“Really?” Even watching from the other side of the TV, I could see the excitement on my face.
“No, I have no idea,” he muttered. “I didn’t even know who you were until today.”
“Oh,” I mumbled, listening to the laughter in the audience again.
“Michael Bublé’s here tonight. What do you think of him? Should I bring him out? He might want to fall in love with you, too.”
“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” I smirked over at him. “I don’t believe he’s really here. I listened to Michael Bublé for six straight hours on Saturday.”
“No, six hours?”
“Yes, I promise you.”
“She’s crazy, Bublé,” he whispered to the camera. “Save yourself.”
“Have you been talking to my husband?” I joked.
“Maybe I should,” he suggested. “Okay, seriously, though, the rumor is that you might be doing some cameos when these movies come out. You have to do that. I demand it, because then you will come back, and you have to come back.”
“It would be my pleasure,” I told him.
“Okay, plug your book,” he instructed, holding it up on his desk.
“Crossing Heartbreak,” I said simply. “Buy it, you’ll love it, and then I can come back and see Jamie.”
“Buy the book, people, buy the book!” he pleaded. “Right back with Michael Bublé.”
The TV shot to commercial, and Rachel was clinging to my arm like an excited kid. I hadn’t realized it before since I was so focused on studying my performance, but there she was, latched onto me with a vice grip. Cole twisted away from where he sat at my feet so he could glance up at my family, and he gave them a huge grin.
“Wasn’t she so cool?” he asked. “I was just sitting there panicking for her when he brought up the proposals, and then I couldn’t stop thinking how proud I was of her.”
“You were definitely awesome,” Rachel agreed. “And you held your own with Jamie – you didn’t look nervous at all.”
“That’s because you didn’t see me when I met Bublé,” I suggested, wrinkling up my nose at the thought.
“How that guy managed to stay so suave while talking to Camdyn was pretty impressive,” Cole explained as he gazed up at me. “She was practically drooling on him.”
“I wasn’t that bad,” I protested.
“Really?” Cole shot me a warning look. “’My life would be complete if you would just sing ‘You Don’t Know Me.’’ That’s not embarrassing at all.”
“Naturally I was being a bit dramatic,” I admitted, feeling the warmth in my face.
“Naturally,” Cole agreed, while the others around us laughed.
“But did he sing it?” Rachel wanted to know, clearly fascinated. “Was he nice?”
“Oh, he seemed like a great guy,” Cole informed her. “He chatted with me for a minute, up until Camdyn made the weird song request. Then, he took her hand and sang a couple of stanzas… I was watching the way she was looking at him – seriously the same way she usually looks at me – and I momentarily wanted to knock him out. It’s not his fault my wife is obsessed with him, though.”
“He was lovely,” I agreed, winking at Rachel. “Of course, I was impressed with his true musical talent.”
“Of course, his talent,” Rachel laughed.
I turned to glance around the room then, and I noticed immediately that Rita was gone.
-§-
That night, I finished brushing my teeth and prepared to walk across to the bed, but halfway there I was caught around the waist by Cole, who pulled me into his arms. Staring up into his face, noting the way the five o’clock shadow stretched across his cheek, I couldn’t help but smile. His dark brown eyes lingered on mine, and after a minute he let his lips spread into an easy grin.
“It feels good to be home, doesn’t it?” he whispered. “Now we can go back to something that resembles normal. I will never be able to sing again, though, now that you’ve been serenaded by Bublé.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I laughed.
“Oh, I’m not,” he insisted. “He has forever ruined singing for me.”
“You know he can’t compare to you, right?”
“You’re lying, but go on…” He smirked, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“I love you, Cole, and I can’t wait to see what normal holds for us.” He nodded slightly, and then he brought his hand up to place it on my cheek.
“As long as you’re right here with me, I’ll take whatever life has to offer.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
When I awoke the next morning, it wasn’t to my husband’s handsome face, but an empty bed and a note on his pillow. He wanted to let me sleep in, he said, and he would see me at dinnertime. Had I thoroughly thought out this whole “normal” thing to the point of Cole going to work, I might have insisted we stay in New York another night.
My phone on the nightstand was going crazy, and it seemed that every person I ever knew or had come into acquaintance with was suddenly my best friend, wanting to talk to me about the television appearances. Rather than return the calls, I simply set my phone on silent and decided to ignore them for the time being. The world had finally caught up with the changes that had taken place in my life a couple months before, but it felt like I had already been through all this. I didn’t need anyone talking to me about giving up my pen name, because in my heart I had given it up when I decided to stay in Tennessee. In the story of my life, shining a light on my hiding spot had taken place chapters ago, and I had mentally moved on to a new storyline.
To be honest, it almost felt like I was living in an entirely new book.
No, this book wasn’t about pen names and media appearances. The chapter I was currently engrossed in was full of Grandma Isabel and Rita, and a nagging sense of nausea in the pit of my stomach that was of suspicious origin. Well, not entirely suspicious, because I had a definite inkling about the cause, but I simply wasn’t prepared to settle that issue in my mind just yet.
Instead, I found myself returning to the red journals, melting into the living room sofa with the final volume. Instinctively, I let it fall open to the very last page, looking at Grandma Isabel’s words to Darlene again.
…you don’t have to make a name for yourself to be someone…
…being a wife and a mother have been the greatest joys of my life…
…I am sorry for the time we have lost together…
…your life matters to me – every moment of it, and the direction of it, and the whole scope of it…
With a start, I found myself wondering if Rita would have said those same things to me, if she had the nerve to truly let her guard down. Not the part about being a wife and mother, naturally, but the rest of it… What if she was sorry for the time we lost together? What if she really was hanging around town, living with random guys, working at that little café, simply to be close to me? My head didn’t want to believe it, of course, but my heart was pounding it out like a rhythm. As difficult as it was for me to understand, there it was, running through my thoughts again and again.
Grandpa loves Darlene, too, Cole said. He wants her to know, and you’re the only one who can tell her. He doesn’t want you to live a life of regret.
Sitting there on my own couch in the safe, cozy house I shared with my husband, I tried to calculate which option held the greatest risk. If I ignored my internal protests, and I actually attempted to talk to Rita, what was it that worried me? That she might not say what I wanted, or that she might make me angry? Certainly I was accustomed to that, so apart from being uncomfortable, that shouldn’t have been a problem. No, there was something else that was making me apprehensive, and I couldn’t figure out what it was.
So, the other risk? Not talking to her and disappointing Grandpa? Having a complete disregard for his wishes in light of his feelings about Grandma and the way things would inevitably end there? There was absolutely no way I could do that, so there really was no
choice at all.
As I was staring down at my grandmother’s handwriting, suddenly it made perfect sense. I didn’t want to approach Rita with any offerings of forgiveness, because I was terrified of what she would say. Her actions over the years had demonstrated without a doubt that she didn’t care about me, but I didn’t want her to say the words. Knowing in my heart that she didn’t want me was bad enough, but the mere thought of hearing her express that sentiment out loud threatened to fracture my heart. That was the risk, wasn’t it? That she wouldn’t care?
Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself up from my position and went upstairs to retrieve my shoes, knowing full well that I had no choice in this matter. I couldn’t fail Grandpa, so I simply had to go. With the red journal in my hand, I walked out the back door and to the garage, with Pop bounding up to me fairly quickly. Scratching him behind his ear, I knelt beside him for a moment.
“Wish me luck, Pop,” I whispered, sighing a bit. When I stood to walk ahead, he whined for a second in protest, but he quickly realized I was on a mission, and he ran off in the other direction. Climbing into the driver’s side of my car, I placed both my hands on the steering wheel and forced a deep breath into my lungs.
You can do this, Camdyn.
Driving slowly, I proceeded toward the bed and breakfast, but for some reason I didn’t stop. Driving past that white two-story building that I had grown to love, I continued toward town, with another goal in mind.
-§-
The bells jingled overhead as I stepped through the door, and I didn’t look around as I stepped toward the counter, completely focused on my purpose for being in that establishment. When Jerry emerged around the corner, he let out a low whistle and chuckled under his breath, reaching up to touch his handlebar mustache.
“Well, look what the cat drug in,” he drawled, placing his hands on his hips. “You came through the front door this time.”
“Yes, as promised,” I told him with a smile. “How have you been?”
“I reckon I’ve been okay,” he stated, regarding me with suspicion. “If you’re looking for your mama, I ain’t seen her. She got no use for me, now that she’s back on her feet.”
“No, I’m not looking for her,” I assured him. “I was just wondering, can you show me what she brought in here?”
“Are you gonna knock me over the head and run for the hills, Missus?” he asked me with a slight grin, fiddling with the cigarette pack in his shirt pocket.
“I’m not planning on it,” I answered. With little fanfare, he reached behind him and pulled out a tray that held several items, placing it carefully before me. “This is it? I kind of figured she would have more.”
“No, ma’am,” he confirmed. Glancing across the tray, I studied each piece separately. Nestled inside the black velvet were a diamond ring with a square stone, three gold bangles that were rather thick and heavy looking, gold earrings with diamonds dangling beneath, and a small tarnished silver cross on a delicate chain.
“What is this?” I wondered aloud, pointing to that cross. Jerry cleared his throat as he lifted it carefully, displaying it on his palm.
“This ain’t really worth nothing, but I took it anyway, seein’ as how she was down on her luck and all. I gave her twenty for it.”
“That was kind of you,” I told him, smiling a bit sadly. The other jewelry looked expensive and predictable, but that worthless necklace was obviously something that contained a story. Biting my lip, I only pondered my next move for a second before looking back at Jerry.
“I would like to buy that from you, Jerry,” I informed him, pulling my wallet from my purse.
“This piece of junk?” he seemed confused. “You don’t want the diamonds?”
“No, not the diamonds,” I reiterated. “I’m in the mood to refurbish a little junk today. How much do you want for it?”
“I suppose…forty,” he answered carefully. My mouth dropped open as I stared at him in shock.
“Forty?!” I exclaimed. “You just told me it was a piece of junk.”
“Very true,” he responded, stroking his mustache. “How was that nap you took on my hallway carpet, anyway?” Laughing, I shook my head slowly.
“Okay, forty,” I relented. “I am sorry about everything, and I hope you believe me about that.”
“Oh, I believe you,” he told me, taking the two twenties from my hand. “You’re a weird kid, spyin’ on people and buyin’ junk. I think you’re a good kid, though, and that counts for somethin’.”
“Thank you,” I stated wryly. “Friends?” I extended my hand, and he gave me a look of distrust.
“I usually don’t make friends with criminals,” he said. After I glared at him for a second, he reached his hand out and placed it in mine, grasping it firmly. “Alrighty, Missus. Friends.”
-§-
Rosalie was at the front of the house in her flower bed when I pulled up at the bed and breakfast, and she quickly stood up and dusted herself off as she saw me coming up the driveway. Squinting her eyes against the midday sun, she brought her hand up to wave.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon!” she stated when I opened the car door. With the journal and necklace in my hand, I began walking in her direction.
“No?” I asked, smiling mischievously. “You should know by now that I’m unpredictable.”
“Honey, I knew that the minute you showed up here soaking wet and clueless.”
“Clueless, really?” I protested. “I knew where I was supposed to be. I was just a little lost.” Stepping up to her, we stood face to face, and she crossed her arms and studied me.
“This is exactly where you were supposed to be,” she informed me matter-of-factly. “I think we all knew it from the minute you stepped foot here.”
“I’ve no doubt you’re right. I can’t imagine what my life would look like now if Cole hadn’t happened upon me. I honestly feel like my life couldn’t get any better.”
“So, are you here for a cooking lesson?” she surmised, stepping up onto the porch. I followed her, staying a couple steps behind as she opened the door.
“Actually, no,” I sighed. “I’m looking for Rita.”
“Really?” she wondered, wrinkling her brow a bit. “She’s at work right now.”
“Oh,” I stammered. “I guess I knew that. Well, I can just put this in her room, if that’s okay?”
“Whatever you want, sweetie,” she added, patting me on the back. Sliding past her, I moved toward the back of the house and that familiar room that I occupied all those weeks. The bed was made and the room was clean and tidy, with the exception of the fact that the closet door was open. Where my suitcases and clothes had been bursting out of that tiny space, there were now just a few sparse items on the hangers. I recognized the wrap dress Rita had worn when she interrupted the wedding rehearsal dinner, and alongside were two additional dresses that were rather plain and one long gray sweater. Feeling curious, I snuck a peek in the dresser then, finding very little there, either. The suitcase at the bottom of the closet was unzipped, and when I pulled back the flap, there was nothing inside.
So, this was Rita’s new normal. Gone were the piles and piles of designer clothes that she chattered on about in Italy, replaced by a life of utter minimalistic simplicity. There was nothing else in that room, though – no mementos, no hints of a personal touch – just a few pieces of clothing in a stranger’s home.
Her present condition couldn’t change what Rita had done, though. Her lot in life at that moment couldn’t atone for the pain she caused me and Charlie, or the far greater hurt she had caused my grandparents. Why were Grandpa’s words ringing in my head, then?
…a life of regret…
Sucking in a deep breath, I swallowed past the lump in my throat. This room had born witness to a lot of my emotion during those precious few weeks, as I tasted a broken heart, fought to discover my purpose, let go of my security devices, and learned where I belonged. Those four walls also witnessed my sw
ift descent into love with Cole, my joy at being part of a family, and my final moments of being alone in life. They were bittersweet memories, some of them, but this one ranked right up there, as I pondered the prospect of making peace with my mother.
My mother.
Wiping a tear from my eye, I opened the top drawer of the nightstand, knowing from experience that I would find paper and a pen that Rosalie placed there. Locating it easily, I drew my legs up and crossed them before me on the bed, the paper atop the journal, with my pen poised and ready to write something. For a few moments I simply stared at my fingers around that pen, wondering if they were going to make a movement, but they didn’t seem willing. Truth be told, I wouldn’t have known what to tell them to write, anyway.
To forgive is the act of setting yourself free.
Then why does it feel like I’m shackling myself?
-§-
That Wednesday afternoon, when Rita was driven home from the café by Bill, she would walk unsuspecting into the bed and breakfast, chatting nonchalantly with Rosalie about a new meal they had introduced as the daily special. Rosalie would ask her about Jerry Farner, because he had called to inquire about her well-being, but Rita would laughingly brush it off. She wasn’t really interested in him anymore, since she had found a better circumstance. She might grab a cookie off the counter, joke about not needing the extra girth around her waistline, and then announce that she needed a good shower and a change of clothes.
Pushing open the door to the bedroom, her eyes would immediately be drawn to the open book on the bed. She would recognize her mother’s handwriting straight away, in that scrawling cursive that read, “Dear Darlene.” She’d also notice the necklace she had reluctantly sold to Jerry when she arrived in town – the one that her parents had given her when she was a teenager. It was that necklace she had placed inside the window to let her sister Meg know she was back in town. On top of those, though, was another letter in handwriting she didn’t recognize.
A Reason to Forget (The Camdyn Series Book 3) Page 31
