She and Todd and their children left first. We sat with my father and Laura for a while afterward, and then Aunt Barbara gave me a look to say we should leave them alone for a while. She didn’t wink, but I knew what she was saying, so I pretended to be much more tired than I was, and she did the same. We giggled going up the stairs. Actually, I had drunk more wine than ever, and I was a little giddy and a little more tired.
“You want to tell me about your boyfriend?” she asked at my door. “I heard his family is rich and he’s good-looking and very popular.”
“So you know it all,” I said.
Her eyes widened, and then she smiled. “Got it,” she said. “I’m going to bed.” She leaned in to kiss me. “Your mother would be so proud of you.” She walked off to the guest room.
I hadn’t meant to shut her down so quickly, but I was afraid that if I began to talk about Kane, I would slip up and reveal what we were doing. Look what was happening to me, I thought. I was afraid to talk about things, afraid to make a mistake. Was it the same for Kane? It never had occurred to me until now that he might, just as I might, slip up and reveal something about reading the diary, perhaps when talking with his sister.
We needed to end this.
The only way to do it was to finish it.
I would be as determined as he was.
* * *
Before Aunt Barbara returned to New York, my father took her and me and, to my surprise, Laura Osterhouse to see the work accomplished at Foxworth. We followed him about as he explained the plans and helped us to visualize what would be there. Every once in a while, Aunt Barbara would look at me and with that look acknowledge how determined my father was to erase any exterior resemblance to the Foxworth property that had been there. He detailed the changes in the grounds, the driveway, the lighting, and all the new technology the house would have. This was in no way to be a restoration.
I didn’t mention what he had told me about some of the similarities inside, but he did make the point that there would be no real attic in the new house, just a little more than a crawl space for storage. Afterward, we all went to lunch, and later that day, my father and Laura insisted on preparing leftovers. She said she wanted to watch the magic he could do with them, making it all seem like a brand-new meal.
In the morning, my father and I took Aunt Barbara to the airport. He promised her that he would find the time for us to visit her in New York. She rattled on about all the things she would arrange for us to do. I could see how excited the possibility of her brother’s visit made her. She vowed to call Uncle Tommy and twist his arm so he would come to New York at the same time. It all seemed fabulous but more like a fantasy to me.
Aunt Barbara held on to me longer when we hugged. “You’ve done a wonderful job with my brother,” she said. “I think it was a case of the daughter bringing up the father. Encourage him to get out more,” she added.
I knew what she meant and assured her that I would.
After she left and we were heading home, my father was quieter than usual. How important family was, I thought. How much we would forgive each other to keep our family bonds. It helped me understand why Christopher was so desperate to believe in his mother. I also realized that my father needed more than just me in his life. He had a wide hole in his heart that he had to fill. It was so important to have someone who cared about you and for whom you could care. He would always have me but not in the way he had me now. No one mentions that loneliness doesn’t simply mean not having someone else there to be interested in you. It means having no one there for you to devote your time and your energy to protect and comfort. It means not being able to give of yourself and not simply take from others.
No wonder Christopher was clinging so hard to Cathy and they so easily accepted caring for their little brother and sister. I wished I could say, See, Dad? Reading the diary isn’t all horror and pain for me. It’s teaching me something valuable.
But it wasn’t time to say that, not yet, perhaps not ever.
When we got home, my father suggested that he would take Laura Osterhouse and me out to dinner.
“I’m sure you’re both tired of leftovers,” he said.
“Actually, I’m not,” I said. “I know there’s enough left. Do you mind terribly if I don’t go?” I smiled. “I might invite someone to help me finish off the food.”
He looked suspicious for a moment and then laughed. “Okay. I’ll leave you to do the warming up.”
“I have a few tricks up my sleeve when it comes to those leftovers,” I said. “I’ve spied on you enough.”
He nodded and went to call Laura. I hurried up to my room to call Kane. I had no doubt he would rush over the moment he could. We’d eat, but we’d go upstairs and move ahead in the diary, no matter where it took us.
He was there a half hour later.
Just one look at me, and he knew. My father had left. We ate fast, both too anxious, anticipating. Afterward, silently, both our hearts racing with anticipation, we started up the stairway. I had forgotten I had moved the diary.
“Something happen?” he asked quickly when he saw me take it from under the things in my closet.
“No, but I became a little worried after my aunt’s questions about it.”
He nodded, and we went up to the attic. Again, in a deeper silence than usual, we arranged things, and he took the diary, sat, and began.
After five days had passed without Momma’s return, I told Cathy she was punishing us for being ungrateful. At first, she flared up.
“We’re being ungrateful? We?”