Chapter 3 #3
He stood near the grave. The headstone was a short, thick slab with a hand-hewn effect. It stood low to the ground. On its downward-angled front, there was a brass plaque with her name, Cilla Travail, and her date of birth and death.
Wolf squinted and bent nearer. The date of birth—it was the date she’d run away from her abusive stepfather. August 10th, and the year she’d been fourteen years old.
“She didn’t even want her family to find her in death, did she?” asked a soft voice.
Camellia had moved closer to him.
“I guess not,” he said. He felt a little guilty that he hadn’t called her about the case of his missing birth family. It had been a week. She must wonder why it was taking him so long to decide.
He had to look at her then. In her eyes, he saw compassion and maybe a few unshed tears. “I’m sorry I haven’t reached out—” he began.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You’re dealing with a lot. I’d be curled up in a corner somewhere.”
“I don’t think you would.”
“If it were my mom? Are you kidding me?” She glanced over at the woman as she said it.
Erica Rio’s eyes beamed kindness and comfort when she caught his, even though she was chatting with his mom’s co-workers.
Camellia said, “I’d lose it. I know I would. We’re so close. I can’t even think about the fact that she’s not getting any younger.”
“Looks to me like she’s got a couple of decades left in her, at least,” he said. “Look at those pink cheeks. And she’s a retired nurse. She knows how to take care of herself.”
Camellia tipped her head to one side. Her messy bun of multihued hair slid a little sideways. “Are you trying to comfort me, Wolf? You’re the one grieving. I’m just…empathizing, I guess.”
“It’s appreciated.”
She lowered her head, then said, “Are you doing a whole reception thing at your house after, or…?”
“I didn’t feel like I could…have folks in her space. She would’ve hated it.”
“I picked up on that from her,” she said, meeting his eyes again. “She hated having to tell me about her history. She was a very private person, wasn’t she?”
“Extremely, yeah.”
“I guess it makes sense, now that we know what we do. Have you done any more reading? Of the diaries?”
“A little. Mainly I’ve been talking with the funeral director and doing all the…things. There are a lot of things. Bank accounts, life insurance payout, the death certificate…with her legal name and actual birthdate, which I had, thanks to you.”
She frowned at him.
“I got a packet of documents from the lawyer,” he said.
“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “There was quite a bit of the insurance money left after the funeral expenses,” he said. “I was thinking of upgrading her headstone.”
“She knew there would be extra,” Camellia said. “She told me to tell you she wants you to use it to fix up your truck.”
He expelled an almost-laugh. “She would say that.”
“It was one of her last wishes. I think you have to do it.”
A hand on his arm made him turn. Camellia’s mother had come to join them, and she gave his upper arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Wolf,” she said.
“I know you are, Erica. Thanks for coming.”
She looked at him, then around at folks all leaving, then back at him again. “Come for dinner. It’s leftovers, but comfort food. Lasagna!”
“You don’t have to do that, ma’am. I’m fine.”
“Don’t have to. Want to. Besides you can talk about the uh—the case, you know.”
“Mom.” Camellia’s tone was gentle, but warning.
“The case of your missing family,” Erica went on. “Where are they? Who are they? You must want to know.”
He lifted his head. “I don’t know that I do. I mean, how did I get in that river? I find it pretty telling that they never even looked for me.”
Camellia gasped. “What makes you think they never looked for you?”
He shrugged. “Well, they never found me, that’s for sure.”
“Maybe they tried their best.” Her deep blue eyes became a stormy sea. “Maybe it broke their hearts when they failed.”
“Sure would’ve broken mine,” said her mother.
He hadn’t thought of that, that his original family might have tried to find him or might have been heartbroken at his loss. He wondered why he’d gone straight to the opposite assumption.
“Well, I hope you’ll say yes to dinner,” Erica said. “Because that way Camellia will have a ride home.”
He looked from the sly sixty-something to her daughter.
Camellia said, “I assumed we were going home together.”
“Well, we were, but as long as Wolf is willing to give you a ride, I can make it to the ladies’ club meeting. We’re planning for our group cruise, you know.”
“I thought that wasn’t until seven.”
“Don’t argue with your mother, dear. So? Wolf? You’ll drive her home?”
He blinked, taken by surprise at the rapidly shifting topic. “Yeah, sure I will.”
“Good. The lasagna’s in the fridge Camellia. Just enough for two. And there’s pie for dessert!” Then she moved around the headstones and out to the parking lot so fast you’d have thought there were ghosts chasing her.
Camellia let her chin drop to her chest. “She’s fixing us up.”
“Is she?”
“Yes, despite that she knows it’s the opposite of what I want.”
“Oh.” He didn’t really know what to make of that statement and knew his “oh” had borne the distinct ring of disappointment.
“Don’t take that personally,” she said quickly. “I’ve sworn off men in general.”
“Oh?” he said again, this time as a question.
“Look there’s no pressure to drive me home. I can call a Lyft or—”
“My truck’s right here,” he said, and he shrugged. “Look, I got no interest in women right now anyway, so you’re safe enough. And…I heard there was pie.”
She lifted her eyes up to his. “My mother says pie makes everything better.”