Dark Hollow Road (Taryn's Camera Book 3) (10 page)

“
I
t’s a beautiful home,” Taryn asserted, “and there’s no mess at all. You should see MY place.” That was also the polite southern thing to do: assure your hostess their house is perfect and you’re the unkempt one.

“You’re too sweet. Would you like something to drink, dear?” Thelma asked. “I’ve got sweet tea, Coke, Diet Coke, and hot chocolate.”

“I’d like a Coke, please, if it’s not too much trouble,” Taryn replied, thinking a boost of caffeine couldn’t hurt.

Thelma excused herself to the kitchen and was back a moment later, the Coke poured into a tall glass with imprints of roses on it. Ice cubes bobbed at the top, their clinking noise cheerful in the otherwise quiet room.

Now that visitor protocol had been reached and carried forth, it was time to get down to business.

“First, I wanted to say how much I am enjoying teaching the class,” Taryn began sincerely. And she truly was enjoying herself. “I don’t know how good of a teacher I am, but I’m having fun and nobody’s dropped out.”

“Oh, lots of little birdies have told me you’re a wonderful teacher,” Thelma assured her, her eyes dancing. “Some are even asking if you’ll come back a second term.”

Taryn felt her back stiffen in pride. Perhaps she didn’t stink as badly as she thought she did.

“There is something else, though, and I don’t quite know how to say it…” Now that she was there, in Thelma’s living room, she felt awkward. How did one go about bringing up the other person’s private life in such a direct way?

“Well, I imagine the best way to say it is the most honest. What’s on your mind?”

“I know about your daughter, about Cheyenne,” Taryn disclosed softly, looking down at her feet. Her boots were heavy and dark against the light beige carpet and now she belatedly wondered if she shouldn’t have taken them off at the door. Some people were funny about their carpets and shoes.

“Oh,” Thelma sighed.

Taryn could feel a shift in the room, a heaviness. The sweet aroma of the lavender candle next to her was starting to make her a little sick to her stomach and the Coke was thick on her throat. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to pay Thelma the visit. “You see, I… well, I felt something on one of my first nights. And then someone told me about her disappearance. I did some research of my own,” she finished lamely.

Thelma’s ears had perked up now, and she was studying Taryn intently, gazing at her with rapture. ‘What did you feel?”

“I can’t really describe it, I’m afraid. But I heard what I thought was a cry. And then I had a bad dream. Well, when you look at everything individually it’s not much but when you put it all together, it usually means something. I think Cheyenne might be trying to communicate with me.” Taryn held her breath, cringing at her choice of words. The fact was, there was no way to talk about this without letting Thelma know she thought Cheyenne must be dead.

But Thelma only nodded. “In the beginning I felt things as well. I’d hear a voice, a singing even. The air currents around me would shift. Sometimes, I’d catch things out of the corner of my eye, but I could never get a full picture. I talked to my preacher about it. He said it might be part of my grief, my depression.” Thelma’s eyes filled with water and she hastily dabbed at them with the edge of her sweater sleeve. “I know she’s dead. I know it. A mother would know these things, right?”

“Maybe she’s not,” Taryn proclaimed, but to her own ears it didn’t sound particularly convincing.

“We know she’s dead,” Thelma stated again, this time with more firmness. The glass in her hand shook a little, sending drops of cola over the side, but she steadied and forced herself to be steady. “Cheyenne was a difficult child, the kind of teenager you wanted to pull your hair out over, but she was thoughtful. She would never do this to me.”

Taryn made a mental note that she hadn’t mentioned Cheyenne’s father, but decided to let it pass for now.

“You would know your daughter best of all,” Taryn reassured her with care, trying to choose the right words. “My parents and I had a difficult relationship when I was growing up. I actually ended up going to live with my grandmother when I was still young, and it was an arrangement that suited everyone well. But, like Cheyenne, I wouldn’t have put my parents through this kind of grief. Not for this long anyway.”

“Exactly,” Thelma quavered, sounding relieved Taryn understood her. “I know the police still consider this a possible runaway but I know she’s not. Jeff, that’s her stepfather, he still holds out the belief she’ll turn up one day with her tail between her legs, seeking forgiveness. I give that sliver of hope to him. He holds so much guilt otherwise.”

“Why?” Taryn asked, unable to stop herself.

Thelma sighed and seemed to age ten years in a matter of seconds, her face darkening and the lines drawing deeper on her forehead. “Jeff and I married when Cheyenne’s father died. She was twelve when he officially adopted her. He did his best by her, Jeff’s a good man you see, but he’s not always an easy man. Sometimes he may have expected too much out of such a young girl. Jeff’s former Navy, retired now, and likes everything in order. Cheyenne was just the opposite. She didn’t understand his rules, his rigidity, was to keep us safe and his way of showing love. They butted heads a lot. But he would’ve walked through hell and high water for her.” She snapped this last part with vehemence.

“It’s not his fault what happened,” Taryn tried to soothe her. “He couldn’t have known.”

“Well, in a way he could have. You see, Cheyenne called him earlier that evening to come and get her. I guess her and her friends got in a tiff. That’s what one said. That’s why she was leaving with somebody else. She sent us that text, the one saying she was coming home early. But we didn’t get it. We were asleep at the time. If we’d gotten it, we’d have been expecting her. We would’ve known when she was meant to be here. We would’ve asked who was driving her. We both feel guilty about that.” Thelma set her Coke down on the end table next to her, a coaster under it, and shook her head with sadness.

“I understand about the guilt. I lost my husband years ago and am only just now getting around to letting go of some of the blame I put on myself,” Taryn admitted, feeling helpless. She wished she could offer this woman more comfort, but felt helpless.

“I am glad you’re here, no matter what anyone says,” Thelma asserted suddenly, her eyes blazing.

“What do you mean?” Taryn asked, taken aback. Hadn’t they wanted her to come and teach at the college?

“I know it was wrong of me to bring you in on false pretenses, but the students really are enjoying you and–”

“Thelma, what are you saying?”

“Oh, honey,” Thelma exhaled loudly. “Can’t you see? You’re not seeing and hearing my daughter on accident. I brought you here because I know who you are. I put you in our cabin to be close to where Cheyenne was. You’re here to find my daughter.”

A
lthough her stomach grumbled and she was dying for something carbonated and caffeinated (everything was a “Coke” to her unless it was clear) she drove straight to the cabin without stopping. For the first time since Andrew died Taryn found herself wanting,
needing
really, to be engulfed by the presence of a man. Or, more concretely, a man who loved her. And despite the fact she couldn’t really explain her current situation with Matt, one thing she felt for certain–he was the only person left in the world who truly
did
love her.

When she walked through the door she found him sitting cross-legged on the couch, his skinny pale legs poking out from his pajama bottoms. She still liked that he always wore matching pajamas. A bathrobe was tied loosely around his waist, and papers were scattered on the floor and around him.

“Hey,” he smiled as she began the process of disrobing of her outer layers. She let her scarf, jacket, and gloves land on her jacket in the floor while she studied him. Most women probably wouldn’t find him classically attractive. He was too thin, too angular. His longish black hair fell in a curtain around his bright green eyes, hiding them for the most part. A pity, too, since she found his eyes to be his best feature. Despite having both Italian and Native American in his lineage he was pale, even in the summertime. His jaw was angular but his mouth was full. At six-foot-two he towered over her, but had a tendency to hunch his shoulders when he walked, making him appear much smaller. He was a terrible dresser, wearing things that went out of style years ago or were much too young for him (a favorite outfit of his was black jeans with a T-shirt boasting a bunch of dancing frogs).

Still, there were times when she looked at him and thought he might be the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. Like now.

“How’d the visit go?” Taryn knew he hated being interrupted when he was working on something, his OCD mind liked to finish one thing before starting another, but he always made the effort to squeeze Taryn’s needs in.

She wasn’t ready to talk about the day, though. Instead, she walked over to Matt without a word, cleared the papers from his lap, and sat down on it. Like a little child she curled herself into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. He bent forward so his head rested on hers, that silky hair now falling down into her face and covering her own eyes. And, for the longest time, they didn’t move.

T
he sound was far away, off in the distance, and might have been part of her dream. Taryn was aware she was asleep only because her body felt incredibly relaxed and lucid–a feeling foreign to her when she was awake. She thought she was too young for arthritis but for the past few years she’d experienced such periods of stiffness and pain it felt as though her bones were breaking.

But the noise… it was nothing more than a “ping” really–a small, tinny sound that barely registered on her mental plane. Lovely images of a dark, starry sky floated behind her eyes like scenes from a vintage movie and made her smile in her sleep but the sound was out-of-place, a disruption that disturbed her.

She stretched her leg out and in her sleep was aware of the rough fabric of the couch beneath her. While she didn’t awaken, her heartrate quickened, and her breathing became more jagged, frenzied. Something wasn’t right and, as the cold beads of sweat begin forming at her temples and sliding down her cheeks in little balls, she struggled to understand what was going on and why she was so suddenly afraid. Then, there it was, that “ping” again–what should’ve been an innocuous sound but, instead, filled her with dread.

“Taryn.” The voice was beside her, in front of her, behind her, all around her. It was warm, but commanding, and Taryn had no trouble recognizing it as her grandmother. Although she’d been dead for many years, that whiskey-soaked voiced, turned hard by years of chain-smoking, was unmistakably Nora Jean Magill’s.

Blinking, Taryn pushed herself up, the afghan sliding to the floor. She moved as if in a daze, half expecting to look down and see her still-sleeping body below her. Her movements were fluid, unlike her normally clumsy nature, and in the cool darkness of night her limbs felt as though they were traveling in slow motion.

She wasn’t alone.

While the outline of her grandmother’s body might have been gauzy and not quite as solid as Nora had been in real life (Nora’s presence had always been solid) she was as real as anything else in the room and standing just a few feet from where Taryn now sat on the cabin’s sofa. She wore not the lavender burial dress Taryn had last seen her in but a simple striped polyester shift that hung smartly to her knees and hard-soled brown loafers. Her steel-gray hair was recently set and perched on her head like coils about to spring from a clock; her dentures shown evenly and brightly in the dark room. There was no light shining down on her, no glow emanating from the curves and angles of her body, yet Taryn didn’t question her undeniable appearance and her own ability to make out her features. Just as she didn’t question the fact she was face-to-face with a departed loved one.

An unyielding ball of sorrow, grief, and excitement rose in Taryn’s chest and erupted from her mouth in a mournful “oh” that slipped into the quiet room like an unwelcomed intruder. She longed to run to her grandmother’s side, throw herself at her feet, and cling to her like a little child. She wanted to raise her face, now wet with unfelt tears, and have it covered with kisses from those dry lips that had once soothed her and offered words of both comfort and criticism, depending on what she needed. She wanted to feel those leathery hands, dry with age, on her skin as they touched her.

Taryn felt like she’d gladly have sold her soul to continue the feeling of relief she felt in her grandmother’s presence, but there was an undeniable sense of urgency in the room, and she knew there wasn’t much time. Even as she watched, Nora’s body wavered, as if unsure of itself. Taryn opened her mouth, tried to speak, but nothing would come out. Nora looked at her with a mixture of love and pity and then raised her left hand, the large rings she’d always worn casting sparkles against the walls and floor. As Taryn watched in confusion, a handful of dry, brittle leaves fell from Nora’s hand and floated to the floor where they landed in a small pile at her feet. Then, with a sad smile that still managed to light up her careworn face, she reached her hand out towards Taryn and softly disappeared. She didn’t fade out, like a vision might in a movie, but simply ceased to be. Taryn collapsed back down on the couch, drawing the afghan back around her shoulders, and cried. The room still carried her grandmother’s scent.

M
att found her curled up on the couch, hours later, when his alarm went off. “Sorry,” he apologized as she wiped the sleep from her eyes and glanced at the cup of tea he offered. “You were sleeping so well I didn’t want to disturb you. I didn’t think you’d sleep through the night.”

“I didn’t,” she muttered. She hated crying herself to sleep. Now she had a sinus headache and her face felt red and puffy. “I got a visitor last night.”

As Matt perched on the edge of the couch she quickly relayed her grandmother’s visit and what had happened. “I’ve never seen her before, Matt,” she explained, her eyes threatening to fill with tears again. “I kept hoping, and what with the Miss Dixie doing what she does I thought maybe…”

Matt got up and walked to the center of the room where Taryn had pointed her grandmother’s location. “Well, she left behind some presents,” he mused as he knelt down and studied the floor.

Wrapping the afghan around her shoulders like a robe, Taryn walked to Matt and knelt down beside him. The small pile of colorful leaves smiled up at them, their edges curled inward and the stems pointing up with glee. In the middle of the pile was something sparkly, something that caught the overhead light and threw a glimmer on the wall over the couch. Taryn poked her fingers into the dry heap and pulled out a large ring–a simple gold band with an ornate sapphire in the middle.

“It’s hers all right,” she mused, laying it on her flattened palm and studying it with the care of a surgeon. “It even smells like her. If a ring can have a smell.”

“I definitely catch a scent,” Matt agreed, patting Taryn’s knee, although whether he was being truthful or humoring her in comfort was debatable.

“What do you think this means?” Taryn couldn’t help but feel waves of excitement in the pit of her stomach. Her grandmother had been with her. Maybe just for a few seconds, but it was closer than she’d been to her in a decade. She wanted to kick herself for not trying to communicate with her more, for not holding onto the moment longer, for not being able to join her… And she’d do anything to be able to repeat the experience.

“I have no idea, Taryn,” Matt murmured. “I wish I did.”

T
aryn’s class flew by quickly, and she couldn’t remember a single word she’d said. She’d given her students homework at their last meeting and now their sketches were piled up on her desk before her. She thought she might hang around the classroom and look over them before going home. She had the car since Matt had wanted to stay home, do laundry, and pack. The room emptied out in a hurry, like it usually did, and the building was quiet. She could faintly hear the sound of a man lecturing down the hall, but the noise was faraway and had nothing to do with her so she was able to tune it out. Soon, however, she could hear the staccato sounds of footsteps in the hallway and as they grew louder she looked up from the desk and watched as Emma’s slight frame filled the doorway.

“Hey,” she began with what Taryn thought might be nervousness. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”