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 s
aid, “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 hav
e 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.
The Sugarhouse Blues Page 19
