“Oh, I know,” she blurted. “We got our tickets the minute they went on sale.”
“What? Who… Tickets for the conference?”
“Yes ma’am. Me, Liz, Sara, Rachel, and of course Rita. We’re making it a weekend trip.”
“God help me,” I muttered, stepping away from her and walking to the table, where I plopped onto a chair.
“Well, I’m certain He would if you’d ask Him.”
Highly doubtful.
“I don’t want to do it,” I blurted. “I don’t want to be around people, and I don’t want to talk about my baby dying, and I don’t want to have to pretend that everything is okay, because it’s not. And I don’t want anybody else feeling sorry for me or giving me lame excuses justifying my grief, because I’m sick of it.”
“You have a huge platform, Camdyn,” she said softly. “God wouldn’t have given it to you for no reason. Maybe He wants to use you to help someone.”
“Are you kidding me?!” I pushed my fingers through my hair in agitation as I stared at her. “You’re telling me I’m supposed to be some miscarriage spokesperson? An ambassador from the land of unrealized dreams? A representative for empty wombs across the land?”
“You don’t need to be crass.” Placing one of her dishes in the refrigerator, she turned her back to me momentarily.
“The whole thing is crass, Rosalie. It’s nothing but crass to me.” When she looked in my direction, her steps followed her gaze over to the table, where she knelt beside me and covered my hand with her own.
“I’m sorry, honey. I know you’re hurting. What can I do?”
“Bring Cole back.” The answer surprised even me, and I dropped my head against her shoulder. “Tell me how to bring him back.”
Chapter Twenty
That night I began furiously writing a speech for the conference, going back through the research I had done and the places I had lived, trying to make a coherent story from it all. It felt so much like the writing I had been doing when I first arrived in Tennessee - forcing a plotline on Willa because I didn’t know the truth. I should have known my own story, though, and the fact that I had a hard time making it believable was terribly frustrating.
With a shudder, I realized that all the progress I had made in the past few months didn’t matter. When I arrived in Tennessee, I was hiding behind the name C.W. Oliver and protecting my identity at all costs. Now, I was hiding behind the name Camdyn Taylor and trying to project the image I had presented on television. Despite my mishaps, I seemed to have made something of a positive name for myself.
Being real, though – that was the thing I didn’t want to commit to, wasn’t it? It was affecting my speech, and impacting my life at the moment.
I awoke the next morning with a renewed determination, and proceeded to write a completely mediocre account of all my books and my journeys to research them.
Napping on the couch in the afternoon, a rapid knock on the door alerted me to another presence on the premises, and I rose to open the door to Rita. With a quick smile, she pointed to a basket under her arm.
“Apple pie,” she stated. “Rosalie thinks it fixes everything.”
“Well, it can’t hurt, can it?” I joked, stepping back to let her inside.
“As much as you jog, you could probably eat pie every day and it wouldn’t hurt anything at all. I admire your commitment.”
“It’s just distraction,” I teased. “Desperation chases at my heels the entire time.” Placing the basket on the counter, she pulled out the pie and helped herself to plates from a cabinet above the sink.
“You were always determined, Camdyn. Charlie would play hide and seek with you, and he would be in his hiding spot for what seemed like forever, but you wouldn’t give up. ‘Can I come out now?’ he would say, and you would pipe up in your sweet little voice and tell him no.”
She scooped some of the pie onto a plate and handed it to me, pulling a fork from a drawer. “I don’t remember that.”
“No, I would think not.” She laughed at her private memory. “You were such a little thing then.”
“Maybe that explains why Charlie never wanted to play hide and seek when we were older.” With a smirk, I took my plate to the table and sat, sinking my fork into the flaky crust. “Wow, Rosalie’s pies always taste like heaven, don’t they?”
“It’s because she puts a little love in them,” she stated confidently, sitting across from me. “Her saying, not mine.”
“That must be the ingredient I’m missing.” Shoving a piece of apple in my mouth, I savored it as I looked over at my mother.
“She insists that’s the secret,” she added. “She’s worried about you, you know. She fiercely protects you. Even when her brother asked about Cole, she just said he had some work to do or something.”
Rather than answer, I focused on the pie and pushed a piece of apple around on my plate.
“Camdyn, I won’t pretend that I know what it feels like to lose a baby.” Her voice grew quiet, and instinctually I looked up into her eyes. “I know what it’s like to lose someone, though. Your dad…” Clearing her throat as her eyes misted, she attempted a smile. “Your dad was so completely wonderful. The way he treated me… Well, it reminds me a lot of the way Cole treats you.”
Her mention of Cole made me stop caring about the pie, and I let my fork rest against my plate.
“When I received the news about your dad’s accident, I swear my heart broke in two that day. I feel like I’ve had two very different lives I’ve lived – before David, and after David. Before David I messed up a little bit, but after David… My life since that was driven by pain, Camdyn. I don’t wish that on you. I put the sadness ahead of you and Charlie, and I lost you too.”
Letting out a sigh, I turned to gaze out the window.
“I remember the night I met your father. He came in the diner where I worked, with his history textbooks, studying with a late night cup of coffee. He was a handsome, intelligent college student who was a semester away from graduating, and I was a high school dropout pouring coffee in a hole in the wall. When he said hello to me, though, I knew in an instant my life wouldn’t be the same.” She laughed, and I returned my eyes to her face. “I got asked out a lot by customers – that was just part of the scene I was in at that time, but I always said no. Your dad, though – him asking me was such a compliment, I couldn’t wait to see him again.”
“When did you see him next?”
“The very next day. I told him I could meet him at the diner, but he informed me that a proper gentleman picks a lady up at her home. He said he would be happy to meet my parents. He thought I was just a girl, and I guess I was at nineteen.” Rising from the table, she stepped over to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. “Well, when he showed up at the apartment to pick me up, he found out about me really quick. He came inside and was polite to my roommates, and I stepped to my room to pick up my jacket. He followed me, and when he was standing in the doorway he picked up that book Meg had slid into my backpack in Philadelphia. He opened it and studied it, being a history lover, and then that letter fell out.”
Laughing, she turned back to me and began walking toward the table. “I told him everything about me before we even stepped out the door. I told him I used to be Darlene, and about the baby… I spilled all my dirt right there that first night, and you know what he did? He said, ‘I could tell just by looking into your eyes that you were a fascinating girl. Shall we go?’”
“He really said that?” I giggled as I picked up my fork, shoving it back into my pie.
“Oh, yeah,” she agreed, sitting across from me again. “He took me to another little hole in the wall, and we had a greasy, disgusting dinner, and then we talked for six hours straight. He had a beautiful soul, your dad. I’ve never met anyone else like him.”
“What was he like? Oh, I know what Grandma told me, but what was he really like?”
“He was so smart, Camdyn,” she began, smiling like a girl. “Y
ou could say just about any town name, and he would tell you something that happened there a hundred years before. He remembered things – random things that didn’t matter, but he’d recite them precisely. I’d pull something out of the closet, and he’d say, ‘I remember the last time you wore that, at such and such. You had your hair pulled to the left.’ And he had a laugh that could brighten the room. He was always laughing, mostly at himself, because he always thought he was a huge jinx. Weird things would happen to him – he’d spill things, or trip, or things would fall over when he was in the same proximity. One time, I’ll never forget, he was trying to show Charlie how to ride a bike and he hit this tiny rock in the street, and he went flying over the handlebars.”
“He showed Charlie how to ride a bike?” I choked out, biting my lip.
“Yes, and he taught you all these songs,” she continued. “You had this big, fat stuffed monkey named Mr. Chippers, and he would settle you in bed at night and pretend Mr. Chippers was singing to you. Not little kid songs, either – he would sing Beatles songs, Sinatra, sometimes Elvis Presley. You would laugh and beg Mr. Chippers to sing some more. You would get this little stuffed rabbit that you called Wigglesworth, and you would sing back to Mr. Chippers. Your dad said you had an enviable imagination, and he was so sure you and Charlie would go out and change the world.”
Pushing the empty pie plate away from me, I let out a heavy sigh. “Dad probably wouldn’t be too proud of me today.”
Retrieving my empty plate, she carried it to the kitchen and poured me a cup of coffee. I rose from my spot and walked over to the counter, accepting the mug from her hands.
“He’d be really proud of you, Camdyn,” she said. “You share his fascination for history, and you follow your heart. And he would love Cole, because he’s such a good man. You’ve made such a wonderful life for yourself here, in this little corner of Tennessee. Being here with you and Rosalie, I can almost make myself believe that there’s still some life left for me in this world.”
She gathered her basket and headed for the door, and part of me wanted to protest and ask her to stay. With my mug warmly in my palm, I leaned against the door frame.
“There’s a lot of life left,” I assured her with a smile.
“For you, too, sweetie,” she stated, giving me a slight nod as she headed down the log steps. Watching her back as she strode across the yard, my heart clenched a bit and a jagged breath escaped my lips.
“Mom!” I called, noting the shimmer in her eyes as she turned with the sound of my voice. “Thank you.”
With a slight lift of her hand and a tremulous grin, she pulled open the door to Rosalie’s car and headed back to the bed and breakfast.
-§-
The sound of Pop barking the next morning brought me out of my daydream, sitting in the den and staring out at the falling leaves. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about my dad since Rita left the day before – a slightly clumsy guy who adored history and sang Sinatra songs. Taking out my old family pictures, I gazed at my father and fell in love with him, imagining the new memories Rita had given me.
I could stare out that window no longer, though, because Pop had found something that he didn’t like, and I felt obligated to check it out. Throwing on a jacket, I grabbed my shoes and meandered out the back door, heading toward the sound of Pop’s bark.
As I rounded the house, I heard a very clear scraping sound, and I broke into a run, afraid that something had begun to tangle with the dog. Almost instantly, though, I stopped in my tracks.
Jake stood in the yard, rake in hand, attempting to clear the endless leaves from the grass.
“Jake?” Strolling toward him, I drew my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun. “It’s Wednesday morning. You do know you’re supposed to be at work, right?”
Acknowledging my interruption, he smiled as he leaned against the rake. “Turns out I didn’t have much to do today, so I’m returning the favor.”
“Returning the favor?”
“You watched Bailey; I’m raking the leaves.”
“Well, thank you, but I can’t let you do that.”
Giving me a dirty look, he stared down at the leaves piled in front of him. “Listen, I intend to rake the leaves, so don’t give me any lip about it.”
“I appreciate your sentiment, Jake, but I can’t just sit here and watch you do that,” I reiterated, placing my hands on my hips. “Come on, there has to be another rake somewhere.”
Jake passed me as he went to the garage, giving me a smirk and a little shove on the shoulder. Pop rolled onto his back by my feet, and I scratched his belly for a moment until Jake returned, another rake in hand and a brown pair of gloves. Stopping next to me, he grabbed my hand and pulled it up, inspecting my palm.
“Just like I expected. Soft like a baby’s.” He shoved the gloves at me. “You don’t want blisters.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, shaking my head at him. Within moments we were working at opposite ends of the yard, both of us focused on nothing but sweeping our rakes across the ground.
I found a pretty good rhythm, and I raked a good section of the yard, sweeping the leaves toward the center. I shoved my arms back and forth until a sweat began to break out on my brow, despite the chill in the air, and then threw my jacket onto the grass I had just cleared.
“Give up yet?” Jake called from across the yard. Laughing, I turned to stare at his much larger pile of leaves.
“I don’t give up so easily,” I yelled back, turning to my leaves. My midsection was definitely starting to ache, but I wasn’t going to admit it. Glancing at Jake every so often, I pushed myself as hard as I could, determined not to let him outdo me.
“You’re relentless,” he finally told me. “It’s been an hour and a half, you know that?”
“Has it really?” I laughed. “I need a drink – you want some water?”
“Please! And while you’re inside, I’ll put these two piles together.”
Stretching my aching back, I marched up the front steps and into the kitchen, where I took two plastic cups out of the cabinet. Jake was still hard at work piling up those leaves, and I could see him through the large picture window, wiping his brow with the back of his forearm. Spying the remains of Rosalie’s apple pie on the counter, I cut a piece and set it on a plate, smiling a little to myself.
The instant I opened the door, his rake hit the ground and he was strolling my direction. As he neared the porch, I stretched out the piece of pie toward him, and his eyes brightened appreciatively. Once he took it, I moved one of the two plastic cups from the crook of my arm and settled onto the steps, grinning at him.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t make the pie,” I joked, sensing his hesitation. Rather than take a bite, he just continued staring at me. “Jake?”
“Sorry,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off my face. “Your cheeks are flushed from the cold air, and your hair is kind of fanning out around your face. It’s really pretty.”
“Well, I probably don’t smell great, and I was sweating earlier,” I joked. “Thank you, though, for the compliment.”
That broke the spell, because he took a bite of the pie while I told Pop to stay away from the leaf pile.
“You know, I feel like we have a really weird relationship,” Jake said as he lifted his water. “I know everything about you, and you barely know me.”
“That’s a little presumptuous,” I laughed. “What makes you think you know everything about me?”
“You underestimate the tendency of your husband to talk about you.” Lifting his fork, he stuck another piece of pie in his mouth. “Have you talked to him, by the way?”
“Not since Sunday,” I admitted carefully. “You?”
“Yeah, a couple times.” He continued mindlessly eating that pie, bite after bite, until I wanted to sock him.
“Well, what did he say?” I finally asked, giving him a feigned angry stare.
“Not much. He asked about you, strangely enough. I told him
he was being a class-A jerk. He told me he was doing you a favor.”
“Doing me a favor?” I blurted. “Some favor.”
“Yeah, he seems pretty screwed up. I told him you had been going out every night, having the time of your life.”
“What?” I felt the blood drain from my face, and he got that familiar dimple in his cheek.
“That was a joke. I know your tendency to be overly dramatic.”
“Oh, you do?” I placed my water on the step beside me and wrapped my arms around my midsection. “What else do you know about me? Please tell.”
“Well, where do I start? You brush your teeth all the time, just like Parker. You can’t stand to have any kind of unsolved mystery hanging about. When you watch baseball on TV, you lean forward a little bit in your chair. You have a bad habit of biting your lip while you’re reading a suspenseful book. You sort your Skittles by color. You know all the words to that old Marky Mark song. Your clothes are sorted by color and texture. You wear pink underwear every Friday.”
Feeling warmth creeping into my skin, I glanced away. “Okay, I get the point.”
“No, wait, there’s so much more. You’re really competitive, which explains the whole nonstop raking business a few minutes ago. You can’t cook to save your life. The only color soap you buy is lavender. You portray this sort of comedic confidence, but inside you’re always terrified you’re going to screw something up. Sometimes you refer to your friends as your kindred spirits. You love music, and you listen to it all the time, but you have a serious soft spot for old-fashioned crooners like Michael Bublé. When you smile, your left eye squints just a touch.”
“Stop,” I ordered, brushing a loose curl away from my eyes. “You know all this from being at work with Cole?”
“Mostly,” he chuckled. “The smile thing I happened to notice myself. Like I said – I feel like we have a weird relationship. I promise you, I know more about you than I have known about any woman I have ever dated. Strangely enough, I still don’t mind being around you. Parker paints you in a pretty good light.”
For No Reason (The Camdyn Series Book 4) Page 26
