A Reason to Forget (The Camdyn Series Book 3)

by Christina Coryell

  “Camdyn, you’re like a breath of fresh air,” she laughed. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like around here when you were having one of your dramatic moments. You know that she’s not worth your time.”

  “Yes!” I exclaimed. “I do know that, mentally, but emotionally I can’t control myself.” That started her laughing again, and I just sighed loudly.

  “You do beat all,” she said. “How about a cooking lesson to take your mind off things?” I studied her for a minute, her hair pulled into a short braid and an apron covering her clothes, and already I felt somewhat better.

  “Maybe you can just make a pie, and I can take it home and pretend that I made it?” I offered. Chuckling, she took my arm and led me into the kitchen.

  -§-

  By the time I returned to my own house, I felt almost back to normal. Spending time with Rosalie had been just what I needed, and she had graciously sent me home with a pie and some meatloaf, so I had dinner covered. After setting the table and laying the food out, I pondered the fact that I had let yet another day pass without doing any research on my book, and I knew that I was being irrational. That day would be the end of it, though – beginning the next morning, I would be all business, and that research would be done in record time.

  Watching Cole’s truck creep up the driveway, I took a deep breath and forced a smile onto my face. When he walked in the door, he hardly seemed to notice. He told me he wanted to take a shower, and he was upstairs before I could say two words to him. Feeling a little disappointed at his greeting, I sat at the dining room table and waited for him to come down.

  Nearly fifteen minutes passed before he finally joined me at the table. He didn’t bother mentioning the fact that I had dinner waiting, but simply sat as though it was perfectly normal. When I asked him how his day went, he responded with a curt “fine” before he took a helping of meatloaf. It seemed that something was going on that was beyond my control, but having no idea what it was, I remained silent. He took a couple bites of his meatloaf before he looked over at me with a slight smirk.

  “Aunt Rosalie make this?” he wondered.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “It’s edible,” he stated simply. Normally I would have made a sarcastic comment, but his strange mood was making me feel a little out of sorts. Forcing myself to take a bite from my own plate, I let my eyes drift over to his face. Missing his beautiful smile and those eyes regarding me fondly, I started to feel a little emotional once again. Quickly telling myself not to be childish, I forced a deep breath and tried to keep a positive attitude.

  “You know,” he finally said, “I felt like I was hard on you about the pawn shop business, and I started to feel bad about it. So, I went in there today.”

  “The pawn shop?” I questioned rather breathlessly.

  “Yep,” he acknowledged. “I thought I’d see if I could find anything out for you, since I could tell it was bothering you so much.”

  “That was nice,” I whispered. His eyes darted to mine, and I absolutely felt like he was laying a trap.

  “As it turns out, Jerry sort of likes you, and I suppose that’s a good thing,” he breathed angrily. “I thought once you decided that you weren’t going to be randomly disappearing that the worst of my concerns was put to rest. I didn’t know that we needed to discuss the basic avoidance of felonies.”

  “Cole,” I choked, but he just glared over at me.

  “What is wrong with you?” he asked, shoving his plate back. “Do you have any idea how horribly your little stunt today could have ended up? What if Jerry had shot first and asked questions later?”

  “I didn’t intend to…”

  “Of course you didn’t intend to do anything,” he slung at me. “You never do, right? You just don’t think!”

  He performed that familiar gesture of running his hand back through his thick black hair, like he always did when he was nervous or angry, and I couldn’t do anything but sit there with wide eyes. The meatloaf was not settling well, and I started to feel slightly sick.

  “Do you need help?” he finally questioned me quietly. “Whatever you need, let’s take care of it, okay? A psychiatrist? Counseling?”

  “You think I’m a mental patient,” I deducted, feeling a tear slide down my cheek.

  “No, Camdyn, I don’t think you’re a mental patient,” he argued gently, reaching out to wipe the tear away. “Can you imagine how I felt when Jerry told me what happened today?”

  “Angry,” I whispered.

  “No,” he disputed, “I felt helpless. I don’t know what to do for you.”

  “Nothing,” I assured him quietly. “I know I’ve been acting crazy, but that’s over, I promise you. I can’t care about why she’s here anymore.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” he asked.

  “I refuse,” I stated simply.

  Without saying a word, he knelt down beside me, and I stared at him with wide eyes. Taking my face between his hands, he pulled me into him, kissing me deeply. He slowly moved me forward out of the chair until eventually I was in front of him, both of us on our knees next to the dining room table. Instead of leaning away from me after the kiss, he folded me into his arms, holding me tightly.

  “Just remember that I’m here, okay?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “I’m always here if you need someone, but I’m talking about more than that. Your actions affect me, Cam, because you mean so much to me. You get that, don’t you?”

  Unable to speak because of the emotion welling up inside me, I merely nodded.

  “I’m asking you to be strong for me, because I need you,” he whispered. “My heart belongs to you. You have to be more careful.” I nodded, crying, and he simply held me there on the dining room floor. After a minute, I managed to feel in control of my emotions enough to try to speak.

  “Please don’t give up on me,” I implored. He sighed loudly and kissed me on the cheek, sinking his hands into my hair and forcing me to look into his eyes.

  “Don’t ever think that,” he stated simply. “I’m in this for the long haul, Mrs. Parker. For better or for worse; for crazy…or preferably not crazy.”

  “I love you, Cole,” I told him. “I will try not to be crazy.”

  “A little crazy is okay,” he added. “That’s what made me fall in love with you, after all.” With that statement, I was able to laugh at myself for a second.

  “I still managed to ruin your meatloaf, even if it wasn’t through the cooking.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured me. “I’m still starving.”

  “There’s also pie,” I offered, and he laughed.

  “See? The night’s already looking up.”

  Chapter Five

  Cole’s reluctance to leave the house the next morning was impressive, and rather than promising him that I wouldn’t visit distinct business establishments, I instead promised him that I would not leave the house at all. That seemed to make him feel a little better, and since I was determined to get some research finished, it wasn’t a difficult promise to make. I hoped it wouldn’t be difficult to keep.

  The instant he left, I plopped down on the couch in the living room and opened A Different Kind of Rain, reading some more of Etta’s story.

  Dinner that evening was a strange affair, not because anyone was acting in any way to imply anything was amiss, but because Etta knew what she had seen that afternoon. Unable to forget the sight or sound of her father crying, she held the secret deep inside, afraid to hurt or embarrass him. She still could find no reason for her father’s emotion, and the fact that her parents were behaving as though nothing was wrong left her slightly confused and almost betrayed. She was ten years old, so naturally she felt she deserved to know the truth.

  “Who did you visit today?” Papa questioned Mama amiably, smiling slightly under his mustache.

  “Mrs. Strauss,” Mama answered simply, passing a bowl to her left. “She had a letter from her daughter in Michigan, and I helped he
r translate a couple of the words.”

  “I want you speaking German with no one,” Papa instructed her, suddenly becoming very serious. Etta looked at Mama quickly to gauge her reaction, but saw none on her face.

  “It was only Mrs. Strauss,” she replied, looking down at her plate to reiterate the unimportance of such a conversation.

  “No one,” Papa repeated, staring at her across the table, “not even Mrs. Strauss.”

  Etta understood a little about Papa’s reluctance to have Mama speak the language of the old country, because she knew from school that many states had passed laws against the use of the German language. In her own city, she had seen German Street become English Street, Berlin Street become Woodrow Street, and Vienna Street become Panama Street, among many others. In school just the day before, Mr. Evans had lectured about how the United States should only recognize one language, and that was English. Even though he had not looked directly at her, she felt as though she was being singled out.

  For several years there had been a great campaign against what was termed “hyphenism,” and she had heard about that at school, too. Mr. Evans quoted something by Theodore Roosevelt, indicating that some citizens felt they needed hyphens in their name because only part of them came over to America. He also mentioned something President Wilson said after the sinking of the Lusitania, about how one could not be an American if they thought of themselves as belonging to a particular national group. Even though Etta had never thought of herself as a German-American, she knew others thought that of her family.

  Quite the opposite was actually true - her father had been so worried about them not being accepted as loyal citizens that he forced every member of the family to change their names. Thus, the Rosenstein surname had been shortened to Rose, and Henrietta Rosenstein was now known to her classmates and neighbors as Etta Rose. It had been too late for that, however, because the children in the neighborhood already knew her, and they did not like the fact that her name had been Americanized. That was when the comments about her thinking she was important had begun, and she wondered if that was when Papa’s troubles started, too.

  Shortly after they changed their names, Etta and Freddie came home from school one day to the sight of a large swath of yellow paint across their front door. They stood there for a moment on the stoop transfixed and wondering what had transpired, when Etta heard a passerby behind her whisper the word “Hun” to a companion. She knew what happened to those individuals people called “Huns” – she had seen a couple of them paraded down the street being forced to pledge allegiance and sing the national anthem. When she learned later that the yellow paint was a way of singling them out, she was naturally a little afraid.

  Had the people who were accusing them of being anti-American taken the time to get to know them, she felt certain they would have a different opinion. Two of Etta’s cousins were fighting in the war against the Germans at that very moment, and they were very much Americans. Etta had not seen any major violence firsthand, but she had read about a lynching in the paper. Though those things didn’t seem to be happening outside her door, there was always an underlying fear that something could happen, and that an approving or indifferent general public would simply turn a blind eye.

  That day was different, though, because she knew something had happened. Whatever had transpired that morning while Papa was at work, it had to have been dreadful. She knew how careful Papa was, and that he had not joined any of the German-American societies and did not find himself reading any of the German-American newspapers. They did attend what was considered by some to be a German-American church, but that was out of necessity due to the close proximity and not having another suitable option. Papa had even been adamant about Etta and Freddie not attending a German-American school, instead wanting them to blend with their peers in true melting pot fashion.

  Papa’s insistence about their schooling had not done anything to protect Etta and Freddie, but they seldom mentioned the torment they received. Freddie especially had learned to brush it off, which Etta understood to some extent, since Freddie was two years younger and was not as frequently targeted. No, the impression she gave off that she was proud was her undoing, and it led to many harsh words at her expense. If she had any real friends, she might have been able to persuade the others of their unjust treatment, but she was very much alone.

  That night while lying in bed, Etta kept replaying the events of the day in her mind. Too worried about Papa to sleep, she stared out of the small rain-spattered window in the tiny bedroom that she shared with Freddie and wished she could find a way to change the world. If not the entire world, at least her small corner. It was there, pondering the fate of mankind, that she overheard Mama and Papa in the sitting room, discussing the cause of Papa’s consternation.

  Some of the patrons of Papa’s place of employment had discovered his heritage, and they started complaining. His employer had ignored them at first, but as they became more adamant, many of the customers threatened to take their business elsewhere. Afraid that his business would suffer, Papa’s employer had reluctantly informed him that morning that he could no longer remain in his employ. With a sum in his hand to cover two weeks of expenses, Papa was released and sent home, where Etta had found him.

  Armed with this new information, Etta would awake to face the next morning not only afraid of her usual tormenters, but also terrified about the future. How would they ever survive?

  I lowered the book to my lap, taking a deep breath. Whatever I was going through with Rita, it was nothing compared to what Etta had endured. If she could overcome and make her way to the end of the book, surely I could see myself to the end of one day without becoming a basket case.

  Ready to do some serious note-taking, I popped off the couch to retrieve my laptop from the den, sending my dad’s book flying until it landed with an awkward thud on the floor, half open. Picking it up to inspect the damage, I instantly noticed that the dust jacket hadn’t budged, as though it was glued to the book. Inspecting it thoroughly, I found a little corner in the back that had pulled up slightly, and underneath I saw a little flash of white. Carefully peeling the dust jacket back, I realized the white was actually an envelope. Feeling like I had discovered a treasure, I retrieved a knife from the kitchen so I could further pry loose that covering without harming the book.

  The envelope itself wasn’t glued nearly as securely, and I was able to easily retrieve it from the inside cover of the book. Flipping it over, I inspected the return address – Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. No name, just the address itself, which was intriguing. The recipient’s address was just as strange – it was simply addressed to “D” with a St. Louis address. D for David, my father, was my natural presumption. Wondering about the contents of the envelope, I flipped the flap upwards and peered inside, pulling out a sheet of blue-lined yellow paper.

  DD,

  Please don’t stay away.

  I miss you.

  She will forgive you.

  Come home.

  Migsy

  Plunking myself back down on the couch, I was in immediate possession of two trains of thought: First of all, I suddenly had a new mystery to investigate. Secondly, I was extremely perturbed at myself for promising Cole that I wouldn’t leave the house.

  DD, or Dear David, I presumed – that much was easy enough to figure out. Come home, though, to Philadelphia? That made no sense. My father had never lived anywhere other than St. Louis, as far as I knew. Who was the “she” who would forgive him? And most importantly, who exactly was this Migsy person?

  That letter was unbelievably perplexing.

  -§-

  When Cole came home that night, I didn’t have time to tell him about the letter I discovered, because his parents were expecting us for dinner. Instead, I simply waited for him to clean up, and when he came down the stairs, he was wearing a big smile on his face.

  “You really stayed here all day, didn’t you?” he wanted to know. Sitting up a l
ittle straighter, I gave him a slight glare as though I was annoyed that he hadn’t trusted me.

  “Of course I did,” I told him. “I am a woman of my word.”

  “Do we have to go to Mom and Dad’s?” he asked, sitting next to me. “We could just have a quiet night, you and me.”

  “Quiet night,” I repeated sarcastically. “You have a baseball game to coach tonight, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he sighed, “I almost forgot. Team pictures tonight, too, so my absence might be noticed more than usual.”

  “The day that the baseball moms have been dreaming of all season,” I joked. “Now they can stare at you at home, too.”

  “Why did you have to say that?” he laughed. “Now I’m going to dread it even more. Come on, we better get going, or I’ll be late for everything.”

  “I’m not sure I should go with you,” I stated, remaining seated on the couch. “I did promise you that I wouldn’t leave the house today.”

  “I should have specified without me,” he said with a smile. “Cam, sweetheart, will you please accompany me to my parents’ house? And to my ballgame?”

  “I would love to,” I assured him, standing up and taking his hand. He brought my knuckles to his lips and kissed them, and then he pulled me towards the door. It only took a moment to drive next door to Cole’s parents’ house, but I still caught myself staring at him on the way over. Naturally he noticed, but he only smiled at me in response, squeezing my hand a little tighter. When we pulled into Ted and Liz’s driveway, he turned off the truck engine and leaned across the seat toward me.

  “Are you trying to kiss me?” I whispered mischievously, causing him to laugh.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, pulling me against him. Following him out of the truck, I felt a little breathless.

  Wow, I love my husband. My husband. Still surreal.