* * *
Kane amazed me the following day. He was so excited about what he had read and what we were going to do that I thought for sure he would be talking about nothing else, but from the first moment he set eyes on me in the morning, he seemed to know that to keep me from having any anxiety, especially while we were at school, the diary should remain under my pillow, physically and mentally. Neither of us would mention it. To show me I could rely on him for that, he talked about everything and anything else on our way to school and during the day. He went on and on about a party Tina Kennedy was planning. I knew she was always chasing him, and he enjoyed teasing me about it. He was so good at ignoring the diary, in fact, that it felt like I had dreamed the entire thing—his discovering the diary under my pillow and our plans for where and how to read it together. However, it couldn’t be completely ignored until the moment we took it out from under my pillow again. For one thing, just like Christopher at this point in his diary, we were a week away from Thanksgiving. Finally, on the way to my house after school, Kane mentioned that.
“Quite a coincidence that the time period coincides,” he said.
Neither of us had to say it, but we both thought that was a little eerie. Why had the diary been discovered now? And how coincidental was it that my father would be the one to locate the locked metal box after all these years? Other people, young people, searched in the debris because there were so many rumors and stories about hidden wealth at Foxworth Hall. Malcolm was supposed to be a
miser, spending his money mainly on church or some religious charity. The story was that he distrusted everyone, especially bankers, and was one of those people who literally kept money buried somewhere, yet no one had managed to uncover the metal box that contained Christopher’s diary—no one until my father was sent to evaluate the foundation for a new prospective buyer.
“I can’t imagine what he’ll write about their Thanksgiving shut up like that. If the legendary story about them is true, they spent more than one Thanksgiving and Christmas in that attic and more than one birthday. We’ve got thirty-five people coming for dinner at our house,” he continued when I didn’t comment. “My parents don’t do much. There’s a full kitchen staff, waiters, and a bartender. It’s more like a party than a family gathering, even though two of my uncles and aunts are there with their children, who I don’t see very much. That’s a good thing. Their pictures are right beside the word ‘brat’ in the dictionary. I’m glad Darlena comes home from college, though. What about you? What goes on in your house?”
“As you can imagine, my father fixes quite a dinner. He has a sweet potato pudding to die for.”
“Just the two of you?”
“No. My aunt Barbara, my father’s sister, has come occasionally and might come this time, but my father always invites his chief assistant, Todd Winston, and his wife and their two children, and Mrs. Osterhouse, who does his bookkeeping and would like to do more for him, and I don’t mean at work. She’s a widow who has been with him for a long time.”
“Ah. Do you like her?”
“Yes, she’s nice.”
“Nice enough to be a new mother?”
“I’ll never have another mother, Kane. Even a saint couldn’t step into her shoes.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry I put it that way. What about your father? Any interest? Has he dated her?”
“No. He’s polite to her, but I think she tries too hard.”
“Like Tina Kennedy when it comes to yours truly?”
“No, not quite as obvious as that,” I said, and he laughed. “But my father likes subtlety when it comes to women.”
“He’s not so subtle when it comes to you.”
“No,” I said, smiling, “and I’m not when it comes to him, either.”
“I like your father. He seems comfortable in his own skin.”
“He never puts on airs, if that’s what you mean. I’m proud of him.”
“You should be.” He paused and added, “I think I’m more like him than I am like my own father.”
“Why do you say that?”
“My father’s always striving to do more, get bigger, and is quite obvious about it. That’s why he’s on edge so much. Everything’s got to come out just the way he planned. It’s always the bottom line, no matter what it is. He wants to make a profit on everything, even relationships. More than once, I’ve overheard my mother accuse him of marrying her for her family money.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
He gave me a look that said, “You have to ask?”
“So you’re not coming out just the way he planned, his bottom line for a son?” I asked.
He smiled. “Not exactly.”
“Why not? You do well in school. They say you’re the best baseball pitcher the school’s ever had. You don’t get in trouble, and you’re passably good-looking.”
“Passably?”