“You are his girlfriend,” I reminded her, hoping, even though I knew it was a long shot, that they were the kind of couple who shared passwords.
She laughed in my face, a kind of half-cackle, half-amused sound. “Yeah, no. We weren’t thatclose.” The words were mocking, as if she were communicating a message far beyond the words, as if they hadn’t even been friends, much less a couple.
More and more, Presley and Brett’s relationship seemed to be built on secrets and hidden things, two features no real relationship could bear long term. I observed her, noticing the way her tears caught the light.
“It’s eleven fifty-eight,” Presley said, as she glanced at her watch. Then, her eyebrows shot up as she thought of something else and stared straight at me almost as if in a trance. “Almost midnight,” she mumbled to no one in particular. “The witching hour.”
With that, she stood and hurried away, leaving me there to wonder what else Brett hadn’t told her—and what she hadn’t told him.
PART II
Saturday
After Midnight
FOURTEEN
I made my way out of the kitchen, passing the vestibule and spotting Savilla, who stood behind a marble desk handing out keys to reluctant guests. She caught my eye and waved me over as Will Hurt took a key and went back in the direction of the ballroom, presumably to find his wife.
“Hey,” I said, “do you have an old computer? Something that would play this?” I pulled the CD case from the back of my jeans.
Savilla took a beat and then lifted a finger, calling over a staff member and giving them quick instructions to take over for her.
“Come with me.”
We headed to Aunt DeeDee’s old office in the library. With the pageant officially only on hiatus, her ancient computer would still be there—perfect for reading decades-old technology.
Savilla opened the office with one of the keys on her ring. “I think this will work,” she said with a wink.
I sat behind my aunt’s desk and Savilla hovered over my shoulder, her voice eager. “What are we looking for?”
I gave her a two-minute rundown of the past hour or so, realizing all the while that I was talking to her as easily and openly as I would’ve with Momma, Aunt DeeDee, or Lacy. With each word, her face grew brighter. Even if she didn’t know aboutour connection, she was enjoying being part of my life. That, at least, boded well for the will reading.
“Oooo… snooping,” Savilla said when I finished. “Love it!”
I turned on the computer, which didn’t require a login or password, and pressed a button to open the disc drive before sliding the CD out of its case and reading the cryptic handwritten message again:Our Big Romance.
Savilla spotted it over my shoulder. “Is that footage of the show?”
“We’re about to find out.”
After a couple of minutes of infuriatingly slow loading, the icon for the drive popped up and I clicked on it to find a list of video files that seemed to be in no particular order. I pressed play on the top one, named “STBR_Episode 8,” and a clip fromSmall Town, Big Romancecame alive on the computer screen.
Mr. Finch and Brett were wandering around the lawn at the back of the house, interview-style with a camera in front of them, though it wasn’t clear who was interviewing whom. Mr. Finch wore khaki pants and a short-sleeved polo, and I watched him with renewed interest now that I could identify him as my biological father. I studied his nose and eyes and chin, trying to see something of myself in him—or of him in me—but I came up short. Momma’s genetics had thankfully been the overbearing kind.
Brett wore faded jeans and a T-shirt that sported the image, perhaps ironically, of the farmer mascot that was splashed across all Aubergine High paraphernalia.
What was your favorite thing about growing up in Aubergine?Mr. Finch asked, his voice calm and clear and interested.
Probably the family values, Brett replied.
Um, yeah, those had sure served Frederick Finch and the Rose Palace well—if you didn’t count philandering judges ormissing pageant queens. I refrained from saying as much because Savilla’s face was a mixture of loss and longing.
“Is this the first time you’ve seen your dad on camera since…?” I didn’t finish the question, but Savilla nodded once, wiping away a tear. Compassion welled in me, and I reached to pause the footage.
“It’s okay.” Savilla touched my arm. “Let it play.”
We picked back up as Brett was asking Frederick Finch a question.
