Page 46 of Resolutions

A soft knock at my office door breaks through my concentration. “Knock, knock.”

Looking up from my laptop, I see my mother standing in the doorway, her expression one that I'm very familiar with, mom isn't happy. “Hi mom. Come on in.”

Keeping her eyes on me, she crosses to one of the chairs opposite my desk, her movements deliberate, controlled. Her mouth stern and set. Eyebrows furrowed together. This is the look that struck fear in the hearts of three boys. It's this look that always made my brothers and me confess to every childhood and teenage misdeed. This expression is always immediately followed by a motherly chat. The kind where you're reminded exactly what your full name is as you sit quietly saying a lot of yes ma'ams. I wait silently, having learned long ago that when mom has this expression, it's better to let her start the conversation.

“Cameron,” she begins, her voice deceptively calm.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Don't be a smarty,” she fires me a warning glare. “Today, I attended the annual New Year's Day prayer with my church lady's group. Where, to my surprise, I had the most interesting conversation with Mrs. Gentry. She announced,” mom tilts her head to the side maintaining eye contact with me, “to the entire group that you barged into the ladies' bathroom during last night's party. She said you kept spouting off something about needing a lavender dress. That you couldn't find your lavender dress. And that she had to enlist Michael to help you.” She pauses, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. She steeples her fingers together, a sign that she's trying to control her anger. “Mrs. Gentry, bless her little gray wig, is now totally convinced that because of the stresses you've been under, that you've now chosen instead of seeking help, to become a cross-dresser. She has asked the ladies to pray for you.”

Mom fusses with a button on her shirt, taking a deep breath. “I, of course, told everyone you were not a cross-dresser. That it must have been something of grave importance for you to have barged in on Mrs. Gentry in the ladies' bathroom during one of the biggest events in Whispering Pines. That you were just doing your job.” Another measured breath. “It's fine, all fine. Luckily, everyone knows Mrs. Gentry is a few hymn books short of a choir. However, Cameron, my son, would you care to enlighten me as to what exactly happened? How much are your brothers in on this? And where does the lavender dress come in?”

I have to bite my lip before speaking to stop myself from laughing. I hold it to a short chuckle. “First, my brothers are always to blame, but sadly, in this case, they weren't involved. Second, that's not at all how it happened. Third, I'm not cross-dressing.” Mom's expression doesn't waver. “I didn't barge into the bathroom. I asked Mrs. Gentry if anyone was in there–twice. Actually, three times,” I hesitate, not sure how to explainwithout reopening wounds that have barely healed. “When Mrs. Gentry continued to ramble on without directly answering my question, I then went into the bathroom looking for a certain lady who was wearing said lavender dress.”

“And why was it so important for you to find this lady in the lavender dress that you had to barge in? Couldn't you wait for her to exit the bathroom herself?”

Before I can answer, movement in the hallway catches my eye. Joe, the bartender from last night's party, passes by my door.

“Joe!” I call out, perhaps too loudly. His head appears in the doorway with a wary expression.

“Hey Cameron. What's up?”

“Perfect timing. Come in for a second so I can ask you something.” I grab my phone, fingers trembling slightly as I scroll through photos I took of the security camera footage.

“Everything alright?” Joe glances nervously between mom and me.

“Everything's fine. This is my mom, Evelyn Whitaker. Mom, this is Joe, our head bartender. Okay, quick question.” I hold out my phone, the screen displaying a photo of Melanie last night. “Is this the lady from last night?”

Joe takes my phone, squinting at the image. His face falls as recognition hits. “Ah man, I told you once she saw you, I wouldn't stand a chance. I was hoping she'd come to order another drink.” He side-glances awkwardly at mom. “Oh well, you win some, you lose some. So, ah, did you two go out after the party, then?”

“No. Would you mind telling my mom where you saw this lady?”

Confusion crosses his face as he looks between us. “She was at the New Year's party last night. More specifically, she ordered a very odd drink from me.”

“Could you tell us the drink and what the lady was wearing?”

“You know damn well what she was wearing. This dress, which I now know is the color lavender.” Joe peers at mom like she will explain what's going on, but she doesn't know either.

Placing my palm facing my mother, I ask again, “and her order?”

“A chocolate stout with two oranges and two cherries.”

My mom gasps. I take my phone back, “thanks Joe. I appreciate your help.”

“I don't understand. Do you know this girl?” Joe asks.

Looking down at the photo, I answer quietly, “I used to, Joe. I used to.” Joe gives a sympathetic smile and leaves. The silence in his wake feels oppressive.

“Cameron?” Mom leans forward, hand outstretched.

Standing, I hand her my phone as I take the seat next to her. Reaching, I lean across to turn my monitor so she can see it too. There on the screen, captured in four different security camera shots throughout the Inn, is the blonde-haired Melanie.

Mom's sharp intake of breath breaks the silence. Her hand flies to her mouth as she stares at the footage, eyes wide with shock. She reminds me of the look on Chief Brody's face when he sees that massive shark emerge from the depths. I love that movie.

“Cameron,” her voice barely above a whisper, “do you think that's her?”

“Yes.”

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