Her eyes narrowed. “The Russos, of course.”
5
The clock on the mantel marked a new hour. Its musical chimes blared like gongs in the silence. I took a sip of tea. It had cooled to lukewarm. The bitter brew clung to my taste buds.
“Would you care for some honey?” Candice asked.
“Thank you.” I stirred some into my cup. I had a feeling I’d need more than a spoonful of the sweet stuff to make whatever Candice had to say palatable.
“How much did your grandmother tell you about the Russo family?” Candice asked.
She sat forward and sipped her tea, watching me over the rim.
“Nothing. I never even heard the name until this morning.”
“She probably thought she was protecting you. I’m sure she couldn’t have guessed you’d eventually move back to the area.”
“Protecting me from what?” Candice made it sound like my dad’s side of the family was out to get me.
She sighed and pursed her lips. “This may be a beautiful area, but every garden has its snakes. I can’t tell you what to do, Tish, I can only urge you not to get mixed up with the Russos. And believe me, as soon as they find out you’re back, they’ll try luring you into their viper’s nest. They’re not the only ones to watch out for, of course. They’re just the most obvious.”
I hadn’t come five hundred miles to stick my head in the sand. If finding out about my mother meant going nose to nose with the Russo clan, then so be it. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not passing up the opportunity to get to know the family that was denied me all these years.”
Candice’s eyes flared. “Art and Eva Amble did what was necessary to ensure your survival. If Bernard Russo had known your whereabouts, your life would have been a few chapters short of what it is today.”
I shook my head in confusion. “What are you saying?”
“Just that I would hate to see history repeat itself. Your mother was a beautiful woman with a bright future until the Russos got a hold of her. Bernard virtually lured her to her death.”
“I don’t understand. Is he somehow responsible for my mother killing herself?”
“Is that what Eva told you—that it was suicide? Bernard couldn’t be more guilty of her death if he drove her car into the quarry himself.”
“What did he do that was so terrible? Why would she kill herself because of him?”
“You’ll have to trust me and keep your distance. You have a bright future, Tish. Don’t throw it away on people who aren’t worth the dirt they walk on.”
Candice’s intentions were probably kindhearted, but being told that half my genes were lower than dirt didn’t endear her to me. I set my teacup down with a clumsy clink. “Thank you for inviting me over today.” I stood. “I appreciate the advice. I really do. I just can’t promise I’ll follow it.”
Candice sucked in a deep breath. “Just be careful, Tish. That’s all I can say.”
She rose and brought my coat to me.
“Thanks for the tea.” I bundled up and stepped into the cold, sorry to leave the cozy haven for the harsh winter winds.
I drove home. The scenery blurred over with thoughts of feuding relatives and the image of my mom’s Ford merging with bedrock.
Afternoon was already fading to evening by the time I got back to the cabin. I trekked upstairs and flopped on my bed, breathing in the yummy baby-fresh scent that lingered on my pillowcase. Maybe tomorrow I’d give Ethyl Merton a call and find out who else she’d told of my arrival. Right after I found out their brand of fabric softener, I’d bawl them out for ripping up my mom’s picture and writing those three maddening words across the front.
Don’t ask why.
As if that were possible. Whoever had done the deed might as well have written, “Definitely ask why.”
I rested my eyes for a few minutes, then got back to work downstairs making the bathroom presentable. The fixtures were old, but functional. Nothing a little caulk and white paint couldn’t cure, at least temporarily.
Afterward, I washed up, then heated a mug of tomato soup in my travel-size microwave. I took the steaming brew into my drafty great room. I sat in the dark and looked through the tall windows at the stars. Tomorrow promised to be clear and bright. If the wind died down, I’d get out and exercise.
I sipped my soup. Brad had been the one to get me walking three times a week on top of daily stretching. By the time I left Rawlings, he and I had become a regular sight along a three-mile route.
My lip scrunched. Somehow, hitting the trail wouldn’t be the same without my walking buddy. But that was the choice I’d made, I reminded myself. And it was a good one. Because here I was, close to the people who had known my mother. I’d find out what I came to learn. Only then could I be in a relationship and be happy about it. I wouldn’t have to feel dumb when I said, “I don’t know,” to every question about my parentage. I frowned as I remembered Candice’s disparaging attitude toward my dad’s side of the family. Still, at least I’d have answers, even if I didn’t like them.
I rinsed out my mug and hit the sack early.
Another day, another donut.
I spent the morning washing down the staircase with wood oil soap. I paused at the top to gaze at the tower across the bay, rising black against the miles of ice and snow. I smiled and remembered the visit to the burn tower when I was a kid.
Mom had taken me for the day, the summer before she died. We parked the car at the boat dock behind the old hotel there and walked a narrow path through sun-washed grass. Monarch butterflies had been everywhere that day, feasting on milkweed and wildflowers. A little way up we crossed a rickety bridge that spanned a man-made channel. And just around the next clump of trees rose the tall, black tower.
We walked into its cool shadow. The rust-covered grate that once blocked the entrance lay over in some weeds. Mom and I poked our heads through the wide-open hole. Hundred-year-old ashes and coals were crusted over in a lumpy mound. We stared up at the dome. Daylight shot through sooty screens a long way up. I remember I was staring in awe at the sight, and the next thing I knew, a spider was crawling up my freckled arm. I screamed and danced to get it off me. My voice bounced off the walls of the chamber along with Mom’s laughter. Later, we found a spot by the lake and ate our picnic lunch. Then we held hands and walked, still laughing, back to the car.
Up in the loft of my log cabin, I slouched against the rail. My chin rested on the back of my hands. Through my tears, the tower blurred until it disappeared into the glaring white around it. I straightened. If I could remember my visit to the burner with Mom as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, there had to be other memories waiting to rise to the surface. I just had to be patient.
I finished my task and bundled up with coat, hat, and scarf for a walk up the driveway before dark set in. I’d never been to the cottage in the winter as a kid, so today, every turn along the way held a snow-covered wonder. Pine branches hung low and mysterious beneath their fluffy white burdens. The creek where Mom and I waded in the summer was iced over. Critter tracks crossed its winding path.
I came around a curve. Just ahead, a deer stood on the road. I jerked to a halt and watched its ears flick back and forth like furry radars. It spotted me and we locked eyes. Neither of us moved. Then the doe bolted into the forest. I raced ahead, slipping and sliding in the tire ruts. I paused where the deer had stood. Its cloven hooves left deep imprints in the snow. I followed the tracks with my eyes. Just through the trees, the doe watched me.
I made kissing sounds with my lips and held out a hand.
“Here, girl,” I said in a falsetto voice.
The doe tensed.
“Come on, I’m not going to hurt you.” I took a step toward her. She turned and fled into the woods.
“Goodbye! Come back soon!” I jumped up and down, feeling a little like Snow White’s protégée.
