The Last Chance Matinee

by Mariah Stewart

  Cara frowned. “What TV series?”

  “Long story,” Des told her. “Apparently we’ll have lots of time to catch up.”

  “So Dad just expected us to waltz out of our lives to do a job he should have done.” Allie voiced what the other two clearly were thinking. “We have lives, you know. What about my daughter? This is outrageously inconvenient and thoughtless of him.”

  “Your daughter can live with her father until school is out.” Pete’s patience was nearing its end. “As for you, you’re unemployed, with no immediate prospects, and on the verge of losing your house. So if you ask me, it’s a plenty convenient time for you.” She started to object, but Pete cut her off.

  “Des, you’re living off your investments and don’t have to work, and you won’t be leaving much behind this time of the year except the Montana winter.”

  He turned to Cara. “You own your business and have a remarkably qualified assistant who’s been begging to buy in for the past year. Now’s a good time to see how she’d do as a potential partner.” He looked around at the three of them. “There’s no real hardship involved for any of you, when you get right down to it. This is your father’s last wish. Complying is all that stands between you and your inheritance.”

  “I still can’t believe he’s serious.” Allie turned to Des. “Why don’t we get our own lawyer and contest it? There has to be a way around this. I can’t believe you’d do this to us, Uncle Pete.”

  “I’m not doing anything but what your father wanted. He was my best friend, and I do see there was a method to his madness. But suit yourselves.” Pete opened a desk drawer and removed three envelopes. Handing one to each of the women, he said, “Here’s a copy of the will. Please feel free to take it to the attorney of your choice. But you’ll be wasting time and money. When I said the will was ironclad, I meant it.”

  The three women stared at the envelopes, but none opened theirs.

  “I still don’t understand why he did this,” Cara said.

  “Well, I’ve tried to explain it all as best I could.” Pete reached into the open drawer and took out a small device. “Now it’s time you hear directly from your dad.”

  “What?” Cara asked.

  “Your father left an audio letter for you. He wanted me to play it after I’d gone over the terms of his will.” He clicked a switch and sat back. A moment later, the women heard their father’s voice.

  “Is this thing on? Pete, is it on?”

  “It’s on, Fritz. Go ahead.”

  “Okay. Well, girls, if you’re listening to this—and if old Pete here has done his sworn duty to me—I’m ashes in a jar, and the three of you have just been hit with a bombshell. I owe each of you an apology, for things I did and didn’t do. There isn’t time enough for me to go into every way I’ve failed you, but please know that I am sorry to my soul for not being the father you all deserve. Know that I love the three of you more than anything in this world . . . this world, the next world. Whichever world I land in.” He chuckled at his attempt to make a joke, then coughed.

  A moment passed before he resumed. “I want you to understand that I loved your mothers, both of them, in my own way, and in their own time. Don’t think for a minute that any of my actions were the result of anything you did. Allie, I’m talking to you especially here. You just remember that last conversation we had and remember what I told you.” He paused and coughed again. When he resumed speaking, his voice was a bit weaker. “Des, I’m sorry for not standing up to your mother when you needed me to. I shouldn’t have let her bully you into doing things you didn’t want to do.” More coughing. “Cara Mia, I’m sorry for the lies. Sorry that I let you and Susa live a lie for all these years. Sorry that I . . .” Cough, cough. “That I left all this in Pete’s lap.” The voice grew faint, as if Fritz had turned from the recorder. “Pete, you’re the best friend a guy ever had. I love you like a brother. . . .” Again a cough, longer, harsher this time.

  Then, Pete’s voice. “Fritz, that’s enough.”

  “No. I need to tell them about the theater. Why it matters.”

  “I’ll tell them.”

  “But—”

  “I promise. I’ll tell them.” A heavy sigh from Pete. “Say goodbye, Fritz.”

  An even heavier sigh from Fritz. “Goodbye, girls. Be good to each other. Trust each other and yourselves. Do what I ask you to do, and all will be well in the end. I promise. Love you. Always.”

  Pete wiped his eyes and turned off the recorder. The only sound in the room was the sniffling of the three women as tears ran down their faces. He handed Cara a box of tissues. She took several and passed the box on to Des, who shared it with Allie.

  When they finally all composed themselves, Cara pointed to the now-silent recorder. “When did he make that?”

  “The afternoon before he died,” Pete replied.

  “When did he tell you that he was sick?” Des asked.

  “The same day he found out,” Pete admitted. “He had very little time to put his house in order.”

  “What happened to his ashes?” Cara asked.

  Pete pointed to a large, shiny silver urn on the top shelf of a bookcase across the room.

  “You mean he’s here?” Allie’s eyes widened. “He’s been here this entire time?”

  “In a sense, yes.” Pete watched in amusement as all three women turned and stared at the urn. “I know this has all come as a huge shock to you, and I know that what your dad asked of you is . . . well, unusual, to say the least. But once the theater is up and running again, you’ll bury his cremains in his family’s cemetery next to his parents. Then you’ll all be free to go about your lives and you’ll never have to see each other again.”

  He waited for someone to comment. When no one did, he continued.

  “Okay. Also inside your envelopes, you’ll find directions to the house in Hidden Falls. Your father gave you each one month from today to arrive at that address. I remind you that all three of you must arrive on that date, or none of you will get a dime. If any one of you leaves before the theater is finished, the money goes to charity. I hope I made that clear.” He stood, feeling satisfied. He’d kept his final promises to his old friend. “Any last questions?”

  No one spoke.

  “Good. Well, don’t hesitate to call if you think of anything. Otherwise, I expect you’ll all comply with your dad’s wishes.”

  Again, silence.

  “All righty, then.” Pete walked to the door and opened it. “Keep in touch, girls. Let me know how it goes.”

  Pete hugged each of the three women and planted a kiss on their heads as they filed wordlessly out of the office. He walked them to the elevator, pushed the button for down, and stood aside as the three silently entered the car together. When the door slid closed, he walked back to his office, relieved that his part in Fritz’s mess was, for the time being, over.

  “How’d it go?” Marjorie asked as he passed her desk.

  Pete rolled his eyes.

  “As we suspected,” she replied. “Well, it’s certainly going to be interesting to watch this play out.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “You think they’ll be able to do it?”

  “Once they come around to the idea, sure. Whether or not they can without killing each other . . .” Pete shrugged.

  “Did you tell them about Barney?”

  “Nope. Left that part out.” Pete entered his office, adding over his shoulder, “There should be something for them to discover on their own.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Tell me everything.” Darla burst through Cara’s back door and into the pretty blue and white kitchen, a bunch of daffodils in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out. Spill.”

  Darla opened the bottle and tossed the cork toward the stainless steel sink, where it landed with a ping.

  Cara spilled everything.

  A wide-eyed Darla hung on every word.

>   “And that’s how I found out Dad had three daughters, not one. And two wives. Could’ve been one wife and one who may or may not have been married to him. I’m still not clear on that.”

  “This is just beyond . . . beyond . . .” Darla searched for words. “Just beyond. Your father . . .”

  “I know. I still can’t believe it.” Cara filled a vase with water and absently arranged the flowers.

  “And you never suspected . . . ?”

  “Why would I? Who wonders if their father has another wife and kids—a whole other family—hidden somewhere?” Cara placed the flowers on the counter. “Of course, in our case, I suppose we were the hidden family.”

  “This is going to sound inane. I mean, I hate to sound like one of those TV reporters who thrusts a mic at someone and demands to know, ‘So how does it feel to be shot in the face?’ ”

  Darla poured wine into both glasses and handed one to Cara. “But how do you feel?”

  “I don’t know if I can find the right word. I don’t know if there is a right word. Bewildered. Sad. Betrayed. Angry. Hurt. For me and for my mom.” She tapped her fingers lightly on the side of her glass.

  “Did she know?”

  “I’m not sure.” Cara thought back to her mother’s dying words. “Maybe. I asked Uncle Pete, but I didn’t really get a straight answer. Susa could have known and just didn’t care. She didn’t always care about things that mattered to other people. She was such a free spirit.”

  “Well, free spirit or not, it’s all good, as long as you’re happy with your life. Susa seemed happy. I don’t remember ever hearing her complain about anything.”

  “She always said she loved her life, so yeah, she was happy. She had her shop and her yoga and her gardens and her knitting.” Talking about her mother was so much easier than talking about her father. “She always said if you talk about negative things, you’re inviting negativity into your life. Better to look for the good, find things that would bring joy.”

  “Like all her craft projects,” Darla reminded Cara. “Remember when she taught us to tie-dye?”

  “We had red fingers for weeks from the dye, which of course, being Susa, she made from scratch.” Cara laughed.

  “I think of her every time I see a beet.”

  Cara rested her chin in her hand, her elbow propped on the table. “I always thought it was so cool that my mother wasn’t like everyone else’s. She always had time for me. She never shooed me away or talked around my questions. She was such a gentle soul. Open and honest. All those things—her gentleness, her honesty, her uniqueness, her love of life—those were the things that my father loved about her.”

  Cara stared into her wine for a long, quiet moment. “I can’t reconcile what I learned today with the father I knew. I know he loved me, I know he loved my mother. Sometimes I felt they were so in love that they didn’t need anyone else, even me. Dar, I just can’t come to grips with the fact that he had another wife, other daughters.”

  “What are they like? Your sisters?”

  “Half sisters,” Cara corrected. “I was only with them for about forty-five minutes, so I really don’t know what they’re like.”

  “First impression?”

  “The older one, Allie, seems bitter. Brittle. The younger one, Des, didn’t come across as hard as Allie did.” Cara rolled her eyes. “But seriously, who names their kids Allegra and Desdemona?”

  “I’m guessing the same guy who named you Cara Mia Starshine.”

  “The ‘Starshine’ was Susa’s idea.”

  “Well, duh.”

  “I know they were both as stunned as I was, I’m sure of that. Especially Allie. She wasn’t very nice. Actually, she was kind of bitchy about the entire thing.”

  “It’s hard to blame her.” Darla quickly added, “Not that I’m defending her or anything, but Fritz was married to her mother first, right? So maybe she feels that you and Susa took something from her. Like she was there first, and . . . and oh crap, I don’t know what I’m saying.” Darla covered her face with her hands. “Forget I said that.”

  “No, you’re right. He was theirs first. I don’t know what transpired between Dad and their mother, or why or when he left her—actually, now that I think about it, I don’t really know if he ever left their mother. I got the impression that they didn’t see him very often. If I had to guess, I’d say he was more invested in Susa and me, judging by the time he spent here, but then again, he made all those trips to the West Coast every month.” Her voice dropped. “At least now I know why he kept his business out in California and Mom and me out here in New Jersey.”

  “I doubt Susa would’ve moved even if he’d asked her to.”

  “She loved living in this small town and knowing everyone and having her little shop and her friends,” Cara said, as a faint smile crossed her face.

  “Wasn’t he lucky?”

  “Lucky, yes, but he knew Mom well enough to know that she never wanted to visit L.A., even when he invited her along for a weekend. She hated to fly, and she always said she had about as much interest in his business as he had in hers.”

  “So what did they look like?”

  “Allie is tall and thin. Like, model thin. Sleek. Very chic. Designer clothes for sure, though I couldn’t tell you who the designers were. Long, straight blond hair. She just had that look, you know? Pulled together and hip and really beautiful. Lots of nice jewelry.”

  “Real?”

  Cara shrugged. “I didn’t get that close. But she looked the way I picture a Beverly Hills housewife to look.”

  “And the other sister?”

  Cara thought for a moment. “Des is very different from Allie. For one thing, she’s shorter and rounder. And more cute than beautiful. Hair a lot like mine, only darker and curlier and shorter. I’d guess a more casual lifestyle—tall leather boots and nice jeans, a great sweater, good leather jacket and gorgeous leather bag. Everything about her said relaxed and cool and expensive, but totally down-to-earth. She was as surprised as Allie and I were, but she didn’t freak out.”

  “How’d you leave it with them?”

  “I rode in the elevator with them, but no one said a word. When the doors opened, Allie just walked away as if she didn’t know either of us. Once we got outside, Des said something like, ‘So I guess we’ll see each other in Hidden Falls next month.’ ”

  “What did you say?”

  “Something like, ‘Sure, see you there.’ Funny, but I don’t think they were together. Strange, huh? I would’ve expected them to come together, but Allie went to the parking garage and Des walked across the street and got into her car.”

  “Maybe they live in different parts of the country.”

  “Possible. But still, if it’d been my sister, I’d probably have wanted to grab lunch with her afterward to talk about the bombshell that had just been laid on us. But Allie took off and Des didn’t even react, like she wasn’t surprised or she didn’t care.” She paused. “If she were my sister . . .”

  “She is,” Darla reminded her. “She is your sister.”

  “One would never know by the way she acted that she was related to Des or to me. She just . . . boom. Gone.”

  Cara swirled her wine before taking a long sip.

  “I thought I knew my dad so well. I knew what made him laugh and what books he liked—history, books about presidents and other historic figures. His favorite authors—Jon Meacham and Doris Kearns Goodwin, Pat Conroy and James Lee Burke. His favorite movies—car chases and shoot-’em-ups. Maryland crabs over Alaskan, clams but never oysters. I knew summer was his favorite season and that he preferred beer to wine and liked his steak rare. He loved lilacs and hated the scent of gardenias, liked big dogs and big cars. I knew he liked to walk on the beach in the early evening and that he loved reality TV.” She shook her head. “And yet I didn’t know him at all.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Darla lifted her glass and drained it.

  “Right now, I’m going
to make that dinner I promised you.” Cara topped off her glass, then refilled Darla’s.

  “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant. I’m going to talk to Meredith about taking over for a while—she’s been wanting to buy into the studio, so this would be a good way for her to find out if it’s what she really wants. Then I’m going to go to Hidden Falls, Pennsylvania. Coming on the heels of Drew’s big announcement and his wedding—not to mention the impending birth of his child—I’m not unhappy to have an excuse to get away for a while. By the time I get back, the wedding will be a done deal, and the gossip should’ve died down. I’m sick of hearing about it. I’m confident that by then, the fact that Drew McCann dumped wife number one in favor of wife number two will be a distant memory.”

  Cara tapped the rim of Darla’s glass with hers. “So here’s to Hidden Falls, and whatever I may find there.”

  They each took a sip; then Darla put her glass down. “What do you hope to find?”

  Cara slumped against the island.

  “My dad,” she said simply. “I want to find out who my father really was, because he obviously wasn’t the man I thought I knew.”

  Cara sat in front of 725 Hudson Street, her car in park, the engine running, the heater blasting against the cold March wind, and stared at the large Victorian that seemed to grow out of the front lawn. She checked the address against the information Pete had supplied in the envelope. This was definitely the place. This was her father’s family home, the place he’d grown up, this imposing giant sitting off by itself on a lot that took up the entire first block of Hudson Street.

  She hadn’t expected anything quite like this, nothing quite so grand, with its wraparound porch and turrets that rose three stories, its exterior of pinkish brick and white trim that seemed to mound like whipped cream over the turrets and the windows. There was gingerbread trim everywhere trim could have been added, and a porte cochere stretched from the right side of the house across the driveway to what was probably a carriage house. The drive was lined on one side with ancient pines and with tall trees on the other, all still leafless, so she wasn’t sure if they were maples or oaks. Cara had suspected her grandparents had been well-off, judging by what Pete had told them about their philanthropy, but still, she hadn’t expected their home to be so ornate. Cara tried to picture her father here. Had he played ball with his father or with his friends on the front yard?