NINE

Emerson was a charming little town with rolling hills, double-wide streets, and weathered clapboard houses that didn’t sit on top of one another. Allison’s aunt and uncle lived on Baltimore Street. The two-story house sat on a corner lot with a spectacular view of Summer Park. The huge red elm in the front yard was in desperate need of a good trim. One of the thick branches draped over part of the roof. A disaster waiting to happen, Allison thought as she pulled into the driveway.

The couple had moved into the house right after they were married thirty-some years ago and, except for some repairs now and then, hadn’t changed a thing in all that while. The hardwood floors were dull and worn, and the variegated gold shag carpet in the den was threadbare. The kitchen still had the same dark oak cabinets and Formica countertops, and the old linoleum tiles still made a checkerboard on the floor.

Allison could feel her stomach twisting into knots. After she took a couple of deep breaths, she got up the courage to open the car door.

Will must have spotted her from the window. He stepped out onto the porch and waved to her. Okay, he was in what he must consider his charming mood. Better than angry, she thought. Then she noticed he had a beer in his hand. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he was already drinking. She didn’t think he was drunk, though, because he wasn’t staggering around. Usually when he was drunk he was belligerent, and he didn’t appear to be scowling . . . at least not yet. Women found him attractive, but Allison couldn’t understand why. Those same women had certainly never seen him go into one of his fits. He wasn’t so handsome when he was sneering and screaming and throwing punches because he wasn’t getting his way.

Why was he at his parents’ house? Had he also been summoned? Or had he been kicked out of the apartment they had rented for him? She walked up the steps to face him. He looked haggard. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles under his eyes. If he kept up his twisted lifestyle, she expected him to be dead before he turned thirty-five. The thought saddened her. There was still time to turn his life around, if he was willing . . . and if he could get away from his smothering parents.

Up close she could see he’d been drinking for a while. He wasn’t tanked, but he was getting there. She wondered when he’d started or if this was just a continuation from partying the night before.

He wasn’t much for proper greetings. He took a drink of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, “My mother snaps her fingers and you come running.”

Allison wasn’t offended, and she wasn’t going to let him bait her into an argument. “No, Will. She calls and calls and calls until I give in and do what she wants.”

“She makes you feel guilty.” He laughed after stating the obvious.

“Yes, she does,” she admitted. “Why are you here?”

“I want a new lawyer.”

“Then get a new one.”

“My lazy-ass lawyer says it won’t matter how many lawyers I hire. None of them can get the charges reduced. You know what happened, don’t you?”

She shook her head. She knew what he was going to tell her, though. None of what happened was his fault.

“I really got screwed,” he said. “I’m the one who was attacked at the bar. I didn’t start the fight. I just protected myself. I mean, I should, right? I should be able to protect myself.”

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for sympathy. She wouldn’t give him any. “Were there witnesses?”

“Yes, but they aren’t on my side. If it goes to trial, they’ll lie under oath. Just you watch and see.”

While Allison didn’t know any of the particulars, she guessed this time Will wasn’t going to be able to find a way out. “Do you want it to go to trial?”

“My lawyer says it would be a mistake to take it to trial. He wants me to take the deal they’re offering.”

His face was turning red, and she could see the anger washing over him. She wasn’t sure if she should continue asking him questions for fear of adding fuel to the fire.

“Don’t you want to know what was offered?” he asked. Antagonistic now, he glared at her.

“Yes, I do.”

“Five to seven years, Allison. I’d get seven years, but with good behavior, I could get out as early as five years.”

Good behavior? Then it was going to be seven long years, she thought, because there was no way Will could keep his temper controlled that long. He didn’t know how.

“What happens if you decide to go to trial?”

“According to my useless lawyer, I could get twice as long. Now do you understand why I need a new lawyer? One of those high-priced big shots who knows how to manipulate the law. That’s what I need.”

“Do you think a new lawyer could keep you out of prison?”

“Yes, of course I do, if he knows what he’s doing. Don’t you agree?”

She nodded. She was determined to placate him, no matter what. Debating him would only incite his anger.

“Are you on my side or not?” he asked.

“I don’t want you to go to prison,” she said, giving him an evasive answer.

Allison wondered if he would ever face reality. She knew there had to be more to the story than he was telling. A bar fight didn’t usually bring such harsh charges, did it? Unless someone was seriously injured, or unless the prosecutor could prove that there was an established pattern of behavior. How many fights had Will started? Probably more than he could remember.

“I guess I’d better go inside and find out why I was summoned,” she said as she climbed the steps.

She already knew the reason her aunt had called her, of course. If Will wanted a new, more expensive lawyer, then, by God, he was getting one, which meant his parents needed help coming up with the money.

On the drive to Emerson, Allison had played out the impending scene with her aunt and uncle in her head. She had witnessed it so many times in the past she could practically recite the dialogue by heart. In the end, her aunt would play the gratitude card and expect her to cave. Something was different this time, though. Maybe it was seeing Will at the end of his rope. Maybe Allison had reached the end of hers. Regardless of the reason, she knew what she had to do.

Her hand on the doorknob, she paused, then turned back to Will. “This is the last time I’ll be coming back here.”

He acted as though he hadn’t heard her. “I’m scared,” he blurted. “This could be bad. I swear, if I get out of this, I’m going to change. I know I’ve said that before, but I mean it this time. I want to go back to college and finish. I can’t go to prison.” A look of panic crossed his face, and there was a pathetic whine in his voice when he said, “I just can’t. I wouldn’t last a week.”

Will looked so tormented, she almost felt pity for him. Was this finally the wake-up call he needed? Or was she being naive once more? Charlotte had told her again and again not to believe anything Will said. He was a habitual liar and would do or say anything to get what he wanted. Allison had fought against becoming that cynical. She wanted to believe that people were basically good even though life’s lessons wore them down. She also wanted to believe in second chances, but how many chances had Will already had to turn his life around?

Despite her determination to turn away, she heard herself say, “Will, you know I’ll help you if I can.”

“I know.”

“You might want to stay out here while I talk to your parents. It’s not going to be pleasant.” She didn’t explain further. She guessed he’d hear his parents bellowing soon enough and get the gist of the conversation. Bracing herself for the inevitable fight ahead of her, she opened the door and went inside.

Her aunt and uncle were sitting across from each other at the dining room table.

They hadn’t heard her come in, and as she stood there in the entry hall looking at them, her mind flashed back to that day all those years ago when she and Charlotte sat next to each other, holding hands, at this very table.

It was the week after the worst week of their young lives. They had been at home with a babysitter when the knock on the door came and they were told their mother and father had been in a terrible accident. Allison didn’t remember much about the rest of that week. It was all a blur of people coming and going, neighbors stepping forward to make sure she and Charlotte were not left alone, a huge church full of people wearing black, she and her sister sitting in a big black car in a line of black cars, the whispers What about the girls? Where will they go? and Charlotte crying. The clearest memory she had was of Charlotte. No matter how Allison had tried, she couldn’t get Charlotte to stop crying. Allison felt sad, but she was too young to comprehend death. She kept waiting for her mother and father to come home.

Reality began to sink in when Aunt Jane and Uncle Russell came to take the girls to their house. Allison knew her aunt and uncle, but not well. She had seen them only a few times. Charlotte later told her it was because her father and her uncle had not gotten along. Allison could understand. Her father was a gregarious and kind man. Uncle Russell seemed sour and detached, and he had married a woman who was domineering and never satisfied. Their son, Will, was a brat.

Allison and Charlotte hadn’t even taken off their coats before Aunt Jane told them to sit down at the dining room table. There were a few things she and Uncle Russell needed to make clear. The first was how lucky the girls were to have an aunt and uncle willing to take them in. If they hadn’t stepped up, she said, the girls would have been placed in foster care. Allison didn’t know what foster care was, but the way her aunt said the words made her imagine some sort of dark and scary dungeon where they would be chained up and fed scraps of rancid food. The second thing her aunt told them was how much of a burden this was going to be, not only for her and Uncle Russell, but also for Will. They were not a wealthy family, after all, but they were willing to make a sacrifice for the girls out of love and respect for their dear dead parents. In return, the girls were expected to be well behaved and hardworking.

Uncle Russell then showed them to the small room she and Charlotte were to share. The walls were painted a drab tan, and there were no curtains, just aluminum blinds covering the windows. The furnishings were sparse: two twin beds with a nightstand between them and a tall dresser on the opposite wall. This was nothing like her pink-and-white bedroom at home with the matching polka-dot curtains and bedspread. Charlotte sat down on her bed and began to weep, but Allison was too relieved to cry. Anything was better than going to that “foster” place. If Uncle Russell and Aunt Jane were willing to let them stay here, she would do her very best to make them happy. She never wanted them to regret giving her a place to live.

She had been on that mission ever since. Until today. She had had enough.

Her uncle sat hunched over the table with a notepad in front of him, and next to it was a tall glass filled with an amber-colored liquid she knew was his favorite whiskey. He was using a small calculator to add numbers Aunt Jane was reading to him. Uncle Russell was much younger than he looked. Years of alcohol abuse and stress had taken a toll on him. These days, it seemed to Allison he was angry all the time. He was mean drunk and mean sober, but as long as she agreed with whatever he told her to do, there weren’t any arguments or threats. In the past she had always tried to humor him. It was so much easier to get along and do what he demanded than to argue. Her aunt had told her that her uncle lost his job when the company he worked for decided to downsize, but a couple of years ago she had overheard an argument and known then she’d been told a lie. Her aunt had been screaming at Allison’s uncle, dredging up all his past sins, and in the litany was the reminder that he wouldn’t have been fired if he hadn’t been drinking on the job. The fight had been a real blowout. Even Allison’s headphones couldn’t block the noise. She heard her aunt say he was lucky there hadn’t been sufficient documentation for firing him so the union could force the company to give him a pension. Allison guessed it was easier to pay him off than to take the matter to court. Easier and cheaper.

Her aunt Jane wasn’t a shrinking violet by any means. She drank, but not nearly as much as Uncle Russell, and over the years she had perfected the art of looking trod upon. At home she wore her long-suffering weariness like a wrap around her shoulders; however, when there was a fight, she was the far more aggressive and caustic of the two.

They were a complete contradiction when they were out. If a couple could have a split personality, they were the perfect specimens. It was almost as though they were channeling Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. In public Uncle Russell was funny and sociable; at home he was belligerent and sullen, the degree depending on the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. To strangers, Aunt Jane was outgoing, even friendly. It was almost incomprehensible how these two could present such a different portrayal of themselves—locked in a horribly dysfunctional marriage and seemingly miserable at home, and yet the life of the party everywhere else.

Had they always been this awful? Allison couldn’t remember. Her sister protected her from most of the ugliness until Allison was old enough to fend for herself. She didn’t know what she would have done without her. Charlotte had held things together, but several years earlier she finally reached her limit and severed all ties with their relatives. It was Oliver who convinced her to do it.

Charlotte met Oliver on her first day of college. She had been awarded a music scholarship because of her talent with the flute, which she had taken up in high school. She had a natural gift for the instrument, but it had also become her escape. When things became too stressful in the house, Charlotte would retreat to the bedroom she shared with Allison and play her flute. The lilting sound took her to a peaceful and calm place, away from the turmoil outside her door. The flute also gave her a future.

Oliver was working on his law degree and happened on one particular afternoon in September to be passing through the music department building, taking a shortcut to the library, when he heard a beautiful melody coming from a small auditorium. Intrigued, he stopped to look through the open door and saw Charlotte standing on the stage playing the flute in front of a small gathering of students. He was so mesmerized he took a seat in the back row and listened, and when the session was over, he followed her into the hall and introduced himself.

Oliver and Charlotte had been dating only six months when they announced they were getting married. Allison feared she’d said yes to the first man who had asked her just to get away from the constant fighting. She understood her sister’s need to break free, but she worried that Charlotte was too young and was behaving rashly. In hindsight, Allison could see that it was the best decision her sister ever made. Oliver was perfect for her. He loved the same things Charlotte did, and more important, he was a good and caring man. After graduation he worked in Boston, and then when Charlotte finished her degree, the two of them moved to Seattle, Oliver’s hometown. He took a well-paying job with a prestigious law firm, and Charlotte became a member of the philharmonic. They now lived in a beautiful home in a suburb by the bay and were very happy.

While they were still living in Boston, Charlotte and Oliver had tried to maintain a cordial relationship with her aunt and uncle for Allison’s sake, but it was difficult. Each time they visited them, Oliver saw how it affected his wife. They would be in the house for less than a minute and the criticisms would begin. Charlotte would try to be respectful and accommodating, but by the time they were on their way home, she would be so beaten down Oliver barely recognized her.

The breaking point came the day they stopped by to deliver a birthday gift to Aunt Jane. Birthdays were never grand celebrations, at least not for Allison and Charlotte. Will, on the other hand, was treated like a crown prince on his birthday. And when it came to their aunt and uncle, Charlotte and Allison were expected to show a due amount of appreciation. The only reason Charlotte continued to remember her aunt’s and uncle’s birthdays after she had moved away was to keep the peace. Allison was still in high school at this point, and Charlotte didn’t want to cause any dissension that would make things worse for her sister.

Since she and Oliver didn’t have much money, Charlotte had taken great pains to find the prettiest silk scarf she could afford. When her aunt unwrapped the box, she stared at the contents for a second and then said, “Oh, it’s a scarf.” She didn’t take it out of the box. She set it aside and looked at Charlotte expectantly, finally saying, “Is that it?” Charlotte nodded, her face turning crimson. Oliver saw the hurt and anger come across his wife’s face and decided he had held his tongue long enough. He went after Aunt Jane with a vengeance, telling her how cruel she was. At first, Jane looked shocked that he would be speaking to her in such a way, but when he called her ungrateful for not appreciating Charlotte’s thoughtful gift, she lashed out, again recounting everything she had done for Charlotte and her sister. The shouting match didn’t last long. Charlotte and Oliver were quickly out the door. On the way home, Charlotte burst into tears, and all the years of pent-up rage came spilling out. It didn’t take much persuasion on Oliver’s part to convince her it was time to do something about the poisonous relationship.

Charlotte broke free and begged Allison to do the same. She and Oliver had been asking her to move in with them ever since they were married, and they once again urged her to consider it. Allison loved being with Charlotte and Oliver, but she was preparing to enter Boston College, and they were moving to Seattle soon, so that option was off the table. Besides, the sense of responsibility still had a grip on her, holding her back.

Charlotte called their aunt and uncle toxic, and although Allison wholeheartedly agreed, she hadn’t been able to get past the guilt. Every time her aunt called her ungrateful, she was reminding Allison of the sacrifice she had made by taking her and her sister into their home. For years Allison had heard how much money they had spent on the girls’ expenses because Uncle Russell knew that was what his older brother would have wanted. Yes, they had spent a fortune on the girls, and what thanks did they get? Precious little, according to Aunt Jane. On and on the lectures continued until Allison was weighed down with guilt because she had been the burden that made her aunt’s and uncle’s lives less than perfect. Would she ever feel she’d done enough to repay the debt she owed them? She honestly didn’t know. What she did know was that for years her aunt and uncle had been using fear and guilt to get Allison to cooperate, and it was time for a change. She finally decided their criticism of her wasn’t going to work any longer.

Her aunt looked up from the page she was reading and, seeing Allison, motioned for her to come into the dining room. Allison pulled out a chair at the head of the table so that she wouldn’t have to sit next to either one of them. Then she folded her hands in her lap and waited for them to start in on her.

Her aunt held up the paper, which had a list of names with lines crossed through them. “Do you see, Allison? These are the attorneys who have turned us down. They refused to take on Will’s case. They all said the same thing: they couldn’t do any better than Will’s current attorney. No matter how much money we offered, they all said no.”

“I thought you liked Will’s attorney. What’s his name?”

“Stephen . . . Stephen Kelly,” she said. “And we did like him. He’s done a good job until now.”

Her uncle adjusted his glasses and looked up from his notepad. “He’s given up on Will and thinks my boy will have to go to prison this time. That’s out of the question, of course. I can’t let that happen.”

Aunt Jane nodded vigorously. “No, we can’t let that happen. Will is too . . . sensitive. And none of this is his fault.” She added, “We were able to get a copy of the video in the bar.”

“Kelly got it for us,” Uncle Russell interjected.

Her aunt insisted that Allison watch the video and pushed her laptop in front of her. In the beginning of the clip, it looked as though three men did crowd Will and threaten him, but Will threw the first punch . . . and the second . . . and the third. It was frightening to watch. When he became angry, he lost all control.

“Will could have killed one of them,” she whispered, shaken by what she’d just seen.

Aunt Jane slapped the laptop shut and snatched it away from Allison. “Will’s the victim here. Get that straight,” she snapped.

Always the victim, Allison thought. She was amazed her aunt could look at the same video and come up with that conclusion.

Uncle Russell removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is going to be very expensive.”

“No matter what it costs, we have to keep Will out of prison,” Aunt Jane said. “He couldn’t handle it, and neither could we. What would our friends and neighbors think?”

Uncle Russell became incensed. “What do you care what the neighbors think?” He picked up his glass and took a long swallow. “Use your head for once. Keeping Will out of prison is all you should care about. Just how stupid are you?” He snarled the question. “You’re more concerned about yourself than your own son.”

Aunt Jane half lifted herself out of her chair. “We have to live in this town,” she shouted. “And I always put Will first. How dare you say that I don’t?”

And they were off on another fight. Whenever they started a squabble, Allison was always reminded of a horse race where the announcer talks faster and faster as the horses pound toward the home stretch. She wished she had her headphones now to block out the cacophony.

The argument continued for a good five minutes before it wound down. Allison was even more determined now to tell them she’d had enough. She was actually becoming a bit giddy thinking about never having to come back to this house again. It had never been her home. Never.

Will walked in and glared at his parents. “I could hear you loud and clear outside.”

Ignoring the criticism, his mother asked, “Did you find your passport?”

“Not yet. I’ll check the safe.”

“Be sure to close it.”

Why did Will need his passport? Was he thinking about running? Allison jumped up from the table and ran after her cousin. He was in the den standing at the bookcase.

She stopped in the doorway and asked, “Why are you looking for your passport?”

“I might be taking a trip.”

“You can’t run away. They’d find you, and you’d spend years in prison.”

He whirled around to face her. “Who said anything about running away?”

She could see the fear in his eyes. There were tears there, too. He really was scared. She was about to respond when her aunt summoned her back into the dining room by bellowing her name. She returned and, standing at the head of the table, in a quiet voice asked, “Yes?”

Her uncle grabbed her arm and squeezed. “You sit down and listen.”

“We’re going to need you to get more modeling assignments,” her aunt said.

Her uncle pulled her into the chair. “Quite a few more,” he added with a brusque nod. “And that means you’re going to have to branch out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know. Work for other outfits,” he said.

Did he think she could just knock on Chanel’s door and tell them she would be willing to work for them? Or Armani? They really don’t have a clue, she thought.

She took a deep breath and said, “I’m not going to quit school.”

“Yes, you are,” her aunt snapped. “You do what’s needed for this family. Stop being so ungrateful.”

There it was, that five-dollar word she threw around all the time. Allison wondered how many times she’d say it again before the conversation was over.

“The decision has been made,” her uncle said.

“Who made this decision?” she asked.

“I did.”

Here it goes, she thought. She tried to pull away, but her uncle increased his grip on her wrist. It felt as though he was going to snap her bone in half.

“No,” she said with firm resolve in her voice.

“No? No what?” her aunt asked.

“No to all of it. I don’t care how many decisions you’ve made, Uncle Russell. I’m not going to help you. I’m done.”

Their reaction was almost comical. They looked flabbergasted. Her uncle was the first to recover from his shock. “You are not done here. You’re done when I say you’re done.”

He squeezed her arm again, twisting until it burned. She tried to jerk her arm back, but her uncle held tight until he wanted to refill his glass. He had to let go of her then. Alcohol trumped keeping her captive, she supposed. She watched him pour a generous splash of whiskey and down it in a single gulp, wiping his chin on his sleeve.

She scooted her chair so he couldn’t reach her and said, “I wanted to tell you face-to-face so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding.”

“Tell us what?” her aunt asked.

“I’m finished.”

Her aunt looked up at her, her eyes flashing with hostility. “What do you mean, you’re finished?”

“I’m not ever coming back here, and it’s my hope that I will never have to see or talk to either one of you again.”

She had rendered them speechless. She knew why. She had never defied either of them before, and now she was severing all connections. She stood and headed to the front door before her uncle could get up from his chair.

“Get back here,” he roared.

She kept right on walking.

Will followed her onto the porch. “I found my passport,” he said to her. He shoved a legal-size manila envelope at her. “This was in the safe, too,” he explained. “It has your dad’s name on it. I figured you should have it.”

“What is it?”

“Looks like legal papers of some kind,” he answered.

“Why are you giving them to me?”

“To piss them off. I heard you tell them you aren’t ever coming back here. Did you mean it?”

“Yes, I meant it.” She started down the steps, then stopped. “I’ll try to help you if I can.”

He shrugged and turned to go back inside. He didn’t say good-bye.

She heard her uncle yelling her name again and continued on to her car. After taking one last glance at the house she’d grown up in, she drove away and didn’t look back.

She felt liberated.