“I’ve never heard of anyone with that name,” the stranger told me. Looking at her beautiful high cheekbones and unmoving features, I suddenly wished Cole hadn’t left me alone.
“Maybe if I showed you the letter,” I offered, pulling out my dad’s book and sliding the letter from within its pages, holding it out to her.
“Wow, that is in pristine condition,” she stated, looking intently at my hands. I flipped the letter over, surveying it carefully, and I surmised that it was indeed in fairly good shape.
“Yeah, do you want to see it?” I asked, stretching it out to her again.
“That’s what you’re researching?” she wanted to know, pointing to the book under my arm. Instinctively I displayed it so she could see the cover.
“Yes, I’m researching A Different Kind of Rain,” I confirmed, and she suddenly seemed very interested. “You’re familiar with this book?”
“I guess I should be,” she said with a chuckle. “My grandmother wrote it.”
Hold the phone…
“This book?” I clarified, staring at her intently and waiting for her to change her answer.
“Yes, but…” she started, looking guiltily behind her into the house. “I suppose I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Do you think she would talk to me?” I asked eagerly, watching the hesitation cross her face.
“She’s not with us anymore,” she stated simply, not in a particularly sad or emotional way, but just the way a person states a random fact. It’s not raining today. The sky is blue. Grandmother isn’t with us anymore.
“Oh,” I stammered, “I’m so sorry. I don’t suppose you would be willing to talk to me about the book?”
“I really wouldn’t feel comfortable,” she told me quietly.
Great. First she has no idea who Migsy is, and then she throws this bombshell at me that her grandmother wrote the book, and now she won’t tell me anything. Fantastic!
“Did you walk here?” she suddenly wanted to know, peeking around my shoulder to look for a strange vehicle.
“My husband dropped me off,” I informed her. “We’re here from Tennessee.”
“You came all the way from Tennessee to research the book?” she questioned, making me feel slightly like a lunatic. I nodded, and she glanced behind her into the house again. “Well, I feel badly for you coming all that way. Maybe Grandpa would have some information for you. Just let me see if he’s up to it, okay?” She closed the door in my face, and I stood there on the porch alone for what felt like five minutes. My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I answered Cole’s text by telling him everything was okay, and I would be calling him soon. When she finally returned, she pushed open the door and motioned for me to come inside.
Leading me through the house, we passed the living room and the kitchen, went down a short hallway, and eventually ended up in a sitting room at the back of the home. The first thing I noticed were the windows along the back wall, which were large and let in a lot of sun. As I turned my head, I took in the elderly man sitting in a wine-colored recliner, wearing a light tan sweater with a handkerchief in the pocket, his white hair combed neatly into place. He certainly looked like the perfect image of a grandpa from one of those old 1940’s paintings, and as he noticed me and looked up, I smiled. To my surprise, he didn’t return my greeting. Instead, his face contorted, he held his hand up as though he was beckoning to me, and I stood frozen in place.
“Angel?” he muttered with a lot of emotion, and then, much to my horror, he started to cry. I instinctively put my hand up to my mouth, wishing there was something I could do. Obviously he wasn’t up to having a visit today, as his granddaughter had suggested, but I wasn’t sure how to leave the room at that point without being rude. So, I stood there watching in silence, my own eyes filled with sympathetic tears, as he pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket and held it against his eyes.
“Maybe I should go,” I whispered to the granddaughter, but she seemed as confused by his reaction as I was. Moving toward him, she placed her hand on his back and knelt beside him, whispering something in his ear.
“No, no, I’m fine,” he choked out, struggling to regain his composure. Pushing against the arm of the chair, he rose to his feet, wiping his face and walking in my direction. We were roughly the same height, the grandpa and me, although the stoop of his back indicated that he had been taller at some point. He made a great gesture out of shaking my hand, and then he returned to his recliner and pointed at the chair across from him. Reluctantly, I settled myself gingerly onto the chair, feeling like I should leave.
“I apologize, young lady,” the man told me. “You look so much like someone I knew, once…”
“Angel?” I asked quietly, and he nodded with a sad smile.
“Yes, my angel,” he admitted. “I’m sure I scared you just now, but don’t let the crazy old man frighten you away.”
“You haven’t frightened me,” I assured him, “as long as you’re sure you’re okay.”
“Yes, yes, wonderful,” he insisted, giving me a wink for reassurance. “Hannah said you have a book there that you wanted to talk about.”
“Hannah,” I acknowledged, looking over at the granddaughter, who gave me a worried smile. “Yes, she thought you might be able to tell me something about this.” I held the book out to him, and he took it between his hands, gazing down at it.
“I’m not sure I know much about it, other than what’s already in here,” he stated wistfully. “What is it you want to know?”
“Your wife wrote it?” I asked pointedly, and he furrowed his brow slightly.
“Yes, she did,” he acknowledged. “She started working on it after the kids were off to school, because she felt like the story needed to be told. Her mother helped her.”
“So, helped her as in they co-wrote the book?” I wondered, causing him to twist his mouth to the side.
“I don’t know how you’d categorize it,” he stated. “My wife wrote everything down, her mother just provided details and such.”
Wow, this is so unbelievable. I did not expect this when I knocked on that door!
“So, your wife’s mother must have been a student of history, to help her paint such a vivid picture,” I suggested, and at that he chuckled.
“No, she just had a good memory, and she liked to talk,” he told me. “Those stories in the book are about her family.”
Speechless. I am seriously rendered speechless.
“Can I get you anything, Grandpa?” Hannah asked then, causing both of us to glance over at her. It didn’t dawn on me until later that she hadn’t asked if I wanted anything, because I was so wrapped up in my new information.
“No, no, I’m alright,” the grandpa stated.
“You’re telling me that Etta from this book was your mother-in-law?” I interjected, unable to concentrate on Hannah.
“Yes, young lady, that is precisely what I’m telling you,” he stated. “Those things in the past affected her greatly, but her father didn’t ever want her telling the stories, so she waited until after her mother and father passed before she helped my wife write the book.”
“This is so fascinating,” I whispered, and he chuckled. “I’m sorry, I’m in such a state, I didn’t even bother to ask for your name.”
“It’s Charles,” he told me very formally, “but you can call me Charlie. Charlie Camden.”
The letter slid out of my lap and landed on the floor at the same time there was a knock on the door, and Hannah left the two of us alone staring at each other, me with eyes as wide as saucers. Emotion was rising up in me and I fought to hold it down, because it seemed a little too out there. How was it that I, Camdyn Parker, had wound up with this cryptic letter that led me to this address, where I would discover that the anonymous author who wrote the book I was researching was in fact Mrs. Camden? It was just too strange to ponder. And her husband being named Charlie, just like my brother? The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to burst int
o tears.
“Grandpa?” Hannah called from the front of the house. “Aunt Meg is here!” Charlie didn’t answer her, but stared across at me, sensing that something was circulating in my mind.
“Well, now you know my name, but I don’t know yours,” he said gently. Swallowing hard, I fought to force the words out.
“Camdyn Parker,” I told him, feeling a tear find its way down my cheek. I sensed the presence of Hannah and her aunt before I saw them next to me, and I hastily brushed at my cheek to hide the evidence, desperately wanting to keep my emotions in check. I was being a bit cryptically awkward, after all.
“My word,” the new visitor said, causing me to look directly at her face. “I feel as though I’ve seen a ghost.” Determining that her face probably wasn’t usually quite as white, she seemed as upset by my presence as Charlie had been.
“Spitting image, isn’t she?” Charlie asked, and Meg simply nodded. She walked over to where I sat and lowered herself in a chair very close to me, never taking her eyes from my face.
“It’s almost uncanny,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it.”
“What made you stop by?” Charlie wanted to know, causing Meg to finally peel her eyes from me. I used that time to study her, noting that the name Meg fit her well, because she looked a little bit like Meg Ryan, with that short curly blonde hair.
“Hannah called and told me that you had a visitor asking questions, and she wanted me to pop over,” she stated. “What are you asking questions about, anyway…? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” Readying myself to answer her, I stopped before I had the words out, because Charlie answered for me.
“Her name is Camdyn,” he said, causing Meg to allow a confused expression to cross her features. “She’s researching your mother’s book.”
“Mother’s book?” she questioned sharply, giving me a keen glare. “How did you know to come here? I can’t believe anyone’s still interested in that old book, anyway.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling shell-shocked. “It’s all a little strange. I had no idea about the book, I just had this letter, and things kind of fell into place.” Bending down, I retrieved the letter from the floor, showing it to Meg. When she took it from my hands, a pained look crossed her face, and she turned to me again with eyes full of tears.
“Where did you get this?” she wanted to know. Biting my lip, I fought the tears that threatened to fill my own eyes again.
“It was glued in the book,” I answered simply. “It used to be my dad’s.”
“That was DD’s book,” she said, tears spilling over. “I gave it to my sister years ago with this letter – my sister who happened to look exactly like you.”
Chapter Seven
“You’re telling me that you wrote this letter?” I asked Meg, struggling to keep my emotions in check at the sight of her tears. “You’re Migsy?”
“Yeah, that was just a little nickname between us,” Meg explained. “I was Migsy, and she was DD.”
“Your sister?” I clarified.
“Yes, Darlene, who must be your mother,” Meg stated with certainty, but I fervently shook my head.
“No, my mother’s name is Rita, and she doesn’t have any family,” I insisted. “If I look like your sister, it’s just a crazy coincidence.”
Except I don’t believe in coincidence anymore, do I?
“Darlene went to stay with our aunt in St. Louis, and then she disappeared,” Meg told me. “She could have changed her name so no one found her.”
“Darlene Camden?” I said aloud, somewhat bewildered.
“Camden, just like you,” Charlie stated. At his interruption, I fully put two and two together – at least, the most logical two and two I could imagine at that particular moment.
“My brother’s name is Charlie,” I whispered, beginning to cry. “This is bizarre, isn’t it? Rita and Darlene could be the same person.”
“This is good news, isn’t it Dad?” Meg laughed, looking at me again with wonder. “We thought Darlene might be dead. We looked for her for so long, but we finally had to give up.”
What a strange turn of events. These people might have been looking for Rita the whole time I’ve been avoiding her.
About the time I started to consider hyperventilating, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up to see Cole standing over me, Hannah right behind him.
“You didn’t answer the phone,” he explained, glancing around at the others protectively. Apparently convinced that none of them looked too threatening, he gave me a very puzzled look and implied a million questions with his intense stare.
“This is my husband, Cole,” I managed to say, standing while I introduced him. “And this is Charlie Camden.”
“Charlie Camden?” he repeated skeptically, but the look I gave him must have convinced him that it was true.
“I know, it’s crazy, isn’t it?” I laughed, gazing into his brown eyes. “He might be my…”
This can’t be true, can it? It seems impossible.
“He’s her grandfather,” Meg finished, “and I’m her aunt Megan. That’s her cousin, Hannah.”
“Wha…” Cole began, but then he just stared blankly into my face. “I don’t understand.” By this time, Cole’s presence and the introductions had calmed my emotions enough that I felt like I could give him the details.
“The letter to DD wasn’t to my dad,” I explained. “It was to Meg’s sister, Darlene - Darlene Camden, who happens to have been the spitting image of me, and who disappeared while she was in St. Louis.”
“This is crazy,” Cole surmised, sinking down into a chair next to me, but reaching over to take my hand, entwining his fingers through mine and grasping my fingers tightly.
“Something must have happened, don’t you see?” Meg stated cheerily, turning her wide eyes to her father. “She forgot who she was, somehow? Maybe had amnesia? Obviously she made a new family.”
Cole and I instantly looked at one another, exchanging a glance that we both understood intrinsically, and I bit my lip as I returned my eyes to Meg. Immediately her eyes darkened a touch, and she looked downcast.
“You don’t think that’s the case?” she suggested sadly, her eyes begging me to agree with her conclusion. I would have liked to, for her sake, but I just couldn’t.
“If Rita is Darlene, which for the sake of argument I will keep assuming,” I started, “then her disappearance just sounds like the beginning of a whole lifetime of abandonments. You had her a lot longer than I did, though – she skipped town on me when I was four.”
“Darlene wouldn’t do that,” Meg insisted. “There must be some other explanation.”
“This is all just fascinating,” Hannah interrupted then, “but I don’t think so much excitement is a good idea. Maybe we can just take a break for a while?”
I knew she was talking about Charlie, so I looked over at him, but he only offered me a sad smile, as though Hannah ruled the roost and he was in her care. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I took that as a cue and rose from my chair, pulling Cole up beside me.
“Hannah’s right,” I said reluctantly. “This is definitely a lot to take in, so maybe we should let you take a breather.”
“You will come over to my house for dinner tonight, won’t you?” Meg pleaded. “There are so many things I want to ask you.” Glancing at Cole, who gave me a shrug and a sideways smile, I figured it couldn’t hurt. She found a piece of paper and scribbled her address on it, handing it to me and standing there awkwardly like she wanted to hug me. It was strange, though, so I backed away a little, told her I would see her that night, and walked toward the front door. Hannah followed one step behind me, and as I stepped out onto the porch with Cole, she stood in the doorway.
“Funny to think we might be related, isn’t it?” I asked, trying to make small talk. She let out a sigh, and then began to let the door close.
“We’re not related,” she assured me. “I’m adopted.”
> With that, she closed the door in my face.
-§-
“What just happened?” Cole wondered, turning me to face him. Shrugging my shoulders, I stared up at him in silence. “I drop you off expecting you to be five minutes and ask me to come back because you hit a dead end, and instead I have to hunt you down because you’re having a tea party with a couple of people who think they’re your long-lost relatives.”
“You don’t believe them?” I wondered, glancing back at the house.
“Come on, Camdyn, even you have to admit how crazy that sounds,” he implored. “You just showed up on their doorstep out of the blue and drudged up some old memories or something.”
“With the letter that was glued in my dad’s book?” I continued. He shook his head and motioned to the rental car in the street. I followed him until he opened the passenger door for me, pulling me into a quick hug before I slid into my seat.
Of course he’s right – it is too weird to be true. Isn’t it?
“So you don’t think Rita could have been Darlene?” I picked back up when he opened the driver’s side door, and he chuckled before he smiled at my insistence.
“I guess anything is possible, but do you have any reason to believe that it’s true?” he wondered, starting up the engine. “What did Rita tell you about her family?”
“Nothing,” I admitted. “My grandma told me that Rita didn’t have any family – at least that’s what she told her. There were never any relatives around that I remembered.”
“So what was the deal with the letter?” he wanted to know, gesturing to the book and letter that now sat on my lap near the seatbelt.
“Meg said she wrote it,” I repeated, “and that it was to her sister, Darlene. Apparently her nickname for her sister was DD. That’s really all she said, other than the fact that Darlene looked just like me.”
“Yeah, but that might not necessarily be relevant,” he stated.
A Reason to Forget (The Camdyn Series Book 3) Page 8
