“Yeah? Which one?” He didn’t meet my eyes, and I knew this must be hard on him. I almost wished I hadn’t come.

But I had come—I’d driven all the way down here—and I was going to ask the question.

I looked down at my own fingers, linked in front of me, and wished I had a domino of my own. “Did she have any regrets? You said you thought she was happy, but after Tyler there was never mention of another man. Do you know if she fell in love again? If she got married? Did she ever wish she hadn’t taken the journal’s advice?”

“You know that’s more than one question, right?”

I smiled. “Noticed that, did ya?”

“Cat never married, and as to men, I couldn’t tell ya. Wouldn’t even want to know, if it came to that.” He cringed slightly. “What I can tell you is that she was happy. Every letter she sent told me that. She may have regretted leaving Tyler behind, but she would have regretted it a whole lot more if she’d stayed.” He paused on a heavy sigh. “Despite what I said before—blaming the journal for Cat’s skedaddling—that wasn’t exactly fair. I suspect Cat would have found her way to leaving with or without that diary.”

My gaze held his for several long seconds. It wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for. Then again, I had no idea what I’d been hoping for—an easy solution to my complicated situation, I guess. Clearly, I wasn’t going to find it here.

“That’s good to know,” I finally said.

“I may not have agreed with her decisions, but I respected that they were hers to make.”

“You’re a smart man,” I told him, smiling.

I stood up and stretched a bit, dreading the hurried drive back to Austin.

He glanced up at me. “I wrote in there too, you know. Just once—couldn’t help myself.” He shuffled his feet and shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. I sank slowly back into my seat.

“I didn’t know,” I told him, my heartbeat thumping crazily in my chest.

“It was right after I’d gotten Cat’s things back from England—after she’d died. I opened the diary—never put the key in, mind you—and just started to write.”

He had been the journal’s previous owner. His entry would have come right between Cat’s and mine. Somehow, I must have missed it.

My eyes were so wide they were starting to dry out in the dehumidified rec-room air, causing me to blink excessively.

“So did you ... ?” I lifted my shoulders expectantly.

“Did I get any advice from the all-powerful journal? As a matter of fact, I did.” He smiled.

I thrummed with tension and curiosity, waiting for Mr. Nelson to let me in on his little secret.

He chuckled. “I’ll give you a hint. Those cookies came from Ms. Eleanor Stone in apartment 112. We have a ‘date’ tonight to watch Rear Window—she’s a big Grace Kelly fan.”

My mind whirled. Had Mr. Nelson been the recipient of a bit of personalized romantic advice? Interesting ... I was now anxious to get back to Austin for an entirely different reason.

“Good for you,” I said, smiling. I stood, reached down to help him to his feet, and decided to take my chances with one final question.

“Did your sister ever mention the journal’s original owner?”

“Nope. Only said she was lucky that little book had found its way to her.”

I nodded and reached to shake his hand. “Well, thank you so much for your time, Mr. Nelson. Evidently I have some reading to do,” I said, winking.

“I don’t pretend to understand how that diary works its magic, but I’m convinced that it’s well-meant. That said, my advice to you, young lady, is to take any advice with a grain of salt. You’re the one that has to live with your decisions.” He gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Now if you come back, I’ll teach you how to play Mexican Train,” he said, nodding.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, giving him a little salute before turning away. My real life was calling.

I was cutting it close and luckily missed much of Austin’s horrific rush-hour traffic. And before succumbing to what would likely prove to be a thirty-hanger pile-up in my bedroom as I prepped for tonight’s date, I was dead set determined on reading the bit of journaling that had resulted in a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies with Raisinettes.


I never thought I’d be reading my sister’s diary. Then again, there’s not much left of her musings. Not sure I could have stomached the original. She was gone for a long time, half a world away from central Texas, and I wish I’d had a chance to catch up a little before she died. Cat had a good head on her shoulders, despite what some folks thought after she left Tyler behind to get on with her own life. I only regret that she never came back. Seems as though her life kept her busy—and happy—and for that, I’m thankful. I’m relieved that she lived such a full life, far away from small-town judgment and other folks’ expectations—I hope she found what she was looking for. I know she treasured this diary and its peculiar brand of companionship through the years, and I’m thankful to have it in my possession. Reminds me of her spunk.

E. Nelson 01.12.10


Well, obviously I didn’t know exactly what Fairy Jane’s advice had been, but I suspected something like, look for companionship and spunk in 112. Crafty, very crafty. And it looked as if things were progressing very well indeed if the cookies and movie night were any indication. Nicely done, Fairy Jane.

I was now perilously close to running late for my date with Sean, and I didn’t have even a little time to obsess over what to wear. I resigned myself to calling for backup. I tried Beck first, but the call rolled over to voice mail, forcing me to fall back on a very dubious second choice.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” I whined to Gabe.

“Not really my area of expertise.”

“Are South by Southwest festival goers usually dolled up or grunged down?”

“It’s Austin—there’s a mix of both. Some are even half and half.”

The man had a point.

“So jeans are okay, not too casual?”

“I plan to wear jeans.”

How to say this ... “I’m talking about other people—stylish people.”

“You know, you called me.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” I assured him. “How about jeans, a shirt with some shimmer, and a nice fitted jacket?” All three items were currently in my field of vision, hanging off or draped over some piece of furniture, the jacket having been shrugged off the minute I got home.

“That’ll work. Just relax, Nic, or you’ll look like a tourist.”

I didn’t bother mentioning that as far as tonight went, I was pretty damn close.

“Okay, thanks.” Deep breath. Good.

“Have fun,” he said.

Within ten minutes of hanging up, I’d scrambled into my outfit for the evening, added a sparkly belt and some earrings, and even gone a little crazy with the hair gel, scrunching my hair into what I hoped was a slightly edgier look. One final mirror check—oops! a daisy! Sliding the slightly wilty stem from my button hole, skimming my fingers along the petals, I dipped my face once again into its cheery red center and inhaled the swoony scent of a bad crush. It definitely stayed here.

As I skidded out the door, it occurred to me that I’d managed to go the entire day without Fairy Jane running interference. The little burst of confidence and my smug little smile didn’t last, though, because it was still anybody’s game. The day was far from over yet.


Sean, of course, was waiting, and I was left to wonder how a girl who prided herself on punctuality could suddenly be late for pretty much absolutely everything. A couple waves of the wand could help with that—green lights, convenient parking ... Maybe I could put in a request.

As I got close, I raised my hand and offered up a friendly wave, but the second I was within reach, Sean snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me in for a couple of quick, very heated kisses. When he pulled back and skimmed his fingers through my daring ’do, my eyes were drawn up to the Paramount’s Old Hollywood–style marquee, its glamorous brilliance setting off flashbulbs in my head.

“I like the dangerous new you,” Sean informed me, sliding a festival wristband into place on my arm. I was relieved to see that he’d dressed casually as well in beige corduroys and a chocolate brown sweater.

“It’s sort of a special occasion,” I confided. “Eight years in Austin, and this is my first visit to the Paramount Theater, my first time at a South by Southwest venue of any sort.”

“Well then, I am at your service, my little Virgin Queen,” he teased, bowing low, his wicked grin making me think seriously about sexual favors.

And then suddenly I was on the red carpet. Admittedly it was a red carpet in Austin, Texas, where cowboy boots are paired with just about anything and pretty much no one is anyone—or everyone is someone—but still. My eyes were flitting about like hummingbirds, and my fingers were tightly twined with Sean’s as I rode the wave of jabbering festival goers.

In the middle of it all, Sean dipped his head down beside mine, his breath feathering hot against my chilly ear.

“Dodge out of work tomorrow and come ’round the city with me.”

A shiver ran through me as I imagined the thrill of playing hooky with Sean, seeing the city through the eyes of a “cool kid.” But it was quickly squelched. I couldn’t just take off without warning—I was the Go-To Girl.

“Very tempting, but I have to work.”

A Hummer limo pulled up in front of the theater, and I craned my head to catch a glimpse of its occupants.