Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“I guess,” Beth conceded. “But we still deserve to know.”
“And you haven’t found anyone else who might have a clue?” Abby pressed. “Come on, Benny, let’s get your cars and bring them in here for you to play.”
Kit shook her head. “I thought maybe Greta—Maxine’s best friend, I told you about her—but she says she doesn’t know.”
“Mom, maybe . . .”Abby followed her son out of the room in search of the basket of toy cars. “Maybe she’s lying.”
The thought still haunted Kit long after she and everyone else had gone to their rooms to sleep.
Once again Beth had been exhausted and had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, but Kit was wide awake.
It was hard enough to close your eyes and sleep in the same bed your mother or possibly one of her friends or occasionally your aunt slept in, but in this room, the young Barbie Meadows was everywhere.
While they’d been making up their beds, Kit and Beth had talked about the books and the posters and even the very feminine pink-and-green blankets their mother had favored.
Where Beth had been comforted by the feeling their mother was nearby, Kit had grown restless.
Finally she got up and wrapped her robe around her and, grateful for her warm, fuzzy slippers, went down the steps as quietly as she could.
The piles of photographs were exactly where they’d left them on the dining room table.
They’d been able to identify most of the consecutive eras fairly easily by the quality of the photos and the apparel worn by the subjects.
Very few had names or dates written on the backs, so identification was tentative, but together, they’d made a reasonable chronology of the Camp in the Meadows.
Those they’d classified as the oldest had no dock at the lake, and the women pictured wore long skirts.
The next oldest had a small addition on one side, but the larger one on the back was missing.
Next on the timeline had the women wearing pants, something women from earlier times decidedly did not wear.
Those Kit had believed to be her grandmother, Annalee Meadows—most of the women from the 1920s would still have been in skirts.
She picked up the stack of photos Abby had taken and printed off on the small portable printer she’d brought with her and glanced through them once, then again more slowly.
They were all photos of the cabins, the interiors and exteriors.
Most interesting, there were several photos of the blank space where Miles’s cabin had stood.
What was that daughter of hers thinking?
Kit couldn’t wait till the morning to find out.
But first thing the next morning, she received a call from Hal, who had news he wanted to share.
In person, not over the phone. Curious, Kit put on a pot of coffee and washed the breakfast dishes to keep from haunting the front porch.
She, Beth, and Abby paced back and forth between the front door and the kitchen, wondering aloud what the news might be.
“Mom, why do you think he wouldn’t tell you on the phone?” Abby wondered.
“He just wants to see your mother again,” Beth teased.
“Will you stop that, Beth? It’s not funny. I have a husband.” Kit poured herself another cup of coffee.
“Who’s taking off on a trip he planned without your knowledge, that he’s paying God only knows how much for—and, I might add, no timetable for returning—in the company of people you’ve never met.”
“What people?” Kit’s head jerked up from pouring half-and-half into her mug.
“She means a few of his biker-hiker buddies decided to go,” Abby said.
Kit frowned. “He never mentioned that.”
“And he probably didn’t mention that woman who was hanging all over him at his retirement party, either.” Beth slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, Kit.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t mean to say that, Bethany Joy Clark Miller.”
“I dropped the Miller. I went back to Clark.”
“Don’t change the subject. What woman are we talking about?”
Abby shot her aunt a dirty look. “Thanks, Aunt Beth. Mom, we weren’t going to say anything unless it came up some other way.”
“What other way would that have come up, Abigail?” Kit was clearly angered.
“We thought maybe Dad would mention it.” Abby looked her mother squarely in the face. “Apparently that hasn’t happened.”
“Who are we talking about here?”
“Just some woman who’s with the bike group Dad’s been hanging out with. The woman in the video. Clarissa something or other.”
“Has Dad been hanging out with her?”
“Maybe,” Abby replied reluctantly.
“Is that why you decided to pay me a visit? Just drop in out of the blue with no definitive return-home date? Did you want to see if I was falling apart? Heartbroken?”
“We just wanted to be here for you, Kitty. Like you’ve always been there for us. Your husband is a rat for not telling you he’s—”
“He’s what? Having an affair?”
“Maybe. All the same signs are there, just like last time,” Beth said softly.
“Wait, what last time?” Abby looked from her mother to her aunt, then back again. “What last time?”
“I hear a car.” A stony-faced Kit walked to the front door, then opened it. “Hi. We’re all on pins and needles. What do you have to tell us?”
Hal came into the hallway and watched as Abby and Beth fell in behind Kit.
“Actually, I need to speak with you, Kit.” He looked at her sister and her daughter and added, “Alone.”