Darlene Gardner - The Truth About Tara

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.

Jack leaped to his feet and went into the rented cottage to find his cell phone. One voice-mail message later, he disconnected the call and made a snap decision. Camp Daybreak didn’t end for another three and a half hours. Three and a half hours that would be interminable if Jack spent them here alone.

He had the address of the camp. Why not volunteer his services in person?

CHAPTER FOUR

CARRIE GREER FIGURED now was as good a time as any to get this over with. Actually, considering camp had started a few hours before and the children were settling down to lunch, it was past time.

If nothing else, the confrontation would take her mind off the approaching anniversary of the saddest day of her life and Tara’s odd plea to see a baby photo of herself. Carrie always had trouble sleeping in the days leading up to the anniversary. Last night she’d tossed and turned even more than usual, wondering what had prompted Tara’s request and worrying that her daughter hadn’t bought her explanation.

She shoved the problem to the back of her mind. Now wasn’t the time to obsess over things she couldn’t change, not when the director of Camp Daybreak was alone in the community center’s small office.

“I’ll be right back,” she told Tara.

“Sure thing.” Her daughter glanced up from the long table in the all-purpose room where she was helping one of the ten campers unpack his lunch. The other nine were happily munching on the sandwiches, chips, fruit and assorted goodies they’d brought from home in their packed lunches.

“Bye, C-Carrie!” Danny waved, his face wreathed in the biggest smile he’d worn since coming to live with her. Just as Carrie suspected, this camp was exactly what Danny needed.

She forgave herself for tricking Tara into volunteering by telling her Danny’s tuition would be waived. There was a kernel of truth in the claim, since the children of volunteers got the first week free. With both Carrie and Tara helping out at the camp, Carrie had a strong argument for not having to pay for the second week.

If she couldn’t sway the director to her way of thinking, Carrie would have to ask Tara for the money. She was loath to do that. Even at half the cost, camps like these were expensive.

The facilities were top-notch. Camp Daybreak had rented space at a privately owned community center that boasted an oversize air-conditioned room. On rainy days, tables could be pushed aside to create an empty space in the center of the room. Campers also had access to a playground and a community pool. The staff was impressive, too. The director was not only the father of one of the campers but a special education teacher, his assistant was a developmental disability nurse and one of the four volunteer camp counselors was a physiotherapist. Another staff member was a speech therapist.

Carrie walked across the all-purpose room, the heels of her sandals making clicking sounds on the linoleum floor, the skirt of her sleeveless cotton dress swishing about her legs. Gustavo Miller was in the cramped office, his head bent over paperwork, one hand poised over a calculator. He didn’t look up.

Here goes, Carrie thought.

“Hey there, Gustavo,” she said.

His head jerked up, his green eyes fastening on her. The color was quite remarkable, considering his dark hair and swarthy complexion. After a few brief meetings, she’d already noticed he was a man of contradictions. Take his name. Miller was as common as names in the United States came. Gustavo was not.

The intent expression on his face morphed into a smile. “Call me Gus. Most people do.”

“I don’t believe I will,” Carrie said. “Gustavo suits the tall, dark and Latin thing you’ve got going on.”

If he’d been seven or eight years older—in other words, her age—she wouldn’t have worded the compliment quite that way. With men as old as she was and older, she was very careful not to flirt.

He laughed, a nice rumbling sound. “My mother’s from Argentina, but I’m only half Latin. My father grew up near here in Exeter.”

“How interesting. How did your parents meet?” she asked.

“Dad was a month into what was supposed to be a trip around the world when he saw her on a beach in Mar del Plata,” he said. “He stayed in Argentina to romance her and six months later they were married. I spent the first ten years of my life in Buenos Aires.”

“Now I understand why you have an accent.”

“You can hear it, then?” He shook his head, as though he didn’t realize how attractive his slightly different pronunciations were. “I learned to speak Spanish first. I’ve lived in the States so long, though, I keep expecting to lose it. You’ve got an accent, too. Southern?”