CHAPTER EIGHT
“I think I should sit in the front seat,” Allie said as Barney backed Lucille out of the garage. “My dress is shorter and tighter than either of yours.”
“Your choice, not ours,” Des replied.
“I didn’t plan it. I’m just tall and my legs are really long,” Allie said.
The car stopped next to them and Barney rolled down the window.
“Hop in, girls. We’re running late.”
“We’ve been ready,” Cara reminded her. “We had to wait for you.”
“It isn’t every day you get to catch up with an old friend you haven’t seen in . . . oh, I don’t even know how long it’s been.” Barney watched Cara and Des slip into the back seat. “We think it may have been since Gil’s funeral.”
Allie got into the front seat and closed the door, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her thighs, then turned to her aunt.
“Barney, you look hot, if I may say so.”
“You may.” Barney smiled as she turned onto Hudson Street.
“You do look good in white,” Des added. “It complements your blond hair, and you’re starting to get a bit of a tan.”
“The tan is from all the time I’ve been spending in the garden, but these days, the blond is from a bottle. I’m not ashamed to admit it.”
“Why would you be? Nothing wrong with some chemical enhancements, I say.” Allie lifted her hair to flow over one shoulder.
“Not that you’ve had to resort to such things,” Des said. “Your hair has always been that beautiful shade of blond.”
“Mine was like that back in the day,” Barney noted. “Almost the same shade as Allie’s.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. “You all look lovely. I’m proud to introduce you as mine.”
“Thanks, Barney,” Cara began. “We—”
“Hold on.” Barney hit the gas, and Cara’s thought was lost in the wake of Lucille’s V-8 engine as the car took off for the highway.
Des put her head back and stifled a laugh. They never quite knew what to expect once Barney got behind the wheel of her beloved Cadillac. She pushed back a few curls that had found their way onto her forehead, grateful Barney hadn’t decided to put the top down. Her hair was tough enough to manage without all the wind damage she knew from experience would ensue.
It was a perfect early evening in June. The air was fragrant with the scent of roses as they drove through the tall stone entrance to the college and past several well-kept native limestone buildings backlit by the sun that had begun to set. The road through the campus was lined with maples in full leaf that shaded the walks. At the entrance to the main building, tall black iron urns overflowed with ivy and geraniums. The campus was quiet, most students having left at the end of the semester, and the summer classes not having yet begun. Barney parked Lucille in a—what else?—no parking spot. She hung her trustee tag on the rearview mirror and got out of the car. She beckoned her nieces to follow her down a cobbled path that led to a wide green, then gestured to the statue of the woman for whom the college had been named.
“There she is, girls. Your great-great-grandmother.”
Des, Allie, and Cara stopped in their tracks and followed Barney’s pointed finger. The statue stood eight feet tall and depicted a woman in a long, flowing dress wearing a wide-brimmed hat, holding something in her outstretched right hand.
“My, she was tall,” Cara quipped.
“All the better to keep an eye on the students’ doings, my dear,” Barney replied.
“Why is she dressed like a pioneer?” Des frowned. “And what is she holding in her hand?”
“She’s supposed to represent the pioneer spirit that beckoned our ancestors to the Allegheny mountain range.” Even Barney looked amused. “She’s holding a lump of coal, representing the rocks that funded this esteemed center of learning here in the wilds of the Poconos.”
“Think she ever actually saw a piece of coal?” Allie walked toward the statue. “And I doubt she ever wore anything like that daughter-of-the-prairie smock she’s got on. Hardly the thing one might wear with emeralds.”
“Oh, that’s the artistic interpretation by the sculptor.” Barney laughed. “She wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing something like that, I’m sure, and the story was she never wore a hat because she liked to show off that gorgeous hair of hers.” She elbowed Allie. “So like our own.”
“Which building is the party in, Barney?” Des looked around, ever conscious of the fact that the blond gene had missed her completely.
“Hudson Hall, right behind us. Shall we?”
Barney herded her nieces into the building and up a short flight of steps to a lobby where several others were gathered.
“We sign in, we get our name tags, we head for the champagne,” Barney whispered from one corner of her mouth as they walked toward a long table.
“Ms. Hudson, so nice to see you again.” A gray-haired woman wearing a tidy white blouse buttoned to the neck and a gray skirt several inches too long greeted the group. She oozed efficiency and order. “And these must be the nieces.”
“Margaret, nice to see you as well. Meet Allie, Des, and Cara. My brother Franklin’s daughters.” Barney made the first of many introductions she’d make that night.
Des stepped forward to shake the woman’s hand.
“Margaret is Dr. Post’s right hand,” Barney explained, “and has been for many years.”
“Dr. Post being the president of the college.” Des recalled the school’s hierarchy as Barney had explained on their way to High Bridge.
Des pinned on the name tag Barney handed her and looked around the lobby. Artwork of varying degrees of proficiency hung upon the walls, and a flag of the United States stood between that of the commonwealth and the college banner in front of a pair of double glass doors. Another set of doors opened to a room on the right from which Des could hear violins playing just below the sound of lively chatter.
“This way, girls.” Barney led the way toward the music. “Let’s see who we can see, who we can corner to chat up the theater project. You never know when a casual conversation might lead to something beneficial.”
Over the course of the next forty minutes, Des was convinced Barney introduced them to every faculty member, board member, and donor in attendance. She wandered over to the enticing table of food and was looking over a tray of pastry-wrapped hors d’oeuvres when she felt a light hand on her shoulder.
“Des.”
She turned and smiled when she met Seth’s eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Alum.” He shrugged. “I’m just another loyal son of Althea, what can I say?”
“You clean up really good,” she said with a grin.
He did. In dark slacks and a light gray shirt, he’d pushed the sleeves of his navy linen sport jacket almost to his elbow, showing off the tattoo that wound its way from his wrist toward his shoulder. His dark shades hung from the V made at the neckline of his shirt, and he looked better than just good. He looked hot. He looked adorable. Manly and adorable at the same time. Just looking at him made her smile.
“Thanks. So do you.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “Not that you usually look like you need cleaning up. What I mean is, you always look good.”
“Thanks.” She laughed. “I appreciate that.”
“Glad we got that straightened out.” He rolled his eyes and looked slightly chagrined.
“I meant to call you today,” she said. “How’s the new girl?”
“Still shadowing Ripley, but he doesn’t seem to mind. She’s doing okay.”
“No problems, then?”
“Nope. None at all.”
Des stared at him for a long moment. “You’re going to keep her, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “It’s just one more dog, and Rip seems to like some canine company. Besides, she’s a good dog, a sweet dog. I feel terrible about what must have happened to her. She’s skittish and that bothers me. She needs to know that every human isn’t going to hurt her or abuse her in some manner.”
“You need to be careful. You’re starting to sound an awful lot like someone who rescues,” she said, teasing him. “Have you named her yet?”
“I’m working on it.” He leaned back, as if taking her in, and smiled. Des felt her pulse race under its warmth. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“She’s a pretty girl, so it should be something pretty.” Gah. Did I really just say something that lame? What is wrong with me?
Seth didn’t seem to notice.
Allie joined them, champagne in hand.
“So, Seth. I hear you bailed out my little sister again. Better watch out, she’ll have you running a kennel before too long.”
Seth shrugged. “There are worse things that could happen.”
It appeared Allie was about to say something else, but her attention seemed to be drawn to the doorway. Des turned to look as Cara, Joe, and Ben walked toward them.
“Can I go anywhere without the local law showing up?” Allie grumbled.
“You flatter yourself, princess. I’m just here for the festivities.” Ben toasted her and glanced at Des. “Looking good, Des.”
“Thank you, Ben. You’re looking pretty sharp yourself.” Des returned the toast. There was no denying that dark-haired Ben was a stud in a light blue shirt and a seersucker suit.
Allie rolled her eyes. “By festivities, you mean free wine and free food?”
“If you say so.” Ben’s expression was unreadable, but Des thought there might have been a glimmer of a smile in his eyes.
“What is it with those two?” she muttered to Seth, who laughed softly. Movement across the room caught her eye, and she tapped Cara on the arm. “There’s Dr. Lindquist. You want to tell her about your conversation with her friend at the Balfour Group, or do you want me to?”
Teresa Lindquist was dressed in a long, flowing yellow dress, her hair in a tight bun, tortoiseshell glasses on the top of her head. She appeared to be scanning the room, and when she saw Des and Allie, she started toward them.
“I’ll talk to her.” Cara took a few steps forward.
“Please, allow me.” Allie put out a hand to hold Cara back. “I’ve got this.” She turned and walked to meet the woman in the middle of the room.
They watched as Allie and the head of the college Art Department greeted each other, and for several moments, their conversation appeared to be cordial. Minutes later, however, Des could tell by the way Allie’s back suddenly straightened and her hands rested on her hips that something was not right. Dr. Lindquist’s expression changed from friendly to haughty.
“Oh, God, Allie, what are you doing?” Des bit her bottom lip, then grimaced as Allie turned her back on Teresa Lindquist and flagged down a nearby waiter to trade her empty glass for a full one. She charged back to where Des and the others stood with fire in her eyes. Des was not blind to the fact that Ben was watching intently as Allie drew near, taking her in from head to toe.
Inwardly Des groaned. No, Ben. Do not go there. Don’t even think about it. Anyone but Allie. She wondered how to let Ben know that would not be a good idea.
“I take it that didn’t go well,” Cara said.
Allie took first one sip of her champagne, then another, before responding.
“She thinks we are idiots,” Allie growled.
“Why? What did you say to her?” Des could see Allie’s eyes were still flashing lightning.
“She asked me if I called Ebersol, and I said my sister did but we found they were way out of our league, and beyond anything we could handle financially.”
“All true.” Des shrugged. “What did she say?”
“ ‘How unfortunate for you,’ was the first thing she said,” Allie said before she threw back more champagne. “I said, not really, because we were able to find a master plasterer who was local, who had basically the same training as Ebersol’s man—”
“Joe already filled Seth and me in on the situation, so let me guess,” Ben interrupted. “She said there was no local guy who could possibly be as good as the guy she recommended, and if you use anyone less, the ceiling would be ruined and your project is doomed, you’ll never get grant money, and you should have taken her advice.”
“That’s almost verbatim. How did you know?” Allie frowned.
“That’s Dr. Lindquist. She’s always been a tad on the snooty side,” Joe replied.
“Yeah, I had her for art back when she was just Mrs. Lindquist. She was a pain back then, so it sounds as if nothing’s changed.” His eyes on Allie, Ben added, “She’s one of those people who hates to be challenged, and just wants everything they say taken as gospel. I’m sorry she turned on you.”
“Thanks,” Allie muttered.
Des thought there had to have been something more to the conversation, because it had seemed to have gone on longer than what had been repeated, but Allie had turned away to sample several of the hors d’oeuvres. Des would catch her later back at the house and see if she could find out what else had been said.
“Des, hi.”
Greg had approached her from her blind side. She had forgotten he’d said he’d be there.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I wasn’t watching the time.” He touched her arm, then pointed to her empty glass. “Can I get you a refill?”
“Ah, no, I’m fine. Thanks, Greg.” She looked up at Seth and said, “Greg Weller teaches history here. He’s going to try to help us get a grant to finish the renovations at the theater.”
“That would be great.” Seth offered his hand to Greg, who seemed to be studying Seth with some interest. “Seth MacLeod.”
Des introduced the others, but Greg seemed more interested in Seth, who was standing comfortably next to Des.
“Your name’s familiar,” Greg said. “Have we met before?”
“It’s possible,” Seth replied. “I’ve been around.”
Greg shrugged as if to dismiss him, then took Des’s arm. “I wanted to introduce you to Sarah Stevens, one of my colleagues who has some thoughts about several grants we might want to go after. Do you have a minute to meet her?”
“Of course.” Des glanced first at Seth, then at Cara. “Excuse me while I just go—”
“Go. It’s a good opportunity.” Seth stepped back to let her pass in front of him.
“Nice to meet you all.” Greg steered Des toward the far side of the room.
She could feel Seth’s eyes on her every step of the way.
“So how is the hunt for an artist going?” Greg asked as they strolled through the crowd.
Des explained what had transpired with the Balfour Group, then added, “But Allie says she has an idea she isn’t ready to share. I hope it’s a good one.”
“Does Allie know an artist she could call on?”
“She did take a lot of art classes when we were younger, but I doubt she knows anyone of the caliber we need.”
“Ah, there’s Sarah.” Greg guided Des to another side of the room, where a small group gathered. “Sarah, meet my friend Des Hudson.” He introduced the others, then told them, “Des and her sisters are restoring the historic theater over in Hidden Falls, and are hoping to procure some grant money to help with the renovations. I stopped by this week, and trust me, the building’s well worth preserving.”
Sarah immediately began to inquire about the Sugarhouse. How old was the building? Who built it? Had it always been a theater? Des responded as best she could, grateful to have the answers to almost every question, all the while her eyes straying back to her sisters and Seth. Was it her imagination, or was Allie trading in another empty glass for a full one? How much champagne had she already put away?
Her attention drifted in and out of the conversation, and from time to time, she caught Seth’s gaze. She felt awkward, as if she’d let him down somehow, and she knew it was because he was wondering what role Greg played in her life. How could she explain to him when she wasn’t certain herself? Greg had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now maybe not so much.
“Hey, I promised you a tour of the campus,” Greg was saying. “How ’bout we head out while it’s still light?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment, Dr. Post called everyone’s attention to the front of the room. She stood upon a small stage surrounded by several others whom, after her opening remarks, she introduced as trustees and college administrators, including the director of finance and scholarships, who took the microphone to make an announcement.
“I’m pleased to tell you that our fund-raising goals for the coming year have been met, and well exceeded.” The director was middle-aged and bald, and had what Des considered the caricature of a happy face: round eyes, small button nose, perpetual wide smile. “Our scholarship fund has increased, and thanks to many generous gifts, we will be able to offer more financial aid to more students than at any time in the past.”
A scattering of enthusiastic applause from the gathered crowd followed.
“I’m especially pleased to announce the funding of two new scholarships that will completely cover the education of two exceptional students in the field of mathematics. I know there’s been talk and speculation about it this week, so let me just say that the committee will be looking for students from the Pocono area who excel in math and who would be unable to attend college without this assistance. So if you know any kids who show great promise but who have no hope of affording a four-year education, please let us know. Those of you with contacts at the local high schools, spread the word that we’re going to be taking applications for the Seth A. MacLeod scholarships beginning immediately. Mr. MacLeod is an alum, a former math major and athletic star here at Althea. Some of you might know him as the mayor of nearby Hidden Falls and our assistant basketball coach. He’s with us here tonight, so please feel free to express your gratitude for his generosity.”
He pointed in the crowd to Seth, who nodded modestly at the applause.
Dr. Post took the mic and reiterated the college’s appreciation, then after a few remarks about the summer study abroad program, she thanked everyone for coming and herded her colleagues off the stage.
Des’s mouth had been hanging open since the first mention of Seth’s name. At one point, Greg had leaned over and said, “Say, isn’t that your friend . . . ?”
She’d nodded, and Greg had made a sort of humph sound, then added, “He doesn’t look like someone who would have much of an interest in math. Basketball, yeah, but math?” He shook his head.
“Why would you say that?” Frowning, Des took a step back.
Greg shrugged. “Just look at him. Does he look like the scholarly type?”
“Looks can be deceiving, Greg,” Des said, even as she recalled her own comments to Cara about Seth, which had been so like the ones Greg had just made. Embarrassingly so. Her cheeks reddened at the memory. She recalled what Joe had told her about Seth. “He won the state science fair every year when he was in high school.”
“He did?” Greg stared at Seth for a moment. “That’s why his name sounded familiar. That guy beat me out two years running. Damn. I can’t believe I still remember that.”
The applause died down, and Greg took her arm again, a gesture that was beginning to annoy her, though she wasn’t sure why. “Let me take you on that campus tour now.”
As he directed her toward the exit, she looked back and caught Seth’s eye. He winked, smiled somewhat uncertainly, and turned away. A hole began to slowly open in the pit of her stomach. She followed Greg through the door and out into a beautiful summer evening where the first stars were beginning to emerge from the darkening sky and the air was ripe with the fragrance of wild roses and early honeysuckle that grew everywhere. The atmosphere was pure romance, and she should have felt light, like the night and the breeze that blew across the pretty mountaintop campus.
But Greg’s hand felt uncomfortably heavy on the small of her back, and she had the nagging feeling that something important was missing from the picture, something that was being left behind, the distance growing with every step she took.
Allie left the house shortly after dawn and walked along quiet Hudson Street to Main, where she crossed to the theater. She unlocked the front door and slipped inside, turning on each light she passed until she reached the lobby. She stood at the base of the scaffold and looked up.
All the way up.
Her stomach lurched, already uneasy from too much champagne and a few vodka chasers when she arrived home from Althea the night before. She definitely could have used a few more hours of sleep, but once the idea had taken hold, it became an obsession. It had nudged her awake at the crack of dawn, and headache or no, she had to see it through.
Her heart began to beat a little faster and her hands shook. She swung her bag over her shoulder and paused, wondering if she should go barefoot or keep on the sneakers she’d put on. Deciding she could always kick off the sneakers if she needed to, she hoisted herself up onto the first rung, then climbed to the plank above.
Don’t look down. Do. Not. Look. Down.
Allie climbed slowly, the bag swinging slightly as she slowly grabbed one rung after another. Fear forced her into taking her time, her mantra repeating over and over inside her head: You’ve got this. You can do this.
Halfway up she almost lost her nerve. She stopped for a moment and took several deep breaths. She was sweating from every pore, the palms of her hands wet and slippery on the rails, making her insistence on forging ahead even less rational. But she couldn’t stop. This was her chance to prove that she had something real to offer. This would be her turn to shine.
You’ve got this. You can do this.
“Yes. I can. I will.” She wiped her sweaty palms on the back of her jeans.
It was a long way to the top, and it took more time than she’d anticipated. But when finally she stood on the highest plank, she blew out a long breath, then looked straight up.
If the ceiling was stunning from the lobby floor, it was glorious up close. The colors were so vivid, the geometric pattern leading from the chandelier so intricate, it took her breath away. Whoever had designed this had been a true artist, and for a moment she was overcome by a sense of awe, of being humbled to be so close to something so magnificent. Of wondering what the hell she thought she was doing there.
She pushed away the little voice that poked at her and demanded to know why she ever thought she could be worthy of such a challenge.
Then she remembered where she was, and her hands began to shake again. She pushed every other thought from her mind, every bit of self-doubt and fear, and focused on the task she’d set for herself.
She wiped the sweat from her eyes with the front of her shirt, then opened her bag and took out the paring knife and one of the little plastic bags she’d taken from the kitchen. She held it under a spot where the peacock-blue paint of the ceiling was bubbled.
Hands still shaking, she patiently scraped as large a chip of the brilliant color as she could get without damaging the ceiling further before closing the bag. She repeated the process until she had scraps of each color in the overhead design and their variations of shade and depth—the red, the green, the gold, the cream, the brown that hadn’t been apparent from the floor. Satisfied she had all that would be needed to match the colors, she dropped the bagged chips into her shoulder bag and took out one of several sheets of tracing paper and the soft lead pencil she’d taken from the desk.
Allie carefully placed the paper over an intact area of pattern and began to trace the intricate design. When she finished, she marked every detail as to its color, then held the completed design over the damaged section.
Once satisfied she had done her best to duplicate the original, she tucked the sketch into her bag, and with a clean sheet of paper, went on to trace the next section of pattern. Each time she completed an area, she placed the tracing over the missing piece until she was satisfied. Soon she had a template for every damaged inch of the ceiling.
She’d forgotten where she was, until she began her descent from the top of the scaffold, repeating over and over, Don’t look down.
Once she reached the bottom plank, she jumped the rest of the way to the floor, and danced jubilantly.
I did it! I made it all the way to the top, and I didn’t fall, and I didn’t panic! I did it.
Proud of herself for having done what she wasn’t sure she could ever do—something she wasn’t sure she could do again—Allie turned off the lobby lights as she made her way to the exit. She held the bag close to her body, the precious bags of colors and her sketches her secret for now.
She returned to the house as quietly as she’d left it, then went into the kitchen for coffee. In spite of the slight hangover, she felt like a million dollars. She took her coffee out onto the back patio, sat in her favorite chair and closed her eyes, and mentally relived her triumphant morning.
“You’re up way early this morning.” Des stood in the doorway. “You sick?”
“No. Just woke up and decided to get up.” Allie’s eyes were still closed.
Des came out onto the porch, a bowl of cereal in her hands, and leaned over the railing. “I’m surprised you’re not hungover.”
Allie’s eyes flew open. She turned and faced her sister. “What are you talking about?”
“It looked like you had your fair share of champagne last night.”
“One, I don’t remember asking you to keep track of how much I drank, and two, I don’t know how you could know since you left before the party was even half over.”
“Sorry. It just seemed to me you were belting them back, as they say.” Des came down the steps and took the chair opposite her sister. “Perhaps I was wrong.”
“Perhaps you were.” Allie rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes again. She was feeling pretty good about herself, and she wasn’t going to give in to the familiar urge to spar with Des. Not today. “So how was your date with History Boy?”
“It was fine.”
“That’s the best you can do? Fine?” Allie craned her neck to look at Des.
“The campus is beautiful. I was happy for the opportunity to see it. The buildings are so nicely designed, and the landscaping they have there must cost a fortune to maintain. The athletic fields are top-notch, and they’re building a new dorm.”
Allie sat all the way up and opened her eyes. “Des, you sound like a tour guide.”
“Well, you asked.” Des turned her attention to her cereal bowl, giving it way more attention than it merited.
“I’m going out on a limb here, and I’m going to guess that Greg didn’t exactly light your fire.”
Des hesitated. “He’s a nice guy. He really is. But he’s not . . .”
Allie smiled. She was pretty sure she knew who Greg wasn’t. “So did he kiss you good night?”
Des nodded.
“More than a peck?”
Another nod.
“And . . . ?”
“And nothing.”
Allie grinned. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I say the chemistry is either there or it isn’t? And obviously, it’s not.”
“I feel bad. I know he likes me. I wanted to like him. But . . .” She held her hands out in front of her, palms up. “Actually, I do like him. Just not in that way.”
“Chemistry—attraction—between two people is not a ‘fake it till you make it’ type thing. You don’t consciously pick who’s going to turn you on by the way they dress or the way they look. You might think you do, but either you feel it or you don’t.”
“This is one of those times when I have to admit you’re right.”
Allie smiled to herself. There was a good chance that before the day ended, Des would have another reason to pat her big sister on the back.
She stood and drained the now-cool coffee from her mug. “Did you notice if Cara was up yet?”
“She stayed at Joe’s last night.”
“Then I guess she won’t care if I take her car this morning.” Allie picked up her bag and walked toward the house.
“Where are you off to?”
“Just running an errand.”
“By the way, what day is Nikki coming?” Des called after her.
“Wednesday.” Allie’s smile grew just thinking about a reunion with her daughter. Just one more thing to make her happy this morning.
She went inside, took the key for Cara’s car off the hook, and rinsed her mug before going back out.
“I won’t be long,” Allie called to Des as she walked to the driveway.
It was a twenty-minute drive from Hudson Street to the shopping center that was Allie’s destination. She parked outside the store, which had yet to open, and read email for twenty minutes until she saw the front door swing open.
“You’re an early bird.” The middle-aged man wore a light blue shirt with a name tag that read HOWARD. “Something we can help you with?”
“Your sign says you can match any paint color.” She’d noticed it in the window when she’d stopped on what had become her twice-weekly vodka run to the state liquor store four doors down.
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, we can. That’s our specialty. Sets us apart from every other paint store in the valley, even those big-box stores.”
“Who’s the best person on your staff when it comes to matching color?”
“You’re looking at him.”
“How ’bout very old paint from very old chips?”
“Depends on how much I have to work with.” His smile told her he was up to a challenge. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Allie followed him to the back counter and took the paint chips from her bag. Sliding them across the smooth wood, she said, “I need each of these duplicated as near perfectly as you can get.”
An eyebrow raised, he studied first one, then another. “You’re not giving me much to work with here.”
“Sorry. It’s the best I could do.”
“Never let it be said I don’t love a challenge.” He rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, then reached for one of the bags.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He gestured for her to wait while he disappeared into the back room. When he returned, he held what looked like a large cell phone. He held it up and asked, “You know what this is?”
“Yes, sir. It’s a spectrophotometer.”
He seemed pleased as he removed one of the blue paint chips from its container. “Know how it works?”
“On a very elemental level. I know that you put the chip inside, then flood it with light and the light gets reflected inside where the color is analyzed.”
“Right. There’s a filter in here that reflects out every color except the color of the sample, and converts that remaining color to an electronic signal that goes to the computer software in here”—he tapped the spectrophotometer—“and formulates the exact amount of pigment you need to make the match.”
Allie smiled. “That was the short version, right?”
“More or less.” He smiled back as he set the chip in place. He hummed as he worked, at one point asking Allie, “You know you can buy these for home use nowadays, right?”
“I do. But I’ve heard they’re not as accurate as the professional models.” She pointed to the one he was using.
“That’s my understanding also.” He saved something on the screen, then removed the chip and returned it to the bag he’d taken it from.
“You got a reading?” She craned her neck to see.
“Uh-huh. Let’s see what else we got.” He ran the second chip, then the third. By the time he’d gone through each of the chips, Allie was all but jumping up and down with excitement.
“You got them all.” She was beaming, and had to restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him.
“I got something for each one. Let’s do a printout and see how close we’ve come.” He glanced across the counter. “How much of each were you looking for?”
Allie considered how many of the prototypes she was going to create before she actually tried her hand painting on the ceiling.
She held her hand up, showing the size of the containers she wanted.
“That much, eh?” he teased.
“If these work out the way I think they will—the way I hope they will—I’ll be back for more.”
“Deal. I’ll mix them up for you.”
“You wouldn’t know where I might find an art supply store somewhere around here, would you?”
“There’s a shop over in High Bridge on Main Street right off the campus by the college there. Althea College—know the place?”
“I do.”
“Nice school. Sent my youngest boy there. Had an ROTC scholarship. He’s over in Iraq now, paying back those four years the government paid for over here.”
She paid for the little sample jars and thanked Howard profusely for the time he’d spent with her.
She was in such an upbeat mood, she turned the radio up full force, found an eighties station, and sang at the top of her lungs—something she rarely did—all the way into High Bridge.
Like the paint store, the art shop opened late on Sunday, so she walked around the small college town, which was so like every other small college town she’d ever seen. Handsome shops for gifts and books, an upscale food store and a discount market, a pricy boutique and a thrift shop whose windows overflowed with summer merchandise. She stopped for take-out coffee at a preppy coffee shop, and wandered across a leafy town square, imagining how excited Des would be—how amazed she’d be—when Allie showed her how the work on the ceiling could be done. Would be done.
She finished her coffee and went into the now-opened shop, purchasing the brushes and the paper she would need. Tucking the bag under her arm, Allie went back to the car and headed for Hidden Falls, her outlook as sunny as the day was shaping up to be.
She saw an opportunity to save the day, and she was taking it. It just might even help rejuvenate her relationship with Des.
“Desdemona, you just wait till you see what your big sister has up her sleeve.”
Des sat on the edge of her bed, the box containing the letters between her father and the mysterious J in her hands. She’d put off showing Allie, but more and more, as she and Allie seemed to grow a little closer, she felt increasingly that she was holding something back that Allie had the right to know. She hadn’t seen Allie since she’d brought back Cara’s car that morning, but she was pretty sure she was in her room.
Des knocked on Allie’s door, the box still in her hands.
Allie came to the door but held it open just a crack.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“Now?” Allie frowned.
Des nodded.
“Can it wait?”
“Not really.” Afraid of losing her nerve, Des pushed the door open all the way and went into Allie’s room. She walked around the bed and sat on the wing chair near the window.
“Do make yourself comfortable.” Allie stood at the side of the bed and pulled the light summer spread over the mattress. “What’s in the box?”
Des opened it and took out the sheaf of letters. “Cara found these in the carriage house. Read this one first, then this one.” She handed over the letter from J before the one their father had written.
Allie opened them, first one and then the other, her only reaction being one raised eyebrow. When she’d finished, she handed them back to Des.
“I can’t say I’m surprised, Des. We already figured out Dad was a horndog of the first order.”
To Des’s eye, Allie seemed more distracted than upset over this revelation.
“Nice way to talk about your father, Allie.”
“What would you call him? To hear even Barney tell it, he nailed everything that moved in this town.”
“She never said that,” Des protested.
“That’s what she meant when she talked about what a ladies’ man he was, how the girls in Hidden Falls lined up for him.” Allie shrugged. “So what’s the big deal with this J person? You act like it’s news. Like it’s something to be upset about.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that he was doing this even when he and Mom were just starting out? They hadn’t even gotten married yet, they were getting ready to run off together, and here’s evidence he had another girlfriend, one he claimed was ‘the best girl he ever knew.’ That doesn’t bother you?”
“No, because I’m not surprised by anything he did. Now, if that’s all . . .” She moved toward the end of the bed as if to dismiss Des.
“Allie, maybe Mom knew. Maybe that’s why she was the way she was.”
Allie’s laugh was harsh and quick. “Des, Mom was the way she was because she was a self-centered narcissist who never did a damned thing that wasn’t in her best interest. I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew Dad was cheating on her but didn’t care as long as he got her to Hollywood and helped her to become a star.”
“How could you even say such a thing?”
“Oh please. Don’t tell me that never occurred to you.”
“No. That was the time they were supposed to be in love.”
“ ‘Supposed to be,’ ” Allie said sarcastically. “Maybe because it was getting Mom where she wanted to go.”
“You think she didn’t really love Dad, that she just used him?”
“Des, when did Mom ever show any compassion or caring for anyone, even Dad? She pushed you into something you didn’t want, she pushed me aside. And eventually, I think she pushed Dad right into Cara’s mother’s arms. So if you’re expecting me to mourn the death of this fairy tale, that they were in love and set off for Hollywood, two crazy kids chasing a dream with stars in their eyes, no thank you. Not buying it.”
Allie glanced at the bed, then moved a bag that was on top of the spread, as if covering something up.
“What’s that?” Des noticed a swatch of color under the bag.
“What’s what?” Allie’s eyes shifted to one side.
“That stuff under the bag.” She rose from the chair and put her hand out to move the bag. Allie grabbed her wrist to stop her, but not before Des saw several sheets of paper half hidden by the spread and partially under the bag.
“What is that? It looks like the pattern from the ceiling in the theater.”
“That’s exactly what it is.”
Allie’s expression, just moments before one of annoyance, changed completely. She was almost beaming as she pointed to the chair and told Des to sit back down.
“I wasn’t going to show you any of this until I had it down pat, but since you’re here and you already saw it . . .” Allie’s excitement was visible, and growing as she drew the stack of paper from its hiding place and held up one sheet.
“This is the design from the domed section of the ceiling, where the pattern just begins to arch.” She held up a second sheet. “And this is the section of that sort of geometric ray that comes out from the center. And this one is—”
“Wait, Allie, where did these come from? Where did you get those sketches?”
“I made them. And they’re not exactly sketches, they’re actually tracings of the intact sections.” Allie held up the rest of them, one by one.
“What do you mean, you made them? How did you make them?” Des reached out and a confident Allie handed the stack to her.
“I climbed up the scaffold and traced undamaged sections that corresponded with the areas that were damaged, so that I—”
Confused, she held up her hand. “Wait. Stop.” Des wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “You climbed to the top of the scaffold?”
An obviously proud Allie nodded. “I did.”
“That has to be . . . oh my God, I don’t even know how high that ceiling is.” Des’s palms began to sweat at the very thought of it. “How could you have . . . weren’t you . . .”
Allie laughed. “I was scared out of my mind, I’m not gonna lie. It was about the highest I’ve ever been off the floor, but I kept telling myself, Don’t look down, don’t look down. And I made it. All the way to the top.”
“What’s the point? I don’t get it. Why’d you do that?”
“I did it because I had to. It was the only way to get . . . look.” Allie took the tracings back from Des and spread them out on the bed the way they might appear on the ceiling. “Most of the patterns are pretty much geometric in shape, right? So I figured if we had tracings, we could re-create them exactly.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not following.”
“I traced the patterns so I could paint them on the missing sections of the ceiling.” She held up the bags of paint chips. “I took scrapings to a paint store and had the colors matched. See, here’s the peacock blue from the dome, and here’s the—”
“You have to be kidding. Are you delusional?”
“About what?” Allie looked up.
“You’re not an artist, Allie. We need an artist—a real artist—and you are not one.”
Allie stared at her sister, the color draining from her face. “I can do this, Des,” she said quietly.
“No, you can’t. This is a historic building we’re dealing with. A real artist created that masterpiece on the ceiling and a real artist is going to repair it.”
“Des, I studied art for years. I used to paint, I know how to—”
“No. You’re an amateur. What’s the most you ever painted? A few still lifes back in college? A mural on your daughter’s bedroom wall? Allie, you could totally ruin that ceiling.” She shook her head. “We’ll find someone else.”
Allie was still staring, her expression going darker, her eyes narrowing.
“Des, may I remind you that we don’t have the money to hire someone who has the kind of credentials you’re talking about?”
“Then we wait until we do. But we don’t send an amateur to do a pro’s job.”
“Des, I honestly believe I can do as good a job as anyone else.”
“Based on what?”
Allie exploded. “You know, we have a problem here, and I have the solution. I’ve thought it out carefully, I’ve worked out every little detail. I would think that you would be supportive and at the very least, you’d say, ‘Allie, that’s a great idea. Way to think out of the box.’ Or at the very least, ‘It wouldn’t hurt to try.’ ” She took a deep breath. “But instead you come in here and tell me how incompetent I am, and how I don’t have any talent and—”
“I didn’t say any of those things.”
“That’s what you meant, though. That I don’t have the talent or the ability. Just like I didn’t have the talent or ability to have a bigger role on your stupid TV show.”
“That wasn’t my decision and you know it.”
Allie continued as if she hadn’t heard. “You could have taken my part, could have stood up for me, asked them to give me a bigger role, but you didn’t. And you’re not doing it now. I’m asking you to believe in me, to give me a chance to show you what I can do. What I know I can do. But you’re so negative where I’m concerned and have been all my life.”
“None of that’s true!” Des protested.
“All of it’s true.”
“It isn’t. I never felt like that about you.”
“Then prove it. Support me on this. You’re my sister, Des. You should have my back.”
Something that had built up in Des for more than twenty years poured out in a rush. “Don’t talk to me about having your back. When I needed you to have mine, you looked the other way.”
“When did you ever need me, Des?”
“When Brandon . . . when Brandon . . .” The cold began in her chest, then spread throughout her body. She hardly realized she was crying.
“Brandon? Brandon Whitman? What’s he got to do with anything?”
Tears rushed down Des’s face, and in her panic, her throat began to close. “When he . . .” she managed to gasp out.
“When he what? What are you talking about?” Still obviously angry with Des for shooting down her plans for the ceiling, Allie stood with her hands on her hips. “Wait, let me guess. He tried to kiss you? He tried to kiss everyone. It was the big joke on the set. Everyone knew it.” She threw up her hands and all but yelled, “What has that got to do with anything?”
When Des found her voice, she whispered through tears, “He tried to rape me.”
Allie’s mouth dropped open. She blinked as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “He . . .”
“Tried to rape me. While the rest of you were talking about how cute he was, what a fun guy he was, he came into my dressing room and locked the door and tried to rape me.”
“Des, you never said . . .” Allie’s face was white with shock. “You didn’t tell anyone?”
“I tried to tell you!” Des sobbed, her entire body shaking with rage.
“Des, if you had told me he’d tried to rape you . . .”
“I did try,” she insisted.
“Did you say, ‘He tried to rape me’?”
“I didn’t know what words to say, Allie. I was twelve years old and terrified. And everyone thought he was so cool. And what was I going to say? This guy who was the big draw for the show—my stage big brother—the guy they’d brought in to draw preteen girls to tune in every week to boost the ratings, the guy whose father was one of the biggest stars in the universe.” She stood, shaking, her words uneven. “What was I supposed to do? Who would have believed me, even if I’d had the nerve to tell someone?”
“Oh, Des . . .” Allie’s eyes began to fill with tears. “Oh, honey, I am so, so sorry.”
“So don’t talk to me about having your back, because when I needed you, you didn’t have mine.”
Slamming Allie’s door behind her, Des rushed blindly across the hall and sought refuge in her own room from the nightmare she’d tried to wipe from her memory and deny for more than two decades.