, grabbing one side of the fitted sheet as she flung it towards me. “I told him no at first, but when he told me that Cole told him to ask me out, I must admit that it got the better of me.” She laughed then and shook her head.

  “That boy is too stubborn for his own good,” she said, handing me a pillowcase. “So when is this lunch with Jake?”

  “It was today, actually,” I sighed. “When we were finished, he asked me out for Friday night. I tried to blow him off, but he was very persistent.”

  “That Jake is nothing if not persistent!” she exclaimed, dragging a rug across the floor. “That doesn’t mean you can’t say no.”

  “I know, you’re right. And now you’ve given me a great excuse on top of my ‘no,’ so thank you for that!”

  “You do beat all!” she exclaimed as I stood back to take in the room. The bedspread was a pale salmon color, and the rug was cream. The bed and chair in this room were white, with an old fashioned wash basin and pitcher on top of a dresser in the corner. In the opposite corner there was a small table with a huge bouquet of white roses.

  “I think that if I stared intently at a cameo brooch, and tried to imagine living inside it, I would probably find myself in this room,” I told Rosalie. She smiled as she sat on the bed and motioned for me to sit, too.

  “Maybe I should have you write the descriptions on my website,” she teased. As I settled down next to her, she reached over and patted my hand. “You know, I didn’t realize how lonely it was getting around this house, until I had someone here to talk to.”

  “I’m an expert on being alone, so maybe I can give you some pointers,” I teased.

  “You don’t really spend your time alone?” she asked, to which I nodded slowly.

  “Probably ninety-five percent of the time.”

  “Don’t you have family?”

  “I have a brother and a sister-in-law,” I said wistfully. “They’re incredible, and they want me to be near them, but…I want to choose my own path, I guess. I say that makes me independent. They say I force myself to be alone.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “My parents,” I sighed, staring at a sepia-toned photograph of a riverbank across from the bed. “My dad passed away when I was four years old. My mom… Let’s just say I’ve only seen her once in the past twenty years.”

  “I’m sorry, hon,” she said. “I know how hard it is to lose someone. But it seems like you’ve turned out pretty well, all things considered.”

  “Yeah,” I began with a chuckle, “I guess so. I had the best grandmother in the world, though, and I owe everything to her.”

  Rosalie stood up then and motioned me to move on to the final room, which was awash in bold peacock colors. We made the bed in silence, spread the rug across the floor, and moved a deep purple love seat against the wall. When we were finished, I checked the towels in the bathroom and gave everything one more look.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” Rosalie called out to me, “I don’t want to charge you for room and board.”

  “That wouldn’t be fair,” I said, walking out in the hall to meet her.

  “No, I’ve made up my mind. You’ve been helping me clean and you haven’t asked for anything. Besides, I’m glad you found yourself a little lost and God washed you up in our neck of the woods. I’ve enjoyed having you here, almost like having my daughter back for a while. As far as I’m concerned, you can stay here as long as you want, as a friend rather than a guest.”

  I’m not going to lie – I nearly burst into tears. I told her that my own mother would never, in a million years, have said those words to me.

  “I’m sure she loves you in her own way,” Rosalie tried to comfort me.

  “You don’t run from people that you love,” I retorted. She put her arm around me then and gave me a squeeze.

  “People run from lots of things, honey, and it’s no use trying to make sense out of matters of the heart. I’ve always believed, though, if you love someone enough, you have to stand and fight.”

  “Stand and fight,” I said with a chuckle. “You sound like my brother.”

  “He must be a wise fellow,” she told me then. We walked down the stairs together, arm in arm. For a moment I felt what it must be like to have a mother, and it was lovely.

  Chapter Six

  Thursday started much like Wednesday, with the exception of the fact that it was raining - again. Rosalie informed me that she had a treadmill in the barn out back, and I could use it if I wanted. I would have just skipped my run that day, but since she made the offer, I felt obliged to take her up on it. After that, we had breakfast, just the two of us, for the second day in a row. I helped her take the leftovers to the older gentlemen, one of whom flirted with me shamelessly, which Rosalie thought was hilarious. I must admit, it was pretty funny, until he mentioned something about proposing. I informed him that I had been proposed to more times than I cared to admit, and I had never said yes, so he might want to reconsider. He decided then that he would try for Rosalie instead, since she was such a great cook.

  That afternoon, after the rain cleared out, I decided to make the trip to the cemetery. I knew I wasn’t going to find anything new there, and my interest was more out of curiosity and personal desire to see it, but it would be a good diversion. Besides, I knew if I went to the library I was going to be grilled about Jake by Lily, and I didn’t feel up to it.

  Considering what to wear, I decided on my short sleeved white sweater with large gray stripes, gray jeans, and gray suede flats. I glanced in the mirror before heading out, and I thought I looked pretty good. Rosalie must have thought the same thing, because she mentioned that I looked pretty fancy to be going to a cemetery, when there’s not a funeral involved.

  I remembered instinctively how to get to the gravel road where the cemetery was located – how could I forget that? It didn’t look nearly as threatening in the daylight, but I recognized the spot where I sat in my car and prayed for help. That prayer had been answered, thankfully, although things had gone somewhat downhill in the aftereffects.

  Once on the gravel road, I had to travel about a mile to reach the cemetery. It was just a field on a hill,
but it was mowed nicely, and people had taken care to decorate many of the stones with flowers. There didn’t seem to be a great place to park, so I just pulled my car in at an angle so I didn’t disturb anything.

  I found the headstone I searched for fairly easily, and it was honestly one of the loveliest markers, because of the description, that I had ever seen.

  Wilhelmina Lawrence Clark

  Wife of Robert Clark

  Born Apr. 12, 1800,

  Died Feb. 17, 1875.

  A true pioneer, one of the first settlers in this area.

  A woman with many Christian virtues and of strong character.

  Respected by her neighbors, Loved by her children.

  I took a photo of the headstone with my phone, and then I stood there for a long while. Although I had no idea what this woman looked like, or no tangible physical connection with her at all, it was because of her I was alive. That was a pretty remarkable thing, in my opinion. I felt like I knew her a little, too, after all this time. I guess that was true about everyone I wrote about, though, even if they were complete fiction. When you spend enough time thinking about someone, you feel as though you know them in your heart.

  I looked around at the other graves for a few minutes, just out of curiosity, carefully stepping to avoid any mud, and then I headed back to my car. I slid in the driver’s seat, checked my shoes to make certain they were clean, and backed up so I could swing out of the driveway. I put the car in drive, pressed the gas, heard the engine revving, but did not move an inch. Perplexed, I tried again, and nothing. I opened the door and carefully stepped out, looked towards the back of my car, and realized in horror that my back tires had sunk in mud.

  Letting out a sigh, I grabbed my phone to find a tow truck, but once again had no signal. Being in this area certainly had a way of making a person feel completely powerless. I tiptoed all the way to the front of the cemetery, waving my phone back and forth above my head, and no signal. I tried the same thing walking all the way to the back, but no luck. I walked to the far right and then all the way back to the left, but still nothing. After wandering around that cemetery for almost an hour, I was beginning to resign myself to the idea that I was going to have to walk up that gravel road for help. I knew that it was a good mile to go back up the muddy road, and I wasn’t eager to begin.

  As a last desperate effort, I took off my shoes and climbed on top of my car, holding my phone high in the air. My imagination was probably playing with my mind, but I thought I might have seen the signal flash across the phone when it was directly above my head. I brought the phone down and studied it so I could hit the speaker and scream into it if I did in fact get a signal, and then lifted it high above my head again. I was standing on tiptoe with my neck craned trying to see the phone when a vehicle went barreling past the cemetery. I heard it come to a sudden stop, and then I saw flashes of blue between the trees, creeping backwards towards the cemetery. I stared at the road until, finally, a dirt-streaked blue pickup truck emerged, and I locked eyes with Cole. He hung his head down and stared at his lap as though he was thinking before shaking his head and putting the truck in gear, heading up the cemetery driveway.

  As the truck came towards me, I couldn’t even collect all the thoughts going through my head. One part of me was angry with him for having the nerve to stand me up without an explanation or an apology. Another part of me was incredibly sad over the thought of what might have been. Yet another part felt slightly guilty, although I couldn’t quite decide why. Perhaps I felt that I should have told him about the whole proposal nightmare, although he hadn’t divulged his proposal nightmare either. More than anything, at that moment, I was afraid of what he might say.

  I clumsily slid off my car and retrieved my shoes, and Charlie’s words came to my mind again: Stand and fight. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to face him as his truck pulled up next to my car, where he rolled his window down and put his chin on his fist.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as I tried to stand up a little straighter.

  “My car is stuck,” I said simply.

  “I can see that. How long have you been here?”

  “A while.”

  I didn’t really like this version of Cole who was glaring at me – smiling Cole was much more attractive.

  “And standing on the roof is going to help how exactly?”

  “I was trying to get a phone signal.”

  “Of course you were,” he said as though that were the stupidest thing in the world, opening the truck door. He walked around my car, inspecting the tires one by one, as I stood there feeling utterly useless. I couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating at that point in time than being forced to ask Cole for help, and the brooding look that kept flickering across his face was making me a little uncomfortable.

  “I might be able to push you out,” he finally decided with a sigh, making sure I realized that he was not happy. “Get in the car, and when I give you a signal, gently push on the gas.”

  “Okay,” I replied, ultimately resigned to letting him help me, because I felt I had no choice. At least it would just take a minute and then we could both be on our way.

  I climbed into the car, started the ignition, and looked in my rear view mirror, waiting for him to make some kind of signal. He positioned himself at the back of my car and was looking down at the ground, shifting his legs from left to right, probably trying to find some good footing. He rested his right palm on the back of my car, and then he twisted his mouth to the side as though he was thinking.

  This is way better than staring at Rosalie’s picture, I found myself thinking as I watched him, my stomach tied in knots.

  I was gazing at him in my mirror like an infatuated teenager when my foot slipped and popped down on the gas pedal. It took me a few seconds to realize what I had done, until I glanced down and realized my foot was on the gas. I quickly pulled my leg back and looked up to the mirror again to see Cole standing with his hands in the air, mud spattered up to his chest.

  “What was that?” he yelled angrily. “What happened to waiting for the signal?” I cautiously opened the car door and stepped out, fully taking in the mud specks that were sprayed in a line from his knees to his armpits. My heart sunk and became embroiled in all the stomach knots.

  “I am so sorry, Cole,” I breathed. “My foot slipped.” He glared at me as he stepped around the back of the car and moved closer to where I stood.

  “I really am sorry,” I said again. He turned towards the road and took a deep breath, refusing to look at me. I wasn’t sure what he would do at that point. I fully expected him to get into his truck and speed off, not bothering to look back. I stood there staring at his back, noticing the way his dark hair tapered over his neck, and the way his t-shirt pulled snug across his shoulders.

  After a moment, he turned around and shrugged, stepping back towards my car.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he stated. “We’ll just try something else.” He pointed to the back edge of the car. “You stand right there, and keep an eye on the tires while I try to see if I can get it to budge.”

  I was so surprised that he wasn’t yelling at me, I promptly nodded and moved to where he was pointing without a second thought. I tried to avoid the mud as best I could, and moved into position as he directed. He sat down in the driver’s seat, and I stared with complete concentration at the back tires.

  “You ready?” he asked. I nodded, and my best guess is that he stomped on the gas pedal, because in the next seconds all I could do was stand there in horror as mud sprayed up my jeans, onto my sweater, and spattered across my cheek. I reached up to pull a clump of wet, stringy mud out of my hair as Cole exited the car and stood facing me, a faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

  “You did that on purpose!” I scolded him.

  “Yep,” was all he replied, as I stood there fuming, my hands balled into fists at my side. Yes, I had done the same to him, but it was entirely accidental. This
was completely out of line.

  “You…are unbelievable!” I complained, making a big circle around the back of my car to avoid further mud and moving to the passenger’s side to retrieve my phone. I then began stalking down the driveway toward the road. For a moment I thought he might let me go without any reaction, but then I heard Cole’s engine fire up behind me as I walked. I focused on the clearing in front of me, refusing to turn and look at him. About the time I reached the gravel road, he pulled up beside me.

  “Get in the truck,” he told me. I glanced over at him sitting in that driver’s seat with an imploring grin on his face, and turned right back to face the road.

  “No thank you,” I stated angrily, kicking mud off the end of my shoe.

  “Just get in the truck,” he said again. “I’ll come back for your car.” I kept walking and refused to answer. It was one thing to accept help from someone who didn’t particularly like me, but I wasn’t signing up for voluntary humiliation!

  “Are you going to walk all the way to Aunt Rosalie’s?” he asked.

  “Looks that way,” I retorted. I continued my pace, and he kept the truck rolling along right beside me.

  “Camdyn, get in the truck now, or I will put you in the truck,” he told me. I stopped and turned to face him, feeling the heat creep up into my face.

  “You have a lot of nerve, ordering me around. Who do you think you are?!” I demanded. He put the truck in park and slid over to open the passenger door.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help you.”

  Trying to help me? Is that what you call it?

  I looked deeply into his eyes and tried to decide my next course of action. My heart told me to punish him, but my head was having a hard time following through. It was a long way to Rosalie’s, and I would probably never get a phone signal out here in the middle of nowhere. I took a deep breath, braced myself for a confrontation, and climbed into the truck.