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This I had not expected. The girl I’d met in Mud Gulch by pure happenstance might have a father who lived in Calliope of all places? I’d thought it a certain kind of fate that we’d met at all considering the unlikely way I’d ended up there. And because of it, we’d spent an amazing night together that I couldn’t stop thinking about. But this took fate up a notch. What was it now? Double fate? Fate squared?
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and gripping my own hands. “Where does the art come in?”
“My father was an artist. Or at least, he was very good at drawing.” She reached down and pulled a canvas bag toward her and removed what looked like a journal or a diary and opened it carefully. She removed what I thought was a cocktail napkin that had been preserved between the pages. “I found this recently among my mother’s things. I believe my father drew it.”
She held it toward me and I took it carefully, holding it by the edges as I studied it. There was a sketch of a woman on it, sitting on a rock, knees drawn up as she looked out over a lake. And even though the woman was only in profile, it was obvious there was a secretive smile gracing her lips. I didn’t know a lot about art, but it was clear that whomever had drawn this was very good. There was no signature, only a date scrawled under the drawing—April, twenty-seven years ago. “Is this of your mother?”
Rory nodded. “Yes, it’s my mother. And it seems to me…well, it seems to me there’s love in that drawing. That the man who sketched it knew her and cared for her deeply. He captured her essence somehow, and how can you do that without loving that person?”
I studied it for another couple of moments, finding that I agreed with her. I wasn’t exactly sure how the emotion I felt looking at it had been conveyed—perhaps someone with a more professional eye would be able to describe the way in which feeling had been infused into such a simple sketch, but however it’d been accomplished, it was undeniable. I looked up and caught an expression on Rory’s face that she quickly turned away. Longing, I thought. For the mother no longer here? Or for this unknown artist? “You’re right, it’s good,” I said.
“And I can’t imagine someone with that level of talent didn’t create other pieces of art as well.”
I ran a finger under my lip as I connected the dots. “Okay. So you’re looking for pieces of art similar to this in an effort to locate the artist—your father. But why in my parents’ attic? Why at the Bellamy’s and the Ramsbottom’s?”
“Turn the napkin over.”
I did so, my brows lowering when I saw the familiar logo. “This napkin is from the Metropolitan Club here in Calliope.” I looked up at her. “It’s one of the most prestigious social clubs in Maine. My father is a founding member.”
“I know. So are Mr. Bellamy and Mr. Ramsbottom.”
I slowly lowered the napkin. “You’re going to have to give me a few more clues here, Rory.”
She released a breath, reaching for the napkin which I handed to her and then placing it carefully back in the journal. “My mother rarely talked about my father. When she did, it was only because I begged for information. However, over the years, she only divulged four things that might help me identify him,” she said. “One, my mother met him at her workplace in Calliope when she lived here over the spring break season. Two, he and his family were very important in the town, and three, he was an artist—whether recreationally or professionally, I don’t know. I found that sketch a couple weeks ago, dated during the exact time my mother was in Calliope, when she became pregnant with me.”
“Okay…” I felt a bleat of distant panic as my mind began traveling in a decidedly traumatic direction. I tensed my jaw, keeping the idea fuzzy, not allowing it to materialize.
She lowered her chin as she watched me for a moment. “And four, my mother worked at the Metropolitan Club, serving the group of founding members who gathered there regularly. I did some online research about the five charter members of the club,” she said. “Along with your father, Mr. Bellamy, and Mr. Ramsbottom, there were two others. They still live here in Calliope as well.”
The ground dropped out from under me. No. God, no. I felt a groan of protest moving up my throat and attempted to swallow it down, but it unfortunately got stuck halfway, causing me to begin coughing violently. I stood, holding my hand up in a halting motion when Rory began to stand, obviously intent on offering assistance in the form of a back pat or the Heimlich maneuver. She sank back down in the chair as I got control of myself and then paced for a few minutes, still coughing here and there in an effort to dislodge the lump of horror, but at least getting breath into my lungs. When I was finally able to pull in an unobstructed mouthful of air, I faced her. “Are you telling me that my father might be your father? Are you suggesting we might be half siblings?”
She grimaced as she nodded, putting her hands together and inserting them between her drawn up knees. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Unfortunately? Unfortunately?” I paced again, a few steps one way, and then back the other. I hissed out a breath, running my hands through my hair and then gripping my scalp as I gave my noggin a firm shake.
She sighed. “Yes, well, I don’t have a better word than that.”
“Nightmarish? Appalling? Unholy?”
“Those work too.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug and let out a small laugh. It made her look adorably sexy and I really wanted to kiss her. I collapsed in the chair, and slunk down, utterly defeated as I considered the entirety of the situation. This could not be true. I met Rory’s eyes. “I…I’m not sure what to say. Setting aside the sibling thing…” I paused. I seriously felt like I might be sick. I pulled in a deep breath as I held back the nausea. “Setting aside the sibling possibility,” I repeated, “now I have to entertain the thought that my father cheated on my mother when I was just a kid.” They’d always seemed so in love. I’d never once considered that either of them would be unfaithful to the other. I felt my whole childhood teeter before me, at risk of toppling over some foggy edge.
She grimaced again. “Sorry. There are several reasons I hope that’s not the case.”
I let out a strangled laugh as I felt another drop in my chest. “Yeah. Same.”
She reached in her bag and pulled out a journal that looked to be nothing but an empty leather cover, the pages gone. “My mother kept a diary most of her life. This one was from the months that she lived here. The inner pages are gone for some reason, but the first and last entry are still there.” She held it out to me and I took it from her, flipping it open and quickly reading through the first entry of a young girl obviously filled with adventure and hope. Once I’d finished reading, I skimmed it one more time, looking with the eyes of a local, for anything I might be able to offer that would provide another clue. Unfortunately, nothing struck me other than what she already knew.
“Do you know who Lys is?”
“No. My mom didn’t keep in touch with anyone by that name.”
“Hmm.” I turned to the only other intact page, this entry shorter than the first and read through that one too.
The bus pulled away from Calliope early this morning and I watched out the window until the lake disappeared. My heart aches and I’m filled with such profound grief that I don’t know how I’ll bear it. My only solace is nestled safely inside of me, the precious child of the man I love but can never have. His family needs him and to stay would only bring him pain.
I handed the mostly empty journal back to her, my brow creasing as she took it. Whatever had happened between the beginning and the end had obviously changed everything. “Any idea where those pages went?”
“None. I searched every corner of her house but never did find them. Either she tore them out herself and discarded them, or they fell out at some point and were scattered to the winds. Too bad, because it sure would have made the mystery easier to solve.”
