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Erik sent her a look of disgust.
“I’ll tell you something.” She stood close to him, near-naked body leaning casually against the counter about a foot from his, their heads nearly the same height. The soda can whooshed, then clicked. She took a long drink, head thrown back. Erik’s Adam apple bobbed convulsively. The chips were still suspended in his grip. “You’ve lost already, and you know it as well as anyone. Fighting now just makes you look like a jerk.”
Jonas held his breath, not sure whether to groan or crack up. In a few words she’d said exactly what he probably would have taken the rest of the afternoon trying to put as tactfully and inoffensively as possible. Erik still would have taken offense. The joys of family baggage.
Erik’s eyes narrowed. He looked murderous. Sandra gave him a sweet smile and reached up to press a kiss to his cheek, making his eyes shoot wide and the fight leave his body.
“There.” Sandra trailed a red-nailed hand lingeringly across his jaw. “All better. Easy, huh?”
She turned, threw Jonas a conspirator’s wink, then sauntered out of the kitchen in that way that ensured he and Erik could do nothing but watch until she was out of sight and their higher motor functions resumed.
“What was that?” Erik still looked stunned.
Jonas chuckled and slapped him on the back, relieved when Erik shook himself comically. This was going to be okay. “That was a combination centerfold and freight train.”
“I think I was just put in my place.”
“But so attractively.”
Erik laughed nervously, but at least he was laughing. Then he gave a great sigh of reluctant surrender. “Okay, well, if she’s left us anything to talk about, I guess we should talk.”
* * *
Allie: Jonas saw me wearing a see-through outfit today. I think he wasn’t miserable about what he saw. Nothing left to the imagination.
Julie: Trust me, he was imagining plenty. How’s Erik while all this lusting is going on?
Allie: I’m wondering if there’s something about to happen with him and Sandra.
Julie: Gah! You guys could be on a reality show!
* * *
ALLIE REACHED for the last drawer on Great-Grandmother Josephine’s trunk, wondering what Erik and Jonas were talking about downstairs—if she’d read Jonas’s signals right and that was what they were doing. She shouldn’t guess and she shouldn’t hope, but of course she was doing both.
In the meantime...she opened the drawer with eager anticipation, hardly able to believe that all these wonderful clothes belonged to her. She’d never in her life owned anything remotely as fabulous. The knowledge made her a bit giddy.
What would she find this time? More jewelry? Gloves?
Books.
Why here? The house was full of books, and there were a few boxes up in the attic marked “books”, as well. Maybe these were special to Josephine. Maybe they’d be particularly valuable titles—a Fitzgerald or Hemingway first edition? If that were the case, she’d be sure to return them to Jonas and Erik. Her gift had involved only clothing items.
She picked up one volume from the stack on the right...no title on the cover. Inside, she found handwriting on paper browning with age.
A diary.
Her heart beating faster, she turned the pages. The writing was cramped and shaky. 1968 to 1971. Josephine would have been an older woman then.
She dug down to the bottom of the pile on the far left. The writing in this journal was larger and much more awkward. 1908 to 1912. My name is Josephine and I am eight years old.
Allie clutched the slim volume to her chest. The rest of the diaries must fall between those two. A lifetime—her travels, her adventures, first kiss, first love, meeting and marrying her husband, her children’s births—all that could be in these books, and more. Did Erik and Jonas know they existed? They should have them, an incredible record of their ancestor’s life and thoughts. A detailed slice of Meyer family history.
She flipped through the first few books beginning to end, turning clumps of pages, reading a line or two here and there. Nothing earthshaking. A new dress. A visit to a friend. Complaints about schoolwork. Parties with best friends. Something cute her dog did.
But who was Josephine when she was wearing these clothes? Who was she when she was closer to Allie’s age? Allie fingered the stack of mostly black, navy and green volumes, then picked out a burgundy one—the only red shade—in what she estimated was the bottom third of the chronology.
1923 to 1927. Perfect.
She opened the book and leafed through, noticing that in this volume, unlike the other two, the pages were numbered, top center, in thick black ink. Every now and then, a page number was circled. Incredibly curious, she leafed back to read the first one she’d noticed: page twenty-four.
