“I wouldn’t hurt you,” she continued, squeezing me tighter. “Trust me.”
“I know,” I insisted, pulling back and smiling at her. “And I do trust you.”
“Good, because I have been tempted to send that worthless houseguest packing,” she remarked quietly, chuckling at me as she rolled her eyes. “Thinks she’s the Queen of Sheba, that one does. I’ve had to give her a piece of my mind more than once.” Chuckling, I imagined Rosalie letting Rita have it, and the thought made me feel slightly better about her enjoying a stay at the bed and breakfast.
“I hesitate to ask you this, because I’m not sure I really want to go through with it, but is your worthless houseguest here?”
“You want to talk to Rita?” Rosalie clarified, eyes wide.
“No, I absolutely don’t,” I told her quietly, “but I feel like I have to.” Patting my shoulder in a motherly fashion, she merely nodded at me and turned, walking toward the back of the house. Rather than going to Laura’s bedroom, she walked toward the laundry room, and then she disappeared from my view. Ringing my hands together, I scolded myself for acting nervous, and then I wiped my palms on my shorts, making a conscious attempt not to ball my hands into fists. When I saw Rosalie emerge with Rita following her, I took a deep breath.
“You look crosswise at Camdyn, and I’ll put you out on your tail end, you hear me?” Rosalie warned her as she stepped between us. Rita looked like she wanted to laugh, but she lowered her eyes to the floor instead.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said simply, waiting until Rosalie walked away to settle herself onto the couch as she looked up at me expectantly. Not sure where to start, I took a chair across from her and just stared silently at her for a moment, this older version of me, with the slightly more relaxed blonde curls and the same violet-blue eyes. To her credit, she just let me consider her quietly, and didn’t offer any too-familiar nicknames. No, she almost looked a little defeated.
“Why are you here, Darlene?” I blurted, giving her no warning. Hearing her sharp intake of breath and seeing the momentary panic flash across her face, instinctively I knew that my assumption was correct. When she brought her hand up to brush her hair behind her ear, slightly trembling, I simply stared at her, unmoving.
“How did you know?” she asked quietly. I slid my book from my purse and held it out, making sure the corner of the envelope was sticking out of the back. When she saw the address on the front she glanced at me looking slightly guilty, but when she opened the letter itself, she dropped her hand to her lap and gave a wry smile. She mouthed the word “Migsy,” but she didn’t say anything else.
“Meg and I spent some time together this weekend,” I offered, watching as her eyes rose to me, large and unbelieving.
“You met Meg?” There was no trace of that phony southern accent, or an Italian accent either. She was stripped raw and free of any pretense, at least in her mannerisms, but I wondered how long it would last.
“Yes, and she was just thrilled to death that you were alive,” I stated without emotion. “I also met an elderly gentleman who broke into tears at the sight of me because he thought I was his angel.”
“Dad,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. I fought to keep myself from giving her some of my innermost thoughts, knowing full well the hurt she had caused Grandpa and Meg. She composed herself quickly, folding the letter and placing it back in the envelope, handing me the book as if trying to distance herself.
“Have you ever cared about anyone?” I couldn’t help but ask. “First you left your parents, and then your kids. Are you running from Gianni now, too?” She flinched when I mentioned her Italian husband, as though she hadn’t expected my bluntness, but she didn’t allow it to affect her countenance.
“Gianni’s dead,” she stated simply, admittedly surprising me. I definitely hadn’t seen that coming.
“Well, now you can spend the rest of your life living off his money, drinking wine, and staring out at your vast land holdings,” I offered callously, watching her stare at me. She blinked a couple of times, but didn’t act as though my words offended or hurt her. I wasn’t sure if I expected them to, but I wouldn’t have minded causing some sort of reaction – anything, really.
“I’m sure that was fun to say,” she calmly told me, “but I have no money. Gianni was widowed when he met me, and he left all his money to his children with his first wife. They refused to give me anything.”
“So the kids kicked you out,” I surmised. “Talk about poetic justice.”
“That’s a fairly callous remark.”
“True, but it’s deserved,” I retorted. “What exactly is it that you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything,” she informed me, standing up and smoothing her shirt over her abdomen.
“Camdyn, you need me?” Rosalie spoke up from the kitchen, where she was clearly eavesdropping.
“I think I’m good,” I told her, grateful for her interruption.
“Plant yourself in that chair, sister, until Camdyn’s finished with you,” she ordered Rita then, and to my surprise, she sat back down. Folding her arms across her chest and regarding me coolly, she was the spitting image of the Rita I remembered from Italy.
“What happened between you and your mother in the car?” I asked, and she straightened in her chair a little.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” For a split second it occurred to me that she might not want her dirty laundry aired in front of Rosalie, so I considered taking her outside.
“Rita? Darlene? I don’t know what I’m supposed to call you,” I muttered, shaking my head as she raised one corner of her mouth in a rather conceited smirk.
“You could just call me mother,” she offered curtly, to which I seriously considered laughing aloud, but instead bit my tongue.
“Let’s walk, Rita,” I instructed, pointing toward the back door. Rather than argue, she rose and glanced at Rosalie before proceeding to do what I asked. As I moved past the kitchen and towards the door, Rosalie grabbed my arm.
“You yell if you need me, okay?” she pleaded, and I smiled at her protective instincts.
“We’ll be fine,” I assured her. “I’ve been practicing my jujitsu, so if she steps out of line, I can take her down.”
Yeah, I know that was an absurd thing to say, but it made Rosalie laugh. Besides, if Rita actually did believe I could do jujitsu, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it? I did take a jujitsu course when I was researching for my first book, and I made it all the way to white belt.
(Okay, full disclosure – I started out with a white belt. Still, I showed up for three classes. Honestly, probably more like two and a half, but it was something.)
Walking towards the river with Rita, I couldn’t help but notice that she resembled Meg more than I thought, now that I was really seeing this current version of herself. The way she walked was similar, and even the bones in her hand, which caused me to look down at my own and inspect it for a second. A pang of regret washed over me as I wished I had allowed Cole to come with me after all, but she probably wouldn’t have given me any information in front of him either, any more than she would do so in front of Rosalie.
Trying to avoid the direct glare of the sun, I veered off the path and stood beneath a large oak, while she walked over to the steps leading down to the river and leaned forward against the rail, resting her hands lightly in front of her on the wood, letting the sun glint off her blonde tresses.
“You might as well tell me everything, because I already know more than you think,” I suggested, and without being able to see her face, I witnessed her head fall just a bit. When she didn’t answer me momentarily, I thought she might remain silent and refuse to tell me anything.
“Tell you what?” she finally wondered, raising her head again to look out at the trees, but not turning toward me.
“You could start by explaining why you didn’t go back home to your parents,” I informed her. She laughed coarsely, and I forced a de
ep breath into my lungs. Deciding that she might be more forthcoming if I was in her line of vision, I stepped out into the afternoon sun, moving beside her at the railing. Looking over at me, she gave a slight smile in what I perceived was an effort to tell me that I wasn’t having an effect on her, but I knew better.
“They didn’t want me back,” she told me.
“That’s a lie. Try again.” When she chuckled, I thought I might have ruined my chances at getting anything of substance out of her. She leaned forward to put her elbows on the railing, and then she let out a sigh.
“My life has been one series of mistakes after another,” she breathed. “Isn’t that enough?” Shaking my head, I stared over at her thoughtfully.
“What a cop out,” I stated forcefully, squinting my eyes against the sun. “For once in your life stand up and accept responsibility. Man, I want to toss you in the river.”
“You sound like your grandma Wilhelmina,” she laughed. “David’s mother never cut me any slack.” Hearing my father’s name made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and set my defenses on edge.
“You didn’t deserve any,” I informed her, folding my arms across my chest. “I know why you were in St. Louis – Meg told me the whole story. When you ran away from your aunt’s house, where did you go?”
“Where did I go?” she repeated, staring off into the distance. “I got a job as a waitress at a little diner, and I moved in with the fry cook and his brother.”
“Is that the guy who called Meg?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I tried to make it on my own, but I needed money, and I didn’t know where to turn.”
“And this was all so you could have an abortion?” I questioned, causing her to turn and stare into my eyes.
“I didn’t have an abortion,” she explained, a look of frustration crossing her face. She cleared her throat before she wrapped her arms around herself protectively.
“But when you returned to Philadelphia, you weren’t pregnant,” I rebutted.
“Yes I was,” she argued, refusing to look at me again. “My baby was due any day, and I… All I wanted was to go home, but I couldn’t face her. We had a fight on the way to St. Louis, because I wanted to be somebody. I wanted to see the world and experience all life had to offer, but she couldn’t see it that way. To her, I’d already made my choices and I had to take responsibility and be nothing but a mother.”
“You’re talking about your mom?” I clarified.
“Yes, my mother. I just couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her again until I had honestly made something of myself.”
Content that she seemed to be telling me some version of the truth, I sat down on the third step and pulled my knees up against my chest.
“So how long were you there?” I prodded as she sat herself about a foot from me on the same step, back straight as she watched the river.
“In Philadelphia? About a week. I spent the first couple days trying to work up the nerve to go home, and then the baby came. I panicked at the hospital and told them my name was Rita. They just assumed I was a homeless girl, so they didn’t try to contact my family. Once they released me, I was scared, so I went to Meg. I asked her to find me some money, but when she only came back with forty dollars, I knew there was nothing I could do. I used it as bus fare to St. Louis.”
“So you left the baby at the hospital?” I surmised, unaccustomed to seeing Rita with her guard down. For whatever reason, I was finding it somewhat disconcerting.
“No, she was with me when I met Meg,” she stated, smiling to herself sadly as though she was reliving it in her memory. “I had her in the bushes, and she was so good, she didn’t make a sound. With that forty dollars, though… I knew I couldn’t take care of her, living the way I was. So, I had to leave her.”
“In the bushes?” I gasped, causing her to glance over at me as though that was a preposterous question.
“At St. Peter’s. I took her inside and carried her right up to the sculpture of Mary. It just seemed fitting.”
“St. Peter’s,” I repeated, mulling it over in my mind.
Just like Hannah.
For a split second, I felt almost certain that my heart stopped beating. Rather than have any sort of reaction in front of Rita, though, I forced myself to be calm and concentrate on the task at hand instead of going off into a rabbit hole.
What if Hannah is…
Stop it, Camdyn. Concentrate!
“It never occurred to you after the fact to call, maybe tell them you’re okay?”
“And let my mother say ‘I told you so?’” she asked with a short laugh. “No, that wasn’t a possibility.”
“You’d rather she thought you were dead?” I questioned her in disbelief, watching the way she squared her shoulders and raised her neck, morphing back into Italian Rita.
“Frankly, yes,” she said with a shrug. Rising to my feet, I made a point to look down at her.
“For some reason that’s not really all that surprising,” I told her. She stared at me defiantly with a grin playing about her lips.
“I wanted you with me, you know,” she informed me stoically, “but your grandmother refused to send you. She practically stole you. What was I supposed to do?”
I’m not going to lie – the jujitsu might have come in handy right about then. Had she been standing, I’m sure I would have shoved her into the water. Sitting where she was, though, my only option was to kick her, and that didn’t feel like something a rational adult would do.
“You shut up about my grandmother,” I ordered her. “Thank God she didn’t send me to live with you, you… ugh!”
Seething at her words about the woman who raised me, I stumbled up the steps from the river and hastily made my way across the yard and back to the bed and breakfast. Making quick work of my march back to the house, I took the back steps two at a time, swinging the door shut behind me and preparing to head straight through to the front porch.
“Honey?” Rosalie piped up from the kitchen, and I turned to face her, attempting to calm myself.
“How can you live with that insufferable woman?”
“Well, she’s not exactly a piece of cake,” she answered, placing her hands on her hips.
“She’s a fake, worthless waste of oxygen,” I muttered, feeling my pulse race beneath my skin. Instinctively I looked down at the veins in my wrists, wondering how fast my heart was actually beating.
“Calm down,” Rosalie cautioned. “You thought all those things before, so why the sudden rage?”
“Because I have a grandpa – a kind, gentle grandpa who I’ve missed out on a whole lifetime of knowing, that’s why,” I blurted, feeling tears prick my eyes. “I have an aunt, and… I might even have a sister. A sister, Rosalie. And I have a grandmother who I will never have the chance to know, because Rita was once a girl named Darlene who didn’t care about her family then, just like she doesn’t care about anybody now.”
“Oh, honey,” she whispered, watching as I agitatedly pulled my fingers back through my hair until I held it in a ponytail, squeezing both my hands together in an effort to calm my nerves. It was at that inopportune moment that Rita decided to enter through the backdoor, at which point I dropped my hair and told Rosalie goodbye, moving towards the front of the house.
“Camdyn, I’m not finished talking to you,” Rita informed me calmly. When I turned, I’m sure she noticed the anger flashing in my eyes, but she didn’t let it register on her face.
“You’re done talking to me,” I responded quietly. “Don’t come around me. Don’t touch me. Don’t even dare to breathe on me. We’re finished.”
With that, I grabbed my purse and the book and swung open the front door, walking back out in the sunshine and heading towards my car. It was only after I planted myself in the driver’s seat that I realized that I was shaking, so I sat there for a moment, telling myself to calm down.
Don’t give her the satisfaction. She’s not worth it.
I hav
e every right to be angry, though. How dare she say something about my grandma? What an unbelievable…
A knock on my window brought me out of my mental reverie and nearly caused me to jump out of my skin. At the sight of Rosalie, I breathed out a huge sigh and placed my hand on my forehead. Rolling my window down, I was able to chuckle at her softly, and she just looked at me with an expression of sympathy.
“I thought you might not feel like cooking tonight,” she told me, handing me a pan of lasagna. “Just wait until Cole gets home, and have him pop it in the oven.” Her simple instructions made me laugh out loud.
“Shouldn’t I put it in the oven before he gets home?” I wanted to know.
“Whatever you think is best,” she told me with a wink, adding a quart-sized plastic bag full of peanut butter cookies.
“Right,” I nodded. “Wait for Cole it is. You’re far too good to me, you know that?”
“No, darlin’, you deserve people who love you, and I’m proud to be one of those people,” she told me with a smile. “You’ve got another one at home who couldn’t wait to come over here this morning and give me a piece of his mind. That boy would do just about anything to protect you – I hope you know that.”
“How on earth did I ever wind up here?” I marveled, thinking about Cole and Rosalie and everything that made Rita seem like a mild annoyance in an otherwise perfect life.
“God knew we needed you, sweetie,” she answered, patting my cheek and giving me a smile.
Chapter Eleven
Before Cole came home that night, I did turn the oven on, but only so it would be preheated. That didn’t stop a look of fright from appearing on his face when he opened the door and realized I was cooking something, but when I explained about the lasagna Rosalie had prepared, he breathed a huge sigh of relief. Once he had it safely cooking and had set the timer, he hurried off to take a shower, leaving me alone with my thoughts again. Settling down on the couch with one of the red-covered journals, I tried to push Rita out of my mind.
A Reason to Forget (The Camdyn Series Book 3) Page 14
