We sat down and she poured the tea. This time I relaxed about my wardrobe, knowing I looked impeccable.
“So how is it really going with your relatives?” Candice asked. “I saw your car down at Bernard’s when I drove past last night.”
I loved the way she small-talked to break the ice before bringing up a gut-wrenching topic.
“Not so good,” I said. No use trying to pull the wool over Candice’s eyes. She had my relatives figured out. “It was awful. At first things were going well and I was so happy to have cousins. Then I found out Grandma Olivia refused to meet me, and there was a fight about who got to inherit the house. Then they insulted my dad.” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “That’s when I left. I guess family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Candice sat silent, sipping from the delicate china. She set her cup on the table. “I’m sure they must be a disappointment to you.”
“I expected too much. Of course they’re not happy to have me show up in their lives after so many years.” I humphed. “I mean, Joel was pretty sure he got the old homestead all to himself after Puppa dies. Then I come out of nowhere, the long-lost cousin, supposedly entitled to some share in that place.” I leaned forward and played with my cup and saucer. “I don’t want anything from them. Especially not their stuff.” I wiped at my nose. “I just wanted to feel like family again.”
Candice looked at me with eyes that glimmered in the light from the fire. “They weren’t always that way. There was a time when family was everything to them.”
“Must have been a long time ago.”
Candice nodded and stared into the flames. I wondered if she regretted throwing away the love she and Bernard once shared.
“I don’t mean to pry,” I said, gripping my teacup for courage, “but what happened to your husband? Missy Belmont said you blamed Papa B for his death.”
Her eyes snapped up, filled with anger. “Missy Belmont? When did you talk to that piece of trash?”
I gasped at her crude words. “At church last Sunday.”
“She should go to church, the little tramp. Maybe she can pray her way to heaven.”
Candice seemed overly vicious toward my new friend. My voice took on an edge. “She’s not a tramp. She needs help. I was supposed to talk to my grandfather for her.”
“As if Bernard would do anything to help her. She and her lowlife husband are a plague to this town. Bernard should run them both out of Port Silvan.”
“What did Missy Belmont ever do to you? She’s just a frightened mom trying to get out of a tough situation.”
Candice’s face twisted with hate. “Don’t believe her, Tish. She’s a liar. If she wanted out, she’d go. She’s right where she wants to be. She just wants to suck you—and your grandfather—into her drama. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay far away from that woman.”
My leg started to jiggle. Whom should I believe? Missy had warned me that Candice didn’t have anything good to say about anybody in Port Silvan. But was there a grain of truth in Candice’s opinion of Melissa? If Missy wanted help, she had to be willing to do something for herself. Otherwise, Candice was right. She was just looking for more participants in her life’s drama.
“I appreciate the advice,” I said. “I’d be wise not to believe everything people told me around here.” Including Candice, I thought to myself. Who knew what hidden agenda she had going? She’d completely avoided the topic of her husband, instead diverting the attention to poor Missy. With a reaction so fierce, Candice’s secrets must be big, black, and ugly. Just like mine once were.
“Come here, Tish. I want to show you something.” Candice stood and headed through an arched hallway that led to the rear of the house. We walked past the kitchen, with its tidy country clutter, to a spacious area that served as a hobby room. A row of windows stretched across the rear, giving view to open pastureland. The white expanse looked uninviting this time of year. But I could imagine the beauty spring would hold. Indoors, along the bright, salmon-colored walls, more black-and-white photos were arranged in artsy order.
Candice opened the top drawer of a map-type storage chest. She lifted out a stack of glossy 8x10 photos and passed them to me.
“Recognize this little girl?” she asked.
I stared at the top picture. The child in the black-and-white close-up looked about six or seven years old. A sweet, innocent smile lit her round face. Wisps of hair blew across her cheeks. The corners of her eyes turned up with an exotic flair.
My lids stung. I flipped to the next picture. The same girl, holding the hand of a young woman as they walked away from the photographer along a path in the woods. I squinted at the woman. Her profile barely peeked through the edges of her hair.
I flipped through the pile. The girl at the beach. The girl and the woman perched on a horse. The girl swinging at a park, the woman pushing her.
A tear trickled down and dropped to my wrist, barely missing the shiny print.
I glanced up at Candice. “It’s me,” I whispered. “And my mom.”
11
Candice watched as I studied each picture.
“I saved those for you,” she said.
“Where did you get these? Who took them?” I cycled through the photos again.
“They’re mine.”
“But how? Were you with us?”
She nodded. “Your grandfather and I were together then. Your mom was like the daughter I never had. And you . . . ,” she looked away, “. . . you were like my own grandchild.”
I searched my data banks once more. “Why can’t I remember having an Aunt Candice?”
She crossed her arms and leaned back against a filing cabinet. “I wasn’t Aunt Candice back then. You had a special name for me.” She grinned and a tear trickled out. “I told you to call me Aunt Candi and you said you’d call me by the name of your favorite candy.”
“Jellybeans.” I looked around in wonder. “Puppa and Jellybean. I do remember.” My childhood rose up out of the ashes of time, just snips and bits and impressions of people and smells and sounds. “You were at the lake house. Me and Mom would visit on dress-up day.” I closed my eyes in concentration. “We’d all eat together, then we’d do something fun.” Playgrounds and laughter, a walk along a pier, scooping up sand at the beach. The images were brief but real.
“Dress-up day. Is that what you called it?” Candice wiped at her cheek. “We always looked forward to weekends with you and Beth. You were such a bright spot in our lives.”
Candice opened a cabinet filled with camera equipment, and pulled a bulky metal box from the lowest shelf. “Look at these.” She opened the lid, revealing a heap of photos.
I knelt and began sifting through them. Some were color, others black and white. A drop of dew on a leaf, a wildflower bent in the wind, a rickety old barn, the burn tower with clouds rolling in across the bay, a pair of tiny sandals and beach towel left forgotten near the shore, a younger Candice perched on a rock and looking out at the waves.
“These are all so amazing. Who took this one?” I asked, passing Candice the photo of herself.
She stared at the picture, quiet for a moment. She cleared her throat. “These photos were all taken by your mother.”
My chest heaved. “My mom took those?” I squeaked. “They’re beautiful. I had no idea. Grandma never said anything.”
“I’m sure it was difficult for her to talk about your mother. There wasn’t a person on the planet that didn’t love Beth Amble.”
“Except my dad. What was his problem, anyway?” I didn’t expect Candice to answer my pity-coated question.
She sighed. “He loved your mother very much. But the Russo family flaws were too much for him. It’s good that he was never in your life. Perhaps you’ll be free of the curse that seems to follow the Russos through time.”
My throat balled up. “Why do you always think the worst of everyone? I don’t care what his flaws are. He’s my dad.” I felt the fortress guarding my heart grow stronger as I defended my father. Gasping breaths choked out of me. It took me a minute to gain control. “Someday I’m going to find him. He’s not cursed. You’ll see.”