When We Let Go, Delancey Stewart [early reader books .txt] 📗
- Author: Delancey Stewart
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Cam’s eyes widened.
“I never put it together until now. But he has red hair, and he’s always looked so familiar to me, kind of…comforting, in a weird way I couldn’t put my finger on.” I stared into the distance for a minute, thinking about the way Connor had changed his mind about buying the land.
“I think he wanted to buy it until he figured out who I was. I told him it had been in our family for years, that I played up here as a kid, and then he changed his mind suddenly. I think he remembered me, but he didn’t say it.” I searched my brother’s face, as if the answer might be there somewhere, hidden in the rough-looking goatee, or in the lines of worry around his eyes.
“I don’t know what to make of that.”
“What else do you remember about him?” I asked.
“Not much,” he said. “I remember a red-haired kid with a sister. But his name wasn’t Connor.”
“It was Christopher.”
“Yeah!” Cam smiled. “Chris. And his sister was Cathy, I think. They played with us a few times one summer. Now I remember. You seriously don’t remember him?”
“I was four.”
“Well, I do remember him pulling you out of that river. He must be what, seven or eight years older than you? I remember that he was the oldest kid when we were roaming around in our little pack. I thought he was pretty cool, actually. He’d invent games for us, spy games and stuff.” Cam must have read the questions on my face. “He was a nice kid, Maddie.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Maybe he didn’t want to freak you out.”
“It freaks me out more that he’s been spending time with me, that he knew and I didn’t. And now the thing Jess said, about everyone he saves in his books looking like me. That’s just weird.”
“I don’t read the books,” Cam said. “Too dark.”
“You make seriously weird movies. His books are too dark for you?”
He smiled and shrugged, and I glimpsed the brother I’d known for years, the little kid I’d gotten into trouble with. “What are you going to do?”
I shook my head. “That’s a good question. I was going to take Jack for everything he was worth and build the cabin that should be here. But I couldn’t do it. And I was going to sell Connor out by peddling a photo of him to the press. But I couldn’t do that either.”
Cam didn’t comment.
I stared at the open walls of my former dream home. “Now I want to help you and Dad, and survive the winter, I guess.” A cool breeze kicked up, as if summoned by my words. It smelled of green things and old, fertile earth.
Cam stared at me. “Well you’ve got me,” he said. “Anytime you need me.”
I couldn’t help it. The tears squeezed their way from the corners of my eyes as I smiled, and a sob climbed my throat and flew out. I let him take my hand and I dropped my head to the table onto my other arm. The vacuum in my life where my brother used to be had grown so big that I thought I’d never be able to fill it. I’d gone on, trying to ignore it, but knowing that he was back was the best answer I could have hoped for. Things almost felt right, but now there was a new hole where Connor had been, and that void was full of confusion over a past I didn’t remember, but one that I was certain Connor did.
When I could stop crying, I stood and wiped at my face.
“I should get back to Jess, Mads.” Cam’s voice was soft.
“I know.”
“She has appointments this week, but I think we’ll be here at least another night.”
“Okay.” I turned and stepped in front of him. “For what it’s worth, I really, really like her, Cam. And I’m so sorry she’s sick.”
He nodded and pulled me into his arms, holding me there long enough to almost make up for the three years he’d left me alone.
I spent a full day taking stock. For some that might mean meditating, or rereading journal entries, or visiting with friends or family. For me it meant hiking through the September chill, staring out at the immovable features of the Sierra Nevada, and trying to understand how I fit into it all.
The vast constant landscape that surrounded Kings Grove changed, but it did so slowly, by centimeters. There was no expectation that the mountains would sprint forward, that the rivers at the base of those mountains would suddenly reverse direction or jump their banks and carve a new path. They did move—both the mountains and the rivers moved and changed daily—but they did so slowly, purposefully, and of their own accord.
I was, I decided, like the Sierra Nevada itself, slow and purposeful. A big part of me had wanted to forgive Maddie immediately, if only to alleviate the pain inside me that had grown constant and aching since I’d closed my door in her pretty face. But it wasn’t in my nature to trust easily, and it was even harder to forgive, and harder still to admit I was wrong.
When the detectives had come to my door to tell me my name had been cleared, that they’d finally gathered enough evidence to corroborate the story I’d been telling them all along, I felt vindicated. I wanted to rush back inside and laugh at the insanity of it all, celebrate the fact that it was finally over. But I had no one to laugh or celebrate with, and now that the pressure of the investigation was off, it was time to figure out how much of that was nature’s intent and how much of it was a choice I’d made.
The majestic rugged landscape before me gave me the space I needed to think, and the metaphor I needed to understand my own mind. I wasn’t impulsive, and it wasn’t easy for me to shift direction.
But I was tired of being alone.
And more than that, I suspected my life had been steering me toward Maddie Turner all along.
I arrived for my shift at the diner the next day on time, and the sun sprinkled gold through the treetops, making me feel like the universe and I had come to some kind of agreement.
Miranda practically bounced off the counter toward me when I arrived. “Did you hear?”
I shook my head, putting my bag beneath the counter and tying on an apron after giving the diner a quick sweep with my eyes. Only a few patrons, all contentedly eating. “Hear what?”
“The police cars. It wasn’t Connor.”
My mind spun, but then quickly settled. I’d known it wasn’t him. On some fundamental level, I’d known it. Relief swept through me, loosening muscles I didn’t realize I’d been holding tense. “Who was it?”
Miranda’s face contorted a bit. “Amanda’s father.”
“What?” I’d met Mr. Terry a couple times. I couldn’t imagine the man doing anything terrible to his daughter. “You mean he…did he hurt his daughter?”
She shook her head. “Amanda was never even missing.”
It was my turn to shake my head. “I don’t get it.”
“Well, this is just the gossip around the village, so I’m sure there are pieces missing. But Carol Hammond was in early, and she told us some of the details.”
“How did Carol Hammond know?”
“She lives next door to the Terrys, and I guess she was the one who called the police.”
My eyebrows went up. It was hard to say if living in a village full of busybodies was a good thing or a bad thing. “Why?”
“I guess Carol was at the Terry’s house when Amanda called from wherever she’d been hiding, and they have one of those old fashioned answering machines that talks out loud. Amanda left a message and Carol heard it. You know Carol and Mrs. Terry are old friends.” Miranda was waving her hands as she talked. She loved telling a good story. “Mrs. Terry wouldn’t tell her anything, but Carol figured a few things out from what she heard—mostly that Amanda wasn’t missing, that she wasn’t in any danger. She was calling home for a chat.”
“Her parents pretended she was missing?”
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