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“Use your manners, Danny,” she said. “You’re supposed to say please.”
“Please take off your thumb,” he cried.
“Everything okay, Tara?” One of her neighbors, a heavyset man in his sixties, called from the end of the aisle.
“Thanks for checking up on us, Mr. Ganz,” Tara called back, geniality radiating from her. “We’re fine now.”
Jack repeated the trick. It had been one of his younger brother’s favorites when they were kids. A wave of sadness hit Jack, as it always did when he thought of Mike. He thrust the melancholy feeling aside, concentrating instead on snapping his fingers to make it sound as though his thumb were breaking off. He winced and grimaced his way through the reattachment sequence until he was supposedly whole again.
Danny clapped his hands.
“Thanks,” Jack said. “How ’bout I introduce myself so we’re not strangers. I know your name is Danny. Mine’s Jack.”
“Will you be my friend, Jack?” Danny asked.
“Sure,” Jack said. “If that’s okay with Tara.”
She didn’t look as if she wanted to give her permission. “That depends on what you’re doing here.”
“Grocery shopping.” He held up his handbasket. Unfortunately, it was empty. Their aisle smelled of the ground coffee on the shelf behind him. He turned, picked one out at random and dropped it into the basket. Maybe not his smoothest move judging from the way her lips thinned.
“Here in Wawpaney?” she asked.
The skepticism that ran through her question was so heavy she could just as well have accused him of following her. It didn’t seem like a good idea to admit he’d decided to come into the store only after seeing her hug Danny in the parking lot.
“Shell Beach doesn’t have a grocery store,” he said, naming the Chesapeake Bay community about six or seven miles away where he was renting a house. “I’m pretty sure Wawpaney’s the closest town.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“C-can you take your thumb off again?” Danny interjected.
“Maybe later, buddy,” Jack said.
“My name’s not buddy,” the boy said. “It’s Danny.”
Jack smiled. “Sorry, Danny. I can’t take off my thumb right now. I need to talk to Tara.”
“How do you know my name?” she asked sharply.
“You told me,” he said. Hadn’t she? Suddenly he wasn’t so sure.
She shook her head. “I didn’t.”
That was right. The waitress at the diner had provided Tara’s name when she’d spotted the age progression of Hayley Cooper.
“I thought you were passing through town,” she said.
“I liked it here, so decided to stay awhile. What better place to hang out than the beach?” When she didn’t agree, he looked down at Danny. “You like the beach, right?”
“I like fish,” he said.
“Me, too,” Jack said. “I was thinking about getting a couple poles so I can fish off one of the piers.”
“Danny means he likes the schools of tiny fish you sometimes see in the tidal pools,” Tara said. “He gets a bucket and rescues them.”
“I’m their hero,” Danny said proudly. “Right, Tara?”
“If those fish don’t love you, they’re crazy,” she said, smiling down at him with all the warmth she wasn’t showing Jack.
“Crazy fish,” Danny echoed. “That’s funny.”
“Maybe you can show me how you rescue them sometime.” Jack nodded to Tara. “You can bring your foster sister with you.”
Again a mask seemed to cover the real Tara. “I don’t think so.”
“But I wanna—” Danny began.
“You’ve got a busy few weeks coming up, Dan the man,” Tara interrupted. “Camp starts Monday.”
Although the excuse seemed legitimate, it also sounded like a brush-off. Jack had expected as much, but he also subscribed to the school of thought that you can’t get what you want if you don’t try for it. He wanted to get to know Tara better and see if he could bring out the softness in her that so intrigued him.
“Jack can come to camp,” Danny announced.
“No, Jack can’t come,” Tara said quickly. “The camp is for kids.”
“You’re c-coming!” Danny said.
“That’s because I’m working there,” she said, her voice even. Jack admired her patience. Although Down syndrome children were known for their sweet and cheerful personalities, from firsthand experience Jack knew it wasn’t always easy to deal with them. “Now let’s say goodbye to Jack so he can get on with his grocery shopping.”
She put heavy emphasis on the last words. Yep. She didn’t trust him. Jack supposed he couldn’t blame her. She didn’t know anything about him except that he claimed to be the brother of a private investigator. Never mind that it was the truth.
“Say goodbye to Jack, Danny,” Tara said.
“But I don’t wanna—”
“Bye, Danny. It was nice taking my thumb off for you,” Jack interrupted, loath to cause any trouble between Tara and her brother. He was gratified when the boy giggled. “Bye, Tara.”
Her eyes flicked to his. “Goodbye.”
She took her brother securely by the hand and led him away, her carriage almost regal. They’d almost reached the end of the aisle when Danny wrenched his hand from hers and ran back to Jack with pounding feet.
“Danny!” Tara called after him.
He ignored his foster sister, not stopping until he reached Jack. His chest heaved up and down.
“Come see me at c-camp,” he said somewhat breathlessly. “You can take off your thumb again.”
Before Jack could reply, Danny turned and headed back for his foster sister at a slower pace. Over his head, Tara’s gaze met Jack’s.
He shrugged, trying to convey his apology, not so much over Danny but about the way they’d met. He wished she didn’t have reason to be so suspicious of him.
She broke eye contact and in moments she and Danny turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
The big bag of potato chips lay forgotten on the floor.
* * *
WAS JACK DIMARCO following her?
The question ate at Tara for the rest of the afternoon and night. She briefly forgot about Jack while helping out at a friend’s pub in Cape Charles on Saturday night, but not until she’d visually scoured the vicinity for any sign of him.
Her paranoia was still on full alert Sunday night on the short drive to Cape Charles where she taught spinning classes. The town, founded along the bay as a planned community to serve the railroad and ferry trades, boasted late-Victorian architecture and a sandy beachfront park. It had become home in recent years to a resort retirement community with waterfront homes and championship golf courses, making it feel like a tourist town, albeit a sleepy one.
Tara expected to see Jack’s pickup rolling along behind her. It was little consolation that she didn’t. If he wanted to find her, he could.
She parked and started up the sidewalk to the fitness club, mentally reviewing the reasons Jack could still be in the Eastern Shore. She supposed it was possible that the beauty of the area had tugged at him, as it had many others. Or maybe he was interested in getting to know Tara better. He certainly acted as though he were attracted to her.
She dismissed the notion, dismayed that it held some appeal. It was far more likely he still thought she might be Hayley Cooper.
“Hey, Tara! Wait up!”
Kiki Sommers, one of the youngest members of her class, rushed to catch up with her. The nineteen-year-old was wearing another of the colorful outfits that were her trademark. This one featured bright pink yoga pants and a sleeveless black-and-white sports top. Kiki’s long blond hair was tied back in a high ponytail that swung as she moved.
“Hey, Kiki.” Tara opened the door to let the other woman precede her into the brick building that had once housed a YMCA. The fitness club that had taken over the space was prospering, but summers were slow despite the regulars who used the weight room and the diehards in Tara’s classes. “Love the outfit.”
“Thanks,” Kiki said. “I knew it was cute, no matter what JoJo said.”
“JoJo?”
“My brother. He moved back home from Virginia Beach a couple weeks ago after he lost his job.” Kiki snapped her fingers and turned to regard Tara as she walked through the door. “Hey, I heard you want to get fixed up with him.”
“Who does Tara want to get fixed up with?” Dustin Jeffries, an employee not much older than Kiki, asked from behind the front desk. The place was so small, nothing anybody said was sacred. A lounge area consisting of a TV and single sofa was on one side of the desk. Across an aisle on the other side was the all-purpose room where Tara taught her exercise class.
“My brother JoJo,” Kiki answered.
“Give me a break,” Tara said. “I didn’t know your brother existed until a few moments ago. Who told you I wanted to date him?”
“Mary Dee,” Kiki said. “She saw JoJo picking me up last week. I thought you did, too.”
Tara was going to let Mary Dee have it when she next saw her. Unfortunately that wouldn’t be today. Mary Dee was missing class to take her husband out to dinner for his birthday.
“No, I didn’t see him.” Something occurred to Tara. “How old is he, anyway?”
“Twenty-three,” Kiki said.
“Too young for me,” Tara said.
“JoJo looks older,” Kiki said. Tara thought it was telling that she didn’t say anything about her brother’s maturity level. So far about the only details she’d provided were that he was unemployed and lived at home.
“Kiki’s right,” Dustin said. “I’ve seen her brother. All that facial hair does make him look older. You should go out with him, Tara.”
She shook her head. “Is everyone around here trying to fix me up?”
“Yeah,” Kiki said. “Pretty much.”
“I can find my own man, thank you very much,” Tara said, a mental image of Jack DiMarco flashing in her brain.
Kiki clapped. “You’ve got a man?”
Tara thrust Jack from her mind. “Maybe,” she said, which was the quickest way to get Kiki to stop suggesting a date with her brother.
“Ooooh,” Kiki said. “Tell me more.”
“Can’t,” Tara said. “Class is starting in a few minutes. I need to stretch.”
She ducked into the all-purpose room, where nine women awaited her, about two-thirds the number that usually showed up. Summer didn’t officially start for another week or so but vacation season had begun.
She changed the CD in the sound system to a mix she’d made the night before of songs with fast tempos. She climbed on the bike at the front of the room and started to pedal.
“Okay, class,” Tara called above the noise of the gears turning. “Who’s ready to work hard?”
“I am!” Kiki, unsurprisingly, was the first to raise her hand.
Forty-five minutes later, Tara was damp with perspiration. She always pedaled with enthusiasm to set a good example for her students. Today, however, she’d put in extra effort, the better to stop thinking about Jack DiMarco and Hayley Cooper—although here at the health club, where she felt so comfortable, she could almost convince herself that Jack’s presence in Wawpaney was innocent. He even seemed like a nice guy. He’d helped her out with that situation with Danny and the potato chips, hadn’t he? And she hadn’t even thanked him.
With the class dismissed, Tara finished off the water in her bottle and bent to remove a towel from her bag. She noticed a flash of bright pink out of the corner of her eye and realized Kiki was approaching.
“Now I understand why you don’t want to go out with my brother,” Kiki said.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, JoJo’s kind of cute, I guess. But he’s got nothing on your guy.”
“My guy?” Tara asked.
“About six-two with a body to die for and that gorgeous thick brown hair. Early thirties, I’d say. Really hot. But then, I just love a guy with a widow’s peak.”
She’d just described Jack DiMarco.
Tara’s heart slammed against her chest. “Where did you see him?”
“He was watching the class for a little while,” Kiki said. “You had your back to him, so you must not have known he was there.”
Tara wiped off her face with her towel to hide her shock. Her hands were shaking. First the grocery store, now the fitness club. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Jack must not have believed her rationale when she’d denied she was Hayley Cooper.
“You’re a lucky girl,” Kiki announced. “I’d pump you for information about him, but I’ve got to get home. JoJo needs the car.”
KiKi gave a wave and hurried off. Tara packed up her things and rushed out of the room. The health club didn’t get a lot of traffic in the warm-weather months, but the weight room was never empty. A half dozen men worked out on the machines, but Jack wasn’t among them. Neither was his pickup in the parking lot.
Tara left the club and headed toward her car at a jog, thinking about her claim that she’d seen baby photos of herself. She was in front of the pale blue two-story house where she’d grown up before she consciously knew that was where she was headed.
Bright yellow flowers that matched the shutters on the windows spilled out of pots flanking the front door. Not bothering to ring the doorbell, Tara walked in through the unlocked front door, her tennis shoes making soft thudding sounds on the weathered wood floor.
“Mom!” she called. “It’s Tara.”
Her mother appeared from the back of the house almost instantly, a finger resting against her lips. She was dressed in another of her flowing dresses, this one in pale pink. “Shh. I just this minute got Danny to sleep. He is so excited about camp tomorrow he can hardly stand it.”
“Sorry,” Tara said, but her attention was only half on what her mother had said. In the hall, pictures were everywhere. Of her sister and father, their heads close together, their smiles almost identical. Of her parents with her sister at a carnival, at a park and in front of a Christmas tree.
There were a few photos of Tara, too, but none of her as an infant or a toddler. In the images, she was either alone or with her mother. Why had Tara never noticed that there were no photos of her with her father or sister?
“Is everything okay, honey?” Her mother’s question jarred Tara back to the present. She was gazing at Tara with her forehead furrowed. “You’re so darn busy on Sundays, I usually don’t get to see your pretty face.”
“Everything is fine,” Tara said, although suddenly she wasn’t at all sure of that. She thought about coming straight out and asking her mother about Hayley Cooper, but rejected the notion. Tara couldn’t just blurt out something like that. She searched her brain for an excuse to explain why she’d stopped by. “I’m just making sure we were still carpooling tomorrow.”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” her mother asked.
“No reason,” Tara said and fell silent. What did it mean that she’d never seen a photo of herself with her father or sister? Didn’t most parents delight in having their children photographed together?
“Can I make you something to eat?” her mother asked. “Get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks. I need to go home and take a shower.” Tara started backing toward the door, then stopped. If she didn’t at least ask her mother about the photographs now, she might never screw up the courage. “Mom, can I borrow your photo albums from before we moved to Wawpaney?”
Her mother’s hand flew to her throat, a reaction that seemed out of proportion to the request. “Why ever would you want to do that?’
“I guess because I’m curious,” Tara said. Her mother continued to gape at her, compelling Tara to come up with a better explanation. “Mary Dee has her kindergartners bring in baby pictures at the start of every year. She brings in one of herself, too. She’s always asking to see one of mine.”
Her mother’s hand was still at her throat. She was so petite, it wasn’t much bigger than a child’s hand. “The school year just ended.”
“Yeah, but I thought I’d have one ready for September. And besides, I’m curious about when we lived in Charlotte. I don’t remember ever seeing those pictures.” Tara swallowed. “So, can I borrow those albums?”
Her mother’s face seemed to lose color, although Tara thought that perhaps her imagination was running rampant. She held her breath as she waited for a response.
“I’m real sorry, Tara,” her mother finally said. “I don’t have any photo albums from Charlotte.”
Tara frowned. Her heart started to thump. “Are you sure? You’re always taking photos. You even did that scrapbooking class last year.”
“I didn’t get into scrapbooking until we moved here.” Her mother’s voice sounded shaky. “All those pictures I was going to put in albums—I’m afraid they’re gone.”
“Gone?” Tara repeated, a hitch in her voice.
Her mother averted her eyes—or was that Tara’s imagination, too? “A casualty of the move. Such a shame, it was. Some of the boxes had water damage.”
Including, apparently, the very box that could have proved Tara was who she’d always believed herself to be.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said again.
Tara’s throat was so thick she could barely get the words past her lips. “That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She backed out of the house and into the overcast night, automatically placing one foot in front of the other.
I’m sorry, her mother had said.
Tara wondered what exactly she’d apologized for before facing a truth of her own. There was another reason she hadn’t been more persistent when questioning her mother. A stronger reason.
If Carrie Greer had abducted her, she didn’t want to know.
* * *
WHAT WAS HE GOING TO DO for the rest of the day? Jack wondered. It wasn’t a great question to be asking himself, considering it was barely past noon.
The beach where he was renting a cottage wasn’t wide enough or long enough for running, so he’d jogged along the narrow road through the maritime forest that bordered the salt marsh. He’d also performed the series of shoulder exercises the team doctor had prescribed before the Mud Dogs released him, driven into Wawpaney to buy some toiletries at the drugstore and eaten a sandwich he’d slapped together.
The local newspaper he’d bought at the convenience store lay on the butcher-block kitchen table. He picked it up, struck again by how thin it was. It wouldn’t take long to read.
With the newspaper in hand, he headed out to the porch that was just steps from the bay. The low rent on the one-bedroom cottage hadn’t made sense until he saw the collection of modest homes on either side of a mile-long street that made up the community. If the houses hadn’t been parallel to the water, there’d be nothing special about them. As the Realtor in Onancock had claimed, however, the location couldn’t be beaten.
With a narrow expanse of beach just steps from the porch, the warm, salty scent of the Chesapeake Bay in his nostrils and the sound of the lapping waves filling his ears, Jack had to admit she was right. The setting would be even more perfect on a day that wasn’t overcast.
He was about to sit down on one of the plastic Adirondack chairs when he noticed two local girls in bikinis about fifteen yards away staring at him. From their gangly figures and coltish legs, he judged them to be about thirteen or fourteen. Their heads were together and their shoulders shook as though they were giggling. The thinner of the two broke away from the other girl and headed straight for him. She stopped just shy of the porch.
“Hey, mister, can I ask you something?” She was still giggling. The sun glinted off something silver and Jack realized she wore braces.
“Sure.” He figured the girls had some kind of bet going.
“Are you famous?”
Jack supposed it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that one of the girls had recognized him, although the world he lived in seemed very far away.
“Are you a baseball fan?” he asked.
She seemed surprised by the question. “Sort of. But I know you’re not a baseball player.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s baseball season right now,” she said. “You’d be playing. You wouldn’t be here.”
He nodded. Of course she didn’t know him from baseball. He’d made three appearances in the major leagues in nine years, none lasting longer than a few innings. Only the most hard-core fan would recognize his name. Even fewer would know his face.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not famous,” he said. “Who did you think I was, anyway?”
“We weren’t sure,” she said. “But we thought maybe Ryan Reynolds.”
“Ryan who?”
“Green Lantern,” she said.
“What’s that?”
She giggled again. “A movie about a comic-book character. Ryan Reynolds is a movie star.”
“Oh.” Jack didn’t see many movies.
She turned and ran back to her friend, sand kicking up under her feet. Jack sat down, aware his mood had darkened.
He wasn’t sure why. For as long as he could remember he’d dreamed of becoming a pro baseball player, not of being famous. When he’d brushed elbows with his superstar teammates during his brief stints in the majors, fame hadn’t looked attractive.
The most famous of them, a center fielder who’d won a couple of batting titles, had to switch hotels because of the autograph seekers who mobbed him in the lobby. Somebody had told Jack the player was a virtual recluse in the off-season because it was so difficult for him to go out in public.
No, it wasn’t lack of fame that nagged at Jack.
It was the reminder that baseball season was in full swing and he was here at an out-of-the-way beach community on the Eastern Shore instead of on the mound where he belonged.
“What now?” Jack asked himself sarcastically. “You’re going to start feeling sorry for yourself?”
That wasn’t his style. Neither was talking to himself.
He’d already identified the problem. He had too much time on his hands. Too bad he wasn’t one of the sun worshippers who could while away the hours on the beach. Another workout was in his future, but not until at least early evening when his muscles had recovered from his morning exercises. Swimming in the bay was tempting, but he feared his shoulder wasn’t yet up to it. He needed to curb his enthusiasm until he could meet with the fitness consultant the guy at the health club had recommended when he’d stopped by the night before.
Jack turned his attention to the newspaper, not exactly sure why he’d picked it up instead of the thicker regional paper. Reading that would have taken longer.
He skimmed a front-page story about a crabber who’d been harvesting the Chesapeake for almost fifty years, scanned a story about beach erosion and skipped a detailed account of the latest Northampton County Board of Supervisors meeting.
He flipped through the rest of the newspaper, finding little to catch his interest. He was about to refold the paper when two words in bold type jumped out at him: Volunteer Opportunities.
Of course. The answer to his boredom. He could volunteer.
He read through the listings, keeping a mental tally of activities that might suit him. Delivering meals to shut-ins. Picking up trash off the beach. Helping kids learn to read.
All the opportunities seemed possible, but none seemed quite right until he reached the last listing.
No experience necessary! Help needed at Camp Daybreak, a summer program in Cape Charles for children with developmental disabilities. You bring the energy. We’ll provide the guidance.
The listing included the name and phone number of a contact as well as other particulars about the camp. It went from 9:00 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. daily for the next two weeks and started...today.
This camp was, without a doubt, the one that Tara Greer’s brother, Danny, was attending.
Adrenaline surged through Jack for the first time all day. Not only might volunteering at Camp Daybreak bring him back into contact with Tara, he genuinely enjoyed being around children like Danny. Because of his cousin’s son, he even had some limited experience.
If volunteering awarded him a chance to change Tara’s mind about him, so much the better. He’d seen Tara again last night when he’d stopped by the fitness club. She’d been smiling and laughing, her upbeat personality and a good cheer shining through even as she pedaled faster and faster. He’d been tempted to stick around until her class ended, but was afraid she wouldn’t believe it was a chance encounter.