Including, apparently, the very box that could have proved Tara was who she’d always believed herself to be.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said again.
Tara’s throat was so thick she could barely get the words past her lips. “That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She backed out of the house and into the overcast night, automatically placing one foot in front of the other.
I’m sorry, her mother had said.
Tara wondered what exactly she’d apologized for before facing a truth of her own. There was another reason she hadn’t been more persistent when questioning her mother. A stronger reason.
If Carrie Greer had abducted her, she didn’t want to know.
* * *
WHAT WAS HE GOING TO DO for the rest of the day? Jack wondered. It wasn’t a great question to be asking himself, considering it was barely past noon.
The beach where he was renting a cottage wasn’t wide enough or long enough for running, so he’d jogged along the narrow road through the maritime forest that bordered the salt marsh. He’d also performed the series of shoulder exercises the team doctor had prescribed before the Mud Dogs released him, driven into Wawpaney to buy some toiletries at the drugstore and eaten a sandwich he’d slapped together.
The local newspaper he’d bought at the convenience store lay on the butcher-block kitchen table. He picked it up, struck again by how thin it was. It wouldn’t take long to read.
With the newspaper in hand, he headed out to the porch that was just steps from the bay. The low rent on the one-bedroom cottage hadn’t made sense until he saw the collection of modest homes on either side of a mile-long street that made up the community. If the houses hadn’t been parallel to the water, there’d be nothing special about them. As the Realtor in Onancock had claimed, however, the location couldn’t be beaten.
With a narrow expanse of beach just steps from the porch, the warm, salty scent of the Chesapeake Bay in his nostrils and the sound of the lapping waves filling his ears, Jack had to admit she was right. The setting would be even more perfect on a day that wasn’t overcast.
He was about to sit down on one of the plastic Adirondack chairs when he noticed two local girls in bikinis about fifteen yards away staring at him. From their gangly figures and coltish legs, he judged them to be about thirteen or fourteen. Their heads were together and their shoulders shook as though they were giggling. The thinner of the two broke away from the other girl and headed straight for him. She stopped just shy of the porch.
“Hey, mister, can I ask you something?” She was still giggling. The sun glinted off something silver and Jack realized she wore braces.
“Sure.” He figured the girls had some kind of bet going.
“Are you famous?”
Jack supposed it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that one of the girls had recognized him, although the world he lived in seemed very far away.
“Are you a baseball fan?” he asked.
She seemed surprised by the question. “Sort of. But I know you’re not a baseball player.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s baseball season right now,” she said. “You’d be playing. You wouldn’t be here.”
He nodded. Of course she didn’t know him from baseball. He’d made three appearances in the major leagues in nine years, none lasting longer than a few innings. Only the most hard-core fan would recognize his name. Even fewer would know his face.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not famous,” he said. “Who did you think I was, anyway?”
“We weren’t sure,” she said. “But we thought maybe Ryan Reynolds.”
“Ryan who?”
“Green Lantern,” she said.
“What’s that?”
She giggled again. “A movie about a comic-book character. Ryan Reynolds is a movie star.”
“Oh.” Jack didn’t see many movies.
She turned and ran back to her friend, sand kicking up under her feet. Jack sat down, aware his mood had darkened.
He wasn’t sure why. For as long as he could remember he’d dreamed of becoming a pro baseball player, not of being famous. When he’d brushed elbows with his superstar teammates during his brief stints in the majors, fame hadn’t looked attractive.
The most famous of them, a center fielder who’d won a couple of batting titles, had to switch hotels because of the autograph seekers who mobbed him in the lobby. Somebody had told Jack the player was a virtual recluse in the off-season because it was so difficult for him to go out in public.
No, it wasn’t lack of fame that nagged at Jack.
It was the reminder that baseball season was in full swing and he was here at an out-of-the-way beach community on the Eastern Shore instead of on the mound where he belonged.
“What now?” Jack asked himself sarcastically. “You’re going to start feeling sorry for yourself?”
That wasn’t his style. Neither was talking to himself.
He’d already identified the problem. He had too much time on his hands. Too bad he wasn’t one of the sun worshippers who could while away the hours on the beach. Another workout was in his future, but not until at least early evening when his muscles had recovered from his morning exercises. Swimming in the bay was tempting, but he feared his shoulder wasn’t yet up to it. He needed to curb his enthusiasm until he could meet with the fitness consultant the guy at the health club had recommended when he’d stopped by the night before.
Jack turned his attention to the newspaper, not exactly sure why he’d picked it up instead of the thicker regional paper. Reading that would have taken longer.
He skimmed a front-page story about a crabber who’d been harvesting the Chesapeake for almost fifty years, scanned a story about beach erosion and skipped a detailed account of the latest Northampton County Board of Supervisors meeting.
He flipped through the rest of the newspaper, finding little to catch his interest. He was about to refold the paper when two words in bold type jumped out at him: Volunteer Opportunities.
Of course. The answer to his boredom. He could volunteer.
He read through the listings, keeping a mental tally of activities that might suit him. Delivering meals to shut-ins. Picking up trash off the beach. Helping kids learn to read.
All the opportunities seemed possible, but none seemed quite right until he reached the last listing.
No experience necessary! Help needed at Camp Daybreak, a summer program in Cape Charles for children with developmental disabilities. You bring the energy. We’ll provide the guidance.
The listing included the name and phone number of a contact as well as other particulars about the camp. It went from 9:00 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. daily for the next two weeks and started...today.
This camp was, without a doubt, the one that Tara Greer’s brother, Danny, was attending.
Adrenaline surged through Jack for the first time all day. Not only might volunteering at Camp Daybreak bring him back into contact with Tara, he genuinely enjoyed being around children like Danny. Because of his cousin’s son, he even had some limited experience.
If volunteering awarded him a chance to change Tara’s mind about him, so much the better. He’d seen Tara again last night when he’d stopped by the fitness club. She’d been smiling and laughing, her upbeat personality and a good cheer shining through even as she pedaled faster and faster. He’d been tempted to stick around until her class ended, but was afraid she wouldn’t believe it was a chance encounter.
Jack leaped to his feet and went into the rented cottage to find his cell phone. One voice-mail message later, he disconnected the call and made a snap decision. Camp Daybreak didn’t end for another three and a half hours. Three and a half hours that would be interminable if Jack spent them here alone.
He had the address of the camp. Why not volunteer his services in person?
CHAPTER FOUR
CARRIE GREER FIGURED now was as good a time as any to get this over wi
th. Actually, considering camp had started a few hours before and the children were settling down to lunch, it was past time.
If nothing else, the confrontation would take her mind off the approaching anniversary of the saddest day of her life and Tara’s odd plea to see a baby photo of herself. Carrie always had trouble sleeping in the days leading up to the anniversary. Last night she’d tossed and turned even more than usual, wondering what had prompted Tara’s request and worrying that her daughter hadn’t bought her explanation.
She shoved the problem to the back of her mind. Now wasn’t the time to obsess over things she couldn’t change, not when the director of Camp Daybreak was alone in the community center’s small office.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Tara.
“Sure thing.” Her daughter glanced up from the long table in the all-purpose room where she was helping one of the ten campers unpack his lunch. The other nine were happily munching on the sandwiches, chips, fruit and assorted goodies they’d brought from home in their packed lunches.
“Bye, C-Carrie!” Danny waved, his face wreathed in the biggest smile he’d worn since coming to live with her. Just as Carrie suspected, this camp was exactly what Danny needed.
She forgave herself for tricking Tara into volunteering by telling her Danny’s tuition would be waived. There was a kernel of truth in the claim, since the children of volunteers got the first week free. With both Carrie and Tara helping out at the camp, Carrie had a strong argument for not having to pay for the second week.
If she couldn’t sway the director to her way of thinking, Carrie would have to ask Tara for the money. She was loath to do that. Even at half the cost, camps like these were expensive.
The facilities were top-notch. Camp Daybreak had rented space at a privately owned community center that boasted an oversize air-conditioned room. On rainy days, tables could be pushed aside to create an empty space in the center of the room. Campers also had access to a playground and a community pool. The staff was impressive, too. The director was not only the father of one of the campers but a special education teacher, his assistant was a developmental disability nurse and one of the four volunteer camp counselors was a physiotherapist. Another staff member was a speech therapist.
Carrie walked across the all-purpose room, the heels of her sandals making clicking sounds on the linoleum floor, the skirt of her sleeveless cotton dress swishing about her legs. Gustavo Miller was in the cramped office, his head bent over paperwork, one hand poised over a calculator. He didn’t look up.
Here goes, Carrie thought.
“Hey there, Gustavo,” she said.
His head jerked up, his green eyes fastening on her. The color was quite remarkable, considering his dark hair and swarthy complexion. After a few brief meetings, she’d already noticed he was a man of contradictions. Take his name. Miller was as common as names in the United States came. Gustavo was not.
The intent expression on his face morphed into a smile. “Call me Gus. Most people do.”
“I don’t believe I will,” Carrie said. “Gustavo suits the tall, dark and Latin thing you’ve got going on.”
If he’d been seven or eight years older—in other words, her age—she wouldn’t have worded the compliment quite that way. With men as old as she was and older, she was very careful not to flirt.
He laughed, a nice rumbling sound. “My mother’s from Argentina, but I’m only half Latin. My father grew up near here in Exeter.”
“How interesting. How did your parents meet?” she asked.
“Dad was a month into what was supposed to be a trip around the world when he saw her on a beach in Mar del Plata,” he said. “He stayed in Argentina to romance her and six months later they were married. I spent the first ten years of my life in Buenos Aires.”
“Now I understand why you have an accent.”
“You can hear it, then?” He shook his head, as though he didn’t realize how attractive his slightly different pronunciations were. “I learned to speak Spanish first. I’ve lived in the States so long, though, I keep expecting to lose it. You’ve got an accent, too. Southern?”
“That’s right,” she said. “Nothing exotic. I’m just an American girl from Charlotte.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Gustavo said. “I quite like Southern girls.”
Was he flirting with her? No, that was highly unlikely given their age difference.
She nodded to the empty chair at the table. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Not at all.” He folded his hands on top of the papers while she settled into the chair. “Is there something I can help you with, Carrie?”
She shouldn’t be flattered that he remembered her name. She’d been at orientation last week and they were more than halfway through the first day of camp. She’d never heard Carrie pronounced quite that way, though, with the slight rolling of the r’s.
Strangely reluctant to bring up the reason she’d sought him out, she asked, “Aren’t you going to have lunch?”
“A little later,” he said. “But that’s not what you came to see me about, is it?”
Still not ready to talk money, Carrie smiled at him. It wasn’t difficult. Gustavo had a face that made her want to smile. She got a whiff of something. Not cologne. Something clean and fresh like soap or shampoo. Whatever it was, it made him smell good. “I’m wondering how you got to be director of a camp like this?”
“It’s important to me that Susie have the camp experience,” he said. “There wasn’t a special-needs camp close enough, so I decided to start one. First I had to set up as a nonprofit agency. Then I was lucky enough to get a grant to offset some of the costs. We’re starting small this year with the ten campers, but my plan is to keep growing. We might even make next year’s camp residential.”
“I’m impressed,” she said. “You can’t have lived here very long or we’d have run into each other.”
“About six months,” he said. “I’ve been homeschooling Susie, so haven’t met a lot of people yet. We moved from Baltimore when my grandmother had a heart attack. She was running a bed-and-breakfast. Maybe you know it? The Bay Breeze?”
“That sounds familiar,” Carrie said. “It’s a two-story house on the water, right? Not far from the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel?”
“Right,” he said. “My parents moved back to Argentina a few years ago. Dad couldn’t get away, so it made the most sense for me to help Grandma run the place until she got better, even though I had to quit my teaching job in Baltimore. Except she never made it out of the hospital.”
Carrie’s heart twisted and she laid her hand on his. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. She was a great lady.”
“Will you and your wife keep the B and B going?” she asked, realizing she was fishing around for his marital status. His daughter, Susie, was a camper, but thus far he hadn’t mentioned a wife.
“I’m divorced,” he said. “And no. I’ve got a special ed job lined up for the fall. I closed the Bay Breeze to guests after my grandma died. I’m putting it on the market once I find another place for Susie and me to live. The place needs too much—how can I put it?—TLC.”
“If you’re in charge of a camp like this, you must be awfully good at TLC,” she pointed out.
He looked down at the table, where her hand still rested on his, and lifted his green eyes. “Thank you.”
She drew her hand back quickly, breaking the contact. Oh, no. Now she’d gone and done it. When she broached the subject of Danny’s tuition, he could get the wrong idea.
“I wasn’t flirting with you,” she blurted out.
“You weren’t?” He actually looked disappointed. “You’re not married, are you?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Widowed.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Me, too.” She sensed he was about to ask her questions she’d rather not answer and cast around for something else to say. “Besides, you’re way too young for the likes of
me.”
“I doubt that,” he said. “I’m forty-seven.”
She usually wouldn’t reveal her true age unless threatened at gunpoint, but she was trying to make a point. “I’ll have you know I’m fifty-four.”
“You don’t look it.” His accented words seemed to glide over her skin. She should be gracious and thank him. Surely she’d blush if she did, though.
“Believe it,” she said. “You’re the first person I haven’t lied to about my age in years.”
He threw back his head and laughed, revealing even teeth that looked very white against his tanned skin.
“Is Susie your only child?” she asked, partly because she wanted to know, but mostly to change the subject.
“Yes,” he said. “How about you? Do you have other children besides Tara and Danny?”
Carrie didn’t pause before answering. “Another daughter. We call her Sunny because she’s happy all the time.”
“Cute,” Gustavo said.
Carrie didn’t care to examine why she talked about Sunny as though she were alive. She was about to explain that Danny was her foster child when Susie Miller came running into the office, her face split in a wide smile.
“Daddy!” Susie cried. If she hadn’t made sure the entire camp knew she was eleven, Carrie never would have guessed her age. She was short and on the stocky side, with a round, flat face that was always smiling. In her fine, straight brownish-blond hair, she wore a pink bow. “Look what I found!”
Her hands were cradled together. She opened them and a spider with eight spindly legs jumped out on the table. Carrie took an involuntary step backward. It was a daddy longlegs.
“Look how cute it is!” Susie cried.
Gustavo laughed and hoisted his daughter onto his lap. “Only you would call a spider cute. You were careful with him, weren’t you, mi hija dulce?”
Carrie knew enough Spanish to figure out that translated to “my sweet daughter.”
The Truth About Tara Page 6