A Reason to Forget (The Camdyn Series Book 3)

by Christina Coryell

  You don’t want him to know what a lunatic you are.

  But this isn’t crazy at all. I’m just trying to figure out what she’s doing here – nothing more.

  Right?

  I drove the two guilty miles to the pawn shop and pulled into the parking lot, not sure what I was expecting to find. There was only one other car in front of the building – an old-fashioned station wagon – and I suddenly felt very conspicuous. I had made it that far, though, so I had to go through with it for my own sanity. Gritting my teeth, I opened the car door and grabbed my purse to head into the building.

  The door jingled as I stepped inside, and I cringed a little. What was it with these local businesses and the bells above the doors? They really needed something a little more twenty-first century. To my relief, no one moved to help me immediately, as there was an elderly gentleman standing by the counter, presumably the one driving the station wagon. Busying myself by looking at the merchandise, I pretended to be a customer and watched the counter from the corner of my eye.

  Trying to appear disinterested in my companions, I studied a display of watches and listened carefully. Unfortunately, they were a little too far away, so I attempted to move closer, looking at a stack of some sort of tin dishes or camping utensils or something similar. Eventually I became so engrossed in trying to overhear the conversation behind me that I leaned too far, and I wound up knocking a couple of those cups onto the floor, where they clattered and made a terrible racket. Picking them up quickly, I did my best to replace them on the table where they had been, and then I watched as the older gentleman moved slowly toward the door.

  “You break it, you buy it,” I heard a voice croon behind me, and I whirled around to see a tall, thin man in a well-worn cowboy hat smiling over at me through teeth that were slightly cigarette-stained. I surmised immediately that this must be the man of the hour, because I suddenly understood Lily’s comment about the blast from the past. He had on a pair of blue jeans that were pencil thin, and his button-up shirt had tiny pearl-covered buttons along the front. Underneath that cowboy hat was a head of wiry brown hair that was in need of a trim, and he sported an immaculately-groomed handlebar mustache.

  “I didn’t break it,” I assured him, and he nodded.

  “It’s just an expression,” he continued. “Don’t reckon I’ve seen you ‘round these parts before, what with the out-of-state license plates.”

  “Yes, well, I’m brand new,” I told him, sensing that an introduction was in order, but I was hesitant about giving him my name. “I’m Mrs. Parker.”

  Mrs. Parker, like you don’t have your own name. You’re an idiot, that’s what you are.

  “Keepin’ it formal, huh?” he chuckled. “Well, in that case, I’m Mr. Farner.” He squinted his eyes at me a little as he regarded me rather suspiciously. “You’re Rita’s kid, ain’t you?”

  “That’s up for debate,” I informed him, not particularly enjoying being labeled Rita’s anything. “She gave birth to me, I suppose.” At that, he threw his head back and laughed.

  “She said you was a city girl,” he drawled. “I figured you’d be comin’ ‘round here soon.”

  “Whatever made you think that?” I asked pointedly, although I felt a bit exposed thinking that he had seen me coming.

  “That’s what usually happens when people go sellin’ off their family heirlooms,” he reasoned. “The free-loaders come crawlin’ out of the woodwork with some sob story.”

  “You wait just a minute,” I ordered, feathers most definitely ruffled. “If you think I’m here to try to get anything from Rita, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “Well, then, what are you here after, Missus?” he scoffed, pulling a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and letting it dangle unlit between his lips. “Your poor mama’s just a sweet southern lady who found herself down on her luck, and can’t even depend on her own kin to bail her out.”

  “Bail her out?” I chortled loudly in disbelief. “If she needs money, maybe she should have asked her millionaire Italian husband to wire some to her. Oh, she didn’t tell you that? Southern lady…what a load of… Rita has spent the last twenty years overseas sunning herself and drinking wine before her weekly outings to the most expensive designer shops she could find. Now suddenly she’s in here selling you one of her piles of jewels, convincing you that she’s down on her luck.”

  “She ain’t got nowhere to go,” he stated, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was me. “Just needed someone to help her out so she could get on her feet.”

  “Sure,” I replied, glancing around me and trying to sort the new information out in my mind.

  “So if you ain’t here ‘bout them jewels, what’re ya lookin’ for?” he asked, that ridiculous cigarette still hanging there under his mustache as though he thought it a fashionable accessory.

  “The meaning of the universe,” I joked, knowing that I wasn’t getting any information from the guy. “Honestly, I was hoping you knew more than me, but as it turns out, you only know the lies she fed you. We’re in the same boat. Although, I think you might have it worse, if she really is living in your house.”

  “Just ‘til she gets on her feet,” he clarified, looking at me quite sternly.

  “Of course,” I agreed carefully. “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time, Mr. Farner, and it looks like you’re in need of a smoke break, so I’ll just take my leave.”

  “I don’t know what’s goin’ on between you and your mama, but she seems like a nice lady,” he felt the need to add. I waited until I reached the door before I turned to him once again and attempted to paste a smile on my face.

  “Well, running a pawn shop like you do, I’m sure you know that appearances are sometimes deceiving,” I offered, making the bells jingle as I stepped outside.

  -§-

  Sitting in my den, I stared at my dad’s book and pondered my visit to the pawn shop. Jerry had been as clueless as me, so he wasn’t a whole lot of help, but I had established that Rita was masquerading as a down-on-her-luck southern belle. If that wasn’t enough to confuse a person, I didn’t know what was.

  Trying to shake myself free of the unwanted intrusion of Rita into my life, I opened the book and tried to immerse myself in Etta’s story once again.

  The day began in a way that would not be described as memorable. Mama handed Etta her lunch pail, kissed her on the head, and scooted her toward the door. As usual, Etta stood silently waiting for Freddie, who was relentless in his determination to completely exhaust Mama into allowing him to stay home from school for just one precious day. Like every other morning before it, however, Mama was having no part of Freddie’s nonsense.

  “Take your hat, Etta,” Mama instructed as she grappled for Freddie, who appeared out of nowhere and bolted around the corner. “It looks like rain.”

  Freddie peeked around the corner and snorted, and Mama shook her head with exasperation before heading after him. Each morning was a virtual repeat of the one before – Freddie running and giggling, Mama chasing Freddie, and Etta waiting patiently by the door. She was never pleased by Freddie’s games, either. It was improper to be tardy, Mama always said, and Etta saw a great importance in being punctual, in spite of Freddie’s amusements.

  “Come now, Freddie, or we will both be late for school,” Etta pleaded.

  “You will be late!” Freddie called, grabbing his pail from the table and dashing out the door. “I run faster than you!”

  “Your hat, Freddie!” Mama scolded, arriving at the door slightly out of breath. She held Freddie’s cap aloft for a moment, shaking it in the air, and then dropped her arm to her side as his figure disappeared at the end of the street.

  “I will take the hat, Mama,” Etta stated. “Boys will be boys.” That was the phrase Mama often used when Freddie was rambunctious, and Etta had started using it recently as well. Mama smiled wearily and handed the hat to Etta, placing the back of her hand against her forehead to brush back a stray h
air.

  “So true, my Etta,” she said. “Now hurry along so you’re not late.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Etta replied, pushing open the door and heading down the steps. She had looked forward to going to school until recently, when tensions around the neighborhood had escalated to a frightening level. Many of the people who did not know her smiled as she passed them along the way, but the children at school knew who she was, and they showed her no mercy. In fact, they were cruel in a way that only children know how to be cruel, showing no restraint while brazenly repeating what their parents had breathed in whispers in the solitary confines of their own homes. Once Etta had dared repeat the comments to Mama, who only told her she had to be strong and never repeat those words to Papa. That turned out to be an easy request, as Etta would never have dared to utter those words in front of her father.

  She arrived at school just in time, taking note that Freddie was already in his seat, cheeks slightly pink and hair tousled by the wind. He did run faster, although Etta was not one for running. She thought it best to remain calm and collected at all costs, and she kept this mindset as she entered the classroom that morning, steadily gliding up the aisle and making an effort not to glance in the direction of the older boys in the back who were the most adept at causing trouble. One of them mumbled something under his breath, which sent the others into fits of laughter, but she did not hear what was said, so she told herself that they were not laughing at her. Never mind what she really believed.

  Mr. Evans did not take his place at the front of the room. In fact, he was nowhere to be found, and after a few moments, someone arrived to say that there would be no school that day. Mr. Evans had taken ill and was advised to remain at home until he was well.

  So Freddie got his way after all, even though Etta felt quite certain that he would not go straight home. Some of the other children would no doubt begin a game of some sort, and Freddie would fall in with them. She gave him his hat with strict instructions not to lose it, and he responded by sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes. Boys will be boys, Etta thought to herself, although she firmly believed that Freddie was a little more ornery than most boys his age.

  The rain had barely begun to come down in sprinkles and splatters when Etta hastily began the walk home, slipping into doorways and looking back from time to time to be certain she was not being followed. In weeks past she would have kept her chin up and walked calmly home, demonstrating a great deal more bravery than she felt. One or two of the older boys would have inevitably followed her, staying a few paces behind, taunting and spitting out names that she did not want to remember but could not forget. None of the things they said were true, with the exception of whom her Papa was, which could not faze Etta in the least. Papa was a good man; she would not trouble herself over boys who were too ignorant to see that.

  “If I do not acknowledge them, then I win,” she thought, but that was before she had been pelted with the rock.

  That was before she had seen Mama turn white at the news.

  That was before she had seen the fire blazing in Papa’s eyes.

  Maybe she did appear too proud. “What you got to be proud about, anyhow?” one of the younger boys had dared to ask her one day, to which she did not respond. She never intended to appear prideful, but only to seem invulnerable and unaffected, although she had not completely mastered the art of that guise. She felt a bit silly most days, walking about like the Queen of England being chased by peasants hurling rotten fruit, but she knew of nothing else to do. Any other course of action always resulted in a confrontation in her mind, and she wanted nothing of the sort.

  She was alone on her walk today, though, so she could concentrate on hiding from the raindrops rather than would-be assailants. Maybe she would help Mama with some baking, or just settle down with a good book, watching the rain make puddles in the dirt outside the window. Perhaps Mama would let her come along on a visit to one of the ladies in the neighborhood. She was practically grown now, being all of ten years old, and felt fairly certain she could participate in an adult conversation, although she knew Mama would not approve.

  As she rounded the corner of her own block, the rain began to pour down more steadily, and she scurried toward the front steps, carelessly stomping through a muddy puddle in the process. She paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, contemplating a way to remove the mud from her shoe, but soon decided it was a losing battle. Instead, she opened the door only enough to sit down by the stairs, daintily untying the laces. What would Mama say if she tracked mud through the house, after all? That would not be a pleasant start to the unexpected holiday.

  “Mama!” she called into the kitchen, placing her muddy shoes as close to the door as possible. “We have no school today. Mama?”

  Etta glanced around for a moment, noticing that her mother’s coat was gone. She must have gone to the market, or to a neighbor’s house. She had forgotten her hat, which Etta found amusing since Mama had been so adamant about Freddie taking his just a short time ago. She clearly must have left before it started raining, or it would not have been so easy to leave the hat behind.

  Heading to the bedroom for a blanket to warm her feet and a book to read, something caught Etta’s eye just outside the back door. What at first appeared to be only a dark shadow caused her to start, and her heart to beat a little faster with trepidation. She slowly turned back toward the door and leaned forward ever so gingerly, so only one eye could scan the yard for movement. She realized with a wave of relief that it was Papa, but a new feeling of uneasiness came over her at that revelation.

  She had never seen her father in such a position, one knee planted in the mud and one hand gripping the earth. His head was rested on his other knee, while the free hand clutched the back of his neck. His gray coat looked black from the weight of the rain, and water was dripping from below his pocket. Every brown hair on his head was matted down, and a tiny river of mud emerged from below the hand on his neck, disappearing under his collar. For a moment Etta feared that he was sick, but she did not throw the door open and go careening down the steps to his aid. Instead, she cautiously turned the knob, unsure of what was causing such an apprehensive feeling in the pit of her stomach. She should run to Papa, she told herself. She should run now, but she remained planted in the doorway like a statue.

  She would not likely have remembered that it was raining that day, or that Mr. Evans had taken ill, or that there was no school. She would not have remembered the mud on her boots or that Mama had forgotten her hat. She would not have recalled the sound of rain hitting tin in the distance, or the smell of baked goods mixed with chimney smoke coming from the other homes in the neighborhood.

  It would have been an ordinary day just like any other, the kind that come and go and are never thought of again, and Etta would not have recalled a single solitary detail, had it not been for those few unmoving seconds in that doorway listening to the haunting sound of her father weeping.

  -§-

  Finding myself deeply invested in Etta’s thoughts, I didn’t hear Cole come in the front door, and when I heard his voice behind me, I jumped about a foot.

  “What, no dinner tonight?” he teased. “I’m slightly relieved. I was afraid you were trying to poison me.”

  “Very funny,” I threw at him, shaking my head. “How was your day?”

  “Long,” he admitted, crossing the room and leaning down to kiss me. “Did you get a lot of research done?”

  “Sure, you know,” I shrugged, but immediately felt guilty. “Not really.”

  “I thought you were going to the library,” he said, almost sitting next to me. When he remembered he was covered in dirt from the construction site, he rose back to a standing position.

  “Oh, I did,” I told him.

  “So you and Lily goofed around instead?” he asked with a laugh, and I smiled over at him.

  “No, can you honestly imagine me goofing around?” I teased, readying myself for a lecture. “Actu
ally, I went to the pawn shop.” The dirt on his clothes was forgotten as he lowered himself next to me.

  “Why did you do that?” he wondered, smile leaving his face.

  “You know why,” I stated simply, and he sighed loudly beside me.

  “Camdyn Taylor!” he exhaled, shaking his head at the ceiling while I sat a little straighter and regarded him with wide eyes.

  “Camdyn Parker,” I corrected. “I do one little thing you don’t like, and suddenly we’re not married anymore.”

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he breathed, letting out an exasperated chuckle. “I’m accustomed to Camdyn Taylor doing crazy things – Camdyn Parker, not so much yet.”

  “Well, you might as well get used to it if you plan on keeping me around,” I suggested. “I really am a horrible wife, though, aren’t I? I didn’t even attempt to make you dinner.”

  “Maybe that’s a blessing in disguise,” he offered slyly. “Come on – I’ll get cleaned up and then make us some dinner, and you can do what you do best.”

  “Which is?”

  “Staring at me,” he suggested, and I let my shoulders sag.

  “Wow, I am truly pathetic,” I pouted, but when he offered up one of his enchanting smiles, it was too impossible not to laugh.

  Chapter Four

  Naturally, the next morning, Cole refused to leave until I promised not to return to the pawn shop. For a moment I considered doing so with my fingers crossed behind my back, but that seemed pretty childish, and I really didn’t relish the idea of lying to my husband anyway. He had been truly fantastic since I moved in, putting up with my lack of cooking ability and pretending that it didn’t bother him. Besides, he looked so handsome standing there by the doorway staring me down that I didn’t want to take a chance at ending our blissful honeymoon hangover, so I simply nodded in agreement that I would not set foot in the pawn shop.