The Last Chance Matinee

by Mariah Stewart

  She had time for a swipe of mascara—not that it mattered. Joe wouldn’t notice—not that she wanted him to. She really hoped she wouldn’t turn into one of those women who painted all men with the same brush of suspicion. But right now, she was still bruised by Drew’s betrayal, and besides, her current agenda didn’t include anyone whose last name wasn’t Hudson.

  She ran downstairs, pausing at the bottom step to catch her breath so she could walk into the kitchen with some semblance of cool.

  Not that it mattered.

  From the hall, Cara could hear the chatter, Des’s voice above Barney’s debating the merits of print books versus reading electronically. Everyone was seated, their plates already filled with the pancakes and bacon Barney had made.

  “Good morning,” Cara called to no one in particular as she made her way to the coffeepot. She poured a cup and headed for the only empty chair, which was between Allie and Joe.

  “Morning to you, too,” Barney replied.

  Des smiled at Cara as she started to pull the chair out from the table, but Joe reached over, held the chair for her, then helped push it in once she was seated.

  “Thanks,” Cara told him.

  His nod was a silent “You’re welcome.”

  “So what’s your pleasure this morning?” Barney stood to act as hostess. “We’ve got blueberry pancakes, bacon, eggs if you want them, and your delicious granola. Also strawberries, blueberries, and some yogurt.”

  “Wow. So many choices,” Cara said.

  “Now that I’m retired, I enjoy cooking a big breakfast now and then.”

  “I’ll grab a pancake—sit, Barney, I’ll serve myself.” Cara speared a pancake from the plate Des passed to her and decided to add granola and fruit for a chaser.

  “The granola was great,” Joe told her.

  “Thanks. Old family recipe,” Cara told him. “Barney, the pancakes are perfect. I could eat these every morning.”

  “Imagine what you’d look like then.” Allie looked up from the phone, her eyes dark and unreadable.

  “I shudder to think.” Cara cheerfully poured a small amount of syrup onto her pancakes from the blue and white pitcher Joe passed to her. She deliberated momentarily before pouring on a little more. “In for a dime, in for a dollar, as my dad used to say.”

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  “As our dad used to say,” she corrected herself.

  “I never heard him say that,” Allie noted coolly. “You, Des?”

  Des shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, Allie.”

  Allie dipped her head and went back to her phone, mumbling, “Whatever.”

  “What’s so engrossing that it’s worth being rude for?” Des asked Allie.

  “Nikki sent me a text with some pictures from yesterday’s lacrosse scrimmage.” Allie held up the phone and Des took it from her.

  “Nikki is Allie’s daughter who lives in California with Allie’s ex,” Barney explained to Joe. “Sorry that some of us can’t keep our eyes from our personal devices at the breakfast table.”

  “I miss my daughter,” Allie shot back. “I miss being part of her everyday life, all right? I’m sorry if that makes me rude.” She looked at Joe as if expecting a response.

  “I don’t mind,” he told her. He even sounded sincere. “Really. If I had a daughter who was so far away, I’d be glued to my phone, too. It must be tough on both of you.”

  “Thank you.” Allie lifted her head. “It is tough.”

  “I can’t believe how tall Nikki has gotten,” Des remarked as she scrolled through the photos. “Who’s the blond woman in the last one here? Standing next to Nik?”

  “Oh, that’s Courtney’s mother. Court is Nikki’s best friend. They live in the same neighborhood and they give Nik a ride home after games when Clint’s not available. Which seems to be every day now,” Allie said blithely, though Cara detected an undercurrent of something she couldn’t put her finger on.

  “I guess you might like to see what your niece looks like.” Allie passed the phone to Cara. “The tall girl in the back is Nikki.”

  Cara studied the screen. “She’s beautiful. She looks a lot like you, Allie.” She smiled as she passed the phone to Barney via Joe. “I hope I get to meet her one of these days.”

  “She’ll come out here sooner or later,” Allie noted. “Clint mentioned some business trip he had coming up that coincided with her spring break, so maybe sooner rather than later. We’ll see.”

  “She’s very pretty, Allie. And Cara’s right—she does look like you.” Joe handed the phone to Barney. “Maybe once you get the theater up and running, she might like to get involved with some of the productions.”

  Allie’s eyes widened in near horror. “No, no, no. I’ll be long gone by the time that place is ready to open. I’m not spending any more time here than I have to.”

  Joe laughed. “Well, granted, we’re not L.A., but Hidden Falls isn’t exactly Mayberry, RFD, either.”

  Allie rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re the very definition of ‘the boonies.’ Complete with the Poconos version of Sheriff Taylor.”

  “Are you referring to Ben?” Barney’s eyes narrowed. “He’s not the sheriff. He’s chief of police.”

  “Sheriff Taylor’s the role Andy Griffith played on that Mayberry show, right?” Joe grinned. “I can’t wait to tell Ben that.”

  “I loved that show,” Barney said. “Such good, wholesome entertainment.” She looked at Allie and said pointedly, “Best I can recall, nobody slept with his sister in Mayberry.”

  “Who knows what goes on behind closed doors?” Allie smiled sweetly. “But it’s hard to deny the truth. This place is strictly Small Town USA.”

  “Hey, we’ve got just about everything here you could want.” Barney went into defense mode. “So we’re not much for fancy restaurants . . .”

  “But you’ve got that Good Bye place, which I’m sure is a bundle of laughs on any given night,” Allie deadpanned.

  “. . . and there are no nightclubs between here and Scranton . . .” Barney continued.

  “But there is the Bullfrog Inn,” Allie pointed out. “I’m sure that place swings on the weekends.”

  “Actually, it does, especially on Saturday nights,” Joe told her. He glanced around the table. “Why don’t you all come down to the Frog tonight? Meet some of the locals, see what passes for a good time in Hidden Falls.”

  “I’m in,” Des said before anyone else could pipe up. “I’d love to go.”

  “Me too.” Cara finished her breakfast and carried her dishes to the sink before pouring a second cup of coffee. “It sounds like fun.”

  “Maybe to you two.” Allie had returned to her phone and was typing a text, presumably to Nikki. “You’re both from small towns, so you wouldn’t know the difference.”

  “Between what and what?” Des frowned.

  “Between a hole-in-the-wall bar and a really nice club.” Allie seemed to dismiss her sister.

  “How would you know if it’s a hole-in-the-wall if you’ve never been there?” Des asked.

  “It looks like one,” Allie replied.

  “Let’s not pass judgment until we’ve seen for ourselves.” Des took her plate to the counter. “I say the three of us head out to the Bullfrog tonight around . . .” She glanced at Joe.

  “Nine is a good time,” he told her. “Too much earlier and you’ll be ready to leave by eleven. Too much later, no place to park.”

  “Nine it is. We’ll be there,” Cara said. “Barney?”

  “Oh, I rarely miss a Saturday at the Frog,” she replied. “All my single friends go.” She paused for a moment before adding, “Of course, they’re all widows, divorcées, and old maids like me.”

  “Well, you all go and have yourselves a swell time,” Allie told them.

  “Uh-uh. You’re going, too.” Des snatched the phone from her sister’s hands. “You’re not going to stay here and text your daughter all night and then get upset when she stops
answering ’cause she’s somewhere with her friends and doesn’t want anyone to know that her mother texts her twenty-four seven.”

  “I don’t . . .” Allie protested and reached for her phone.

  “Allie, you do.” Des plunked the phone in her sister’s outreached hand. “We’re all going, and maybe for a few hours you’ll forget that you’re someplace you don’t want to be.”

  “Well, then. That settles it. The Hudson girls will be out in force tonight.” Barney beamed and turned to Joe. “You make sure you save us a good table if you get there before we do.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Before I forget, what do we owe you for the new lock?” Des asked.

  Joe dug in his pocket for the receipt and handed it over.

  “I’ll write you a check.” Des got up from the table. “Be right back.”

  Des was back in minutes with a check in her hand. “I set up a little workplace for myself in Barney’s office,” she told the others. “Barney offered to clear out some space in one of the file cabinets so we can keep all the theater bills together.” She handed the check to Joe.

  “Thanks, Des. I’ll go on over to the theater and install that lock now.” Joe stood. “Thanks for breakfast. Everything was great. I’ll see you all tonight.” His eyes lingered for a second on Cara, and she had the feeling she was being asked to respond somehow.

  “I’ll walk out with you.” Barney rose from her chair. “I need to bring in the mail. It’s always here early on Saturday.”

  Des proceeded to wash the dishes while Allie continued to send texts to her daughter and Cara cleared the table.

  Barney came in with an armful of mail she skimmed through before tossing the junk into the paper recycling bin near the back door.

  “So what does one wear for a night out in Hidden Falls?” Allie asked.

  “Something nice but casual.” Barney took two white envelopes from the stack of mail and placed them in a basket on the counter.

  “I’m looking forward to it. I could use a night out,” Des announced. “But right now, I want to walk over to the library, maybe see about some old photos, old newspaper articles, whatever I can find, about the theater. I also want to check into how to apply for grants that might be available for projects like ours just in case we need to go that route in the future.”

  “Maybe they have something about the local government,” Cara said. “We should know what permits we’re going to need.”

  “I thought we’d need to go to the town hall for permits.” Des finished washing the last of the breakfast dishes and dried her hands.

  “Girls, from my experience, the contractors apply for the permits, and ‘town hall’ is a relative term here. The mayor has a small office in the back of the police station and there’s a conference room where the council meets once a month to discuss the borough’s business. But that’s about it.”

  Des handed a towel to Cara, who began to dry the dishes Des had placed in the rack.

  Barney took her bag from the back of the chair in which she’d been sitting and swung it over her shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of the dishes, girls. I’m off to pick up some plants I ordered from the garden club’s sale. If it stays as warm as it is today, I might get some early planting done.” She smiled at the thought as she went out the door.

  “I guess I’ll run up and grab my bag and my notebook.” Des stretched her arms over her head. “The walk will do me good. I’m feeling like a slug from sitting around so much.”

  Cara stood in front of the small closet. She hadn’t packed with nights out in mind. Jeans might be okay, but she wore them or sweatpants every day. Finally she decided on her denim skirt—the only skirt she’d brought with her—and a black turtleneck sweater, black tights, and flats. When she went downstairs, she was amused to find that Des was dressed almost identically, the big difference being that Des wore fancy cowboy boots that somehow didn’t look out of place in the grandeur that was their family home.

  Of course, Des’s sweater probably cost five times as much as mine, Cara mused as they waited for Allie to join them, and those boots must be worth about six car payments.

  “Honestly, she’s always been late for everything,” Des grumbled. “My mother was the same way.”

  “And Dad was just the opposite,” Cara recalled. “Always five minutes early for everything.”

  Des nodded. “He always said that being late was one of the rudest things you could do. That it showed a complete disrespect for the people who were waiting for you, like you thought your time was more important than theirs.”

  “Pounded into his head at an early age. Our father was a demon about punctuality.” Barney came into the room, strapping on her watch as she walked. She also had on denim, hers an A-line skirt worn with a crisp white button-down shirt. The long sleeves ended in tidy cuffs that were secured with gold cuff links that had blue stones in the center. A necklace of gold beads and what looked like the same blue stones lay against her collarbone. “Well, it looks like denim is the uniform for tonight.” She seemed pleased. “Totally appropriate for where we’re going. No one dresses up very much for the Frog, though some concessions are made, since it is the weekend.”

  “I love your cuff links,” Cara said. “Such a pretty shade of blue.”

  Barney held up her wrists to better show them off. “Lapis,” she told them. “They belonged to my dad. The necklace came from an arts show we had here last fall. A woman in Scranton makes all sorts of lovely jewelry using semiprecious stones.”

  “I have a friend in Montana who makes jewelry.” Des held up her arm. “He made this bracelet. Montana silver, Montana sapphires.”

  Barney took Des’s hand to inspect the bracelet. “That’s lovely. The silver has a sort of rustic look to it. Unexpected with sapphires, though they are rough-cut.” She smiled at Des. “Your friend has talent.”

  “Thank you. I’ll let him know that his work is appreciated as far east as Pennsylvania.”

  “Now, where is that girl?” Barney frowned and went into the hall and looked up the stairwell as if she could will Allie to come down.

  “I’ll go up and see if I can move her along.” Des took the steps two at a time. “Not that anything I have ever said or done has made a difference.”

  A moment later, Cara heard muffled voices and the slamming of a door. Des returned to the living room, a scowl on her face.

  “I see that went well,” Cara said.

  “I received the usual chewing out. She always gets in such a funk when she’s made to do something she doesn’t want to do.” Des laughed in spite of her sister’s bad mood.

  “Pity.” Barney’s tone made it clear she had no sympathy for Allie.

  Five minutes later, Allie made her appearance in jade-green sky-high heels, tight black pants, a long-sleeved shirt of camel silk unbuttoned to one step above cleavage, and perfect makeup. She glanced at the others, who had gathered in the hall when they heard her footsteps in the upstairs hall.

  “Oh. Apparently I didn’t get the memo,” Allie said.

  Des raised a questioning eyebrow, and Allie replied, “Denim night. Should I change?”

  Des rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “I’ll drive,” Barney announced as they filed out the back door. “I like to take Mother’s car out every now and then. Keeps the battery charged.”

  Barney disappeared into the garage, and a minute later, an engine’s roar caused everyone to jump just before long white fins emerged. Backing out slowly, Barney maneuvered the car from the garage into the driveway. The others stood drop-jawed at the sight.

  Allie found her voice first. “What the hell is that?”

  Barney smiled from behind the wheel. “Behold the 1968 Cadillac Deville, girls. Convertible, of course, but it’s too cool an evening to put the top down. Too much of a pain in the butt, to tell you the truth. But I put it down when the weather suits just to keep all the working parts working. Hop in.”

  �
��This thing is almost fifty years old,” Cara exclaimed. “And it’s still running?”

  “She’s been well cared for over the years.” Barney waited patiently while Allie and Des climbed into the backseat. Cara slid into the front passenger bucket seat.

  “I’ll say.” Cara ran her hand over smooth leather the color of ripe tomatoes. “There’s not a mark on it.”

  “Her. Mother called her Lucille—as in Ball—because of her hot red leather.” Glancing over her shoulder, Barney confirmed, “Everyone in? Good.”

  She stepped on the gas and Lucille shot to the end of the driveway.

  “Dear God, what does this thing have under the hood?” Des asked.

  “A 472 V-8. Largest V-8 available at the time for a passenger car.” Barney grinned and took off to the stop sign at Hudson and Main.

  “This was your mother’s car?” Cara held on to the door handle.

  “It was a birthday present to her from my father the year she got her driver’s license. Mother always liked a fast car. She had a bit of a lead foot.” Barney’s mouth turned up at one corner and she glanced over at Cara. “It was somewhat of a scandal. Back then there were still people who thought it unseemly for a woman to drive. My mother was a very proper soul and often caved to tradition, but when it came to this car, she threw propriety to the wind. She just flat-out loved Lucille. It was a sad day when we had to take the keys from her.”

  Barney’s smile faded. “Dementia is a terrible thing, girls. It takes the best that you are and leaves the rest. Mother remembered how much she loved this car and how much she loved driving it, but she forgot how. Whenever she said she wanted to drive into town, we had to tell her Lucille had a flat. She had a hissy every time, but I figured we saved countless lives with that one white lie.”

  Barney fell silent for a moment, then said, “I’m telling you all right now, if the day ever comes that I forget where the brakes are, you can fit me for a pair of cement shoes and drop me right off the bridge into the Susquehanna.”