That Summer Night

Part One

2008

A tear trickled down Honey’s face as she gazed at the framed photo in her hands. It usually stood in pride of place, a reminder of a happy day and all of her loved ones. Many couples would choose to display a wedding photo of themselves alone, but as soon as Honey saw this one, she knew that this was what she wanted to see every day – herself and Brian in the middle of a laughing crowd. Twenty-four years had passed since that day. She’d been twenty-five then. They all looked so young…

The doorbell rang. Again.

“I’ll get it!” a young, male voice called.

Honey sighed. She knew that they were doing this to protect her, but she rather wished they wouldn’t.

The wary note in her son Nick’s voice as he greeted the caller gave the first clue that something a little out of the ordinary might be happening.

The quiet but extensive reply did not quite meet Honey’s ears. The outraged, “What?!” uttered in response to it did so easily.

“Dad!” her son yelled. “Come here, Dad! Right now!”

Honey rose from her seat and gently replaced the photo. She could hear Brian approaching from somewhere, but she was much closer to the door. She drifted closer still, curious to see what had elicited such a reaction.

A screen guarded the living room from the view of anyone at the front door. When they bought the house not long after they married, they’d intended to make some alterations to fix the layout, but after all these years had never gotten around to it. She edged behind the screen and peeked through, knowing that the shadows hid her from view while allowing her to see nearly the whole scene.

Her hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a gasp. A man of about thirty years of age stood on the front doorstep; a strangely familiar man, yet one she was sure she had never seen before. His dark hair and eyes, his smooth skin, his build, the way he held himself – they all spoke to her of his heritage.

Brian arrived on the scene with a slightly impatient, “What is it?”

“Are you Brian Belden?” the man asked. “My name is Brian Wellington. I think you’re my father.”

Slowly, Brian – her Brian – shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken.”

“My mother–”

“Has consistently – or, rather, inconsistently – lied about what happened that night for the last thirty-three years,” her husband interrupted, his tone like ice. “You can’t take her word for anything. I’ve heard at least five versions from her own lips and I don’t believe for a moment that those are the only ones she’s told. Now, if you will excuse us, it’s a very bad time right now and I really haven’t got anything more to say to you.”

“Wait!” the younger man cried, as the door began to shut. “There are reasons I need to know. You don’t know what it’s like, having half your history be just blank. And the tests are so expensive.”

Her husband’s face turned even more chilly. “And you think you can come here the day after the funeral? You think this is a good time to beg for money?”

“What funeral?” The young man looked horrified. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. But I’m not looking for money. I’m looking for information. A medical history. I need to find out some specific things about my father’s medical history, but I can’t do that if I don’t know who he is.”

“I don’t know who he is,” her Brian answered, softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You have no idea who he might be?” the younger man persisted.

Brian laughed, without humour. “I have too many ideas. One of the candidates is long deceased and I’m not on speaking terms with another. But if you give me some contact details, I can fill you in on the common medical history, as I know it. Maybe that will be enough to answer your most pressing questions.”

“You can’t, maybe, look at me? Get some clue that way?”

Honey watched the emotions play on her husband’s face as he considered the question.

“You’re related to me somehow,” he admitted, at last. “The family resemblance is clear. But the way genes are expressed is enormously complicated. My list of suspects is the same now as it was the last time I saw you, when you were small. Now, if you’d like to leave those contact details, I’ll give you the information I have in a few days’ time. And in the meantime, I’d ask for your consideration during our time of bereavement.”

“Of course.” The younger man scrabbled in a pocket and pulled out a business card. “I’m sorry to intrude. I had no idea.”

1975

Honey Wheeler smoothed down the skirt of her orange dress as she sank into the sofa. Across the room, she noticed a few of the young men looking at her legs, among them Trixie’s cousin Knut. Self-consciously, she tugged the skirt down as far as it would go.

“Ignore them,” Diana told her, as she dropped onto the sofa’s arm beside her friend. “Don’t let them know it bothers you.”

“I thought it would be cute when I was making it,” Honey mourned. “I didn’t think it was going to turn out too short, like it did.”

“It’s not too short,” Di contradicted. “And it is cute.”

The A-line skirt fell a couple of inches above Honey’s knees. She looked from her own visible legs to Trixie’s on one side – clad in pale blue pants – then Diana’s on the other, hidden below a long, floaty, floral-print dress. She had really liked the simple, clean lines of this dress when she chose the pattern and material, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.” Trixie frowned. “I thought it was going to be a lot more fun than this – especially if we were all together. And why can’t they keep their eyes to themselves?”

“Can I join you? Or am I doomed to spend the evening with my brother’s stupid friends?”

The three sixteen-year-olds turned to the newcomer.

“Of course you can join us, Hallie,” Honey told her at once.

Trixie patted the armrest beside her. “Take a seat, if you like. But be careful how you sit down.”

Hallie glanced in the direction indicated and stuck her tongue out at Knut, who pretended not to see. “I don’t know what happened to him while he was away, but I don’t like it.”

For the last three years, Knut had been studying at a New York City college. His final year would begin in a matter of days and so Crabapple Farm had been chosen as the venue for his twenty-first birthday party. A large and raucous group of his friends had come, along with almost all of the extended family on both sides. Brian, Mart and Trixie had also been allowed to invite a few friends and had immediately chosen the rest of the Bob-Whites.

“I guess everyone changes when they go away to college,” Di mused. “I know that Brian and Jim have.”

“Not very much,” Honey argued. “Because they were already responsible and hard-working and they still are both of those things, but yes, I guess you’re right and they are different. A bit.”

It seemed so unfair that finally, finally, she was old enough to date, but Brian spent most of his year away at college. She’d almost melted into a puddle on the floor when he asked her to go steady, right after her birthday.

“You don’t have to go all soppy,” Trixie told her, snapping her out of her daydream.

Someone took the needle off the record mid-song with a scratchy noise that caused Honey to wince. In the relative silence that followed, the front door opened and another group of young adults surged into the house.

“Time to get this party really started,” one of them called, as a disco track started up.

All of a sudden, the four girls found themselves at the edge of an impromptu dance floor.

One of Knut’s friends grabbed Honey by the hand and pulled her to her feet, yelling “Get up and dance, baby!” right in her face, his breath laced with alcohol.

“No, thank you,” Honey answered, trying to pull her hand away from his.

She shot a pleading look to Trixie, who took charge.

“Sorry. We’re going,” she told the man.

She, Diana and Hallie surrounded Honey and escorted her through the crowd, heading for the front door. Just as Trixie had her hand on the doorknob, ready to let them out, Honey came face to face with someone she had met before.

“Sally! What are you doing here? I didn’t know you knew Knut!”

2008

“What’s this about, Dad?” their twenty-one-year old son demanded. “Who was that?”

“You heard him,” Brian answered dismissively. “And you heard what I said, too. I think you’re old enough to understand the implications without needing them spelled out.”

“You slept with his mother,” Nick persisted.

Brian turned to him and shook his head. “I didn’t sleep with her. That’s how I’m so certain I’m not his father.”

“But you knew about him all along.”

“Knew? Of course, I knew.” He heaved a sigh. “She’s been accusing me for almost thirty-three years. And at the start, there was no way of proving that I was telling the truth.”

“DNA testing?” their son suggested.

“Wasn’t accurate enough in those days to differentiate between close relatives,” Brian answered. “You saw him. He looks like a Belden. He looks a lot like an older version of you.”

“But who–”

“I’m not speculating,” Brian interrupted. “I’m not opening that can of worms.”

“I was going to say, who’s his mother?”

Brian’s brow creased and he looked away. “Her name is Sally Wellington. We first met her in Arizona. She was a fellow guest at your Aunt Di’s uncle’s ranch when the Bob-Whites stayed there. We met up again later, in New York. The Wellingtons didn’t live all that far from us.”

“I’ve never heard of them before.” A bewildered note had come into Nick’s voice.

“Why should you have?” his father responded. “She was the spoiled only daughter of a well-off family and she was unmarried and pregnant in 1975. She insisted that it was my fault and I insisted that it wasn’t. If you think we met socially after that you’re being particularly obtuse.”

“Dad.” A clear note of reproach rang in his voice. “I meant that I thought we should have been told that there was another family member. I think we have a right to know.”

Brian shrugged. “Do you even know the names of my cousins and their children? Do they matter to you?”

“That isn’t the same!”

“Isn’t it? For all I know, he’s that distantly related to you – or even more distantly.” He stared at his son for a moment. “And I think that’s all I’m going to say on the matter for the time being.”

Nick nodded and stalked away, probably to complain to his younger sister about their being kept in the dark.

After a pause, Brian turned to the screen. “I know you’re there, Honey. And I’m sorry.”

She stepped around it and let him fold her in his arms. “You don’t have to be.”

“I wish – how I wish – that hadn’t happened now.”

“Well, when would have been convenient?” she asked. “When would you have liked to answer his questions? Because maybe he does need to know. He’s of an age where he might be having children of his own. What if one of them is sick?”

Brian lifted up the card, which he still held in his hand. “You’re right. I’ll sit down and write him that information. But I meant that I didn’t want him to upset you.”

She gave a strangled laugh. “Upset me? Why should that upset me now? As far as I’m concerned, that’s all over with.”

“I know,” he answered softly. “But the last thing we need right now is for the past to be dredged up.”

The tears started for no reason she could pinpoint, as they often had in the days since she heard the news.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the past, lately.” She snuggled closer to lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about, really.”

1975

“Who?” Sally asked, staring at Honey in puzzlement.

“Trixie’s cousin, Knut,” Honey explained. “It’s his birthday and this is his party.”

The other girl smiled brightly, possibly to cover her confusion. “Oh! I didn’t realise. Some people I’d met were coming to a party here and–” (her voice dropped) “–when we found out that it was at the house of someone I knew, well, they convinced me to tag along. So here I am!”

“Oh.” Honey took a small step away. “Well, it’s nice to see you, Sally. I’m sure we’ll catch up more a little later.”

Trixie led the little group out onto the front porch and closed the door behind them. The overwhelming noise of the party subsided to a more bearable level.

“See, I told you your dress wasn’t too short,” Di commented, as the four sat down on the steps. “Sally’s was much shorter than yours.”

“And you have better legs,” Hallie added, stretching her own legs out in front of her with her skirt pulled up above her knees. “I thought about wearing a short dress, but then I remembered that most of the guys here would be Knut’s friends, or my own relatives, and I chose something sack-like and unattractive instead.”

“That seems like a good choice right now,” Honey told her, gloomily.

Trixie bit her lip. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I can call someone to come and get you. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself to this awful party.”

“Of course I’m not leaving,” Honey answered. “We agreed. We’re all staying the night in your room. And I’m not going to run away home just because some boys are obnoxious.”

“Well, once the birthday cake is cut, we’ll all go upstairs. Agreed?” Trixie looked around at the other three and each of them nodded. “They can do whatever they like and we’ll lock the door and get into our pyjamas.”

“I’ll go and see my mother and get her to have that done soon,” Hallie offered. She made an obvious pretence of yawning. “I’m suddenly very sleepy and need to go to bed.”

“Do you think that’s going to work?” Di wondered, once the front door had closed behind Hallie.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Knowing my aunt, yes.”

Her prediction proved true only a minute later. The music came to another abrupt halt and Trixie’s Uncle Harold called for their attention. The three on the front doorstep re-entered the house and joined the crowd. Honey listened politely to the speeches, but took practically nothing in from them.

Once the talking finished, Knut plunged the knife into the cake, to the accompaniment of loud cheering from his friends. Helen Belden whisked it away to the kitchen to be cut into slices.

“Does anyone really need to stay and have some, or can we go now?” Trixie asked.

Honey’s brow creased. “I’m not sure it would be polite to leave before it’s distributed, whether we want any or not.”

Before anyone could disagree with her, they became swamped in a group of young men, including Knut, who seemed to think the place they were standing was the best place to dance. In the confusion that followed, Honey became separated from the other three girls.

“Why aren’t you dancing, sunshine?” someone asked, from right behind her.

“No, thank you.” She tried to find a way out, without success. “If I could please get through?”

A hand touched her waist, but she pushed it away before she knew who it belonged to. Another hand brushed against her thigh. A male chest pressed against her back and an arm snaked around her. She felt herself begin to breathe more quickly.

“Coming through!” Trixie called, bodily shoving some random guy out of the way so that he stumbled and almost fell. “Come on, Hon!”

Honey gratefully held onto Trixie’s hand and let herself be pulled free.

“I don’t care if it’s rude. We’re leaving,” Trixie muttered, as she dragged Honey along behind her. “But maybe we should stop by the kitchen and tell Moms so she doesn’t worry.”

“Okay.”

She let herself be carried along, wending their way through the throng, saying a quick hello on the way to various people, including Sally, who stood in close discussion with Trixie’s Uncle Harold. She kept a keen eye out for the Bob-White boys, but none of them seemed to be in evidence. They passed into the relative peace of the kitchen without her finding any of them.

“Do you need any help?” Trixie asked, as soon as they were in the room.

“No, thank you, dear. Why don’t you go and join the party and enjoy yourselves?” her aunt replied. “There are some nice young men you could be dancing with.”

Honey noticed the carefully blank look on Helen Belden’s face.

“This first platter is ready, Elaine,” she pointed out. “Would you like to start distributing it? I’ll keep filling the second one for when it’s gone.”

“Are you sure?”

Helen Belden smiled. “It’s your son’s party. Of course you should go out and enjoy it.”

The other woman picked up the platter, smiled absently at Trixie and Honey and left the room.

“It’s a horrible party and Honey, Di, Hallie and I are not staying a minute longer,” Trixie declared, almost before her aunt was gone. “I just had to rescue Honey from Knut’s horrible friends.”

“I’m very sorry, both of you,” Trixie’s mother answered. “I think going upstairs is the best idea. Can you take Bobby up, too, please?”

“If he’ll come.” Trixie screwed up her nose. “I don’t have to have him in the room with us, do I?”

Mrs. Belden shook her head. “He’ll be fine in Brian and Mart’s room. You’ll be right across the hall from him.”

Bobby’s own room had been turned over to his Uncle Andrew.

Trixie nodded and turned to leave.

“Wait a minute, Trixie, and I’ll fix you a platter to take with you,” her mother told her.

She opened a cabinet and pulled out an olive-green Tupperware container, then tucked in four slices of cake and a selection of the cookies and other sweets which had not yet been served. She pressed down the lid and handed it over to Honey, who took it with thanks.

“We’ll get Bobby and go,” Trixie promised.

Honey took a calming breath before stepping out of the sanctuary of the kitchen. She wondered how they were ever going to find Bobby in this mess, but Trixie knew her brother. She located the eight-year-old in no time, having his own private picnic under the dining table.

“I haven’t finished my sandwiches!” he protested, when Trixie told him it was time for bed.

“Bring them with you,” she told him. “You can finish your picnic upstairs.”

She snatched up the plate, which held not only sandwiches, but a sampling of all the savouries on the table above. A pile of toothpicks on the floor showed just how many servings of cheese and other tasty nibbles he had already eaten. Bobby paused to pull out a few more toothpicks from the pineapple centrepiece and grab an extra sandwich or two as they left.

“And I didn’t get any cookies,” he complained, on their way up the stairs.

“There’ll still be plenty left tomorrow,” Trixie assured him. “And if you’re good, you can have one of the ones Moms gave us. Not that you need it, if you eat all of that!”

“But these are really good,” he answered, waving a toothpick at her. “And Moms says we can eat the pineapple tomorrow!”

Trixie smiled, but then her expression froze and she stepped deftly in front of her little brother. “Let’s get you set up in Brian and Mart’s room. I’ll come and get you later to go and clean your teeth.”

She manoeuvred him inside the room without letting him see the couple seated at the end of the hall, in the telephone niche, who were kissing passionately, mindless of their audience. Once the door closed behind Bobby, Trixie gazed at them for a moment.

“I’ll deal with them later,” she decided. “Let’s get changed and have a better kind of party.”

On the doorstep, with the blessed peace and comfort of Trixie’s cosy bedroom in front of her, Honey had a terrible thought.

“Oh, Trixie! What about Sally? Should we go and make sure she’s okay?”

Trixie considered for a moment, obviously torn.

“I’ll go,” Honey offered. “I won’t be long.”

She thrust the Tupperware container into her best friend’s hands and ran back along the hall to the stairs. Walking partway down, she found a place with a good view and peered around looking for the sunny yellow of Sally’s dress. But Sally was nowhere to be seen.

2008

“I think it’s to be expected that you’d be thinking about the past,” Brian assured her, though he sounded slightly worried or uncertain – she wasn’t sure which. “When we lose someone we love…”

Honey nodded, her head still against his shoulder. “I know that in my head. But neither of us has lost a parent before. It’s not the same as losing a grandparent, or even an uncle or aunt.”

“No.” His hand stroked up and down her back. “And the unexpectedness makes it worse, I think.”

“Eighty-three is a pretty good age.” She sighed. “But, yes, it might have been easier if we’d had some warning.” She shook her head again. “But this isn’t what we should be talking about. We need to decide how much to tell the kids.”

“I’m happy with them knowing exactly what they know now,” her husband replied. “It really isn’t any of their business.”

She pulled back to look up into his face. “Do you really think that? If it was you in their position, would you be satisfied with that?”

His gaze slid away from her face and a slight frown creased his brow. “I don’t know how to answer either of those questions. Because I am certain that they would be extremely uncomfortable with some of the possible explanations of what really happened.”

“True.” She bit her lip. “But you don’t have to point those out to them.”

“If he asks, I’m not supplying a DNA sample,” Brian told her, his mind leaping to a related concept. “I’d rather live with the uncertainty than get a result that suggested one of the more distasteful possibilities.”

“You don’t really think…” She trailed off, unwilling to speak the theory aloud. “This isn’t helping us make the first decision we need to make.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “Well, how about if we just say that there was a birthday party with our whole extended family in attendance, that Sally gatecrashed and that she most likely got pregnant that night. No embellishment. No suggestions of who the more likely candidates might be. Just the plain truth.”

“That’s a good start,” she answered slowly. “But I think you need to follow it up with a summary of what happened next.”

“Why?” His frown deepened. “They already know the broad outline and that’s really all they need. It doesn’t help anyone to spell out the exact details.”

“I don’t think exact details are what they’re going to be after,” she reasoned. “In fact, details are the opposite to what I’m aiming for.”

He shut his eyes again. “Fine. Extended family, gatecrashed, pregnant – like I said the first time. And follow it with something like this: We don’t know who the father was. To the best of my knowledge, no one has ever admitted to it and no conclusive evidence came to light to point in any particular direction. Sally initially accused me, but she was either mistaken or lying.”

“Y-es,” she drew out. “But that’s not the part I was wanting explained. And is it really accurate to say she initially accused you?”

“She’s accused quite a few other people as well.”

Honey pulled back to give her husband an exasperated look. “But she keeps on coming back to you. And she named him after you. And you’re the one she tried to–”

“Don’t say it,” he interrupted. “They’re coming.”

“Tell them more, rather than less,” Honey urged, in a low voice. “Not the details, but the bigger picture.”

He shook his head slightly as he pulled away from her to face their offspring. Their eighteen-year-old daughter Emily led the way, her older brother sauntering along behind.

“What, exactly, is going on?” she demanded. “Nick has this insane story he’s been telling me.”

“It’s probably, at least mostly, true,” Honey admitted, casting her husband an apologetic look. “How about if we all come and sit down and we’ll explain. It all happened a very long time ago.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” their daughter complained. Then without anyone saying or doing anything further, she sighed. “Fine. We’ll sit down.”

Honey led the way and used the time to arrange her thoughts. “You see, it all started with your father’s cousin’s twenty-first birthday party, which happened to be held at Crabapple Farm. The whole Belden family was there – you know, aunts and uncles and cousins and everyone – and also a girl that we knew called Sally, except that she gatecrashed the party, and at some stage that night, she also got pregnant.”

“Possibly,” Brian corrected.

Honey shook her head. “Probably. We don’t know who the father is, except that it wasn’t your father, but it seems more than likely – due to his appearance, once he was actually born, you understand? – that his father was someone in the Belden family and most likely one of the dark-haired ones.”

“We already knew that much,” Emily told them, rather impatiently.

“I’m just making everything clear,” Honey explained. “Anyway, afterwards, Sally made a big fuss and accused your father of being her baby’s father, which he wasn’t, and tried to get him to marry her. And when that didn’t work, she tried the same thing with someone else. And when that didn’t work, she went back to her first story, which is the one she tells at least half of the time. Or, at least, that’s the one that she did tell; I haven’t seen her since her son was about four or five, I think, and he’d be…”

“Thirty-two,” Brian supplied promptly. “He’s thirty-two now.”

“But, apparently, that’s the story she’s told him, too, so maybe she’s settled on it, over the years,” she finished.

“And she named him Brian,” their daughter pointed out.

Honey shrugged. “Maybe she thought it would help her claim.”

“Did she take you to court, Dad?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I doubt it would have helped her at the time. In those days, I had a tiny income, a large debt and no real assets. What could she have hoped to gain?”

“Satisfaction?” Emily frowned, thinking. “So, why have you never told us this before?”

Honey and Brian shared a look. He shrugged, letting her field the question.

“There are lots of things we’ve never told you,” she admitted. “Some of them because we don’t think you’d be interested, or because they just never came up, or because we didn’t want you to get ideas.”

They shared another look, this time one of fond reminiscence.

“Maybe we’ll tell you some of those when you have your own kids and are unlikely to try them out,” Brian quipped.

“And others, like this one,” Honey continued, sobering, “we probably didn’t talk about because the memories were painful. It isn’t nice to be accused of something you didn’t do; to have people doubt your word when you’re telling the truth; to be put in a position where you have to defend yourself against an unfair accusation and where all the things you’ve been working towards are put in jeopardy.”

“So, I hope that you’ll both accept that we don’t really want to talk about that time,” Brian added. “I’m going to give him as much information as I can – and I’ll be contacting a couple of family members to check some facts before I finish that – but I will not enter into any speculation into the truth of the matter. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” their son answered. “In fact, I don’t think I ever want to talk about this ever again.”

Brian nodded agreement and the two men got up and left the room together, beginning a conversation on something unrelated as they went.

“I have one more question,” their daughter admitted, once she and Honey were alone. “Do you think you know who that man’s father is?”

Honey looked away, staring into the past. “I have two main theories,” she admitted. “There’s one that I hope is right and one that I’m afraid is right.”

1975

Taking another few steps downwards, Honey peered around the room. Now that she was closer, she noticed that the crowd had thinned, somewhat. The record player still blared and most of the older guests still stood or sat around talking, but there were less of the younger crowd.

Slowly, she circulated through both the living and dining rooms, but still did not find Sally. Honey paused one last time on her way up the stairs. None of the male Bob-Whites were in evidence, either, so she couldn’t even ask them.

Frowning, she returned to Trixie’s bedroom, barely even noticing that the kissing couple had disappeared. She opened the door and stepped inside, locking it after herself. The other three were clustered around the window and did not appear to notice her arrival.

“There!” Hallie pointed to something. “Over there, with that group of boys.”

“What is she doing out there?” Trixie demanded. “I thought she was just going to find Sally and come back here, not join in the party!”

“I couldn’t find her,” Honey told them, making all three jump.

Trixie turned and stared at her best friend, looked back out the window for a moment, then turned back to Honey. Enlightenment dawned on her face.

“It’s Sally!” Di almost moaned. “No wonder she was acting not like herself; she wasn’t herself.”

Honey joined them at the window and peeked out. Below in the garden, she saw some of the missing party guests running here and there. Not far away, a girl in an A-line dress flirted with a small group of young men.

“I don’t think I needed to worry about her,” she noted, in a small voice. “She looks like she’s having a good time.”

She turned away from the window, unwilling to watch what was happening outside, and went to find her overnight bag. She made short work of changing, then put her orange dress back on its hanger.

“I don’t know why I’m bothering,” she murmured, as she hung it at the end of Trixie’s closet. “I don’t think I’ll ever wear this dress again.”

“Why not?” Hallie asked, pouring Honey a cup of punch from the jug that sat on Trixie’s bedside table – she and Diana apparently having appropriated it for their use. “It suits you. And if you really want to, you could lengthen it. I saw a dress a bit like this one that had a contrasting stripe. If you let the hem down, you could join the contrasting piece in and then a bit more of the orange, if you have some.”

Honey smiled and took the out-held cup. “That’s a really good idea. I do have some of the fabric left over and I’m sure I could find something similar to add in between, though I’m not sure whether that would change the way it drapes.” She glanced over at Trixie, whose pained expression told more than she would ever say out loud about her feelings related to a discussion of sewing. “But you and I can talk about that later, maybe. Right now, I think I’d like a cookie.”

Di retrieved the container while Trixie piled pillows on the floor. Hallie closed the window and pulled the curtains closed, but the sound of whooping from outside still filtered in. Honey shivered, then turned away from the window to settle with her back against the side of the bed.

“When I turn twenty-one,” Hallie declared, between bites of cookie, “I’m not having a party like this one, with all these drunken louts. I think something smaller would be better. Though the food was good. Aunt Helen did a really good job with that.”

“Moms always does the best food,” Trixie agreed. “When I’m twenty-one, I’ll have a party like our Thanksgiving Open House, only not with all the turkey and everything, obviously, and you’ll all be invited, but no one will have to dress up.”

Honey laughed. “You’ll have to dress up for mine and probably for Di’s too.”

“Ooh, yes!” Di stretched out one foot, showing her red-painted toenails. “I’m going to have the highest heels I can find. I’ll have to practice walking in them for a month to prepare.”

Trixie screwed up her nose and opened her mouth to reply. Whatever she had been about to say, however, was drowned out by chanting that came from outside. The crowd broke into cheers at the end.

Di made a disgruntled sound and rolled her eyes. “As if they hadn’t drunk enough already. They’ll probably be passed out all over the place when we wake up in the morning.”

Trixie scrambled to her feet, grabbing the container. “I promised Bobby a cookie. Anyone want anything before I go?”

They each dug a hand in and chose a treat before she slipped out into the corridor.

“Didn’t I tell you already to get out of here?” they heard her demand, presumably addressing the kissing couple from earlier. “Go! And don’t come back!”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” a man’s voice replied.

“It’s my house! Now, get. Or I’ll go and get my father – or a bucket of water.”

“I think it’s going to be a long night,” Di commented.

Honey could only nod.

Continue to Part two.