by Becky Wade
“Maybe something else connected them. Intramural sports occurred to me yesterday.”
“Or a club of some sort? If we can find a picture or even a listing of names that proves that Dad was in the same organization the same year as Russell or Mom, we’ll have our evidence.”
Natasha journeyed to a site specializing in yearbook records and typed in Russell Atwell, Mercer University, 1982. Two results popped up. Genevieve held her breath as Natasha clicked on the first link. It revealed a class photo nestled within a full page of class photos. They’d both seen this picture of Russell numerous times.
“Shoot,” Natasha said. “‘In vain have I struggled. It will not do.’” She returned to the search results and clicked on the second and final link.
A yearbook page about Russell’s fraternity appeared. They found him in a group picture that showed at least ten guys doing construction on a service project. Dad wasn’t in the photo.
Natasha ran a search for Mom. Again, two hits. One for Mom’s class photo and one for Mom’s sorority. Mom’s name was listed alongside the names of her sorority sisters, but she wasn’t featured in any of the photos on the sorority’s page.
They might be wasting their time, hunting for a college connection. Mercer had thousands of students.
Finally, Natasha ran a search for Dad. This time the site found three matches. The first led them to a page focused on a Christian student organization. Dad stood, the tallest of the bunch, clean-cut and smiling, in the back row of the photo. Russell wasn’t listed as a member of the organization. The second match took them to Dad’s class photo. The final match brought up his fraternity’s page.
Genevieve drew in a sharp breath of astonishment. “There.” She pointed.
They peered at the screen. Then at each other, speaking volumes through the look they shared. Then at the screen.
The photo on the left center of the page revealed their dad . . . with Mom on his arm.
The two of them together, in college. Five years before they’d said they met.
Mom wore a formal gown and a feathered hairstyle. Dad, his gangly body garbed in a tuxedo, looked down at Mom with an enamored smile on his face. His hand clasped hers securely. Mom gazed straight at the photographer, laughter twinkling in her eyes. The caption below read, Fraternity treasurer Judson Woodward enjoys a night out with his date.
Natasha consumed another celery stick the way a glue gun consumes glue sticks.
“I can’t believe we actually found evidence,” Genevieve whispered shakily. She’d been right when she’d deduced that Dad might have known either Russell or Mom before coming to Camden. But she’d been fairly sure that Russell was the one Dad would have known.
No. It had been Mom.
Natasha spun her desk chair to face Genevieve. “Not only did they know each other in college, they were in love with each other in college.”
“We don’t know that they were in love,” Genevieve felt honor-bound to say. “We only know that they went to one function together.”
“Look at his face, Gen! He’s got that soft, smitten look.”
True. The young man in the photo had thick dark hair unmarked by silver and no beard. A pair of ’80s-style glasses fit securely on his nose. His ears and Adam’s apple had both been a little more prominent back then, when he’d been skinnier. However, a few things about her father had remained exactly the same: the kindness in his demeanor and the expression on his face. Her older, more weathered father still looked at Mom that very same way.
“Mom’s beaming like I’ve never seen before,” Natasha said.
Right, because after this her first husband was killed. Later, her daughters were almost killed. Life had made her nervous, which had prevented her from experiencing the type of undiluted happiness captured in this old yearbook picture.
“Hon?” Wyatt called from the region of the back door. “Is it time to change into costumes?”
“Not quite yet. Five more minutes.”
The back door closed in response.
“So,” Genevieve said, “let’s say that Mom and Dad were a couple in college. But then something happened to break them up.”
“Most likely Dad’s enlistment in the navy broke them up. When he graduated and left, Mom still had three years of college ahead of her.”
“So then Mom starts dating other people. She meets and falls in love with Russell. After graduation, Mom and Russell marry.”
“Then Dad makes a stop in Camden, where the newlyweds were living. Ostensibly, to recruit. But also, to say hello to his old girlfriend.” Natasha wrinkled her nose. “Why? It seems weird that he’d reach out to an ex-girlfriend after she’s married.”
“Perhaps they remained friends after their breakup?” Genevieve suggested.
“Are you friends with any of your ex-boyfriends?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“That doesn’t mean that it couldn’t have gone down that way for Mom and Dad,” Genevieve said.
Natasha chewed the side of her bottom lip.
A shiver of premonition ran between Genevieve’s shoulder blades, because she knew what her sister was about to say before she said it.
“What if Mom and Dad still had a thing for each other?” Natasha asked. “What if Mom cheated on Russell with Dad that weekend?”
The possibility jangled.
“The person who wrote the letter said that Mom and Dad weren’t going to ‘get away with it,’” Natasha continued. “What if someone saw them kiss? Or found them in bed together?”
“On the weekend of Mom’s husband’s murder?”
“That would have been scandalous enough to motivate someone to write a letter.”
“Yes,” Genevieve said. “But I just can’t believe that Mom would have cheated on Russell or that Dad would have participated in that, either.” A marital affair didn’t square with her parents’ character. “Mom and Russell looked incredibly happy in their wedding announcement photo.”
“Okay, so, what other scandalous thing could Mom and Dad have done?” Natasha asked.
In the silence, the dishwasher chugged.
“I don’t know,” Genevieve said.
The back door banged. Half a second later, Millie spilled into the room. “Daddy says it’s time to put on my costume!”
The Fellowship Hall at The Vine Church hadn’t been constructed with the type of sound-dampening materials needed to handle the din generated by a hundred children and their entourages. Especially when those children were enjoying their first round of overstimulation and candy right before their second round of overstimulation and candy.
Genevieve and Natasha’s family had arrived thirty minutes ago for the Light the Night event at Natasha’s church. They’d meet up with their parents shortly, then take the kids out trick-or-treating, which, blessedly, would be quieter. A volcanic explosion would be quieter.
“What a darling little Spider-Man,” the lady at the Go Fish station said to Genevieve. She handed Owen a makeshift fishing pole with a clothespin dangling from the end of its line. He tossed the line over the partition painted to resemble the ocean.
“He looks just like you, Mama,” the woman told Genevieve.
“Thank you, but I’m not his mommy. I’m his aunt.” His unmarried, childless aunt.
“What a good auntie you are,” she said. Then, to Owen, “Move your fishing pole around to see if you catch anything.”
Genevieve glanced down the length of the large space at the kaleidoscope of activity—
And spotted Sam.
A dazzled stillness fell over her as memories of yesterday’s kiss replayed in her imagination.
As if she’d called out to him, he looked up.
The electricity that snapped between them was so powerful Genevieve was surprised everyone in the room didn’t duck for cover.
Warmth contracted her abdomen.
He gave her a small, affectionate smile and nodded.
She retu
rned his smile and nod, then startled when Owen tapped her thigh. The woman working the booth had knelt down to help Owen free his prize (a tiny box of crayons) because Genevieve had been unable to hear, see, or sense anything else while ogling Sam.
“Way to go, buddy,” Genevieve said.
Sam was here. Sam was here.
Owen dropped the crayons into the favor bag she was carrying for him, then outstretched his arms.
Genevieve swept him onto her right hip. “Can you say thank you for the crayons?”
“Tankoo.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” the older woman said.
Would Sam approach her now?
She’d been sure that her chances of seeing him today were shot when she’d left the farm.
Her chin kept wanting to tug back in his direction and sneak another peek. It took physical effort to resist the gravitational pull.
She carried Owen to an art station that provided dot markers plus coloring pages featuring pumpkins and scarecrows. Once she got him situated on a chair, he released the two soggy Goldfish he’d been protecting in one hand and went to work.
“Happy Halloween.” Sam’s voice. His Australian accent rippled over her like satin.
She twisted to find him standing nearby, fingers pushed into the front pockets of his jeans, a gray athletic shirt hugging his shoulders.
“Happy Halloween.” She looped a finger inside the neck of Owen’s Spider-Man costume. She didn’t want to get sucked into a Sam vortex and fail to notice her nephew toddling out of the church toward the nearest busy street.
“Are you dressed as a . . .” He pushed his lips to the side, considering. “Russian folk singer?”
She laughed, which felt like a gift in the face of the uneasy feeling she’d been carrying since she’d seen the yearbook photo of her parents. She indicated her braids, jewel-toned cape, full skirt, lace-up boots. “Really? You don’t know who I am?”
“Nope.”
“I’m Anna from the movie Frozen.” Her costume wasn’t a cheap knock-off. It was legit. After she and Natasha had decided to dress as Elsa and Anna, her sister had rented these costumes for them.
“Never saw it.”
“Frozen was something of a cultural phenomenon.”
“Among who?”
“Females worldwide.”
“Anna!” a little girl called, pointing at Genevieve as she ran past.
“See?” Genevieve said wryly.
“Red!” Owen sang, stabbing his coloring page with a red dot marker.
“Is this your nephew?” Sam asked.
“Yes, this is Natasha’s son, Owen.” Owen spared Sam a skeptical glance. “Owen, this is Mr. Turner.”
“Sam.”
Owen returned to his art.
Genevieve regarded Sam. “If Owen could talk and had manners, he’d say that it’s nice to meet you.”
She swallowed. She hadn’t told anyone about yesterday’s kiss, so it was strange to stand here with him in public, very circumspect, but with this blazing private knowledge between them.
“What brings you here tonight?” she asked.
“I go to church here.”
“You do? So does Natasha.” Her sister had never mentioned that he attended The Vine.
“I go Saturday nights.”
“Ah. She goes Sundays.”
“They needed volunteers, so I offered to help with the putting green.”
“That’s very sacrificial of you.”
“You volunteer at the farm a lot.”
“Yes, but I had mercenary motives when I agreed to volunteer at the farm. I wanted your cottage.”
His mouth took on a lopsided curve. She could see his reserve battling against his desire for connection. “I don’t think you’re very mercenary,” he said.
“Oh, but I am. Where chives are concerned.”
He chuckled, and it went to her head like vodka.
“I’m impressed that someone not related to any of these children would brave this,” she said.
“It’s good for me not to spend all my free time alone.”
A visual of him inside his farmhouse cooking dinner for one plucked a cord of sympathy in her, which ended up making the visual unreasonably sexy.
“I better get back.” He gestured to the line forming at the putting green. “I abandoned my mate Eli.”
“You have a friend?” she asked with exaggerated surprise, only half kidding.
He grinned, and his face creased in that endearing way. “I have one friend.”
“Two,” she corrected breathlessly, tightening her hold on Owen to ensure he was still in the vicinity.
“Would you like me to drop in later?” he asked. “To explain what to do with the groceries I chose for you?”
Inside, she was salsa dancing. “Sure.”
“What time?”
“Natasha’s kids have to go to bed early or they turn into monsters, and not the cute Halloween kind. I expect to be home by nine.”
“See ya then.”
She watched him weave through the crowd. He stepped to the side to let a family pass and corrected a kid’s course when the kid would have barreled into his legs.
He was coming over later.
Natasha stepped directly into her line of sight. “Are you using my child as a dude magnet?”
“How could you think so little of me?”
“How could I think so much of you, you mean. If you’re using my child as a dude magnet, I was going to compliment you.”
“Actually, I discovered that kids don’t really provide a very romantic ambiance.”
“You don’t say,” Natasha said dryly. She resettled the train of her Elsa dress. “Luckily, it didn’t appear that you two need any help in the romance department. Sam was looking at you like he was a puma and you were dinner.”
“He was?”
“Have you kissed that man again?”
Genevieve paused.
“When?” Natasha demanded. “When did you kiss him?”
“Yesterday. This time he kissed me.”
Natasha crowed. “I’m jealous! You’re having first kisses and all I’m having is PMS.”
Owen abandoned his chair. Natasha took his hand, Genevieve straightened the area Owen left behind, and they made their way to the cakewalk. Millie and Wyatt were already there, moving in a circle over masking-tape numbers as “Monster Mash” played.
Genevieve took out her phone and snapped photos of her niece and nephew.
Sam was coming over later.
“Honey girl.” Dad approached wearing a hideous beige scarf Natasha had knitted for him over his button-down shirt. No doubt, the long brown dog ears perched on his head had been Mom’s idea and he’d good-naturedly gone along.
Mom had on dog ears, too. Hers were lighter brown, shorter, and bent over at the top.
Genevieve hugged them, but when they stepped apart, she couldn’t quite meet their eyes. They’d lied to her and Natasha about when they’d met. Why would they lie about that?
“Doing okay?” Mom asked her.
“Yes. I think the kids are having a great time.”
“Good, good. You look adorable, sweetie.”
“Thanks!”
Mom intertwined her fingers with Genevieve’s and heaved a sentimental sigh. “Halloween night. What a moment to treasure.”
“It really is.”
“Millie and Owen won’t stay little for long, sadly. They’ll grow so fast.” She squeezed Genevieve’s hand as they watched Millie circling. “The best years of my life were the years when I had you and Natasha at home with me. When you were small and I had you all to myself, we’d play and cuddle all day.”
“They did the mash,” the song’s chorus sang. “They did the monster mash.”
“I blinked,” Mom went on, “and you and Natasha were adults. In the place where my babies had been, only precious memories remained.”
Tears were piling onto Mom’s lower lashes.
Uh-oh. “Mom,” Genevieve said.
“I’m thankful, of course, that you and your sister have turned out wonderfully. Because you have. You’re my life’s best work.”
Sam is coming over later.
“I know that events like this one can be lonely for single women,” Mom said. “If you’re feeling that way, I want to be sensitive to it.”
“I’m not feeling that way. I’m happy.”
“There are a lot of young families here. Which can be hard.”
“She’s happy, Caroline,” Dad said, winking at Genevieve.
“It’s just . . . I want you to know I understand your sorrow,” Mom told her.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You have Dad and me, sweetie. We love you to the moon and back.”
“I love you, too.”
“And we’ll always be here. For anything and everything you need.”
“I appreciate that. Very much.”
“Have you had enough to eat tonight?”
“Yep.”
The music cut away. Neither Millie nor Wyatt had landed on the correct number. Consternation stamped Millie’s face. Wyatt counteracted that by sweeping his daughter upside down until she laughed.
“I’ll make you a cake,” Mom assured Millie as she bent to christen the little girl’s face with kisses.
Dad took Owen into his arms and ruffled his hair. “How are you, buddy?”
What despicable thing could these two people—who wore dog ears on Halloween and cherished their grandchildren—have done all those years ago?
Natasha
I think Sebastian’s lost his mind.
He picked up a rock, and he keeps dropping it on the bent area of the pipe. Crash. He lifts it again. Crash. Crash Crash. Metal creaks.
How many times has he dropped the rock on that pipe? Thirty? Fifty? He’s grunting and sweating. What if he spends all his energy on this pipe only to find out that it’s empty or that it carries sewage?
Crash. This time, he doesn’t pick the rock back up. Instead, he raises his knee and lets out a yell as he kicks down on the pipe with his heel.
It doesn’t break.
I come to stand next to him. “I’ll help.”
“We’ll all help,” Ben says.
“No. I can do it myself.”
Suddenly, he’s not the only one who’s angry. I’m angry, too, because he’s so rude. Why would anybody be rude in this situation? It’s hard enough to be stuck down here. We’re all worried. We need to be kind to one another.
