The Comfort of Secrets

by Christine Nolfi

  Cat waved to catch his attention. Over the top of Mr. Uchida’s head, he noticed her.

  “Hey.” He took her face in his hands, gingerly kissed her forehead. “I meant to check on you thirty minutes ago. With the concert ending, I got sidetracked. Do you forgive me?”

  “Forgive you? I’m grateful. I wasn’t up to managing my duties.”

  He noticed the bruises, but not the girl behind Cat. “Are you all right? Should I take you to the hospital?”

  “I don’t need a doctor, but you may need a chair.”

  “What for? I’m cool.” He swiped at the hair brushing his brow. “Honestly, I don’t know how to feel about this . . . about him, I mean. I’m not happy, but I’m not sad either.”

  “Interesting. That’s not the first time I’ve heard that tonight.” She paused for a delicious moment. “I have something to tell you.”

  “Yeah?” He caught the excitement in her voice. “If you’ve got happy news, hit me. I could use some about now.”

  He leaned in to kiss her. Thwarting him, she stepped aside to reveal Gemma standing behind her back in silent anticipation. Less than two hours ago, he’d glimpsed her only for a moment in the unlit parking lot. Evidently he’d forgotten about Gemma during the intervening minutes.

  Now, looking at her fully, his eyes widened with shock.

  When he listed slightly, Cat slid a steadying arm around his waist. “This,” she said, “you’re going to love.”

  Chapter 28

  Of all the treasures in her home, he adored the family portraits.

  Countless paintings graced the house, but the large grouping on the second floor of his aunt’s colonial was remarkable. In the wide hallway, portraits of the illustrious Brugnets dating back generations hung in orderly groupings on the walls.

  With George Hunt dead for nearly two weeks now, Ryan would never learn about his father’s side of the family. Those lost details didn’t bother him in the least. Listening to Frances explain the successes and rare foibles of the ancestors on his maternal side gave Ryan all the answers he required.

  In her gentle, educated voice, Frances wove together the personal history he’d craved all his life.

  She drew him to the end of the long hallway, away from the low hum of voices and the soft thumping of footfalls as the men from the moving company neared the stairwell. “Last but not least, this is Philippe Brugnet. I believe he was in his early twenties when he sat for this portrait.” At the top of the stairwell, two of the men appeared with a large dresser. Frances gave them barely a glance, her fingers trailing across the shadowbox frame. “Philippe was born in Dieppe, France. He’s the first Brugnet in our family to reach the New World. He landed in Boston in 1702.”

  “Also a banker, like your father?” Ryan studied the intelligent face of a man with a trim beard and a neat mustache.

  “No, Philippe was a trader. His son became a merchant. Our family didn’t enter banking until your great-grandfather moved from Philadelphia to the Cincinnati area.”

  Balancing the dresser between them, the men plodded down the hallway to the last bedroom. Next Ruth tromped up the stairwell. She carried a large box in her arms.

  She gave them a disapproving frown. “Haven’t you left for Walnut Grove yet?”

  “We’ll leave in thirty minutes,” Frances told her.

  “Are Cat and Gemma going with you?”

  “They’ll meet us here. We’ll all drive out together.”

  From his mother’s bedroom, Ryan caught the impatience in Silvia’s voice as the movers brought in the dresser. Excusing himself, he said, “Let me check if they need help.” He started down the hallway with Frances and Ruth trailing behind.

  In the center of the spacious room, Silvia stood with her hands on her hips. The men mopped their brows as she tapped her foot, evidently caught in indecision.

  She looked up with relief. “Ryan, should the dresser go on the wall near the door, or the one by the closet?” She cast a pitying glance at his mother in the rocking chair by the window. “Julia doesn’t seem willing to lend an opinion.”

  Ryan crouched beside the chair. “Mom? Do you care how they arrange your room?” He rested his hand on her knee, tucked snugly beneath the lap blanket. A whisper of light glimmered in her vacant gaze. “We need to get your dresser situated so the movers can bring in the rest of your things.”

  “I’m not sure where to put it.” Consternation furrowed her brow. “What does Ruth think?”

  The low, childlike query brought her stalwart companion forward.

  Ruth joined him beside the rocking chair, and his heart filled with gratitude. He owed the eccentric Siren his life.

  “Julia, let’s have the men put the dresser near the door,” she said. At the decision, the movers heaved the dresser into place. When they’d finished, Ruth settled her hand on Julia’s shoulder. “It looks good there.” She waved off the men. “Go on, now. Fetch the rest of her things.”

  The men left. Frances said, “Ryan, why don’t we go downstairs? There are a few items I’d like to go over with you. Ruth and Silvia will stay until we’re back from the cemetery.”

  “That’s right.” Ruth nodded toward the door. “Finish your business with Frances. We’ll take care of your mother.”

  “Thanks.” Impulsively he kissed Ruth on the cheek. “For everything.”

  The affection startled her. For a split second her beady gaze flashed. Then she swatted him away, but not before he caught the pleasure on her face.

  “Save your gratitude,” she said gruffly. “Come the holiday season, you’re paying up.”

  He wasn’t sure what she meant. “Hankering for a special Christmas gift? I’m open to hints.”

  “I mean the holiday food drive.” She hitched her thumbs in the pockets of her roomy jeans. She didn’t quite achieve a pose of irritation, given the smile on her lips. “Plan on being my number-one volunteer. Start practicing your sales pitch, hotshot. I’ll have you knocking on doors across Sweet Lake until your knuckles are sore.”

  Ryan nodded. “You can count on me.”

  “I will.”

  He followed his aunt downstairs to the paneled library. “She’s no better today,” he said of his mother. He wandered down the long shelves, trailing his fingers across the spines of leather-bound books. “I’m not sure what to do.”

  “There’s nothing you can do. Julia has agreed to see a therapist. I’ll begin taking her next week. The therapy will help.”

  “The antidepressants are too strong. She’s practically out of it all the time.”

  “Ryan, we both want your mother back to full health. She’s been through a terrible shock. Hiding you both from George for years, then learning he almost murdered someone at the inn—frankly, she’s handling this relatively well.” Seating herself behind the desk, Frances pressed a hand to her heart. “I suggest you focus on the positive aspects of the situation. If my sister hadn’t found the courage to bring Ruth into her confidence before George made his appearance, we might have lost Cat and Gemma—and you.”

  “Strange how things work out. My mother picked the surname D’Angelo with the belief angels would guard us. Turns out divine intervention did come—in the unlikely form of Ruth Kenefsky.”

  “Ruth is an angel. Now that she’s saved my nephew, I feel obligated to keep her in Häagen-Dazs for the rest of her life.”

  Ryan chuckled. “She likes ice cream?”

  “She has an insatiable lust.”

  “Then count me in. I’ll foot the bill for her Häagen-Dazs from now until eternity.” He’d do much more, in fact. From what he’d learned, Ruth didn’t have children.

  Didn’t everyone deserve angelic intervention now and again? From here on out, he’d do his bit by protecting Ruth.

  “Actually, you can keep her in Häagen-Dazs, easily,” Frances said. He took a seat before the desk, and Frances opened a drawer. With ceremony, she placed a bank check in front of him. “This is for you.”

&nb
sp; The check was drawn on an account at Liberty Trust. Intrigued, Ryan read swiftly.

  With disbelief, he set the check aside.

  When he couldn’t find his voice, Frances laughed. “Don’t spend it all in one place.” A hint of devilry lit her hazel eyes. “There’s a stunning brick mansion at the other end of Highland you might wish to investigate. The Dolans have wanted to sell for years. Both of their children are grown, and they’d like to downsize. Cat will never tell you as much, but the Dolan mansion is one of her favorite homes in Sweet Lake. I suspect she’d rather move in there than her old bedroom at her parents’ house. You haven’t forgotten that she and Jada are moving out of the south wing soon, have you?”

  From the front of the house, Cat’s voice sang out. “Hello? Where is everyone?”

  “Well. Off we go.” Frances pushed out of the chair.

  Ryan found the presence of mind to point at the check. “Now, hold on. We’re not going anywhere until you explain.”

  “About the check? Why, it’s from your grandparents. When you and my sister disappeared, I was left in charge of your inheritance. I invested the money in quality stocks—Fortune 500 companies, mostly, but tech stocks too. Last week, I closed the accounts and cashed out.”

  “Frances, this is just shy of one million dollars.”

  She shimmied her fashionably clad shoulders. “I did rather well, didn’t I? Not that I’ll take all the credit—my late husband taught me a thing or two about the stock market. Lucky for you, I was a good student.” She came around the desk, pinched his cheek. “You know, there’s a sweet little house that’s just come on the market—Tilda has the listing. A two-bedroom bungalow down the street from Jada’s parents. It’s darling.” She gave him a meaningful look. “I doubt anyone’s mentioned Ruth’s place to you. It’s a wonder the roof hasn’t come down on her head.”

  The chance to help Ruth brought him out of his stupor. “I’ll call Tilda ASAP.”

  “Will you also look at the Dolan place?”

  He nodded. “Sure thing.”

  The devilry in her eyes increased. “Do you need the name of a good jeweler? Oh, and please don’t hire a wedding planner. Let me and Silvia do the honors.”

  “I haven’t asked Cat any life-altering questions—not that I wouldn’t like to. I’m waiting for the right moment.” He got to his feet. “Besides, her father says the glue binding your friendship with Silvia is flammable. Does your offer to plan the wedding come with a fire extinguisher?”

  “I suppose so.” She picked up the check, waved it before his nose. She nodded with satisfaction when he slipped it into his wallet.

  Cat strolled in with Gemma.

  “Hey, bro,” Gemma said.

  “Hey, little sister.” In less than two weeks, they’d slipped into the easy camaraderie of siblings. “How’s school?”

  “I’m flunking calculus.”

  “Don’t ask me for help. I barely scraped by.”

  Cat slipped her hand into Ryan’s. “Ryan, you look like someone hit you with a two-by-four,” she said. “What were you and Frances talking about?”

  Near the northern end of Walnut Grove Memorial Gardens, the simple granite stone, flush with the grass, marked the grave of George Hunt.

  Ryan and Gemma, each with their separate reasons, hung back. Leaving them where they stood in the dappled light, Cat approached the grave. When she reached George’s resting place, she laid the small bouquet of daisies she’d purchased this morning beside the stone.

  She glanced back at Frances appreciatively. “I still can’t believe you took care of this.”

  An air of melancholy followed the elderly Siren as she slipped off her pumps and came slowly across the grass. “I can’t excuse his behavior, but he was Ryan’s father—and Gemma’s. I did this for their sakes more than anything else.”

  “Will you tell Julia?”

  “Someday, perhaps. Not soon. At the moment, I’m more interested in helping my sister come through her bout of depression.”

  “If you hadn’t offered, what would the authorities have done with him?”

  Frances withdrew a handkerchief from her purse, patted her brow. “I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

  On further consideration, Cat didn’t either. In the aftermath of the terrifying events at the inn, while the police interviewed everyone involved over a series of days and news of the attack by a drifter blared on news stations across Ohio, Frances had quietly petitioned a local judge for release of the body and made funeral arrangements. Although she owed George Hunt nothing but her contempt, she’d provided for a graveside service. The only other people in attendance had been Cat’s parents.

  Cat nodded at the stone. “Ryan and Gemma aren’t the only ones who have mixed feelings about him. I do too.” The admission put a lump in her throat.

  “Because he is Ryan’s father?” Frances asked. “Ryan wouldn’t exist without him. A diamond wrought from a common element.”

  “Julia swears Ryan takes after you. I agree. He’s certainly gentle like you. And elegant.”

  Frances swatted away the compliment, which clearly pleased her. “You haven’t seen my sister at her best. Not yet. It’s a fair assessment that the bulk of Ryan’s decency comes from her.”

  At last Ryan and Gemma approached. They both seemed determined not to look at the grave. “Speaking of sisters,” Ryan said to his aunt, “you never did tell us the origin of the tokens.”

  “You have your Grandmother Brugnet to thank for them. She was a self-taught naturalist, always dragging her flock of daughters into the woods. When Julia and I were barely school age, she taught us how to make necklaces out of acorns, tiny stones—we incorporated the shells later, after a family trip to the Bahamas.”

  “And the feathers?”

  Frances toyed with the pearl earring dangling from her ear. “That was all me. I’ve always loved birds. There’s something magical about a creature living in defiance of gravity. Instructive too. One of the most difficult lessons we learn is how to soar—above our doubts and perceived failings, beyond the abilities we believe limit us.”

  She broke off suddenly to canvass the three sets of eyes trained on her, all of which were damp. “Listen to me, prattling on like I’m deep into my second sherry. Why don’t we say a prayer for the wretched soul lying here, and be on our way?”

  Chapter 29

  Leaving a trail of crumbs in her wake, Linnie dropped into the chair by the window. “Call Goodwill, ASAP,” she quipped. “For your sake, I hope they make house calls.”

  Cat reached into the closet. “In lieu of eating cookies, you could help me pack.” She pulled out a handful of dresses, hangers and all.

  “No thanks. It’s more fun watching you fill garbage bags with a decade’s worth of fashion. Should I call Silvia, warn her that she’ll need to make room in the garage? There’s no way she’s expecting you to haul this much crap into your childhood bedroom.”

  “I’ll make everything fit. It’s not like I’m staying with my parents forever.”

  “You ought to follow Ryan’s lead, and move into Frances’s place. She has enough extra rooms to compete with the Wayfair.”

  The idea was tempting, if unrealistic. With November approaching, Frances was busier than ever. Twice a week, she drove Julia to a therapist forty minutes outside Sweet Lake. She’d also rearranged her beautiful library, bringing in an extra desk and filing cabinets for Ryan’s use. For the last three weeks, he’d been splitting his time between his house in Cincinnati, which was now on the market, and Frances’s home.

  What he planned long term, Cat wasn’t sure. An apartment in Sweet Lake? A place big enough for them both? She would’ve begun dropping hints about living together if not for the other pressures dominating his time. Between helping Frances care for his mother, catching up at Adworks, and showing his house, Ryan’s days were full.

  Jada came in. “You’re still packing? I finished an hour ago.” She noticed Linnie, busy cramming the las
t bits of evidence into her mouth. “Damn it, Linnie—I don’t have time to make another batch of raisin-oatmeal cookies. Do I need to banish you from the kitchen, or what?”

  “I only took one,” Linnie muttered. Jada regarded her with disbelief, and she added, “Okay, I took three.”

  “It’s official. You’re banished.” Having issued a declaration they all knew was unenforceable, Jada stalked to the closet. Impatiently she pulled out three dresses. “Here’s the rule, Cat. If you haven’t worn a dress in the last year, donate it. How many glam outfits do you have in here? If you’re too cheap to hand clothes off to Goodwill, you’re just plain pathetic.”

  “Take that back. I’m not cheap!”

  “You have a shopping addiction. Seek help.” Jada plunged into the closet. She came back out with the striped steel-blue-and-cream dress Cat had purchased nearly eight years ago, the same week she opened her events company on Sweet Lake Circle. “Man, does this bring back memories. Cat channeling a businesswoman motif. This frock is ug-lee.”

  Cat snatched the dress, tossed it on the bed. “I was such a dope back then. Opening a business before I was ready—”

  “—closing shop early most days to date whatever hot body came along.” The laughter Jada attempted to hold in rippled across her shoulders. She mimed a serious expression. “It’s okay. You were young. We forgive you.”

  Linnie flicked crumbs to the floor. “But only because you’ve found Ryan. Why don’t you get down on bended knee and tell him you’d like to make the relationship permanent?”

  “Gosh, let me ponder that one. Because it’s too soon?”

  “It’s only too soon if you’re not ready.”

  “Like you should give her advice,” Jada said tartly.

  “My situation with Daniel is different.”

  “Says you.”

  They were perilously close to bickering. Cutting in, Cat said, “I am ready.”