The Last Chance Matinee

by Mariah Stewart

  F.

  Cara read both letters twice more. So Fritz had a girlfriend he’d cheated on with Nora. Cara understood the anger and hurt in the letter from J. to her father. But something about her dad’s letter seemed off. For one thing, where was his declaration of love for Nora? If a guy was writing a letter to a girl telling her he was going away with someone else, wouldn’t he justify that by saying how much he loved the girl he was leaving with? Wouldn’t he say, I’m sorry, but I’ve fallen head over heels in love with her and I can’t live without her? Hadn’t Drew said those words to her when he told her he was leaving her for Amber?

  And yet here was Fritz telling J. that he cared about her but was leaving anyway.

  What, she wondered, was wrong with this picture?

  Cara sat on the window seat with the letters in her hand, unsure what she should do with them. If she shared them with Des and Allie, would they pick up on that same lack of feeling for Nora? She wasn’t sure, and her uncertainty led her to return the letters to the box. She needed to think this through before sharing her findings with the others.

  “Cara?” Des called from the first floor.

  “Up here.” Cara stuffed the box back into the cushion and zipped up the cover, then walked into the living area of the apartment.

  “What are you . . . ?” Des stood at the top of the steps. “Oh, how cool is this? Did you know this was here?”

  Cara shook her head. “I was just doing a little exploring and came upstairs to see what was here.”

  Des walked through the entire second floor. “This is a great apartment.” She looked out the window. “Great views. I wonder who lived here?”

  “I have no idea, but when they left, they took everything that might have identified them. There’s nothing in any of the drawers or on the counter with a name.”

  “We’ll ask Barney. I’m sure there’s a story here.” Des returned to the steps. “Coming?”

  “I am.” Cara pulled the key from her pocket and once outside, she locked the door.

  Barney was just returning from her afternoon out as Cara and Des walked across the driveway to the patio. They waited for their aunt to park Lucille in the garage.

  “What are you two up to?” Barney asked after closing the garage door.

  “We were wondering who lived in the apartment over the carriage house,” Cara said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to see what was in there, and once inside, I saw the steps and . . .”

  “. . . had to see what was upstairs. I’d have done the same thing.” Barney twirled her keys on her index finger as she walked.

  “Who lived up there?” Cara asked.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Allen. They worked for my grandparents. Mr. took care of the grounds and the cars, and Mrs. took care of the house. Mr. died before she did, and Mrs. lived here until she passed on. She was in her eighties then, I think.” Barney dropped her keys and bent to pick them up. “Mr. Allen had his first stroke when he was in his sixties; the one that killed him happened a few years later.”

  “And your grandparents let them stay?” Des held the door for Barney. “Even after they couldn’t work for them?”

  “Of course. Where would they have gone?”

  “They didn’t have children?” Des asked.

  “A son,” Barney said.

  “Why didn’t they live with him?” Cara wondered.

  “This was their home,” Barney said simply.

  Cara returned the key to the hook near the door, still undecided as to whether she should tell the others about the letters. It seemed there was always an underlying tension between Des and Allie whenever their mother’s name was brought up, Des speaking what she believed was the truth about Nora, and Allie defending her.

  Not that Cara really understood just what Fritz’s letter had meant. She felt that she’d stumbled onto something that was important, a piece of a greater truth she’d yet to find. She decided for the time being to keep it to herself. For now, it would be her secret, hers and Fritz’s. Later that night she realized that by keeping his secret, she’d found one more thing about him that she hadn’t known before.

  “Your secret’s safe with me, Dad,” she told him before she turned over to fall asleep. “At least until I understand what it all means.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Cara followed the voices into Des’s room, where she found her sisters seated on the bed. She carried a big bowl of popcorn and a couple of bottles of water. Not exactly what a single woman in her thirties might consider a hot time for a Friday night, but the ferocious storm blowing rain across the back of the house had other plans. Downstairs, Barney had a fire going in the library, where she sat with Nikki, who couldn’t get enough of the stories about the family members in the portraits hanging in the hallway. Cara had poked her head in momentarily before she’d headed upstairs, long enough to catch the end of the story about how the first Reynolds Hudson had avoided a strike of his coal miners by paying fair wages and taking care of anyone injured while in his employ.

  “. . . and he’s never had a dog before, so I had to go over and show him what to do. You know, things like how to let the dog know what you expect of it. When and what to feed it. When to let it out . . .” Des chattered away about her successful placement of the male border collie with Seth.

  “You know, Des, your eyes are all shiny right now. Is that because of the dog or because of Seth?” Allie leaned back against the headboard.

  “It’s definitely because of the dog.” Des laughed. “I’m just so happy that this sweet dog found a great home.”

  “Isn’t this dog a foster?” Cara asked.

  Des reached for the popcorn and Cara passed the bowl before she took a seat in the room’s only chair.

  “Well, yeah, but I think he’ll keep him. They bonded really well. I felt really badly about the fact that the vet decided to keep the dog an extra day because of the infection in his foot, but it seems fine now. He was sent home with some antibiotics.”

  “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think we were talking about a child.” Allie leaned over and grabbed a handful of popcorn.

  Ignoring her, Des asked, “What are Nikki’s flight arrangements on Sunday?”

  “Eleven in the morning. Clint is supposed to pick her up at LAX at four.” Allie tossed a few kernels into her mouth. “I hope he and Mrs. Courtney’s Mom had a fun time in London.”

  “Why do you care?” Des held up both hands so Cara could toss her a bottle of water.

  “What do you mean, why do I care?” Allie poked at Des with her foot. “He lied to me about her. He’s been lying about her all along.”

  “So what?” Cara sat with her legs over the arm of the chair, a favorite position when she was a child. She could almost hear her mother scolding her.

  “So what? He lied to me about his motives for moving away and enrolling Nikki in Pine Hill. Because of him, I don’t have my daughter with me except for weekends, and sometimes that time is cut short because of school or sports or her social life. Because of him, I’ve been paying tuition I can’t afford and I almost lost my house. Nothing he did was for Nikki’s benefit. It wasn’t about putting her into a better academic environment,” Allie said indignantly. “It was all about him pursuing this woman.”

  “At least he didn’t cheat on you when you were married.”

  “Not that I know of,” Allie conceded. “As far as I know, he didn’t meet her until after the divorce was final.”

  “Well, I was cheated on. Now he’s marrying one of my former best friends.” Cara paused as she shoved in a mouthful of popcorn. “Tomorrow night,” she mumbled.

  “What’s tomorrow night?” Allie asked.

  “Tomorrow night, my ex is getting married,” Cara announced with a smile on her face.

  “Why does that make you happy?” Allie made one of her faces that seemed to mock whomever she was addressing.

  “Amber is marrying a man who cheated on his wife to be with her—and we all
know that old saying that goes something like, ‘If he cheated on me to be with you, he’ll cheat on you to be with someone else.’ ”

  “I don’t think that’s how it goes, actually, but go on,” Des said.

  “So while she’s marrying my cheating ex, I’m going to be celebrating with a man who makes me feel really good about myself and who would never cheat on me.”

  “I’ll bet that’s what you thought when you married what’s-his-name.” Allie went back for more popcorn.

  “I never thought about it when I married Drew. Why would I? I’d never been cheated on before. I’d never even been in a serious relationship before. It wasn’t something I’d ever had to think about.”

  “So what makes you so sure Joe would be Mr. Fidelity?” Allie asked.

  “I get a completely different vibe from him.”

  “Different how?” Des wanted to know.

  “With Drew, I always felt insecure about myself and how he felt about me. I never felt like I was enough for him. When he left me for Amber, it only proved to me that I was right. I wasn’t enough.” Cara took a deep breath. The admission hadn’t been an easy one to make. “When I’m with Joe, I feel like it’s okay to be myself. Like he isn’t judging me or wanting me to be something or someone I’m not. He makes me feel like I’m enough for him, just the way I am.”

  “Wow. That’s really heavy, Aunt Cara.” Nikki stood in the doorway, Buttons at her feet.

  “That’s a lesson I should’ve learned a long time ago, honey. No guy is worth the time of day if he doesn’t like you for who you really are. Your mom and Aunt Des will tell you the same thing.”

  “Yeah, even all the magazine articles say that, and it always sounds so corny. But when you say it, it sounds true.”

  “So what does that mean to you, Nik?” Allie patted the edge of the bed and motioned for her daughter to sit with them. Buttons followed and jumped up onto her lap.

  “That if you like a guy, but say, he likes piercings and you don’t want to get, like, your eyebrow or your lip or your . . . you know, down there pierced, you shouldn’t do it.”

  The room fell silent, and Nikki’s gaze went from one face to the next. “Not like that ever happened to me . . .”

  Cara cleared her throat. “Well, then. Who’s up for Game of Thrones?”

  “The new season doesn’t start for a couple of months,” Nikki reminded her.

  Cara held up her laptop. “We can still get us some West-eros love. Anyone have a favorite episode?”

  “ ‘The Battle of the Bastards,’ for sure,” Nikki said.

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “ ‘The Battle of the Bastards’ it is.” Cara found the episode and they all settled in around the laptop.

  Nikki snuggled next to her mother, a happy smile on her face. “Jon Snow has a man-bun in this one, and he totally rocks it. And there are dragons. I love the dragons.” Nikki sighed. “If they were real, I’d want one, for sure.”

  “I think you’d have a better chance talking your father into getting a dog, allergies aside,” Allie told her. “What’s Barney watching?”

  “Downton Abbey.”

  “She doesn’t know what she’s missing,” Allie replied as the show began and Jon Snow—man-bun and all—appeared on the screen.

  “Amen,” Des said.

  “Barney, what exactly is bluegrass music?” Cara stopped raking for a moment.

  Barney paused and leaned on the rake she was using to clear the bed where she wanted to set out early vegetables. “It’s sort of like country, maybe what some would consider hillbilly style. There were a lot of folk songs brought to this country from Ireland and Scotland a couple of hundred years ago. A lot of those early immigrants settled in the Carolinas and Tennessee and Kentucky. Over the years, the songs took on a different sound as they were passed down through families. Like folktales, you know? That’s sort of the way I understand how bluegrass music evolved from, say, a centuries-old Scottish ballad to something that had a distinct sound. There are a lot of banjos, guitars, mandolins. The voices sometimes sound out of sync with each other, and the music from different regions will differ.”

  “Gosh, it sounds wonderful. Discordant singing.” Allie had been listening from her perch on the back steps. “I can hardly wait.”

  Barney laughed good-naturedly. “You go on and pull up some music app on your phone, search for some bluegrass tunes.”

  “I’ll do it.” Nikki sat on the step above her mother. A few moments later, she said, “Listen to the names of some of these songs. ‘Little Rosewood Casket’ . . .”

  “I bet that’s an uplifting tune.” Allie turned to get a better look at Nikki’s phone.

  “ ‘Girl I Left in Sunny Tennessee.’

  “ ‘Down in the Willow Garden.’ That’s another. . . .”

  Nikki continued to scroll through the titles. “Oh, here’s one that might be good. ‘On My Mind.’ ” She tapped the screen and the song began to play. They all listened for a few moments.

  “Well. That’s . . . different,” Cara said once the music ended.

  “Not exactly the Temptations,” Barney said.

  “Who are the Temptations?” Nikki asked.

  “Who are the . . . Oh hell, look them up on your phone.” Barney attacked the garden soil with a hoe, muttering, “Who are the Temptations . . .”

  “It’s a generational thing, Barney,” Cara pointed out. “What do you think of Kesha?”

  “Who?” Barney frowned.

  “Point proven.” Cara went back to work.

  Moments later, Nikki held up her phone. “Here you go, Aunt Barney.”

  “My Girl” began to play. Within seconds of the opening chords, Barney, Cara, and Des were singing harmony. By the second verse, Allie had joined them.

  “Oh, it’s nice,” Nikki said when the song—and their singing—was over. “It’s a quiet song.”

  “The world could use a few more quiet songs, if you ask me. All that boom boom boom and that nonsense I hear on the radio sometimes.” Barney shook her head.

  “But back to bluegrass,” Cara reminded her. “Specifically, bluegrass at the gun club.”

  “The Hidden Falls Gun Club,” Barney corrected her.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” The touch of snark in Allie’s voice was unmistakable.

  “As have a lot of people around here, missy.” Barney’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

  “Well, looks like we’re all going to be trying it tonight.” Allie turned to look up at her daughter, who was now reading her texts. “I understand you’re coming with us?”

  Nikki nodded and, still looking at her phone, told her mother, “Courtney’s going home tomorrow, too. Her mom’s plane gets in tonight.”

  “When is your father coming back?” Allie asked casually.

  “Wait, there’s a text from him.” Nikki read silently for a moment. “He’s just reminding me that he’ll arrive sometime tonight and he’ll pick me up on Sunday at the airport. Hey, maybe his plane and Court’s mom’s plane will get in around the same time. They could share a ride going back to town.”

  “Oh, what are the odds?” Allie rolled her eyes.

  Nikki put her phone down. “I want to go home to see Court and Dad and all. And I can’t wait to go back to school and tell everyone about the theater and the coal mines and the emerald necklace and everything. But I kinda hate to leave. I’ve had a really good time.” She looked directly at Barney. “I’m so glad you let me stay.”

  “Oh, honey, I’ve been delighted to have you here. You’re a joy to be around. I hope you’ll come back for a longer stay.” Barney blew her a kiss.

  “I want to come back in the summer, for sure.” Nikki blew a kiss back.

  “Let’s see what your father has to say about . . . Wait, what about the emerald necklace?” Allie turned to her daughter.

  “The one Great-great-great-grandmother Althea is wearing
in that painting in the front hall. I asked Barney if it was real and she said it was, but nobody knows what happened to it.” Nikki’s eyes danced. “And it used to belong to some Spanish princess! How cool is that?”

  “The necklace was actually given to Althea’s mother, Lydia, when she was on a grand tour of Europe when she was eighteen,” Barney said. “The story goes, she met a Spanish prince who fell madly in love with her and gave her the necklace. Her parents were not amused—they thought the prince only had seduction on his mind—so they whisked Lydia home. They told her she couldn’t accept such an expensive gift and demanded she return it. She told them she did—but she kept it. She came back to Pennsylvania, married Jefferson Hudson, and wore that necklace every chance she got. It was the talk of Hidden Falls, back in the day, or so I’ve been told.”

  “Go back to the part where no one knows what happened to it,” Cara urged.

  “It was passed down through the family, and my mother had it at one time. She kept it in the bottom drawer of her dresser in a purple velvet box that had a white satin lining. Oh, when you opened that box, believe me, you knew you were looking at the real thing. The emeralds were gorgeous.”

  “But how did it disappear?” Cara wanted to know.

  Barney shrugged. “As I said, my mother kept the box in her dresser. She used to take it out from time to time and look at it; then she’d put it back. Well, one day it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen her do that in a long time, so I asked her about it. She said it was in the drawer where she’d left it. I looked, but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t in any drawer in any room in the house. I asked her if she’d moved it and she said she didn’t think she had.” A shadow fell across Barney’s face. “My mother was already in the early stages of Alzheimer’s at the time, but I wasn’t aware of it. She never left the house in those days, so I know she didn’t take it somewhere. I checked the bank’s safety-deposit box, of course, but it wasn’t there, either.”