The Real Allie Newman

“I don’t think you should take this as an indictment against your father. You lived with him all these years—you know what kind of man he was.”

Allie felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She did know. He would never have run away unless he was desperate or feared for her well-being. In that case, she reasoned, Spiro Kostakis must be a man to be wary of. But she wasn’t about to reveal that thought to the investigator who’d been hired by Kostakis to find her.

“Precisely,” she said. “Which leads me to the next point—why did he hire you to find out if I was his granddaughter now? It’s been twenty-seven years.”

“Until that magazine article appeared, your grandparents and mother believed that you and Eddie were dead.”

Allie stared at Joel, unable to speak, trying to absorb what he’d said.

“The night Eddie disappeared with you, the police set roadblocks and searched for hours. In the early hours of the morning, Eddie’s car was discovered partly submerged in the Detroit River. Divers went in and found suitcases of clothing, including clothes belonging to a child, toys, Eddie’s wallet and personal papers. Even money. He’d cleaned out his joint bank account before leaving. Days later the search was called off, though Spiro had private investigators continue for a few months. By then Katrina’s condition had deteriorated so much that Spiro devoted his efforts to getting her well.”

Joel’s account of their flight was so vivid that for a moment, Allie forgot the larger implication of the whole disappearing act. That it had all been a lie—a deliberate hoax. She felt light-headed and disconnected. While she was attempting to keep herself from being carried away in this wave of new information, she had not noticed that Joel had vanished and returned, and was now handing her a glass of ice water.

She drank slowly, letting the cool liquid soothe the drumming in her head and the heat in her face. When she finished, she set the glass down and looked at Joel. There was concern in his face, and for the first time since she’d met him, she liked him. Not his story, she quickly added to herself, but him.

“My father must have been very afraid to pull off something like that,” she finally said.

“He obviously felt he had no choice,” Joel said.

She thought for a long moment before asking what she knew she had to learn. “And my mother?”

“Grew more despondent. Stopped taking her medication. Drank more. The police report of her car crash a year later was inconclusive about the cause.”

“So it might have been an accident or…or not,” Allie murmured.

“Yes.”

She knew then she needed to be alone. “If you don’t mind…” she said, standing up.

Joel got up, too. “There’s something more. I might as well tell you all of it right now.”

Allie didn’t have the energy to protest. She simply stared at him, wishing he’d disappear himself.

“After your aunt showed the People magazine article to him, Spiro was determined to find you. Also, there were circumstances that prompted him to rush more than he might have.”

“Circumstances?”

“A few years ago Spiro was diagnosed with leukemia. None of the traditional treatments have worked. His only chance of surviving another few years is a bone marrow transplant.” He waited a moment. “George and Christo aren’t a match,” he prompted. Then, “You’re his only living blood relative.”

Allie sat back down.

Joel sat down on the sofa next to her. Allie flinched at his closeness, though she knew he meant to be sympathetic. Still, the one person in the world she wanted at her side right now was buried in a cemetery on the outskirts of town. It had been months since she’d felt such a pain of longing for her father.

Joel Kennedy’s revelations magnified not only her loss but the futility of ever knowing the truth. No matter how much more information came her way in the days ahead—and she knew now she wasn’t going to shake off this whole thing anytime soon—she’d never be able to hear her father’s own account.

Unless Susan knows something. The thought of her stepmother distracted her from Kennedy’s announcement. “You haven’t approached Susan, have you? About any of this?”

“Susan?”

“My stepmother!”

He grabbed her hands, which she was waving in front of his face. “No, Allie. I wouldn’t do that. This is your—”

“Problem.”

He pursed his lips as she pulled her hands free. “I’m only the messenger, Allie. None of this is my doing, either.”

Again Allie got to her feet. She needed to get the whole rotten business over with. “Tell me what this…this Spiro Kostakis wants of me.” She stood on the far side of the coffee table opposite him, her arms folded across her chest.

“He wants you to come to Grosse Pointe, to meet the rest of the family and to undergo a test to see if you’re a bone marrow match.”

“Hah! Not a lot to ask, is it, from someone I’ve never met? From someone who threatened to take me away from my father?” Allie heard her voice border on hysteria, but she felt powerless to stop herself.

Joel was on his feet at once, inches from her face and clutching her upper arms as if to keep her grounded. “You need to be alone, to take all of this in and to decide what you plan to do. You have complete control over this, Allie. Whatever happens is up to you. If your answer is no, then I’ll be driving out of Kingston ten minutes later.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Talk it over with Susan if you want to. If you decide yes, then I’m hoping you’ll be willing to drive back to Michigan with me. Or come on your own. Whatever. Just remember that none of this has to diminish your memory or feelings for your father in any way. And it shouldn’t. It seems to me he did an admirable job of raising his daughter.” With that, Joel brushed past her.

Allie heard the door close behind him. She felt herself sinking slowly back to earth, relief at Joel’s departure snapping every taut nerve in her body. And yet, she thought, sagging into the sofa cushions, his hands had been warm and comforting. If he’d held on a millisecond longer, she knew she’d have gratefully leaned into his arms, too.

She lay back into the indentation he’d just left and stared at the ceiling. Gradually her mind regained control of her body as she decided her first move had to be to talk with Susan, but that would have to wait until morning.

CHAPTER THREE

SUSAN GOT UP to make a pot of tea. She was amazing, Allie thought, watching her go through the steps without uttering a word. In fact, it had been Susan who’d reached for the box of tissues as Allie recited the whole story in a robotlike trance, until she got to the end where she’d unexpectedly burst into tears.

Allie had stopped the story just short of Joel’s last words to her, about Rob Newman’s admirable job of raising his daughter.

Susan brought the tea to the table and, echoing Allie’s thoughts, said, “Your father can’t be here to advocate for himself, so we shall have to do it for him. He was a good, decent and honest man. We know that and so does everyone who knew him. That’s not to say some of this Kennedy’s story isn’t true.” She stirred a spoonful of honey into her cup and blew on the tea gently before sipping.

“I guessed about six months after we’d started dating that your father had a former life he wanted to forget.”

Allie glanced up from spooning honey out of the jar. Susan had never spoken about her personal relationship with her father, not even after his death. She had never once uttered an irritated or perplexed word about the man who shared her life for twenty years. Allie, who often prided herself on her intuition, felt a pang of guilt that she’d so blindly assumed Susan’s calm nature had signified unconditional acceptance of Rob and his daughter. What doubts and questions ran through her mind all these years? Allie wondered.

“He was always so vague about his origins. Said his parents had both died, and he had no siblings or family nearby. Of course, I gathered immediately that he’d grown up in the States.” She looked across the table at Allie and smiled. “His accent.”

“How come I never noticed it?”

“You grew up with it. Besides, he never used the colloquial expressions that Canadians use. Although he told me he was from Northern Ontario, he never spoke like anyone from there.”

“Did you ever ask him?”

“No. Somehow I never had the courage to confront him directly.” She gave a small, deprecating laugh. “Maybe I was afraid of frightening him off, even losing him. And you.”

“Dad wasn’t like that,” Allie blurted out, reaching out her hand to stroke Susan’s. “He loved you. You know that.”

“I know, but this was early in our relationship. Suddenly this big bear of a man with a tiny waif of a daughter was attracted to me—the stereotypical librarian—and I didn’t want the fairy tale to end.” She laughed again.

“And it didn’t,” Allie said. “You were the love of his life.”

Susan smiled fondly at her stepdaughter. “I know that. As you were. He’d have done anything for you.” She took another sip of tea, then said, “That’s why I can believe this private investigator’s story.”

Blood rushed into Allie’s head. “But—”

Susan raised a hand. “Hear me out, sweetie. When I realized your father was probably an American, I thought he might have been a draft dodger. The war in Vietnam was winding down then, but American soldiers were still being sent over. My suspicion was reinforced by his almost paranoid fear of authority. He drove very carefully, so as never to be stopped by any traffic police. He kept to himself out here on the farm. Some people in town thought he was reclusive, but I knew he was too social to be a real hermit. It was just that he avoided big public functions or occasions.”

“Lots of people are like that,” Allie protested.

“Yes, but he was very protective of you. Don’t you remember all those sleepover parties you had here, rather than going to someone else’s house?” She nodded at the glimmer of recollection in Allie’s face.

“He came with me to every swim meet. And I always had to check in with him if I went out of town for any reason. I used to think that’s why he got Casey for me. She was meant to be a friend, as well as a protector.”

“Of course she was. You were fifteen the Christmas you got that dog. Just starting to be interested in boys.” Susan chuckled. “That was no coincidence, my dear.”

“I guess not. I’m happy that you raised one of Casey’s pups. Tiggy looks just like her.” Allie smiled at Susan, warming to the reminiscences they were sharing at last.

“Remember the argument you had with him when you told him you were moving into town?” Susan asked gently.

Allie sobered at the memory. It had been the one serious quarrel she’d had with her father. “I was twenty-four years old and still living at home. I was a freak,” she whispered. “God, that was an awful fight.” Allie laid her head on her forearms. Susan stroked her hair back from her face, the way she’d done whenever Allie had been sick or upset. If only I could turn back the clock, Allie thought. And make everything right again. Make Dad come back.

“I guess we’ll never really know the whole story now,” Susan said with an audible sigh. “That’s why we must never doubt our faith in Rob. We must always believe that whatever he did, he acted out of love and concern for you.”

“I do believe that!” Allie cried. “I just wish Joel Kennedy would leave Kingston and let us go on with our lives.”

Susan gave a quiet laugh. “You know that’s never going to happen, Allie. It’s too late. Whatever choice you make will stay with you the rest of your life.”

Allie shivered at this playback of Joel Kennedy’s words. “But I don’t want to have to make a choice. That’s the problem. I just want things to go on—unchanged.” She sat up to look at Susan.

Her stepmother smiled. “There’s that ten-year-old face I remember so well! You’ve always resisted change, Allie. And always had difficulties making decisions. Remember when we’d go for ice cream?”

“That’s because there were too many flavors. If there’d been only a few, I could’ve managed a quicker decision.”

“So you shouldn’t have difficulty with this. Aren’t there only two choices?”

“But a man’s life may depend on me!” That fact struck Allie for the first time. The horror that such a decision was up to her brought her hands to her face.

Susan waited a few seconds before murmuring, “Then maybe there’s no choice at all.”

Allie locked eyes with her stepmother, knowing then what she had to do.

JOEL HUNG UP the phone and shifted back onto the pillows plumped up against the headboard of his bed. He felt a tinge of satisfaction that his judgment of Allie Newman had been spot on, but at the same time, a tiny part of whatever conscience was still operating inside him held back his usual grin of satisfaction at a job well done.

She was coming with him to Grosse Pointe. He knew from the moment he walked out her door that she would. Mainly because she hadn’t shouted after him or angrily protested his parting comment. Walking down the stairs, he’d thought that he might have overdone it, but his parting line had just popped out. Such spontaneous remarks were rare for him, and that worried him. For some reason Allie Newman’s very presence seemed to prompt stirrings he hadn’t felt since he was a gangly teenager. She had a way of making him feel, well—he hated to admit it—out of control. As if the game could go any way and it made no difference how he played his hand.

Joel rubbed his face. He’d taken an afternoon nap, unusual for him, while he waited for her phone call. It was now almost four o’clock and probably a good time to call Grosse Pointe with the news. He should be exulting, but instead, he felt flat inside. Probably because he knew the game was just starting. There were so many more cards to deal and he hoped Allie Newman could stay in the play. Then he thought, she’s a grown woman, she can handle things. Save your concern for yourself, chum.

JOEL SAUNTERED UP to the front of the car ferry. It was a bright morning, warmer than the day before. Puffy cotton-ball clouds drifted across an achingly blue sky. The ferry was almost empty. There were only two other cars, a Canada Post truck, a small transport and an RV with an American license plate. People on holiday, he guessed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real holiday. Probably before his divorce. Wolfe Island loomed ahead. He’d spotted it from his hotel and, needing to kill a few hours, had impulsively joined the line of cars waiting at the ferry dock in Kingston.

It was either that or take one of the Thousand Island cruises, but he was afraid of being stuck on a boat for three hours with nothing to do but look at scenery. He returned to the Caddie and sat patiently waiting for the boat to finish docking. Heaven only knew what he’d do when he disembarked, but he figured the round trip would take up most of the morning. Then, he was assuming there would be another day and a half before he’d be heading back to Michigan with Allie.

She’d said she’d come only if she could have a day or so to get some things in order. Apparently there were still a few exams to finish marking, and she had to arrange for extra help at the store—something about Susan’s back. He’d noticed that the woman had been walking a bit gingerly when he’d followed them the other day.

God, was it only two days ago? He felt as though he’d been in Kingston for ages. Must be the boredom, he decided. Or restlessness to get on with the job. More likely a combination. Maybe even a bit of anxiety about what lay ahead. He wondered what Allie would make of her newfound family.

Perhaps he ought to prepare her a bit more for what was coming. Certainly he’d told her as much as he needed to, and it had all been true, more or less. If things went well, she might never fill in the gaps, though he somehow doubted that. She was too sharp. And when those gaping holes were exposed, would she turn on him? Probably. And he wouldn’t blame her.

Joel sighed, then shifted into Drive as the truck ahead of him rolled off the ferry. Allie wouldn’t be the first woman to view him as a betrayer. Yet, for some damn reason, he hoped she might be an exception.

He drove a few yards to an intersection and stopped. A sign read Marysville, and Joel made a quick right just to get the Cadillac out of the way of the vehicles behind. He pulled up in front of a general store called Fargo’s and climbed out of the car. Marysville seemed little more than a handful of buildings. A paved road stretched east and west as far as he could see. There was a line of cars across the street waiting to board the return ferry, and Joel considered joining it. It was at least another forty-five minutes before the ferry back to Kingston left, and he doubted the two or three stores he saw here would fill the time. Of course there was a diner across the road that might offer a good cup of coffee, and he could always tour the island itself. That might use up twenty minutes.

Joel swung through the sagging screen door into Fargo’s in search of a newspaper. He wandered about, admiring the weathered hardwood floors and the sturdy wooden cabinets and shelving units. There was an old-fashioned butcher’s counter complete with weigh scales, a roll of paper and twine. An aproned man stood behind the counter waiting on a woman, while her children prowled about sucking lollipops.

The whole scene was so gosh-darn wholesome that Joel felt as if he’d walked onto the set of some 1970s family-values sitcom. He handed the teenage girl at the cash register fifty cents for the newspaper and headed for the door. He had his hand on the handle just as a gang of people appeared on the other side of the screen, about to enter. Joel stepped back inside to let the group pass.

Several young women and men, all attired in sleek cycling outfits, clomped in with Allie Newman bringing up the rear. She did a double take when she saw Joel. He found her smile ambivalent, not quite as if he was the last person on earth she wanted to see at that moment, but almost.

“What are you doing here?” she asked without preamble.

“Checking out the local sites,” he said, aware of several helmeted heads turning his way.

“That shouldn’t take more than five minutes,” she quipped. She unstrapped her headgear and shook loose her hair. It bounced softly against her neck and settled in a feathery web around her face, sticking to parts of her cheek where perspiration lingered.

Joel was tempted to brush those wisps away but knew the gesture would seem too familiar. Still, he couldn’t keep his eyes from skimming across the skin-tight spandex suit she was wearing. No doubt because of the excellence of her physical condition, he decided.

“Nothing better to do?” she asked, grinning.

He felt his face heat up. Was she talking about sightseeing on Wolfe Island or his perusal of her cycling suit? “And you?” he couldn’t help asking. “Putting things in order?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I’m supposed to participate in a triathlon at the end of June, and I missed my training session yesterday.” She shot him a look as if he were to blame.

Was there no end of wonders about this woman? He muttered something vaguely congratulatory and started to squeeze past her for the door.

“Are you really driving around the island?” she asked, stopping him before he had his hand on the door.

“Uh, guess so, since I’ve almost an hour before the next ferry. Why? Tired?”

A patient smile crossed her face. “Not yet, but one of my friends has a serious leg cramp and she’s waiting about two miles down the road. We were going to see if anyone here could go for her.”

“Two miles,” he repeated. “She could probably manage on her own when the cramp subsides.”

“She’s just getting over a hamstring injury and has to be careful, but don’t worry about it.” Allie turned away, seemingly intent on joining the group clustered around the ice-cream freezer.

“Sorry,” Joel said quickly, touching her shoulder. “That was petty. Of course I’ll go for her. Maybe you could direct me?”

She nodded and pushed through the screen door. Joel followed meekly, wishing he could replay the past few minutes. He was reminding himself that Allie Newman had an uncanny talent for bringing out weird responses in him when he noticed she was already seated in the Cadillac.

“Good guess,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.

“The only one with an American plate. Make a left here and go east as far as you can. The road will curve inland toward the south side of the island. She’ll be waiting on that stretch.”

In less than a minute Marysville was merely a snapshot in his rearview mirror. “Not a lot to do hereabouts,” he commented.

“Not if you’re a tourist,” she said. “Though if you live here, I imagine working a farm keeps you busy.”

He decided to keep quiet the rest of the way, which took scarcely five minutes along a paved road that stretched across flat acres of farmland.

“There she is!” Allie pointed.

A young woman was sitting under a tree beside the shoulder just ahead. Joel slowed and pulled well over, in spite of the lack of traffic. He helped Allie load the bike into the trunk and then tie the lid down with a bungee cord he just happened to find in the trunk. Allie sat in the back seat with the other woman and began to massage her calf muscles.

Before he climbed into the car himself, Joel noticed how expertly Allie’s long slim fingers moved up and down the injured leg. Finally he forced his gaze away and got in behind the wheel, wishing he could trade places with the injured woman.

See? he chastised himself. There you go again. It was almost as if he was bewitched. Get a grip, fella. There were long days ahead—turbulent ones—and his part in them was just beginning.

They pulled up in front of Fargo’s and Allie helped her friend out of the car while Joel retrieved the bike from the trunk. The friend thanked them and hobbled away to join the rest of the group, standing around the outdoor pop cooler. Allie hovered near the car.

“Guess I’d better get in line,” Joel said, jerking his head at the cars waiting for the return trip.

He hoped she’d suggest they wait together, but she only nodded and said, “See you on the boat,” as he climbed back into the Caddie.

As he reversed the car, he saw her wheel her bicycle toward the group. During the wait to get aboard, Joel had a long talk with himself about letting his guard slip every time Allie Newman was in his presence.

When the boat returned, he took his time parking the Caddie on board and heading for the upper deck. There, he saw the gang of cyclists lounging on the benches on the far side of the ferry. Joel leaned over the railing to view the Kingston skyline.

It was a pretty town, he thought. Or small city. There were lots of old limestone buildings and a waterfront that had so far managed to escape major development. This was a place where tourists flocked during the summer months, and to accommodate them, outdoor restaurants and sport bars stood in abundance. Having grown up in Philadelphia, Joel couldn’t imagine a childhood in such a small place. That reflection led him to wonder what kind of childhood Allie had with a parent on the run, ever vigilant about the past catching up to him.

A burst of laughter from the other side of the deck caught his attention. Allie stood in the midst of the cyclists, regaling them with some story that had them in stitches. Joel watched her hands gesturing to elaborate her tale, throwing her head back to laugh with them. He envied that ability to hold a group in thrall. He’d once had a partner who could do that. Joel contented himself with observing, taking in the nuances of expression and body language of the group. That was what he did best. Watch and observe. Draw conclusions. Then act.

Feeling hadn’t been a part of the routine for years, it seemed. He sighed and looked away, back to the city skyline. Back to the job ahead.