We both looked around the small, dim room, and I couldn’t help but wonder how this was any better than where he’d been. “My father never even talked about this place,” I said. “I figured it was closed or torn down a long time ago.”
Howie let out a short, exasperated laugh. “That would have been too easy. After your grandfather died, this theater was left to your dad and me. We couldn’t sell it. Nobody wanted it, considering what the neighborhood had become. So the place sat vacant for years, until an offer came to rent it—as a movie theater, of all things, only not the kind that showed the sort of films that used to play here.”
“My father—he never would have gone for that,” I said.
“What choice did he have? We needed to cover the taxes that drained us every spring, taxes your father usually ended up paying. And then I had this idea of taking back the place. Doing something better than renting it out.”
“You mean, making it a regular movie theater again?”
“Afraid not, Sylvie. The days of people getting dressed up to come to this neighborhood and see a film are long gone. I had another idea. Making it a venue for bands. Something I’ll tell you more about. But your father wouldn’t allow it. Despite his grandiose morals, he preferred to let it stay what it had become, rather than give his own brother a chance. When he passed, since there was no will, the property went through probate. In the end, his half went to you and your sister.”
“Rose and me?”
“Yes. This place, crumbling as it is, belongs to the two of you as well. You might not be aware of it, since Rose was made your legal guardian and she has the say for both of you. When I told her what I wanted to do with it, she agreed so long as I send half of whatever money I make. And so long as—” Howie stopped, considering his words.
“So long as what?”
“So long as I stayed out of your lives.”
I thought of that morning at the bus stop when Rose scoffed at Howie’s “pipe dreams” and told me about his refusal to let her come live with him. I wanted to find some way to ask about all that when a noise came from out in the hall—footsteps, I was certain this time. Howie must have heard them too, because we both turned just as Sam Heekin stepped into the doorway.
I had been so caught up in seeing my uncle again that I’d momentarily forgotten about Heekin, and his abrupt appearance surprised me. Howie stood, shoving his sleeves farther up his arms, displaying more tattoos. In a voice so gruff it seemed to come from a wholly different person than the one who had just been speaking to me with such tenderness, he shouted, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“He’s—” I began, but Heekin was already talking, though not doing a very good job of it.
“I d-d-drove here with—”
Howie cut him off. “I made it clear I didn’t want to see you around here again.”
“Hold on,” I said, standing too. “He brought me here. He’s a friend of our family.”
“Friend?” My uncle all but spat the word. “I read his book. Read every one of his articles, too. A lot of what this guy has to say hardly seems like something a friend would write.”
Heekin shut his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them and began speaking again, his voice was calm, his words clear. “I don’t deny my mistakes, and all the things I’ve done that might have seemed unfair to this family. But I’d rather not do any more harm when it comes to Sylvie. That’s why I found my way inside here. I wanted to make sure she was all right.”
Howie kicked the articles, sending my mother and Penny and Albert Lynch, who I glimpsed among the photos too, spinning around the floor. “Of course she’s all right! She’s with her uncle!”
I could only imagine how skeptical Heekin felt about that comment, since I felt the same. Neither of us let on, though. Instead, Heekin gazed around the room, making a quick study of the place. “I’m okay,” I told him at last. “We’ll just be a little longer.”
“Okay, then. If you need me, I’ll be waiting outside.”
I expected Howie to make another jab, but he just watched Heekin step back into the hall. When we heard the metal door opening and closing, Howie told me he was sorry. “Can’t stand filthy reporters and scumbag detectives poking around my business. And that guy does not give up. There’s something about him I don’t like.”
“My mother was the best judge of character I knew, and she liked him. In the beginning anyway.”
“Yeah, well, your mother was human too. Like the rest of us, she could have been wrong. And I’m telling you, she was wrong about that guy.”