“Not this song. That’s the great Johnny Rivers. ‘Swayin’ to the Music.’ ” Joe hummed along, singing a word here and there.
“I don’t know it,” Cara told him.
“It’s the best song. See, this guy’s just happy to be home with his girl, slow-dancing to a song on the radio. It’s late at night and they’re just two people in love dancing together ’cause it makes them feel good. That, to me, is romantic.”
“I’d listen more closely to it if I could hear it over the noise in here.”
“That’s what you get in your basic neighborhood bar on a Saturday night.”
She felt the pressure of his hand on the small of her back as they moved to the music, their bodies touching. Her left hand rested lightly on the back of his neck, and he smelled like plain, basic soap. Drew always smelled of some cologne he thought was manly but Cara found overpowering and unpleasant. The contrast between the two men couldn’t have been sharper. She was pretty sure Joe’s sense of his own masculinity didn’t need a boost from anything that came in a bottle.
The song ended and they stepped apart.
They walked back to the table, where Des and Allie appeared to be arguing.
“Can it, Des,” Allie all but growled.
“Hey, I have an idea. Let’s get a picture of this happy family gathering,” Joe deadpanned and took out his phone. “Go ahead, Cara. Stand behind your sisters.”
The look Allie gave him was pure evil but when it came time to smile, she dazzled.
“Let’s get one with you, Joe,” Des said. “The Hudson sisters out on the town with their trusty contractor.”
“We need someone to take it,” Allie reminded her.
“I have long arms. I can take it,” Cara volunteered.
“Selfies are so last year.” Allie sighed.
“I’ll take it.” A man who’d been standing behind Cara and off to the left reached for the phone.
“Thanks, Ben.” Joe handed over the phone and joined the group.
“Oh God, not you,” Allie groaned.
“Nice to see you again, too, Ms. Monroe.” Ben took the picture and held the camera up to take a look. “Great shot of everyone except you, Ms. Monroe. You’re making a face that looks like . . . well, here, see what you think.”
Ben passed the phone to Allie. She didn’t bother to look at the screen before she deleted the picture. “Oops. Sorry. Guess you’ll have to take another.”
“I’d be happy to.” Ben raised the camera and shot just as Allie flashed a million-dollar smile. He took one look at the screen and said, “Wow. You really can turn it on when you want to.”
Allie fixed the smile on her face and went back to her drink. Ben leaned over the back of the chair next to her and started to say something, but before he could get a word out, she turned to him and said loudly, “I’m not driving so it’s none of your business. Go find someone else to harass.” She turned her back, apparently hoping he’d walk away. Instead, he leaned over her shoulder. Cara couldn’t hear what he was saying, but whatever it was, Allie all but flipped out.
“Wow, I don’t know what that’s all about,” Cara muttered. “But neither of them look very happy.”
“Ben’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.” Joe watched the heated exchange with interest. “Maybe it’s Ben who’s chewing Allie out. Funny, I didn’t even see them talking to each other tonight.”
“I don’t think they really even know each other.” Cara recalled the scene in the driveway the night they arrived.
Just then, Des took off alone for the bar, and Barney and her group of friends headed for the dance floor, where they took part in a lively line dance to yet another song Cara had never heard. When one of the ladies slipped and fell, Barney and two others helped her up, the three of them laughing good-naturedly. Cara glanced over at the bar, where Des was now in conversation with a tall bald man whose arms were covered with tattoos and who appeared to be hanging on every word Des said. Allie was still having words with Ben Haldeman.
Cara smiled. Our first night out as a family in Hidden Falls, and it’s all going pretty much the way I could have predicted: Barney’s having a rousing good time, Des is making new friends, and Allie is pissing someone off, specifically, the local chief of police.
Yes, she thought as she looked around, just about the way I would have pictured it.
She glanced at Joe, whose head was tilted as he listened to something his sister was telling him. There was no point in trying to convince herself that she wasn’t tempted. Joe was hot and fun and definitely qualified as a good guy, but then again, there’d been a time when she’d thought Drew was hot and funny and a good guy, too, and look how that had turned out.
Besides, she wasn’t ready to completely let her guard down. There was time enough to see where their mutual attraction might lead. She was pretty sure she’d know when the time was right.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The bright light pierced a gap in the curtains and stabbed Allie in the eye as if it were hell-bent on waking her in a way that would annoy her for the rest of the day. She pulled the blanket over her face and groaned. As she turned over, she grabbed her phone to check the time. Surely it couldn’t be later than six.
Eleven? How could that be?
She ran her hand over her face and sat up, only to be greeted with a pounding head, eyes struggling to stay open, and a mouth that was dust dry. There were few things Allie hated more than hangovers, and yet here she was, her head in her hands and her stomach churning.
“Damn.” She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. It helped a little, if only to assure her that she was in fact awake.
Ten minutes later, craving coffee, she stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen after having made herself as presentable as possible, adhering to one of her own personal rules: When you are deathly hungover, it is important to appear anything but.
Why had she had those last few shots? She knew the real answer: to spite that damned nosy cop—but she wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
The house was quiet—so quiet that she knew no one else was about. Where would Cara and Des have gone on a Sunday morning? Des wasn’t a churchgoer, she knew that much about her sister. And where was Barney?
Allie sat at the table and pulled up the photos on her phone that had sent her reaching for the clandestine bottle in her suitcase when they returned from the bar around midnight. The first picture and text from Nikki had been innocent enough: Me and Courtney before the big sophomore dance last night, she’d written under a photo of her and her BFF, both adorable in pretty dresses, their hair and makeup perfect. Allie had been thinking how the tenth-grade boys must have fallen all over themselves when these two walked in, when it occurred to her that Nik was wearing a dress she’d never seen before. Without stopping to think, she typed: I don’t recognize the dress?
A moment later came the reply: Courtney’s mom took us shopping this morning. Isn’t it the best dress evah?
Allie had to take several deep breaths before responding: It’s lovely. It’s perfect on you.
Nik’s last text of the night—Thanks, Mom! Night! Love you!—was attached to a series of pictures taken before, after, and during the dance. Nikki and Courtney. Nikki and Clint, who was, surprisingly, wearing a sport jacket, button-down shirt, and khakis. Odd attire for dropping Nik off at school or at Courtney’s. Clint’s at-home wardrobe had always been pretty much old jeans and an even older T-shirt. Then there were Nik and Clint standing next to Courtney and her mother. Clint was on one side and Courtney’s mother on the other, like bookends, their offspring between them. The last photo, taken apparently at the dance, was of Clint and Courtney’s mother standing with another couple. That’s what they look like, Allie thought. A couple. She enlarged the photo to study the look on the woman’s face. Oh yes, indeed. That’s the look of a woman in love—or at least in lust. Either way, it hit Allie like a thunderbolt.
Allie sat stock-still on the windo
w seat, her stomach suddenly feeling as if hot molten lead had been poured inside her.
She had to fight the urge to call him. He’d never admit it. Never. Hadn’t he vehemently denied that there was another woman in his life?
“Damn him.” Allie pushed her coffee away along with the hot angry tears she felt welling up. He’d played her. Pure and simple. He’d played her to get close to another woman. Taken her daughter from her under the guise of what was best for Nikki, when he was actually using Nikki to get to know this woman.
Would he really do that, use his daughter to give him an excuse to get close to a woman?
Of course he would. And apparently, he had.
Allie had run through her savings to pay her half of the tuition to a school she couldn’t afford because Clint had shamed her into it with his snotty little jab, Give her the best, or be content with the rest? And most painful of all, Allie had had to trade her weekdays and nights with Nik for just the weekends in order for her daughter to attend this incredible school.
And this realization had come directly on the heels of her having to deal with a holier-than-thou Ben Haldeman at the Bullfrog last night.
He’d sat next to her in the seat Des had occupied, even after she’d made it pretty clear she had no intention of speaking with him beyond her initial “I’m not driving, so go find someone else to harass” declaration.
She’d tried to ignore him, but he didn’t move. Finally, his very presence irritated her so much she couldn’t keep her mouth shut any longer. “That’s my sister’s seat,” she’d told him.
“When she lets me know she wants it, I’ll vacate,” he’d replied.
Allie had turned in her chair and done her best to ignore him. She’d been doing a pretty respectable job, too, until he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “That’s your, what, fourth drink in”—he’d glanced at his watch—“oh, roughly fifty minutes? Which averages out to about one drink every twelve and a half minutes.”
“You just did all that advanced math in your head? Who says we don’t use it once we leave school?” She didn’t bother to turn around.
“Well, we law enforcement types use math for all sorts of things. It wouldn’t even be a challenge for me to make a quick calculation of what your blood alcohol level might be right now.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it, since, as I’ve told you, I’m not driving. I have to assume I’m not breaking any laws since you’re not snapping your handcuffs on me.” She looked at him over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “You ever use them for something other than restraining bad guys—or bad girls, Sheriff?”
“It’s Chief.” His eyes darkened and narrowed.
“Chief. Sheriff. All the same. Means head lawman in his respective jurisdiction, right?”
“Close enough.”
“So why aren’t you out following unsuspecting drivers home so you can scare the living crap out of them?”
“I’m off duty.”
“I see.” She turned and deliberately took a long, slow sip of her drink.
He’d fallen quiet for a moment, then asked softly, “Bad day?”
“Why does it matter to you? You don’t know me. What difference could it possibly make to you?”
He’d nodded in Barney’s direction. “It’d matter a great deal to her if something happened to you. And if it matters to her, it matters to me, because she matters. Barney matters a great deal to a lot of people around here.” He stood and took a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “You ever want to talk about it, you ever need a friend or you want someone to just listen and not judge, give me a call.”
He’d walked away and left Allie sitting there with her mouth open.
She’d told herself he was the nerviest person she’d ever met, that he must be one of those people who just couldn’t help sticking his nose everywhere it didn’t belong. Maybe that was why he became a cop—so he could get in other people’s business. She’d started to drop the card on the floor, but something stopped her. She’d put it into her bag and tried to forget that the conversation ever happened.
A noise from the backyard drew her attention. She peered out the window and saw Barney emerging from a shed with a shovel in one hand and a rake in the other. A cardboard box holding what looked like a dozen or so plants stood open on the grass. Coffee in hand, Allie stepped onto the porch.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Barney turned to her with a smile. “Sorry you missed breakfast. There’s some fruit salad left in the fridge, though.”
“I’m good, thanks.” Allie walked down the steps and onto the patio. The bricks were raised here and there, and she carefully made her way to where Barney stood looking like the wife of Old MacDonald, her appearance so different from her usual put-together look. Old worn jeans, old sweater with moth holes on the front, sneakers that had clearly seen many other springs. Soft leather gloves, the color of ripe bananas, hung from her pants pockets, and sunglasses perched atop her head.
“Picked up my plants from the garden club the other day,” Barney said. “Good day to get them in the ground while the earth is soft from last night’s rain and the temperature is nice and warm. The sun’s getting a little higher every day.” She raked dead leaves from what had apparently been last year’s garden, exposing the raw earth beneath the composted matter. Here and there, small stubby fingers of green pushed through the soil.
“What are they?” Allie pointed to the stubs.
“Daylilies. Those fat little stems pushing up—the ones with that dark purple color mixed with the green—those are peonies. I’m pretty sure my grandmother planted those. Live forever, those things.”
Allie bent down to see what was in the box. “Isn’t it a little cold to plant flowers? Those are flowers, right?”
“A few perennials—good to get them going early and they can take a frost, most of ’em—and of course peas and some lettuce. Peas like the cold, but I might be a little optimistic where the lettuce is concerned. But it looked so pretty, I couldn’t resist.”
The name of each plant was written on a little white plastic stick wedged into the dirt in the pots. Hollyhocks. Echinacea. Veronica. Astilbe. A few daylilies.
“Is all this your garden?” Allie pointed to the carpet of dead leaves that surrounded the large patio and extended into the wide beds on three sides. Barney’s outdoor furniture was lined up on one side, each piece still wrapped in its protective cover against the weather.
Barney nodded. “It seems to grow a little every year. Guess I have no willpower when it comes to flowers.”
“I had roses at my house in California.” Allie recognized the wistful undertone in her voice. She tried not to think about it, but damn, she did miss that house. “I planted them myself. They bloomed so beautifully last year.”
“My mother and grandmother both had roses. They never did much for me. Maybe you’d do better with them. They’re all on the other side of the house. Take a look, why don’t you?” Barney gestured toward the left side of the house. “Of course, they’re just sticks right now, haven’t started to leaf up yet, but maybe when they do, you could see what you can do with them.”
“I really don’t know anything about roses. I just got lucky.”
“Gardening is part luck, part experience, part knowledge. You’ve apparently had some experience with them and you’ve had luck. So I’d say you probably have more knowledge on the subject than you realize. Certainly more than me.”
Allie shrugged and stood watching Barney rake for several more minutes before asking, “Any idea where Des and Cara might have gone?”
“They hiked up to the top of the falls. They took a thermos of coffee and a couple of the muffins Cara made, so I guess they planned on staying for a little while. You could probably join them.”
“Not likely,” Allie muttered.
“Not up to the challenge this morning?”
Allie shook her head. Just forcing herself not to text Nikki to interrogate her about Clint and Co
urtney’s mother was enough of a challenge this morning.
“What’s everyone doing today, do you know?” Allie checked the screen on her phone for updates. There were none.
“Cara is meeting Joe and the exterminator at the theater around one to see what they can do about whatever has moved in. Des said she wanted to spend some time in the attic looking for a box of old photos of the theater that my mother stashed up there.” Having cleared all the beds, Barney traded the rake for the shovel and leaned upon its handle. “What about you?”
Allie shrugged.
“Grab a shovel from the shed, then, and help me get this bed ready.” Barney gestured toward the area she’d just finished raking.
“Oh, I don’t really—”
“Do you good, Allie.” Barney turned her back and began to turn over the soil.
Allie sighed and went to the shed. She tested the array of shovels, searching for the lightest in weight, and carried it back to the bed where Barney was working.
“Barney, what would you like me to do?”
“We need to just turn the dirt, like this.” Barney demonstrated, digging up a shovelful of soil and dumping it back onto the spot where she’d dug it.
Allie mimicked the motion and began the task of helping Barney. The work was mindless, and for the first five minutes it wasn’t too bad. Before long, Allie’s hands and wrists began to ache, and her head was pounding even louder than it had been. She rested against the shovel handle and closed her eyes. It didn’t help.
“Looks like you could use an aspirin or something,” Barney observed without breaking the rhythm of her digging. “There’s a bottle in the cabinet next to the sink in the kitchen. Go on in and take a couple. I can finish up here.”
Allie stabbed the point of the shovel into the dirt and left it standing there. She hurried toward the steps, her stomach roiling.
“You also might want to try a glass of milk with a raw egg in it,” she heard Barney say as she reached the porch. “I hear it’s good for hangovers.”
The Last Chance Matinee Page 18