Thirty-One and a Half Regrets (22 page)

Taking a deep breath, I carefully opened the box and peered inside. There was an assortment of old photo albums and loose photos—some ancient black and white square pictures and other newer rectangular ones. I pulled out the album on the top, flipping through the pages. I didn’t recognize anyone in the pictures, but I did recognize the exterior of the house. In the pictures, it was freshly painted and in much better shape. They looked like they had been taken in the forties since the women wore flowing skirts, Victory rolls in their hair, and dark lips—probably red lipstick that didn’t show up in the two-tone pictures. Since I didn’t recognize the people or the names scrawled on the back—Betty, Floyd, Margaret, William—I paid more attention to the changing features of the house. At one point there had been a porch swing and I liked the idea of putting up another one.

I moved through two more photo albums, finding nothing of interest until I got to a small square album. The first pictures were of Daddy and Dora, looking so happy they could burst. In one, Daddy was holding a small Violet, a huge smile on his face. Next were photos of Dora in maternity clothes, progressively more pregnant in each passing photo. The next photos were of a newborn baby screaming in a hospital bassinet. Aunt Bessie was holding me in one with Uncle Earl next to her, his usual stoic expression on his face.

I tried to let the significance of the moment sink in.

Sensing someone’s presence, I looked up. Mason stood in the doorway of the office, watching me. His gaze drifted to the photos in my lap then back up to my face. “How are you doing?”

“Better than expected.”

“Can I look with you?”

“Don’t you want to keep working?”

“I could use a break.” A look of contrition crossed his face. “Unless you’d rather be alone.” He took a step backward. “Which I understand. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Mason, wait.”

He paused in the doorway.

“I want you to join me.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

I smiled and scooted some of the loose photos away, making a spot for him to sit. “Please.”

“Thank you.” He sank to the floor beside me, picking up the album. “Is this you?”

“Yeah.”

“You were a beautiful baby.”

“I was ugly. Look at my pointed head and red face.”

He shook his head with a grin. “All babies are beautiful, Rose. Think about it. They
truly
are a miracle. Two cells from two different people join together to create this…” He held out his hand toward the photo. “This life. It’s unbelievable when you think about it.”

I grinned at him. “I never knew you were so philosophical, Mason.”

“I’m usually not. I’ve just been doing a lot of reevaluating over the last few months.”

“What’s prompted that?”

He shrugged. “Savannah. The way my life took an unexpected turn.”

I reached into the box and pulled out a stack of eight-by-ten black and white photos that looked like they’d been taken in a photography studio. Once I set them on the floor, I recognized the baby in the top photo as myself, but the first few didn’t have the Sears portrait studio look. I began to turn them over, intrigued. They were all of me, and in a few of the photos, a woman was with me. My mother.

She faced the camera, smiling as she cuddled the baby—
me
—on her lap. The photos were all staged, with an artistic background of a gauzy white curtain hanging from a window.

Mason picked up one of the photos. “There’s a darkroom in the basement.”

My head jerked up. “What?”

“When I was lighting the pilot light in the furnace, I snooped around for potential entrances and exits. I found a room in the corner. It had been set up as a photography darkroom. There were negatives stacked on the table.” He grimaced. “I’ll admit that I looked at a few. Most were landscapes and flowers, but there were some of a woman and a baby—you and Dora.”

“Dora was a photographer? I definitely didn’t inherit any artistic tendencies.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Landscaping is an art and has an aesthetic. But I don’t think Dora was the photographer.” He paused. “I think it was your father.”

Daddy? It seemed unlikely since I’d never seen him hold a camera, let alone take and develop portrait-style photos. But I couldn’t dismiss it either. It was like Daddy had been an entirely different man with Dora.

I flipped through the rest of the stack of photos. There had to be close to thirty of them, and the last two portrayed a family of three. Me, Dora, and a much younger Daddy. He was kneeling next to the chair, one knee up, gazing at her with more love in his eyes than I’d ever seen on his face.

Dora had been the love of his life. He’d lost her and never recovered.

And Violet and I had paid the price.

An unexpected fury ignited in my chest. How could my father give up on everything after losing her? How could he condemn me to the hell I’d experienced as a child?

Mason covered my hand with his.

Tears burned behind my eyes. “I’m so angry with him, Mason. He just gave up when she died. He let Momma destroy me.”

“No, Rose. She didn’t destroy you. You’re a fighter. That’s one of the things I admire most about you. No matter what happens, you pick yourself up and go on.” He leaned over and caressed the side of my face. “It’s okay to be angry with him. You
should
be.”

“Maybe he deserves it, but why am I so angry with her?”

“Who?”

“Dora.”

His eyes widened slightly.

“I know she couldn’t help dying. But I’m just so
mad
. What kind of person does that make me?”

“It makes you human. I’m not a saint and neither are you. Your childhood sucked. Your mother was a terrible bitch and I wish to God that I could go back in time to file child abuse charges against her. But I’d like to think you’re partially the person you are today because of her. Whether she meant to or not, she made you into the strong woman you are.”

“But that doesn’t excuse my anger at Dora.” My voice broke as tears trailed down my cheeks. “She couldn’t help dying, so how can I be angry with her?”

“Because her death sentenced you to that horrible life. I don’t think you’re angry with
her
, Rose. I think you’re angry at her death.”

I burst into tears and he pulled me close, his arms tightening around my back as I laid my cheek against his chest. He didn’t say anything; he just held me as I cried. When I finally got a hold of myself, I wiped at the wet spot on his shirt and smiled, my chin quivering. “What did I tell you? You’re good for offering perspective and shirts to cry on.”

He looked into my eyes, wiping the tears from my face with both hands. “I’m so proud to know you, Rose. Most people would run from this because it hurts so much.”

“And I have you to thank for that. I’d still be running if it weren’t for you.”

“No, I think you would have faced your past eventually.”

“I don’t know. If I were still with Joe, I might have hidden forever. He was so busy hiding from his own past that he never would have thought I needed to face my own.”

“It doesn’t matter. Because you’re facing it now. And you’re with me. I’m sorry for the pain you’ve been through, and I’ll do everything in my power make up for it.”

I kissed him softly. “You already have.”

I jumped at the sound of a knock on the kitchen door and Muffy released a low growl. I started to move away, but Mason’s arm tightened around my waist. “Come on in, Deputy Miller,” he said.

Deputy Miller pushed the door open, averting his gaze when he saw how close I was to Mason.

The deputy turned his gaze to Muffy who ran over to his feet and danced around. “Sir, I got the truck in the barn to turn over and I left the keys in the ignition. It’s really old, but someone’s been taking care of it. I think it would be safe for you to take it out.”

I glanced up at Mason in surprise.

“Thanks, Deputy.”

He nodded and went back outside, clearly eager to escape any more PDA.

Mason turned toward me with a small smile. “I wanted to drive around the land, and I figured you’d probably welcome the chance to get out of the house.” He stood. “Do you want to see the farm?”

“Yeah. I do,” I said, surprised that I actually did. “But don’t you need to get back to work?”

He shook his head. “I’ve gone over these files and cases so many times I’ve lost perspective. I’m hoping a little fresh air will help bring me some clarity.” He reached down to help me up.

I ran upstairs to grab the jacket Mason had packed for me and met him in the kitchen. He was loading a shotgun when I walked in—a grim reminder that this wasn’t just an afternoon drive.

“Does Muffy like car rides? Do you want to take her?” he asked, looking up.

“She loves them. And yeah.” She’d been my shadow all day, and she was standing at my feet. “Muffy, do you want to go bye-bye?”

She jumped up on my legs and released an excited bark.

Mason laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Muffy is definitely her own person.”

He smirked. “Well, she’s a lot like her owner.” He slung the strap of the gun over his shoulder. “No wonder you two are so close.”

We went out the back door and hiked out to the barn, following the path the tires had made in the tall weeds. The sun had begun to sink in the sky and the air had gotten colder since yesterday. I pulled my coat closer, thankful Mason had thought to grab it.

“There’s snow in the forecast tomorrow.”

I turned to him in surprise. “This early in November?”

He chuckled. “So much for global warming.”

Muffy romped excitedly through the grass, stopping every couple of feet to sniff.

“Do you worry she’ll run off?” Mason asked, pausing to watch her.

“Not really. Not unless she’s scared. The only time she ran off was when Joe called the police with an anonymous tip that the gun that had killed Sloan was in my shed. The police showed up and a crowd gathered and Thomas’s car backfired. Muffy freaked out and took off. I tried to run after her, but the police handcuffed me and left me in the driveway in front of everyone.”

He slipped his arm around my shoulders and I leaned my head against him as I watched Muffy run to a new stretch of weeds.

“Joe was on his front porch watching the entire thing. He took off after her, but he couldn’t find her. I was sure I’d never see her again. And then she came back the next day and saved my life. Now I listen to her. She has a sixth sense about things.”

“I’m glad she’s with us.” He kissed my temple before releasing me.

When we reached the barn, he pulled open the big wooden doors. I walked into the darkness, letting my eyes adjust. An old pale blue pickup truck that I remembered from some of the old photographs filled the front of the building. I walked around the barn, discovering empty stalls and musty hay.

“They kept horses,” I murmured, moving to the wall covered with reins and halters.

“Looks like it,” Mason said, following me. “Do you ride?”

“I did when I was a girl. I spent a couple of summers with Uncle Earl and Aunt Bessie. They have a farm in Lafayette County.”

We wandered around the barn for several minutes, Muffy sticking close to my side. Mason stood in the open doors for a few moments, staring out at the fields. “Let’s go see the land,” he finally said.

“Okay.”

“Do you want to drive? It’s a stick shift. I can teach you how.”

Warm memories of Mason helping me buy my own truck washed through me. Then I remembered the last time I drove a stick shift was when a crazy drug addict held me hostage at gun point and we ended up crashing into the back of a truck. I didn’t feel like pressing my luck. “I think I’ll pass. Why don’t you drive?”

He held open the passenger door and Muffy jumped in first, claiming her seat in the middle.

“This reminds me of my Nova,” I said as Mason slid behind the steering wheel. I turned the knob on the radio, watching as a dot rolled back and forth over the line charting the stations. “I love my truck, but sometimes I miss that car.”

He turned over the ignition and the engine sputtered to life. “They don’t make ’em like they used to.” He gave me an ornery grin.

After pulling out of the barn, he started to follow the one-lane dirt road abutting the fields north of the house.

“This road looks like it’s been used within the last few weeks,” he said. “It’s not overgrown like the fields. But the question is who was out here and will they be back?”

“It could have been Uncle Earl. He checks on the property regularly.”

“Maybe.” But he didn’t seem convinced. “Someone’s worked these fields.” He pulled to a stop and leaned over the steering wheel for a better look. “Do you know the layout of the land you own? Are these fields part of the farm?”

“Yeah, I think so. Uncle Earl said most of the land is to the north and east of the house and barn.”

Mason cruised slowly past fields that had been cut and carved into the dirt with straight lines. “Then I’ll bet he rents out the land. He’s probably earning enough to pay the taxes on the property and the minimal utilities he keeps hooked up to the house. Smart.”

“You’re probably right. He’s a smart businessman. He took the money Dora left me and invested it, more than doubling it. What does that mean for us if someone rented the fields?”

“It means that if someone we don’t recognize pulls into the driveway, they might have a legitimate purpose to be on the property, but I suspect whoever works this land uses a back road. I figured there had to be one. That’s part of the reason we’re out here. Now I really want to find it. Crocker could reach us that way.”

I shuddered.

“This is all precaution, Rose. From what you’ve told me, there’s no paper trail connecting you to this place.”

“I hope you’re right.”

We drove for almost a mile until we saw a road on the other side of a barbed wire fence. Mason drove up to the gate and parked. “Since we’re so close to the road, I think you should stay inside,” he said and hopped out the door, shutting it behind him.