As he was walking out the door, he turned around at the last minute to interject that my previous promise included the café as well. He was sorely mistaken in that regard, because that was not at all my intention when making said agreement, but I reluctantly told him that I would not let my shadow darken the door of the café that day either.
Bleh. What does he expect me to do if I can’t satisfy my curiosity?
I could go to the library and spy on her from across the street.
No, don’t be weird, Camdyn.
I wonder what time she goes to work. She’s definitely there at lunch, but does she work the breakfast shift too?
Why do you care anyway, stalker? Cole’s right – forget about Rita.
Trying to calm the conversation in my head, I busied myself cleaning the breakfast dishes and thinking about my morning with Cole. We had jogged behind the house on the trail through the woods, and then I gawked at him for a few minutes while he lifted weights. After that, he took a shower while I stayed in the den and tried to lift a couple of weights myself. I proceeded to drop the stupid barbell on my chest and went into a full-fledged panic when I realized I couldn’t push it back up. Eventually I managed to wiggle my way out from under it, and then I placed it quickly where it belonged so Cole wouldn’t know what I had done. Acting nonchalant, I waited for him in the kitchen until he came downstairs, stating that he wanted me to help him make breakfast.
Our meal consisted of blueberry pancakes, which Cole forced me to make while he watched over my shoulder. Strangely enough, even though he watched my every move, they were still not quite right. After throwing away the first batch and starting again with him doing all the work, they were finally edible. The entire time he was cooking those pancakes, he kept muttering about how it made no sense. It was easy for me to agree with that sentiment, but it seemed that was my fate in the kitchen.
Once he was gone and the dishes were clean, I found myself standing idly in the kitchen with nothing particular to do. Obviously I should have popped open A Different Kind of Rain and went to work, but I felt out of sorts. Even though the fact that my mind was lingering on Rita was completely insane, I simply couldn’t stop myself.
My hands are tied, though – I promised him I wouldn’t go to the pawn shop, or to the café.
You didn’t promise anything about the house, though.
Could I?
No, that is beyond crazy.
So, argument settled in my mind, I prepared to drive to Jerry Farner’s lair.
-§-
The creepy internet stalker info firmly in my hand, I drove the ten miles from my house to Jerry’s feeling extremely guilty. If Cole didn’t like the thought of me going to the pawn shop, he definitely wouldn’t have liked me paying the Farner home a personal visit. Surely he would understand, though, that the trip to Jerry’s was of the utmost importance.
You know he wouldn’t say that, Camdyn.
Anyway, Jerry wouldn’t be home, and neither would Rita, so I could just poke around outside a bit and then be on my way. No harm there.
I parked in a vacant field about one-hundred yards from the address in an attempt to be incognito, which quickly went awry when a dog began barking furiously from behind the neighbor’s fence. I was fairly certain whoever owned the accompanying house was peeking through the blinds to see what was causing all the raucous, so I lowered my gaze to the grass in front of me and power walked as fast as my legs would carry me. When I rounded the corner, a passing car let out a long, blaring honk that could only serve to further announce my arrival. By the time the house came into view, I was relieved to see that there were no vehicles in the driveway.
Regarding the rather small house with gray siding, had it not been for the giant letters that spelled FARNER on the mailbox, I might have thought I was in the wrong place. There was a garden gnome in the front yard, along with a couple of flower solar stakes, and they seemed strangely out of place with the random push lawnmower and two five-gallon buckets strewn about the yard. There was also some sort of old-fashioned farm implement that I couldn’t place, rusted out with weeds growing up through the center.
Unsure of what to do once I was actually there, I wandered in a large circle around the perimeter of the house, gazing around me. It was ridiculous to have thought I could gain any information from being at that address – completely ridiculous. So much so that, when I saw a window towards the back cracked open just a bit, I felt compelled to push it up the rest of the way to take a peek at the inside.
Unable to get a good look from my vantage point, I retrieved one of the buckets from the yard and gave myself a boost. Once the bottom of the window was below my armpits as I was looking inside, the thought crossed my mind that I was already halfway in, so I might as well fully commit.
Shoving myself up and through the open window, I scraped my legs across the windowsill on the way down, landing in a heap on the green shag carpet. Instinctively, I wrinkled my nose and brushed myself off.
Oh my goodness, what did I just do? Camdyn, you have to get out of here!
I’ll just go through the door and walk back to my car and pretend like nothing happened.
Yeah, that’s it.
The problem was, that definitely wasn’t it, because as I rounded the corner, I hastily shrank back when I heard an unfamiliar whizzing noise. Peeking around the corner again, I saw the culprit sleeping on the couch in a dirty white t-shirt and tattered blue jeans.
“Great,” I whispered as I realized I would have to sneak past Jerry, although his halting snoring pattern might have offered the perfect cover for any noise I could have made. Still, I had no idea whether he was a sound sleeper, so I had to play it careful. I tiptoed about three steps toward the door, but when I saw him roll and heard him make a grunting noise, I panicked and began looking around for a place to hide. For some reason, my eyes flew upward to the hallway, where there was a gaping hole in the ceiling for the attic access. In a frantic panic, I grabbed a barstool that came up to my waist and set it in the hall. Once I managed to perch myself on top, I lunged at the hole in the ceiling, managing to catch my ribcage above the opening. Dragging my legs up behind me, I sensed a scraping sensation across my shin, but I bit my lip and sucked my breath in.
Straddling two beams, I stood there precariously for several minutes, until sweat began to form on my upper lip. I knew I couldn’t stay in that attic forever, but how I was going to manage to escape that house unseen was a mystery. Fifteen minutes in, it felt like I was running out of air in that little hole, and I was aware that I had to act.
Carefully squeezing my legs through the opening, I lowered myself back to my ribcage and felt my right shoe connect with the stool. Just as I began to rest my weight on my foot, the legs became unbalanced and the stool toppled to the left, sending my feet flailing and airborne while my top half slowly sank downward. I frantically reached my arms up, grabbing at the space that existed between the attic opening and the floor below, my fingers clutching nothing as I hit the hallway carpet with a thud. I heard the air rush out of my lungs as though it was happening far away, and then I felt the full effects of the impact. Gasping, I desperately tried to coax some air into my lungs.
This is how I’m going to die, lying here on Jerry’s cigarette smoke-infused shag carpet with a dirty pile of laundry sitting nearby. Rita will drag herself in from work, walk towards the bedroom, and spot me on my back.
“What’s my daughter doing sleeping in the hallway?” she will ask Jerry. He’ll just shrug and twist his mustache around between his fingers, wondering how he didn’t notice the dead girl on his way to the bathroom.
What a poetic, romantic ending to my existence. What could possibly be worse?
“Holy smokes, girl, ya scared me,” I heard a drawling voice exclaim from somewhere behind me. “What the heck are ya doing layin’ there like that?”
I was aware of a wheezing sound coming from my body as I struggled for breath, and then Jerry’s figure came
into view, leaning over me apprehensively. His eyes were wide and his mouth drawn tight beneath his mustache.
“You havin’ a heart attack, girl?” he asked loudly, speaking slowly as though I could not understand him. “You need me to be callin’ the 9-1-1?”
Desperately I tried to shake my head as Jerry rubbed his palms back and forth across his dirty white t-shirt. He leaned close to me and positioned his face right in front of mine.
“Nine. One. One.” He punctuated each of the numbers with a stretch of his neck, like a chicken pecking corn, nervously wringing his hands in front of his chest, and then he began to move away, backing off like a cat that was afraid of being jumped from behind. He took two, maybe three steps, before he connected with the upended stool and toppled over it himself, landing sideways on his left arm.
“Oooooowww,” he moaned, rolling onto his back and then lifting himself up off the floor, heading down the hallway in a strange combination of jogging and limping. “9-1-1, we be needin’ an am’blance. Ooohhh, 9-1-1!” He disappeared around the corner as I finally took a shallow breath, and then willed myself to take another.
So I won’t die here after all. Well, not in this instant, anyway. Who knows what that crazy Jerry will try next; some sort of CPR, perhaps? Over my dead body!
“Jerry!” I choked, but all I heard was a whisper. I could hear him pushing buttons on the phone in the next room. “Jerry!”
“Yeah, I got some trouble,” I could hear him telling the operator. “I got a girl here havin’ a heart attack.”
I have to get up and tell him to stop.
“I don’t rightly know. She’s not movin’, but her eyes is open.”
Oh, the horror! As soon as I find the strength to move, I’m going in there to hang up the phone!
“I don’t know how old she is,” he said, sounding puzzled. “Hang on a second, I’ll ask her.” I saw him pop his head around the corner, and I lifted up a little so he would know I was fine. He seemed unfazed by my motion.
“Girl, how old are ya?” He stood there with the phone held midair, his eyes practically bugging out of his head, waiting for my reply.
“I’m…okay,” I whispered. He just shook his head and held the receiver to his ear.
“Sorry, she doesn’t seem to be understandin’ my question. Hang on a second.” He moved to within a few inches of my face and widened his eyes to be certain I was focused on him. “How…old…is…you?”
“I…am…okay,” I emphasized, choking out each word. He looked at me quizzically and then returned to his conversation.
“I don’t know. She just keeps sayin’ ‘I am okay,’” he explained, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “Oh, golly, I don’t know. Let me ask her. You okay, girl?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice sounding a little stronger. A wave of recognition crossed his face as he nodded his head.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, she’s okay. No, no, I guess not. Okay, then…well, my arm does hurt a little, but… Hello? Hello?” He pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment and stared at it before pushing the button to end the call. I sat up a little and concentrated on catching my breath before what I envisioned would be an inevitable confrontation. I was flat on my back in the hallway, caught red-handed after breaking into Jerry’s home. There was no way he was going to let me get away with that infraction.
“What in tarnation are you doin’, you crazy kid?” He looked at me, and then back at the stool, and then glanced up at the hole in the ceiling.
“I was looking for Rita,” I lied. He glared at me with squinty eyes and the corner of his mouth twisted as though he did not believe me. “I thought maybe she had some of my stuff in the attic, and when I was climbing out of there the stool came out from under me. That’s what happened.”
Total lie. You are a terrible person.
“Land sakes, you willin’ to kill yourself to steal some of her stuff?” he asked, shaking his head at me.
“No, I’m not trying to steal anything,” I admitted. “I’m just trying to figure out why she’s here, that’s all.”
“And you thought the best way to do that was to break in’ta my house?” he scolded, placing his fists on his bony hips. “Honestly, girl, I oughtta call the sheriff.”
“Oh my word,” I moaned softly, feeling tears prick the corners of my eyes. “Please don’t do that, I’m begging you.” He sauntered over to the couch and settled himself in the middle of it, bringing a hand up against his forehead.
“Well, I don’t reckon you stole nothin’,” he stated, “and you didn’t hurt nothin’ either, ‘less’n you count scarin’ me half to death.”
“I’m so sorry,” I reiterated. “I panicked when I realized you were here…”
“Now you sound like a criminal,” he chided.
Wow. I am a criminal. How did I manage to sink this low?
“I promise you, I’m not a criminal,” I explained. “I’m just…” I managed to sit up and put my head against my knees, wrapping my arms around them as I began to sob. “I don’t understand why this is making me so crazy, but I don’t know how to deal with Rita’s sudden appearance. I mean, she’s been missing from my life for decades. I thought I was beyond all that, but obviously my behavior here today proves that I am still totally messed up about this.”
“It’s okay, girl, I won’t call the sheriff,” he told me, making me cry even harder.
“It’s not okay,” I moaned. “I’m a sick, horribly screwed up individual.” Feeling him tap me on the back, I raised my head to look at him.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s go outside so you can get some air.” Reluctantly I staggered to my feet and followed him out the front door and onto his porch, trying to wipe the moisture from my eyes. He sat down in a cloth fold-out chair and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He motioned for me to sit on an old-fashioned metal chair on the other side of the porch, and being in no position to argue with him, I sank down in a rather defeated fashion.
Of all the idiotic, foolhardy things you have ever done, Camdyn, this one takes the cake. You are certifiably crazy.
“What did Rita do to you, anyway?” he asked, taking a long drag of his cigarette and squinting over at me.
What did Rita do to me? Nothing in particular that sounds horrible enough to justify breaking and entering.
“She disappeared,” I managed to say, my breathing returning to a somewhat normal state. “After my dad passed away, she ran off and left.”
“How old was ya then?”
“Four,” I told him. “She wasn’t gone for good until I was six, but after that, she never came back.”
“’Cause she was in Europe?” he wondered. I glanced over at him carefully, wondering if he believed what I had told him the day before.
“In Italy,” I clarified. “She married a wealthy Italian, and that was that. So, after twenty years, as you can imagine, her appearance here is a little startling.”
“Yeah, I get ya,” he nodded, dragging on that cigarette again. “Why don’t you just sit down with her and talk this out, though? Seems to me that would be a heap better than what you’re doin’.”
“I’m not sure I could handle it,” I admitted. “Every time I see her, my blood boils.”
We sat there silently for a few moments, staring across the grass that was in need of mowing, and I thought about what he suggested. Should I try to talk things out? I doubted she would tell me the truth, and that would likely only make me angrier with her.
“I’ve taken up enough of your time,” I reasoned, standing from the metal chair. “Thanks for not being too hard on me.”
“Well, at least let me drive ya home,” he reasoned.
“Oh, that’s okay,” I assured him. “My car’s just up the road a ways.” At that, he let out a long whistle and laughed under his breath.
“Premeditated trespassin’,” he said. “You’re a gutsy one, ain’t ya?”
“Not usually,” I stated, stepping off the
porch. “Thank you again, and I promise I won’t bother you anymore.”
“Now, I don’t mind if you bother me,” he added with a smile, “just make sure ya knock first.”
As I performed a depressingly shameful walk up his driveway, only one thought was crossing my mind: How on earth am I going to tell Cole what I’ve done?
-§-
Passing the bed and breakfast that had been home for the past couple months, I pulled into the driveway to talk to Cole’s aunt Rosalie. It was strange not talking to her every day anymore, and if any person on the planet could talk some sense into me, I knew it was her. When I knocked on the door and pushed it open carefully, she was quick to scold me.
“Why are you suddenly knocking like you’re a stranger?” she asked, stepping up to hug me. “Goodness honey, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” I assured her. She leaned back from me and looked deeply into my eyes.
“Why have you been crying? You two have a fight already?” She sat on the couch, and I sank down next to her. “You take up smoking?” She wrinkled her nose at me, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“No to all of your questions,” I stated. “Rita’s still here, working at the café.”
“I’d heard that,” she said quietly, giving me a sympathetic smile.
“She’s living with Jerry Farner,” I added, looking at her rather pathetically.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” she muttered. “Why do you suppose she’s hanging around?” Twisting my car keys in my fingers, I simply shrugged.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I told her. “Just tell me to stop worrying about her, would you? I need someone to speak some sanity to me.” Crossing my arms against my chest, I collapsed against the back of the couch. Rosalie copied my action, huffing a bit as she crossed her arms and fell back into the cushions. Naturally, the mirrored image vision of how ridiculously I was acting caused me to smile.
A Reason to Forget (The Camdyn Series Book 3) Page 5