Finally, we were ready to announce our grand reopening to take place the following week on Valentine’s Day. So, on Friday morning, we strung a banner across the bay windows outside, and crossed our fingers. Fortunately, it worked. From the moment we opened our doors on Valentine’s Day, customers flocked in, and the ring of the cash register had Grace, Lottie, and me smiling for the first time in a long while. At that moment I truly believed I’d faced down the worst that could happen.
Tara phoned in the middle of the Valentine’s Day rush to complain that her parents were rethinking the idea of letting her attend the concert. Apparently, my cousin Jillian’s attempted kidnapping, along with the break-in and threatening letters, had rattled Tara’s parents enough that they didn’t want their only child exposed to potential harm.
“Please, Aunt Abby!” she cried. “You have to talk to them. I’ll die if I miss the BBs.”
“I’ll figure out something,” I assured her, then placed a call to my brother. After I’d spent fifteen minutes arguing Tara’s case, it came down to Tara staying home or my brother and Kathy attending the concert with us, only sitting discreetly in the back.
“You won’t get tickets at this late date,” I argued.
“You’re forgetting the scalpers,” Jordan said. “I know a guy who can get two tickets for me, no problem.”
“Bragger! It’ll cost you plenty, and you’ll probably have to stand.”
“I don’t think so. But hey, my daughter is worth it.” Knowing Tara would paint herself chartreuse before being seen with her mom and dad, I made Jordan promise to let Tara ride with us. Then I called Tara with the good news.
“Awesome! Thank you sooooo much for everything, Aunt Abby,” she cried. “Don’t forget I want to get there early to buy a Barrow Boys T-shirt. So I’ll see you and Uncle Marco at six, okay? Bye.”
“Hey, what did I tell you about calling him-” Too late. She’d hung up.
It wasn’t until five o’clock, when we turned our sign to CLOSED, that we were able to sit down and take stock. Grace, efficient as always, had tea and scones waiting, so the three of us took a welcome break at a table in the parlor.
“How much do you think we made today?” I asked Lottie.
“Enough to keep us afloat for a few more months,” she said.
“And it won’t be long until Easter,” Grace reminded us. “Another big cash holiday.”
My cell phone rang, Marco checking in. “We had our busiest day of the year,” I told him.
“Good for you, Sunshine. Hey, do you need to go home to change for the concert?”
The concert! I glanced down at my outfit-turtleneck sweater, brown pants, brown boots-then hopped up and started for the back. “Nope. I just need to clean up here first.”
“Don’t worry about that, sweetie,” Lottie called. “We’ll cover. Just go have fun.”
Marco took Tara and me in the Prius, with Tara’s parents following at a safe distance in their car. Although we arrived early, the Expo Center parking lot was nearly full, so we had to park in an out-lot bordering the two-lane state highway and hike a half mile over frozen ground. When at last the glass double doors of the Expo Center were within sight, so was a long line of fans waiting to get into the main lobby.
Once we finally made it inside, Tara shuffled Marco and me past the food stands lining the inside wall of the lobby, straight over to the souvenir booth, where she selected a lime green hoodie for herself, then decided I should have one, too. On the front was the Barrow Boys’ logo in shiny black surrounded by hot pink and lemon yellow hearts, a perfect match for her glossy pink clutch purse and the skinny, colored plastic headbands in her hair.
Since it was her birthday, I obliged her by tugging the hoodie over my turtleneck sweater-not a look I particularly liked. Tara, beside me, said, “Aren’t we awesome?”
“Practically twins,” Marco said, with a wink to me.
“Wait!” Tara said, and removed two of her headbands to put in my hair.
I hated headbands. They made my ears stick out. But it was Tara’s birthday… and how long was that excuse going to hold up?
“I want to get a photo of the two of you,” Kathy whispered in my ear, then tiptoed off before Tara could see her.
I put an arm around Tara so Kathy could snap a picture. Then Marco, Tara, and I presented our tickets and headed into the main hall, while my brother and sister-in-law squeezed into the back to stand and watch the show. So much for Jordan’s scalper friend.
The Expo Center had been transformed from exhibit hall to concert hall, with a stage lit by enormous spotlights, a backdrop of flashing colored lights, gleaming instruments on black metal stands, and giant speakers blasting Barrow Boys songs.
“I’m so excited,” Tara said, bouncing on the wooden folding chair. “I can’t believe I’m going to see the BBs in person! Thank you so, so, so much, Aunt Abby and Uncle Marco.”
She shifted away before I could elbow her.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Marco said.
Like he had a choice. A week into being my escort, he had yet to complain about being there early to take me to Bloomers, or leaving the bar at a busy time to bring me home, or running my Vette through the car wash because he always chose routes with slushy puddles even though I suggested better ways to get there. What a sport!
At seven thirty, the show kicked off with a warm-up band; then, at eight thirty, amidst earsplitting screams, the Barrow Boys swaggered onstage, took up their instruments, and began to play their new hit song, something about never-ending love, although I barely heard any of it. Marco seemed to be enjoying the music, yet I could see he was also keeping an eye out for trouble. Ever the vigilant guardian.
At the intermission, with Tara declaring the need for a bathroom break, Marco surveyed the huge number of teens flocking out the exit and decided it would be best to meet Kathy in front of the ladies’ room and have Kathy accompany Tara inside, while Jordan stayed with me.
“I have to go with my mom?” Tara cried as Marco used his cell phone to call Jordan.
He held his hand over the phone to whisper, “You can pretend you don’t know her.”
At Tara’s pleading look, I waited until Marco had finished his call, then said, “I can take her to the ladies’ room.”
“You’ll be more secure staying here in plain view of the off-duty cops posted around the room,” Marco replied, donning his Army Ranger persona. “We could be separated in the lobby. My cell phone is on vibrate and ring so you can reach me no matter what, but if anyone seems the least bit suspicious, yell for help first. The security cops will be here in seconds. Let’s go, Tara, or you’ll miss the BB’s first number.”
With one backward scowl at me, Tara hurried after him. As soon as she had cleared the aisle, my brother scooted in from the other side and sat down.
“Feet hurt?” I asked with a snicker.
“My daughter is worth every penny.”
“How many pennies would that be?”
“Shut up.”
For the next ten minutes, my brother and I chatted-actually, he bragged about how many operations he had performed in the past week and I scanned for Uniworld terrorists. When people began to stream back to their seats, Jordan left, and I turned to watch for Marco and Tara until I got a crick in my neck. After another ten minutes, my cell phone vibrated. I saw Jordan’s name on the screen. “Where are they?” I whispered into the phone. “The show’s about to start.”
“Don’t know. I’m going to the lobby to see what the holdup is.”
I slumped down in my seat, feeling suddenly vulnerable, as the BBs resumed their places onstage. They began to play, and still there was no sign of Marco and Tara. And now my brother was gone, as well.
When the band went into their second song, I started to panic. Surely the line for the ladies’ room wasn’t that long. I tried to call Marco, but it went to voice mail, so I texted: WHERE R U? I texted Tara next, then tried to phone my brother, and when I couldn’t reach him, either, I grabbed our coats and began to make my way up the row past dozens of knees.