A Reason to Forget (The Camdyn Series Book 3)

by Christina Coryell

  “Can I get y’all something to drink?” the waitress asked beside us in a thick southern drawl. I could tell by her voice that she wasn’t the usual waitress, so I glanced up at her nametag before I answered.

  “Yeah, Rita, can you just bring me a water with…”

  Wait a second – Rita? Of course not. That would be impossible, not to mention ridiculous.

  Reluctantly, I glanced to my left, reading the nametag once again and then letting my eyes sweep to her face.

  “A water with what, honey?” she asked sweetly with a lilt to her voice. Instead of answering, I sat there in stunned silence.

  Wow, she looks like Rita. I mean, I guess anyone can look like “a” Rita, if that’s their name, but she looks remarkably like “that” Rita – the one who abandoned me when I was just a kid. The Rita who should presumably be enjoying a glass of wine at her posh Italian villa right about now, or buying herself something ridiculously expensive to wear while she drinks wine at said villa. That Rita definitely wouldn’t be working as a waitress in the middle of nowhere, though, especially not with that thick southern accent. Simply uncanny…

  “Water with lemon,” I managed to say, looking intently into her face.

  This has to be some kind of joke or something. That’s it, isn’t it? I’m being tricked.

  “Okay, which one of you set this up?” I chuckled, glancing across the table to Jake and Lily. “What is this, some kind of hidden camera thing? You might have gotten me if it wasn’t for the accent, along with the fact that Rita wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. Where did you find this lady?” Jake and Lily looked quizzically at one another, and both shrugged in unison.

  “Cam,” Cole whispered as I looked back to the waitress.

  “What’s your real name?” I asked, staring at her expectantly. She twisted her note pad in her hand and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Camdyn, you know my name,” she said quietly, turning sober for a split second before she appeared to shake it off. “A water with lemon for Camdyn. What can I get for the rest of you?”

  How does she know my name? Well, I’m sure they filled her in on the details to make the trick work, right? Of course, that has to be it.

  “Sweet tea,” Jake added, interrupting my thoughts. Lily said the same, giving me a strange look.

  “Sweet tea for me,” Cole muttered, at which point “Rita” turned and walked away. Looking at me with a sad smile, Cole brought his face very close to mine. “Let’s just get out of here. I’ll take you home and make you lunch. Jake won’t mind waiting on me for a while.”

  “Naw, that will give me and Lil some time to hang out,” Jake agreed, looking over at Lily flirtatiously. Maybe he was really jealous, after all.

  “Don’t be silly,” I said, squeezing Cole’s hand under the table. “Seriously though, what’s the story with that woman? It’s absolutely amazing how much she looks like Rita, but where did you guys find her?”

  “I’d love to take credit for it,” Jake replied, “but do you really think I would go to that much trouble to make you uncomfortable, heartbreaker?”

  “Camdyn, please, let’s go.” Cole’s tone was forceful, and I could tell he was uncomfortable by the way his body tensed next to me. I felt the blood drain from my face, and I looked across the table to Lily, whose eyes were wide.

  “You’re telling me this isn’t a joke?” I stammered. Lily furrowed her brow a bit, and Jake just shook his head.

  “Okay, we had a water with lemon,” Rita said upon her return, setting the glass down on the table. “Three sweet teas – did y’all decide what you want to eat?” All three of my companions looked expectantly at me, waiting for my reaction.

  “I’ll have a cheeseburger,” I stated nonchalantly, “with an explanation on the side. Why are you here, Rita?” She chuckled as though that was a funny question and continued on with that nonsensical fake accent.

  “I’m working, honey,” she replied, glancing down at her outfit as though I were the ridiculous one.

  “There’s nothing here for you,” I told her coldly. “Go back to Italy.” She gave me a sympathetic look as she glanced at Jake and Lily.

  “I’m not going back to Italy,” she explained, brushing back her blonde waves. “Being back here has made me realize how much I miss the states, so I’ve decided to stay.”

  “Not here,” I informed her without emotion. “You’re not staying here. Get yourself a job somewhere else. I don’t care where – California, Maine, Alaska – just find yourself as far from me as possible.”

  “My Camdyn,” she said with a chuckle. “You always were a dramatic one, even when you were just a teeny little thing.”

  “I’m not ‘your’ anything,” I retorted, “and don’t pretend like you know anything about me. Drop that phony southern accent, while you’re at it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she drawled, and I leaned toward her from my seat while Cole put his hand on me to hold me firmly in place. I tried to push past him, but he shook his head and blocked my exit.

  “It’s a big country, Rita,” I stated, feeling Cole’s hand firmly gripping my wrist. “Way too big for you and me to be in the same town.”

  “Let’s go,” Cole interjected, sliding out of the booth and pulling my arm so I would follow. As I moved past Rita, Cole directed his arm around my waist and adjusted my path so I wouldn’t be walking quite so close to her.

  “What, no tip?” she asked sweetly, clearly performing for the rest of the diners. I angrily spun on my heels, ready to give her a piece of my mind.

  “Oh, I have a tip for you,” I started, but I couldn’t finish my thought because Cole had me around the waist and about a foot off the ground, sweeping me out the door. The bell jingled overhead as we exited, and when we were safely out, he unceremoniously dumped me on the gravel, holding me upright.

  “It’s not worth it,” he warned as I whirled back toward the café. I only paused a moment as I stared at the door before I realized he was right. Facing him, I stared up into his dark eyes.

  “You can’t just manhandle me to get your way,” I informed him, twisting my mouth to the side. He took my hand and let out a sigh.

  “You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he offered, and I emitted an exasperated laugh.

  “That won’t work this time,” I argued. “Did you know Rita was here? What is she doing here, anyway? Obviously she is just trying to destroy whatever chance I have at happiness.”

  “Easy, Cam,” he warned, narrowing his eyes a little. “Of course I didn’t know she was here. Do you honestly think I would keep something like that from you? She’s trying to get at you for some reason, so don’t let her.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I whispered, folding my arms across my chest. “I should have known things were going to go terribly wrong when we went back to the real world. I was right – you should have just stayed home this morning.”

  “We can’t stay home forever,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around me. “You think I wouldn’t rather just stay with you? I’m completely fascinated by everything about you. You actually are my Camdyn, you know.” Feeling the warmth of his arms, I closed my eyes and leaned against him contentedly.

  “It’s an awesome feeling to know that I’m yours,” I assured him, absolutely meaning every word, but unable to rid my thoughts of Rita. “Ugh, I can’t believe she’s still here. I really thought when your dad removed her from the wedding rehearsal that I wouldn’t have to worry about seeing her face for a very long time. Why would she suddenly want to torment me?”

  “Maybe there’s a simple explanation,” he suggested quietly as he rubbed his palm against my back.

  “For a wealthy woman from Italy to be working as a waitress at a tiny café in Tennessee?” I proposed mockingly. “No, she’s here for me, although what she would want with me is beyond the scope of my imagination.”

  “You don’t s
uppose she knows somehow about you giving up the pen name?” he wondered aloud. “You will be having press, after all.” I had almost forgotten that my book would be coming out in a couple weeks, and that I would be on those talk shows. Pondering what he said, I thought it over for a few seconds.

  “No, that couldn’t be,” I reasoned. “Nobody really knows about that except my publisher and editor, and they have every reason to be tight-lipped about it until the release date. Besides, I’m sure she doesn’t even know that I write at all.” Cole hugged me tightly, and then he pulled back and looked deeply into my eyes.

  “You okay for a second?” he asked, and I nodded. Turning away from me, he walked back into the café. I watched through the windows as he stepped up to Jake and Lily’s booth, spoke to Jake quickly, and then turned to stride back out the door. When he rejoined me, he took my hand and started walking me toward my car.

  “What was that about?” I wanted to know. He glanced over at me and displayed a beautiful smile, sliding his arm across my shoulders.

  “Jake’s going to come pick me up at our house after he eats lunch,” he told me, stopping at the car door to pull me against him again. When he leaned down to kiss me, I wrapped my fingers around his muscular arm. As he released me, he reached down and pulled open the passenger door, waiting for me to slide inside. Before I entered the car, I hesitated a moment and stared up at him.

  “What are we going to do?” I wanted to know.

  “Well, we can eat lunch, and wait around for Jake to show up, or whatever.” He added a wink after whatever, and I tilted my head as I smiled at him. “That is, if you can stop thinking about Rita for a few minutes.”

  “Rita?” I asked mischievously. “Who’s Rita?”

  Chapter Two

  I managed not to think about Rita for a short period of time - at least until Jake stopped by the house to take Cole back to work - but as soon as they were gone, she took up residence in my mind again. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why she suddenly showed up looking for me and my brother, Charlie. Even more confusing was the fact that she decided to stay, obviously with designs on interrupting my life.

  Mentally I went through the events of the last couple of weeks that involved Rita, trying to make sense of them. I knew she showed up first at Charlie’s house – that much I had learned from my sister-in-law, Trina. Trying to remember what Trina had relayed to me the night before my wedding, I went over the events in my head.

  Trina was changing my nephew Cooper’s diaper when there was a knock on the door. She hurriedly dressed Cooper and moved to answer the knock, finding a well-dressed, good-looking woman standing on the porch. Trina knew she had seen that face before, but she couldn’t place her in that instant.

  “Is Wilhelmina home?” the stranger asked, adjusting her designer sunglasses.

  “Wilhelmina?” Trina clarified, slightly bewildered. “No, I’m sorry, Wilhelmina passed away several years ago. This house belongs to her grandson, Charlie Taylor.”

  “Charlie?” the woman wondered, saying the name with familiarity. “Is he here?”

  “No, I’m afraid he’s not,” Trina informed her, “but I’m his wife. Is there something I can do to help you?” At that point, Trina said that the woman started to look around as though someone was following her, and she seemed a little helpless. Trina offered her a glass of water and allowed her to come inside. Once they were in the kitchen, the woman began studying every inch of the house, and Trina began to feel a little uneasy.

  “What did you say your name was?” Trina questioned as she handed the woman her water, and she hesitated for a brief second.

  “I didn’t say,” she replied, gazing at little Cooper in Trina’s arms. “I’m Rita Costa.” At that, Trina told me she held the baby tighter and fought the urge to panic, knowing that Charlie wouldn’t have wanted Rita in the house.

  “You’re Charlie’s mother,” Trina acknowledged, to which Rita only smiled. Without waiting, Trina took the water glass from the table and put it in the sink, shifting Cooper to her other arm and farther away from Rita.

  “When will Charlie be home?” Rita wondered. Not bothering to remain polite, Trina motioned toward the door.

  “Charlie will be home soon, but I think it’s best if you wait to come over when he’s here,” Trina explained. To her surprise, Rita calmly moved toward the door and stepped back onto the porch.

  “That will be fine,” she said sweetly. “Please tell Charlie I stopped by.” With that, she was back in her taxi, and Trina was watching her disappear down the street.

  From there, I knew that she somehow managed to get to Tennessee. Apparently noticing the invitation to my wedding on Charlie’s refrigerator, she showed up at my rehearsal dinner. She had been ridiculous, wanting to give me away, and after I yelled at her a bit, Cole’s father showed her the exit. I hadn’t given her much thought since then. Since she knew that Charlie and I didn’t want her around, I figured she would go back to Italy and forget whatever idea she had concocted about a family reunion.

  So, what, is she going through a mid-life crisis or something? Why the sudden interest in her kids? She’s never cared about us before.

  If her sudden appearance had occurred a few weeks later, I might have believed Cole’s theory about her wanting to capitalize on my television appearances. Nobody knew about my pen name yet, though – the information hadn’t been made public. Besides, I doubted Rita had any idea I wrote novels. I hadn’t had any contact with her since I was eighteen, and since I used a pen name for all my work, she had no way to come to that conclusion.

  No, there must have been something else that brought her to Tennessee, although I couldn’t say for the life of me what it was. And to be working in the café? It was beyond baffling.

  Deciding to try to take my mind off of the sudden reemergence of my long-missing mother, I walked into the den and grabbed the book Cole had given me for a wedding gift, sinking down on the chaise lounge. The fact that this had been my father’s book made me a little nostalgic for a second, and I held it to my chest as I remembered it sitting on the end table. Wishing I could remember him talking to me about it wasn’t particularly helpful, so instead I focused on the fact that the book had once been in his hands.

  There was something my dad had loved about the book, for him to keep it out all the time, and in such pristine condition. I had written a paper on it in college, so I knew the book forward and backward, but I would never have the chance to find out what made it special to my father. I placed it in my lap and ran my hand across the dust cover. A Different Kind of Rain. Carefully opening the book, I began to read:

  Etta felt the rock strike her long before she realized it was a rock; several hours went by, in fact, before one of the boys from the neighborhood whispered the awful truth. She did not turn to face her assailants or reach up to examine the blood oozing into her hair. She simply stiffened her back resolutely and strode forward as though nothing happened.

  The children who witnessed the attack later decided that Etta was either extremely courageous or attempting to make a statement by the way she conducted herself in those few seconds. Had they known the truth, they would have realized that she only kept walking because she could think of nothing else to do.

  Dropping the book back onto my lap, I stared out the window at the distant trees in my backyard. It had been years since I had read that book - probably since college - but I suddenly remembered why I had treasured it so fondly. My dad owned a copy, yes, and that was what initially drew me to the book, but it wasn’t what forced me to keep checking it out from the library over and over. The thing that brought me back to the book time and again was Etta. She was just a young girl in the story, but I felt her pain and her sadness every time I opened the pages. Once again I looked at her name, as though I’d found a long-lost friend.

  You need to search for Etta.

  Seriously, look for Etta? Do you have any idea how impossible that would be?

&nbs
p; Maybe not – look what you found when you went searching for Willa.

  I thought back to the last book I had written, and my search for Willa Lawrence. Although I had done extensive research on her, the only reason I discovered her true history was because of Sybil, my long-lost cousin who kept meticulous family records. There was no way I could replicate a situation like that again – it felt like a once-in-a-lifetime miracle.

  Even if you don’t find a miracle, you could still look for Etta.

  How, though? A Different Kind of Rain was written by an anonymous author, so I had no leads there. As far as her situation, I’m sure there were countless girls named Etta living in Cincinnati during World War I. The fact that I knew from the book that her parents emigrated from Germany gave me only the most basic information, and what if it wasn’t real anyway? It could have been complete fiction. If it did happen to be based on a true story, the names were probably changed. Since the book was written anonymously, the author wouldn’t keep the actual names of the subjects.

  No, searching for Etta would definitely be a pointless pursuit.

  You don’t really have to find her, though, Camdyn. Just find her story – that’s enough.

  Could I really find her story?

  You already have a great start right here – what have you got to lose?

  And so, sitting there in my den on the chaise lounge, holding my dad’s book in my hands, I made the decision to find Etta and to fill in the missing parts of her life.

  -§-

  That evening, before Cole came home from work, I fixed a big garden salad and a couple of sandwiches. I thought about lighting a few candles, but I knew he would have a conniption about me trying to burn the house down, so I opted for putting a bouquet of fresh flowers on the table instead. When he pulled his truck in the driveway and stepped through the front door to see dinner on the table, the huge smile he gave me made it totally worth the effort.