The Promise Girls

by Marie Bostwick

  “Maybe she gave it up for adoption. Or to a relative?”

  “I couldn’t find any adoption records or any relatives. Minerva was an only child. After her mother died, she had nobody.”

  “You’re kidding. So what happened to her?”

  “I’m not sure. I found somebody who she went to high school with who told me that Minerva left town the summer between her freshman and sophomore years—the same year her mother died. Minerva was placed in some kind of foster situation for a while, but then she disappeared. Maybe ran away. Anyway, that’s the last anybody around here saw of her.”

  “Do you think she could have gone to Atlanta, like she claimed?”

  “Possibly. But if she did, she was only sixteen at the time, not twenty-one. And if she actually did study music there, I sure can’t find any record of that.”

  “But there wouldn’t be, would there? She said she studied privately, with . . .”

  “Cornelia Armstedt,” Lynn said when Hal couldn’t immediately supply the name. “A former opera star. She retired to Atlanta in the early fifties and taught privately. There’s only one problem with that part of the story; Armstedt suffered from dementia. She moved into a nursing home about a year after Minerva claims she began studying with her and died three years later. So, if Minerva studied with her, it couldn’t have been for long.

  “Bottom line is, Minerva’s story has enough holes in it to sink the Titanic, but there’s nothing I can absolutely prove. When it comes to actual printed documents, I can’t find anything about Minerva or Melanie Anne before 1979. It’s almost like she didn’t exist before then. I’m no private eye, but it looks to me like somebody wiped out her records on purpose.”

  “Minerva?”

  “Maybe. But I’m starting to wonder if she had help. Whoever did it was very, very thorough.”

  Hal shook his head. “Then why didn’t the media find out? There were a zillion stories out there, especially after the talk show video was leaked.”

  “Yes,” Lynn said, “but those stories focused on the girls, not Minerva. She was very good at deflecting attention from herself and back to her daughters. If everything hadn’t blown up the way it did and the book hadn’t been pulled, the inconsistencies in Minerva’s story might have come to light eventually. But once the tape was out there, the past didn’t matter. There was plenty of pay dirt to be mined from the Promise Girls story without bothering to do any actual investigative journalism. Why schlep all the way down to a centrally isolated town in south Georgia trying to dig up facts from people who don’t want to talk to you when you can just play that juicy video over and over and get better ratings with less work?”

  “Makes sense,” Hal mused. “Even if anybody had tried to do any real reporting on Minerva, the story would have been old news by the time they got to the bottom of it. It was tabloid stuff, the kind of thing people love to watch and get outraged over because it gives them a chance to feel better about themselves by looking down on somebody. After a few days, people would get tired of watching and move on to some new outrage.”

  “Exactly,” Lynn said. “So. Can I come home now? I miss my cat. And California cuisine. I’d pay fifty bucks for an In-N-Out Burger right now.”

  “But there are still so many unanswered questions. Can’t you just—”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’ve done all I can here, Hal. Every lead I’ve followed has turned into a dead end. And after all this time, the only thing I know for sure is that Minerva went to a lot of trouble to fabricate a new past for herself.”

  “I know, but why?”

  “That’s what you have to figure out. But you’re not going to be able to do that playing nice. You’re going to have to dig deeper, start asking the hard questions, and be willing to expose the truth about Joanie and her sisters, the truth they might not even be aware of. If you’re not up for that, then we don’t have a movie. And if we don’t have a movie—”

  “Stunted Genius goes under.”

  “Right. So should I go back to LA and start trying to cut these forty hours of tape into a usable fifteen minutes? Or should I go back to LA and start writing my résumé? Because, either way, I’m going home.”

  “All right,” Hal said finally. “Book a flight to LAX. I might join you in a couple days. It may be time for me to make another visit to Minerva. I’m not convinced that Joanie or the other sisters know anything about this.”

  “But you’re going to ask, right? You’re not just going to let them off that hook? If you don’t have the stomach for this, tell me now.”

  “I’m on it. Joanie invited me over for lunch this afternoon. I’ll talk to her about bringing the cameras back in and then start asking questions about Minerva and a fourth Promise sibling.”

  “You think she trusts you enough to let you?”

  “Maybe. We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we? Hey, good work out there,” he said, getting to his feet and adjusting the angle of the window blinds. “I mean it. As soon as you land in LA, drive to the nearest In-N-Out, order a shake, fries, and burger, and charge it to the company expense account. In fact, make the burger a double-double.”

  “Wow. Big spender. Is that what I’m getting instead of a raise?”

  “Afraid so,” Hal said. “You know better than anybody how busted I am.”

  “True. But that might be about to change. I don’t know if it occurred to you, but if Minerva’s lies end up leading to some kind of scandal, our quiet little documentary might end up being the kind of tell-all that big studios or cable channels would be willing to pay big bucks for.”

  Chapter 34

  Meg woke to the sound of someone knocking on the front door. The insistent sound became a prop in her dream. It took some time for her to separate dream from day and get out of bed.

  “I made pancakes,” Asher said when she opened the door, tilting his chin toward the tray in his hands. “They might be a little cold by now, but the coffee’s hot.”

  “Breakfast in bed. You’re sweet.”

  Threads of the dream still clung to her, like sticky filaments of spider silk when you walk inadvertently into a web. Now she brushed them away, replaced by a surge of affection and desire. There was something flattering about a man whose first thought upon waking was to concoct a plan to lure her to bed; seduction is just so seductive. She opened the door, inviting his entrance.

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost ten. I wanted to let you sleep for a while. You had a late night.”

  A little crease of confusion appeared on Meg’s forehead as he set the tray down on the kitchen counter before pulling out one of the stools and sitting down, wondering why he didn’t bring the tray into the bedroom. But then, it probably made sense. Pancakes and syrup were less than ideal aphrodisiacs. All fantasy aside, there’s nothing sexy about sticky sheets. But the no-nonsense way he tucked into his food without waiting for her made him look more like a man fortifying himself for a day of work than one setting the stage for a midmorning tryst. Was he upset with her? She pulled a stool to the opposite corner of the counter and sat down, facing him.

  “Sounds like you had a good time,” he said, pouring more syrup onto his pancakes. “I could hear you guys laughing from inside the house.”

  “Yeah.” She smiled and sipped her coffee. “Things got pretty wild. We’re probably lucky the neighbors didn’t call the cops. It was a lot of fun, though.”

  “I could tell.”

  She rested her fingers on his forearm. “When I said I’d be late, I didn’t realize how late. I’m sorry. Hope you didn’t wait up too long.”

  “No problem. I worked on the books for a while and then went to bed. They’re still a mess, though. I’ve got to meet up with a building inspector at eleven, then install some countertops, so I guess the books will have to wait until tonight.”

  “Why don’t you let me do that? Now that I’m recovered, it’s time I quit acting like a guest and start to do my part.”

 
; He lifted his brows to an uncertain angle, but she saw the relief in his eyes.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to get in the way of your work. I’m really happy you’re painting again.”

  “So am I, but really, I want to help. I can paint and help run the business too. Avery’s a part-time mermaid. No reason I can’t be a part-time artist, right?”

  “If you don’t mind, that would be a huge help. I can hammer nails and saw lumber all day long. But paperwork?” He shook his head and took another bite. “That just wears me out.”

  “Well, I’ve got no objection to you wearing yourself out, but not on paperwork.” Meg’s fingers found their way back to his arm; she stroked a line from his shoulder to his elbow, lightly but not so lightly that he could miss her invitation.

  “I missed you last night. I don’t like sleeping alone.”

  He smiled, lifted her hand from his arm, and raised it to his lips, kissing that soft spot on the interior, where her palm met her wrist.

  “Neither do I. In fact, I hate it. But I think we should, at least for a while.” She frowned and he answered the question in her eyes. “I didn’t lock my door by accident last night, Meg.”

  Stung by rejection, she tried to draw back her hand, but he wouldn’t release it. Instead, he tightened his hold on her.

  “Listen to me,” he said, moving his head when she tried to escape his gaze, locking his eyes onto hers. “The accident . . . every time I think about what could have happened, I feel sick, terrified. Then I feel grateful because what could have happened didn’t happen. We got another chance and it’s helped me remember what it was that made me fall in love with you in the first place. It wasn’t just the sex, Meg, not then or now.

  “Though,” he said with a bad-boy smile, “the sex is pretty spectacular. I’ve missed that a lot. But I’ve missed you even more. So, knowing all that, can I ask you to do me a favor? Marry me.”

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Very funny. Where would you like to have the ceremony? St. Paul’s Cathedral? Oh, wait . . . How about Disney World? Daisy Duck can be my bridesmaid.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Meg. I’m asking you to marry me.”

  “We’re already married, remember? That’s what you keep telling me.”

  “I remember,” he assured her. “We’ve made so many good memories over the years that I could never forget. In time, I hope all those memories come back to you, including our wedding day. But whether they do or not, it’s time for us to move forward. Because the thing I remember most about you is what I knew the minute I laid eyes on you and remember fresh with every new day: You’re the only woman I ever have or ever could love.

  “Marry me, Meg. Make me the happiest man in the world, again.”

  Meg felt her throat thicken and she averted her eyes, saying nothing, knowing the next word she spoke would bring her to tears, remembering with absolute clarity something she hadn’t been certain of until just that moment, that she loved him. Yet, as much as she wanted to picture herself as the woman he was describing, the only woman for him, a piece of her resisted the idea. She didn’t want to believe it unless it was true.

  Asher got to his feet, still holding her hand.

  “You say you need time and space and I’m willing to give it to you. As much time as you need. But, I’m not going to make it easy for you, love. Not anymore. I’m just as impatient to make you mine as I was at twenty-two. And I want to do this right.

  “So until you know for sure that you want to marry me, live with me, and hopefully grow old with me, I’ll be sleeping alone. It won’t be easy, but I’ll do it, for you. You’re worth the wait.”

  He bent down and kissed the top of her head, letting his lips rest in the softness of her hair for a long moment before lifting his head.

  “I gotta go to work,” he said, and walked to the door.

  She watched him go, still fighting a battle inside herself.

  “Asher?”

  He turned to face her. Those brown eyes, flecked with gold, and the hope she saw in them vanquished her. Just as she feared, the next word she spoke, she spoke in tears.

  Chapter 35

  Avery stood at Joanie’s back door and hesitated. Though she’d never done so before, she felt like she ought to knock, announce herself in some way. Or maybe she was just putting off what was going to be a very unpleasant conversation that, quite possibly, might end with Joanie never speaking to her again.

  Joanie was standing at the kitchen counter, holding the phone to her ear with one hand and cracking eggs into a bowl with the other. Avery stood in the doorway, waiting for her to finish her conversation, fascinated that her sister could crack eggs single-handedly without managing to crush the shells.

  “Of course!” Joanie exclaimed to the caller. “Are you kidding? I’m thrilled to do it here. No, no. You’re not having it anywhere else.”

  Joanie turned around to throw the eggshells into the trash and saw Avery. She smiled and gave her head a little upward tilt by way of greeting, then went on to wrap up the call.

  “It’s no trouble. This will be as much fun for me as for you. Okay, sure. We’ll discuss the details later. Congratulations!” She paused to listen, then laughed. “Well, I know, but still. This is exciting!”

  Joanie ended the call and turned to Avery with a huge smile. “That was Asher. You won’t believe this! He proposed to Meg this morning and she said yes!”

  “Proposed? They’re already married.”

  “I know, but Meg doesn’t remember the wedding. So they are going to renew their vows. We’re going to do it at the Memorial Day barbecue, just like the first time. I want to make it as close to the original ceremony as possible.”

  Joanie’s eyes glazed in thought. “Too bad Meg and Asher’s wedding album got lost in the fire. I still remember a lot of the details, but it would be a lot easier if I had some pictures to work from.”

  “That’s so romantic!” Avery enthused, forgetting her original purpose in coming over. “How can I help?”

  “Do you have time? I don’t want to get in the way of your work schedule. But, if you could help that would be great. We’ve only got a few days to pull this off.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Well, I think we really should approach this in the way we would a reenactment,” Joanie said after a moment. “Which means we need to find as much documentation as possible before we do anything.”

  “How do we do that without the wedding pictures?”

  “Could you go up into the attic and poke around in some of my files? Who knows? I might have one or two pictures tucked away somewhere. And it wouldn’t surprise me if you ran across some of my original lists and notes. You know me, I don’t eat breakfast without making a plan first.”

  “And you never throw anything away,” Avery said, thinking about the last time Joanie sent her up to the attic, in search of the Thanksgiving turkey platter, and the stacks of filing boxes she’d seen lined up against the walls. So many boxes.

  “Nope, I never do,” Joanie replied proudly, as if her sister had just paid her the highest of compliments. “I’ve still got the original pattern for Meg’s wedding dress, along with swatches of the fabrics I used to make it. I’d better start sewing the new one right away. So much to do!” she exclaimed happily, then pulled a whisk from a crock on the counter and started beating the bowl of eggs. “Food, cake, music, flowers, dress . . . After I get this banana bread into the oven, I’ll hop in the car and go to the fabric store to see if I can find some satin and lace to match the original.”

  The mention of Joanie’s car reminded Avery of why she was here. “Oh, yeah . . . Before you do that, I need to go downtown. Can I borrow your car?”

  Joanie dumped some flour into the egg mixture and kept stirring. “Okay, but can it wait until later this afternoon? I really want to start working on the dress.”

  “Um . . . Not really. I have to pick somebody up at the train station in a little while,” she said, hoping
this would satisfy her sister’s curiosity even though she knew that would just be delaying the inevitable.

  Joanie stopped stirring the bread batter. “Who?”

  Avery took a deep breath.

  “Minerva.”

  “What?”

  The expression on Joanie’s face was so blank and the tone of her voice so even that at first Avery couldn’t tell if Joanie hadn’t heard her or didn’t believe her.

  “Minerva sent me a text last night. I didn’t see it until after we got home from Meg’s house. She’s arriving in Seattle today and asked me to pick her up at the train station.”

  Joanie looked at her with that same silent, blank expression that felt more like a denunciation than any words she could have spoken.

  “I couldn’t say no or tell her not to come,” Avery said. “She was already on the train. And she’s got nowhere else to go. Her boyfriend died a few months ago and his kids made her get out of the house two days later. They wouldn’t even let her go to the funeral.

  “She got an apartment and a job as a restaurant hostess, but you know how expensive it is in LA. She couldn’t keep up with the bills and was evicted from her apartment. When she came home from work, the door was padlocked. She finally was able to get in and get her clothes, but she ended up giving the landlord all her furniture to settle up on the back rent. Everything she owns is packed into two suitcases and is on the train to Seattle.”

  Avery spread out her hands helplessly. “She’s my mother. She asked me to come and get her. What was I supposed to do?”

  Joanie shook her head with a slow, almost imperceptible movement. “How do you even know all this?”

  Avery squared her shoulders. “Because I’ve been talking to her. On the phone. Not all the time, but on and off for the last three years. She’s my mother,” Avery repeated in a tone that begged her sister to understand. “And yours. Maybe not the best mother in the world, but the only one we’ve got. And the fact that she doesn’t get to talk to us is just breaking her heart. And she’s never even met her grandchildren. How would you feel if—”