“Bring Allie, would you? I think we need to powwow.”
Des crossed the wide hall and went into the office that had served several generations of Hudsons. She found it a little intimidating to think of those who’d sat at the large oak desk before her. Even the chair was imposing—a high-backed black leather chair that had first been used by Reynolds E. Hudson, Des’s great-grandfather, then the second Reynolds Hudson, her grandfather, then finally by Barney when she took over as president of the bank that had been run by Hudsons for years. They were all bigger than life to her, even Barney.
Especially Barney, who’d been the president for more than twenty years after Fritz flew the family coop with Nora and took off for the West Coast to help make his beloved a star.
It had been expected that Fritz would follow in the footsteps of previous generations, but when that didn’t happen, Barney had walked into the board of directors meeting and reminded everyone that Fritz wasn’t Reynolds’s only child, and she was better suited to run the bank since she was smarter and more focused than her brother had ever been. Once the ancient, all-male board gave in, they discovered she was everything she’d claimed to be. Barney was still revered in Hidden Falls for the many ways she’d helped the town hang on through rough times. Under her watchful eye, businesses had sprung up, new houses were built, and some older homes changed hands. She was proud of the fact that not one loan she’d granted had ever gone into default.
It was hard for someone like Des, who hadn’t even taken a course in bookkeeping, to feel worthy of following in such footsteps. Yet here she sat, in the big black chair behind the fabled desk, files in front of her, ready to discuss the theater’s financial state with her sisters. When it had come time to divvy up the areas of responsibility pertaining to the theater’s restoration, Des had been selected as the one who’d hold the purse strings by virtue of the fact that she’d wisely invested the money she’d made as a child actress.
“Not much of a résumé,” she muttered as she opened the file in front of her, marked RECEIPTS, and searched for the original estimate from the roofing company, Sennett and Masters. She reread their initial report, then the contract, searching for language that might throw responsibility for the leak back on them. But Joe had been right. The “acts of God” clause was right there in the fine print.
While she waited for her sisters, Des opened her laptop and pulled up the theater’s bank account. For a long moment, she stared at the diminishing balance, then picked up a pen and began to tap it on the desktop in agitation. She’d tried so hard to budget carefully, but every system had had to be replaced and some new ones added. The building now had air-conditioning and Wi-Fi, two things that had been unheard of when the theater was built and were expensive to retrofit. Most of the big-ticket system replacements had been completed, but there was not a dime to spare.
And there were still hefty expenses to come. The carpets needed to be replaced and the chairs and marquee required repairs. The exterior needed painting and the ticket office had to be restored. The lights and the screen as well as the curtains in the staging area all had to be replaced and the stage needed refinishing, too.
And now they needed to fix the ceiling and all that meticulous detailed painting would have to be restored.
Des blew out a long breath. Sooner or later, they were going to run out of money. She prayed it wouldn’t be sooner.
She rested her arms on the desk and looked around the handsome room with its stone fireplace, tall windows, and dark wainscoting, and wondered what financial crises other Hudsons had dealt with while sitting in this same chair. The first Reynolds, the one who’d built the theater, had seen the town through the Depression. Her grandfather, whom she thought of as Reynolds two, had managed to guide Hidden Falls through World War II, and Barney had navigated the town through several economic downturns. Des imagined both Reynoldses standing alongside the fireplace, their arms folded over their chests, tapping their feet, standing in judgment, waiting to see if she was up to the challenge and worthy to call herself a Hudson.
“Okay, gang’s all here,” Allie announced as she and Cara came into the room. “What’s the big deal?”
“Take a seat.” Des pointed to two of four dark green leather side chairs that flanked the desk and she brought them up to date about the damage and the question of whose insurance was going to pay for the repairs.
“I’m sure we have the kind of policy that covers wind damage. I remember looking it over when we received it.” Cara went to the cabinet and pulled out the appropriate file. “It would be under ‘Covered Perils.’ ” She scanned page after page. “Here it is.” She paused to read the section. “Basically it says that if water damage is caused by wind, the resulting damage is covered.”
“I’ll call our agent right now.” Des reached for the file and searched for the agent’s number.
“It’s the roofer’s fault,” Allie said. “Their insurance should cover it.”
“The insurance companies can fight it out. I don’t really care who pays for it, as long as it gets done.” Des punched the number into her phone. “The bigger problem is going to be finding someone who can actually repair the decorative ceiling.”
“Cara, the ceiling is part of the building, and since you’re in charge of renovations, that’s your job,” Allie told her.
“I’m responsible for any repairs to the actual plaster. All the pretty painted details are yours, since you’re in charge of décor. And from where I was standing, a lot of those pretty little details are toast.”
Allie’s phone buzzed to alert her to an incoming text, and she opened it immediately. After reading the message, she looked up at Cara and said, “Sorry. Nikki is filling me in on her summer plans.”
“Isn’t she coming here?” Des put her hand over the phone while she was on hold.
“I’m just getting the agenda. She’s having her two weeks with Clint’s parents in Chicago, which is fine. They’ll spoil her rotten and buy her a bunch of summer clothes, so I’m good with that. Now I’m waiting to see what else her father has planned for her. I want her to spend the rest of the summer here, with me.” She looked up from her phone. “Us, I mean. I want her to spend the summer with us.”
“You know we all want her here,” Cara assured her.
“For as long as we can have her,” Des added. She knew how much her sister loved and missed her daughter, who was fourteen and the absolute love of her life. Allie might be many things—snarky and sarcastic came readily to mind—but no one could deny she was a terrific mother. Nikki was living proof that at Allie’s core, there must be a very deep layer of goodness.
“Oh, don’t worry. I will fight for as much time as I can get,” Allie assured them. “Clint has her all year long. I’m entitled to having her for the summer.”
“Definitely. She should be with us,” Des said.
“I know you guys love her. I’m grateful for that. Really, I am. And I know she loves and misses you as well.” Allie’s lips curved into a half smile, her face visibly softening. “Maybe not as much as she loves and misses me, but still . . .”
Des laughed and tossed a piece of paper at her sister’s head. “You’re such a bitch, Allie.”
“True. But you love me anyway. And in my own sweet fashion, I love you all, too.” Her gaze shifted to Des. “I think.”
“What’s going on in here?” Barney stood in the doorway.
“You’re just in time.” Allie twisted in her chair to face her aunt. “We were just about to join hands and sing a couple of verses of ‘Kumbaya.’ ”
“Oh good. A song from my generation. Shall I begin?” Barney grabbed a chair and pulled it next to Cara’s.
Des smiled and said, “I think the moment’s passed.”
“So what did I miss?”
“Not a whole lot . . . yes, hello?” Des’s attention reverted to her phone call. “I was on hold for Heather Martin?”
“I think we should all go look at the d
amage.” Allie lowered her voice.
Cara nodded. “I agree, if for no other reason than we’ll all know what we’re dealing with. Any one of us could be called upon to speak with the insurance people or prospective artists.” She paused. “Though where we’re going to find artists who are qualified to work on historic buildings—not to mention the detailed painting itself—I have no idea.”
“Althea College.” Barney spoke up.
“What?” Allie and Cara both turned to her.
“Althea College. They have a wonderful Fine Arts Department. At one time, they offered a major in art conservation. Perhaps they still do, or at the very least, someone in the department might know of someone who could work with you.”
“That’s perfect, Barney.” Des hung up the phone. “Heather, our agent, said she could meet with us anytime. We just have to call.”
“I’ll call the college.” Allie rose.
“And I’ll get with Joe to see about finding a plasterer.” Cara folded the policy and returned it to the file drawer.
“The ceiling isn’t our only problem.” Des motioned her sister to sit back down. “I’ve gone over the numbers. The amount of money we have left might, if we stretch to the absolute limits, cover the remaining big expenses. Beyond that, we’re going to be in trouble. We have to figure out how to come up with the funds to keep the place running while the renovations are being completed. Electric, water, heat, air-conditioning—those bills have to be paid while the work is ongoing. The work crews can’t work in the dark, and from what Barney tells us, it gets really hot and humid here in the summer. I don’t see the money for the monthly expenses in the remaining funds.”
“Dad left us a million dollars,” Allie reminded her.
“He underestimated.” Des tapped her pen on the desktop again. “It isn’t enough.”
The room fell silent.
“Hey, we have a theater. Let’s put on a show.” Allie turned to Barney. “Isn’t that what Mickey Rooney always said in those old movies you watch all the time?”
“Babes in Arms, I believe, was the only film where that line—or something akin to it—was actually uttered.” Barney, a fan of movies from the 1930s through the ’50s, spoke with some authority.
“Don’t knock it, Allie,” Des said. “It may come to that.”
“I was kidding.” Allie rolled her eyes.
“I’m not. The theater is going to have to pay for itself. We’re not going to have the money to run the place.”
“Excuse me, but nowhere in Dad’s will did it say we had to run it, Des,” Allie reminded her. “It only said we had to renovate it.”
“We may not be able to complete the renovations if we don’t find a way for the building to make money, that’s the point,” Des explained. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There are monthly expenses to be paid—electric, to keep the lights on and the air-conditioning running, unless we want the contractors to all die of heat stroke while working in the dark this summer.”
“If I may make one other suggestion.” Barney spoke up. “I’m on the board of trustees at Althea. The college was founded by Reynolds Hudson, who, as you all know, gave so much to the community during the Depression. Founders Day is next weekend. Why don’t we all put in an appearance at the cocktail party? Who knows, once word goes out among the faculty, perhaps someone might step up with some ideas?”
“I’m in.” Des didn’t hesitate.
“Me, too,” Cara said.
“Allie? You in?” Des waited for her sister to respond.
“Yes, I’m in.”
“Wonderful.” Barney rose. “Cara, let me know after you’ve spoken with Joe, and I’ll call for tickets.”
“And, Allie, see if you can get names of people in the Art Department we can hopefully schmooze next week at the gala.” Des watched her sister rise.
“Aye-aye, Captain.” Allie saluted as she walked past Barney and through the doorway.
* * *
Two days later, lured by the afternoon sun that spread across the backyard and highlighted Barney’s flower bed, Des wandered outside, her notebook in hand and Buttons by her side. The garden was beautiful, with a few late tulips and peonies—red, white, pink, burgundy, and even yellow—interwoven with hydrangeas that were still leafing out and roses that had yet to bloom. Des pulled one of the Adirondack chairs from the patio into the sunlight to go over her list of things to do that could bring cash into the theater. But the combination of warm sun and the fragrance of the peonies made her drowsy, so she closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the chair. She’d have fallen asleep if Cara hadn’t accidentally slammed the back door on her way out of the house.
“Sorry.” Cara pulled another chair from the patio to join Des in the sun. She wore dark glasses, khaki shorts almost identical to the ones Des wore, and a white tee. “Were you napping?”
“I shouldn’t be, but I came close.” Des sat up and gave her head a little shake. “What are you up to?”
“Just looking for a bit of sun myself.” Cara situated the chair so she was facing Des, then placed her book on the armrest while she patted Buttons. “It’s so peaceful here, and quiet, even though we’re just a little more than a block from the center of town.”
“My house in Cross Creek was right at the edge of town. It’s pretty private and quiet there, too. After I’d lived in L.A. for so long, Cross Creek seemed like the wilderness.” Des thought about her log home on three and a half acres. She’d bought it on a whim after visiting friends who’d settled there, and she’d never looked back.
“Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes. On the one hand, yeah—my own house. I can walk around all day dressed in nothing more than a towel and there’s no one to tell me to get dressed.”
“I heard a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Cara said.
“But on the other hand, I like having people around. I like having someone to watch TV with. It’s nice to have someone to talk things over with.” Des squinted when she turned to look at Cara, whose hair was curling over her ears in the same manner as Des’s. “How ’bout you? Do you miss your house?”
“Sort of, but you know, I didn’t really have a place that was just mine the way you do. Drew and I lived in an apartment while we were saving for a house. I moved out of there and into my mother’s house after I found out about Drew and Amber. Nothing says time to move on like having your husband file for divorce so he can marry one of your best friends. Former best friends.” Cara stretched her legs out in front of her. “It was a relief to be out of the apartment, but at the same time it made me a little sad to be living in the house without my mom. It was a small place, but it was one hundred percent Susa. There’s no place I miss her more than in that house. She’d refinished a lot of the furniture and made some of the rag rugs, so her stamp was definitely everywhere. In that respect, it really wasn’t mine. But do I miss it? Yeah, sometimes.”
“I’m surprised Dad didn’t try to make her move to a big place so he could furnish it with a bunch of expensive new stuff.”
Cara laughed. “Oh, he tried a couple of times to get her to let him build her something big and grand along the beach, but Susa wouldn’t budge from that little place. She’d bought it on her own and painted every inch of it herself before she met him. She had no interest in anything she hadn’t had some part in creating. She loved finding old pieces of furniture and making them beautiful. It gave her pleasure, so after a while, Dad stopped trying to make her into someone she wasn’t. Money meant very little to her. It just wasn’t important.”
“I know we’ve talked about this before, but it still strikes me as funny that he’d picked two women who were such opposites. Your mom so down-home and independent, mine so high maintenance and worldly and spoiled. It’s almost as if there were two sides to him.” Buttons reappeared and jumped onto Des’s lap.
“I think a lot of people have two sides,” Cara said. “We both answered the same question in basically the s
ame way. Do we miss our homes, our solitude? And we both responded yes and no. That’s like having two sides, right?”
“In a way, yes.” Des’s phone buzzed. She apologized to Cara for the interruption, took the call, and chatted for a few minutes with Fran about goings-on at the Cross Creek shelter.
“I apologize,” Des told Cara after she’d finished the call. “That was the director of the shelter back in Montana bringing me up to date.”
“I thought you were the director.”
“Nah. I don’t want to be responsible for the day-to-day operations. Of course, I want to know what’s going on, but I’m happy someone else deals with it. I just want to work with the dogs. That’s the part I enjoy. Fran’s a good administrator, so I leave it all to her.”
“I don’t blame you. Running anything can be a pain. I’m so lucky to have someone who’s taking care of my yoga studio in Devlin’s Light while I’m here.” Cara opened her water bottle and took a sip. “So what’s new out there in the wilderness?”
Des laughed good-naturedly. “Three new dogs came in over the past week. She’s working with the owner of the new hardware store to do a meet and greet with the dogs to try to find them new homes. Let’s see . . . Oh, my book club changed their meeting night from Tuesday to Thursday. And Kent—I dated him a couple of times—has moved on to the new library assistant.”
“Maybe there’s a book club in Hidden Falls. Or maybe we could start one.”
“Yeah, I do miss my book club.”
“But not Kent?”
Des made a face. “The library assistant is welcome to him.”
“So what’s the notebook for?” Cara pointed to the pad that had slipped to the ground.
“I started to make a list of ways to bring in some cash for the theater. Nothing that’s going to bring in a heap of money. It’ll be more like a little trickle, but if we can pay even one bill every month, like just the electric bill, even that would be helpful.”
“What’s on the list?” Cara said.
The Sugarhouse Blues Page 2
