No less impressive was the front entrance. Thanks to my father, I knew the giant pair of raised panel doors with raised molding on both sides was made of mahogany. There was leaded antique glass in the sidelights and transom. Four pillars on the redbrick front patio gave it the Tara look. Kane drove halfway around the circle and then off to the right to reach the very well-disguised six-car garage, one space reserved for his car. One was for his sister’s car when she was home, and there was one for each of his mother’s two cars and two for his father’s current cars. Kane reminded me that his father had a Bentley dealership, too, and mainly drove the latest model.
When the door went up, I realized the six-car garage was probably wider from one side to the other than our entire house. We got out, and Kane opened the door to a small entryway and a hallway.
“The kitchen’s on the left,” he said. “This hallway leads to the downstairs hall and my father’s home office, our dining room, living room, larger den, where we’ll have our party, and smaller den. Off to the right is where Lourdes Rosario lives. She’s been with us since I was two, I think. As I said, she’s off tonight and tomorrow and visiting her cousin in Richmond.”
“One woman cleans this whole house?” I asked, impressed with the crown moldings on the hallway walls and the care taken with the round corners, which were part of the finishing when it was constructed. Probably no other girl would be, but I was, after all, my father’s daughter. The floors were a beige Spanish tile. Along the way were niches for art, small statues, and figurines that I recognized to be expensive Lladro and Herend porcelain.
“No, she brings in her three nieces twice a week,” Kane said. “Dad has a groundskeeper who has a small crew. They’re here five days a week, but everyone’s off this weekend. I made sure we had plenty of paper plates and cups and plastic spoons, forks, and knives. There’ll be little to clean up afterward.”
“You hope,” I said.
He led me into the kitchen.
“I don’t remember anyone talking about you ever having a party here.”
“I had a few small things but nothing like this,” he said. “When I was little, they had birthday parties here, for my sister and me. Mostly relatives. We’ve got a lot of relatives,” he added. “As Dad became more and more successful, more came out of the woodwork, as he says. How about you?”
“Just an uncle and an aunt. My uncle’s coming to visit us on Monday. He’s my father’s younger brother.”
“No leftover Foxworths?” he asked. He turned when I didn’t respond. “I
mean, none of them ever tried to contact your family?”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Probably a good thing,” he said. “If you consider the crazy story about the kids up in the attic coming out distorted or something.”
The words were on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to say that whatever the children eventually did in that attic and afterward wasn’t solely their fault. I had the urge to defend them and tell him that I wouldn’t mind them contacting me, but I kept silent. He’d surely want to know why I had that opinion, and it might lead me accidentally to mentioning the diary.
We began to take out the plates, cups, napkins, and plastic dinnerware to set up the counters where everyone would go to get food and drink later.
“How many have you invited?” I asked.
“About thirty, I think.”
“You think?”
“I don’t remember. We’ll find out when the party starts.”
When we were finished, he led me down the hallway to what he had called the larger den. It was more like a grand ballroom in an upscale hotel. He said his parents used it for their parties, some of which were fund-raisers for political candidates.
“Thirty people will get lost in here,” I said. “Are those tables and chairs around the room always here?”
“No. Before he and his crew left for the day, I had Curtis put them out the way he does for parties. Curtis is the house manager and grounds manager. We’ll get it all put away again before my parents return.”
“There’s a house manager?”
He just smiled.
“So from what you’re saying, your parents really don’t know about the party?”
“Oh, they know. It’s their way of testing me, I’m sure,” he said.
“Why did you decide to have the party? It can’t be only because you’re alone in this . . . palace,” I said.
“Why, to impress you. Why else?” he said, smiling.
I looked at him skeptically, but he didn’t break his smile. “You didn’t need to throw a party to impress me, Kane.”