“No. My mom said he and his girlfriend were still drinking whiskey. We saw them at a movie. They were kissing and they slid down in the seat. Mom won’t let me do that at the movies! When we got home, she called Uncle Tate and he came over right away. Mom said we didn’t have to lie anymore, so I told him the things Dad said I had to keep secret. When I stayed at his house, there was lots of whiskey and lots of girlfriends.”
The child’s voice softened. “That’s when Uncle Tate started hugging Mom and she cried. The next day she left me with a babysitter, and she and Uncle Tate went to see Mr. Simpson. He’s a lawyer and I met him. He has ice cream in his office. He said it kept us brats busy so we wouldn’t hear the mothers saying bad words. He was funny.”
“Your parents got a divorce.”
“Yeah. Lots of kids at school have them, so I wasn’t scared. But Mom was really mad. She said it wasn’t right that Uncle Tate said he’d pay Dad, that he didn’t deserve it.”
“Pay him for what?”
“I don’t know. His bills, I guess. Uncle Tate bought Dad a red car. And a house. But Dad didn’t like them. He said they were cheap and he deserved better.” She looked at Casey. “My mom says Uncle Tate is the greatest person alive on the earth.”
“I think she might be right.”
After Casey and Emmie finished with the hand pies—and Emmie had eaten hugely of them—they walked around the property together. Emmie wanted to see where her uncle Tate was in the play, so they went to the big gazebo. It was stacked high with chairs and boxes of costumes and props.
Emmie talked constantly. She told Casey about her friends at school, how one little boy was utterly horrible and she hardly ever spoke to him. And how some girls were good one week but bad the next.
“How do you know how to cook?” Emmie asked, as they reached the old orchard.
Casey told the story of her nannies and all the lessons she’d had. “One year while I was in college, I worked in an orchard on weekends and in the summer.” To Casey’s surprise, Emmie wanted to hear about grafting trees and spraying them when the buds came out. “These poor trees haven’t been cared for at all.”
“But now you live here so you can do it.”
“I think I’ll be moving away,” Casey said quietly.
Emmie looked at her in alarm. “But who will cook for Uncle Tate when he’s here by himself?”
“He’ll find someone who can—” Casey began, but stopped. Obviously, the child was truly worried about her beloved uncle Tate. “I’ll cook so much for him that he’ll get fat and won’t need to eat for a year. Think that will work?”
“No,” Emmie said, frowning. “Movie stars can’t get fat.”
“I won’t leave him without food,” Casey said softly. “I promise.”
Smiling, Emmie went back to asking questions and talking about everything.
But one thing she didn’t mention again was her father. As far as Casey could tell, Devlin Haines had no part in the child’s everyday life. An image flashed across her mind of the times Devlin had tears in his eyes when he mentioned his daughter, saying how much he missed her and wanted to spend time with her but that Tate had prevented it.
And she had fallen for every word of it!
After about an hour of wandering, they came to the Big House—and Casey held her breath. If they saw Tate, what would she say?
But the house was silent. Casey waited outside as Emmie tiptoed in and came out minutes later wearing a pink swimsuit and carrying a big pink towel. “Pond or pool?” asked Casey.
“Pond,” Emmie said, and they clasped hands and began running.
The pond was down a path, through rhododendron bushes, past the big magnolia tree with the stone statue of a smiling woman.
“That’s where Letty and Ace saved the world,” Emmie said. “They—”
“Fought outer-space demons.”
Emmie’s eyes widened. “You know about them?”
“Your uncle told me. Did you know that Ace grew up to be my father?”
“Letty is my grandmother, so that makes you my…my aunt.”
“I don’t think that’s right,” Casey said, but Emmie was running ahead to the pond. Casey had an idea that nothing she could say was going to dissuade Emmie from calling her Aunt Casey.