Page 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A fter Alyssa and Peri ate dinner, they headed to the deli, where they waited near the pickup counter for the meals Callan had ordered for himself and his family.

Alyssa and Callan’s daughter had bonded over a bucket of chicken and potato wedges, though it had taken a few minutes to break through the child’s walls.

But Alyssa had years of experience relating to little girls. She was the oldest of five, after all, and despite the fire incident, she’d done a lot of caring for her sisters over the years. She knew how to relate to them, how to make them smile.

It was adults she’d always had trouble with.

By the time Peri had dipped her last potato wedge in ketchup, she’d been chattering like a magpie about everything from her favorite subject in school to her best friend, Emma, to her determination to become a cheerleader.

“Papi says of course I can do it, but Gigi told me I need to ask my daddy to pay for it.”

“What did your dad say?”

Her enthusiasm visibly waned. “I haven’t asked him yet.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged but didn’t answer.

The more Peri talked, the better understanding Alyssa had of the situation. Callan lived and worked in Boston while his daughter lived almost three hours away in central Maine.

What kind of a man abandoned his child to pursue a career? She knew the answer to that. She’d been raised—or not raised—by exactly that kind of man.

Alyssa didn’t have the full picture, of course. Peri hadn’t mentioned her mother, nor did she share any stories from more than a few months before.

Alyssa fought the temptation to pry. She could get the answers she wanted, if not from Peri then from the Internet. A quick search of birth records, family court records, death records… She could figure out Peri’s past.

But that wasn’t how true relationships were built.

Instead, she’d ask Callan and hope he told her the truth.

Not that she and Peri’s father had a real relationship. If they did, she’d have already known about his daughter.

Her phone vibrated. She glanced at it, then handed it to Peri. “Good news.”

She read it, then looked at Alyssa with those pretty brown eyes “Papi’s okay?”

“Looks like he’s going home tomorrow.”

She expected Peri to smile or cheer, but her face fell.

“Oh, honey.” Alyssa crouched to her level. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and swiped eyes filled with so much emotion that Alyssa couldn’t fathom what she was thinking. Rather than ask again, she opened her arms. Peri stepped into them, and Alyssa comforted her, knowing one hug wasn’t about to heal all the child’s wounds.

“Your grandfather's going to be all right,” she soothed “I’m sure they’re ready for us to get back so we can all celebrate.”

Peri didn’t say anything, just stayed in Alyssa’s arms until Alyssa’s crouched legs shook.

A man called, “Wright?”

“That’s us,” Alyssa whispered.

Peri loosened her hold and backed up. Unlike an adult, who might be embarrassed by such a need for affection, the child just slipped her hand into Alyssa’s as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The action reminded her of Callan, who’d done the same thing countless times in the last few days. They were similar in that way—comfortable with physical contact.

Alyssa checked the bag to ensure everything she’d ordered was there, thanked the clerk, and headed to the door with Peri still holding on. “Let’s get back to the hospital and see your papi. I bet he misses you.”

The girl practically skipped to the door, her mood right back to the joyful one Alyssa had finally coaxed out of her.

She’d needed to know her grandfather was okay. And she’d needed some affection.

Affection her father had failed to provide. Not that it was any of Alyssa’s business, but Callan needed to get his priorities straight.

* * *

If Alyssa and Callan were driving in the daytime, she would have gotten a clearer picture of the little community where Callan’s parents lived. Outside the windows of Callan’s Mustang, all she saw was darkness, though streetlights hovered over a small part of town, illuminating a gas station, a local restaurant, and a strip mall containing a dollar store, a laundromat, and a veterinarian’s office. Other shops and businesses were housed in old converted homes. The area reminded her of where Aunt Peggy and Uncle Roger lived a couple of hours away, barely a blip on the map halfway between Portland and the New Hampshire border.

This town was farther north, thirty minutes from Augusta, which was the largest city around, though to call it a city was being generous, considering she doubted twenty thousand people lived in Maine’s capital.

“This is where you grew up?” She spoke over the soft rock playing a little too loudly.

Callan had been silent for most of the drive from the hospital. He’d wanted Peri to ride with them, but she’d opted to go with Hannah instead. He’d tried to hide his disappointment, but Alyssa hadn’t missed it.

Now, he shot her a look that made her wonder if he’d forgotten she was there. “All my life.”

“Seems like a nice place.”

He turned down the stereo. “The house has been in my family for generations. It used to sit on a huge lot that ringed one side of a lake, but the land’s been chopped up and sold off over the years.” He tapped on the steering wheel. No streetlights here, just thick forest lining the two-lane road on both sides. “We almost lost it once.”

“How?”

“Mom stayed home to raise us. She didn’t work full-time outside the home until Hannah graduated from high school. Dad was in construction and decided to start his own business as a general contractor, but to do that, he had to leave his good-paying job. It should’ve been fine, but the local economy hit a snag. Dad had mortgaged the house to buy tools and equipment. He couldn’t make the payments.”

Alyssa couldn’t imagine. Her parents had always had everything they needed and more. Even after she’d moved out, she’d known there was a financial safety net. Though she never wanted to ask her parents for money, she knew she could. And she knew they’d say yes. “How old were you?”

“I was nine. Hannah was seven. Mom and Dad didn’t tell us, but I knew something was going on. One afternoon, I came home from playing with my friends and overheard my parents talking in the kitchen. Mom was crying and Dad was apologizing. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“So you listened?” She imagined little-boy Callan, lurking at the door. “You were spying long before the CIA.”

He grinned, but the expression didn’t hold. “They were talking about moving out. Moving away from the only home I’d ever known. Dad was saying how it was all his fault, and Mom was trying to encourage him. I didn’t understand the details at the time. I just remember feeling desperate to fix it, and utterly powerless to do anything.”

“I’m sorry you even knew what was going on. You were far too young to take on that kind of responsibility.”

“That’s what my parents said when I asked how I could help. That it wasn’t my problem. That they’d take care of it, but they weren’t going to. Their way of taking care of it was to put the house on the market.”

“Well, yeah, but?—”

“There was another option. They needed to ask my grandparents for a loan. I guess… Looking back on it, I realize they had their reasons. Dad’s parents had money, but his father could be controlling and manipulative. I didn’t understand that at the time. I just thought they were both being stupid and stubborn. I was young enough that I thought he should just ask his mom and dad. That’s what I’d do in a pickle, after all. It seemed simple enough to me.”

“You had parents you could trust,” Alyssa said. “Parents who would help you without strings attached. So how could you have imagined another kind?”

He shrugged.

“And you didn’t want to lose your home.”

“Exactly.” He slowed and turned onto a road so narrow that she’d have passed it without ever knowing it was there. “I decided to help Mom and Dad out. I called my grandparents myself and told them.”

“Wow. That was?—”

“Controlling and manipulative?” he suggested. “Not that they ever said so, but that’s what they thought. Dad was furious that I’d shared their personal struggles outside the family. My defense was that they are family, but I knew what he meant. I knew he’d be angry, and I did it anyway.”

“He forgave you.” Alyssa had met Callan’s father at the hospital. Despite the sick pallor, she’d seen Callan in Hank’s features. His grip had been strong, his eyes bright and intelligent, his smile welcoming. Even though he hadn’t felt well, he’d been warm, kind, and gentle, as different from her own father as light from shadow.

“Yeah.”

When Callan didn’t expound, she said, “I guess he figured out a way to save the house.”

“My grandparents paid off the mortgage.”

“Oh. So it worked?”

He nodded, but in the dim console lights, she saw how tightly his lips were pressed together.

“What?”

“I found out later, much later, that the deal was that they’d pay off the house if Dad made his father a partner in his business. Dad agreed because… Well, for our sake, so we wouldn’t have to move.”

“But it wasn’t what he wanted.”

“No.”

“Do you think he regretted it?”

“He’d never say so. He would never want to heap that guilt on me. I tried to talk to him about it once, and he just told me he did what he did, he made choices, and none of that was any of my business. My father is the kindest man you’ll ever meet, but he made no apology for his frustration with my behavior.” After a full minute of near silence, the only sound the rumble of the asphalt beneath the tires, his fists tightened on the wheel. “The thing is, and this is terrible… I know it’s terrible, but I’d do it again. The property means a lot to our family. I probably went about it the wrong way, but we didn’t lose it. Dad was mad at me, but I got what I wanted. I’ve never been able to convince myself I didn’t do the right thing.”

She thought back to Callan’s crazy behavior the night she’d met Charles-slash-Ghazi. The way he’d kissed her, pretended they were engaged.

He’d learned it was okay to manipulate situations in order to get the right outcome—according to him.

“I know it was hard for Dad,” Callan continued. “He had to swallow his pride. But he did it, and ultimately, he built a successful business. Which was good. All of that was good.”

That was one way to look at it.

“Maybe it would’ve been okay if you’d moved, though. Maybe your father’s plan was also good.”

“Maybe.” His word held no conviction.

A few lights twinkled from deep in the woods, though the houses were too distant to make out their sizes or shapes through the thick forest. He rounded a bend, then slowed and turned into a narrow driveway. About fifty yards in, the woods cleared enough for her to see an old Victorian-style farmhouse complete with a circular turret at one corner and a porch that wrapped around two sides. Lit with pretty landscape lighting, it was two stories with a steeply pitched roof. An old oak tree stood at the far side of the house, a swing hanging from the lowest branch.

Beyond the house, the dark expanse must be the lake Callan had mentioned. “It’s beautiful.”

He parked. “I’ve always thought so.”

She’d offered to stay at the hotel in Augusta, but Callan had insisted she cancel both rooms she’d reserved there, that there was plenty of space at the house, apparently unafraid Ghazi would track them.

This place was so far from everything, so remote and charming, so far removed from the terrorist that it might as well have been on another planet.

They were very alone here. The lack of lights coming from within the house and the absence of cars in the driveway meant Hannah and Peri hadn’t arrived yet.

Callan unlocked the front door with a key from his keychain, then pushed it open, flicked a switch inside, and stepped back to allow her to enter first.

She did, pausing at the threshold. The space had the scent of a house that’d seen a lot of life, a combination of vanilla and musk and old books that had her inhaling a deep breath.

Callan dropped their small bags on the stairs, and she did the same with her laptop bag. She kept her jacket on.

“It’s chilly in here.” He adjusted the thermostat, and the furnace kicked on. Then he moved from room to room, turning on lamps as he went. The shadowy spaces took form. A tidy foyer with a coatrack beside a narrow table that held a basket for keys and change and whatnot. Straight ahead, a narrow staircase rose a half flight before a landing, where the stairs rose in the opposite direction to the second floor.

The hardwood floors carried throughout the downstairs, the stain fading with age. The woodwork had been painted white, the walls of the foyer and attached rooms pale beige. The living room off one side had comfortable sofas oriented around a TV. Opposite that, the dining room—the turret room—had a round table with eight chairs that seemed designed for the space.

Had Callan’s father made it?

“Come on back.” Callan led the way to a kitchen with solid stone countertops, shiny pine cabinets, and an island in the center.

“Did your father do the updating?”

Callan opened one of the cabinets and took out two glasses. “He’s always doing something.” He filled them with ice water and handed her one.

“Thanks.” She took a sip, enjoying the freshness. She was accustomed to city water, but there was nothing as delicious as cold Maine well water. She gazed through a window on a door that led to the back. The moon, peeking out between the clouds, sparkled off the still lake. “Did you guys do a lot of boating growing up?”

“We had a rowboat for a while. Hannah and I used to take it to a little cove and go fishing.”

Her dad had never wanted to deal with maintenance of a boat, so whenever they went to the lake, he’d rent one, and sometimes a crew to drive it.

Callan gulped his entire drink, then set the empty glass on the counter. “Hannah and Peri should be here any minute.”

“Does Hannah live here?”

“She lives in Augusta. She’s going to grab some things for Mom and take them back to the hospital on her way home.”

“Nice of her to drive all the way out here.”

The door in the other room opened, and Callan headed down the hallway. “You made it.” His voice sounded unnaturally enthusiastic.

Alyssa followed, grinning at Peri as the child stepped inside, a purple backpack in her hand. She seemed happy enough until she saw her father.

“Sweetheart.” Hannah crouched at her side. “I’m going to talk to your dad for a minute and then go home. Why don’t you give Miss Alyssa a tour.”

“I’d love that,” Alyssa said. “Would you show me your room?”

“Okay.” She gave her aunt a hug, then took Alyssa’s hand and climbed the stairs.

The house wasn’t as big as it’d seemed from the outside. Upstairs, Peri stepped into her grandparents’ room, which would have seemed larger if not for the king-sized bed that took up most of the space. The child was comfortable, insisting Alyssa come in—she felt like an intruder—to show her old family photos on the older couple’s dresser.

Leaving her grandparents' space, Peri next pointed out a small room with a large table covered in fabric scraps and a sewing machine. A twin-sized bed covered in more random scraps of fabric took up one wall. “Gigi makes quilts in here. She’s making me one. Wanna see?”

“Sure.”

Peri showed her the fabric squares the older woman would sew together. All bright pinks and yellows and blues, polka dots and stripes and graphic flowers. It was perfect for a little girl.

Peri tugged Alyssa to the next bedroom, but she didn’t go inside this one, instead hovering at the door. “This is where Daddy stays when he comes,” she explained.

The walls were blue, and a shelf unit on one wall held books and trophies probably from his high school years. It had a full-size bed that couldn’t possibly be long enough for his tall frame.

After Peri pointed out the only second-floor bathroom—it had been updated and, she assumed based on the size of it, expanded from the original—they continued to the final bedroom on the floor. Peri pushed into this one and flicked on the light.

“This used to be Aunt Hannah’s room, but now it’s mine.”

Alyssa stopped at the threshold, unsure if she was invited in. She didn’t have to ask to know that this room had been updated since Hannah was a girl. Three of the walls had been painted bright yellow, and the fourth was covered in a yellow-and-white floral wallpaper. The pale wood twin bed had a canopy strung with fairy lights over a white blanket and bright pink pillows. More pink was scattered throughout the space—in the lampshade, in artwork, and in a giant P over the headboard.

The bed had been hastily made, the comforter hanging unevenly on one side. A pair of jeans was draped over a small upholstered chair in a corner of the room. Peri dropped her backpack on a white dresser beside a framed photograph.

Alyssa gazed at the photograph, blinked. Confused at what she was seeing.

She bent closer to the picture.

Peri had been maybe four or five when it was taken. She wore a white satin dress, and her hair had been fixed in a beautiful updo that looked far too fancy for a little girl. The basket she held in one hand was filled with rose petals. A flower girl.

But it was the woman in the photo who caught Alyssa’s attention. She was seated and leaning toward Peri, smiling for the photographer. Her hair was long and medium-brown with blond streaks. She had the same big, brown eyes, though they weren’t nearly as innocent as her daughter’s.

“That’s my mommy,” Peri said.

Alyssa hoped her press-on smile was believable even as she tried to come to terms with what she was seeing, what the child was saying.

Peri's mother was Megan, who'd been Alyssa's college roommate, first in a dorm, then in an apartment their senior year. She'd been Alyssa's best friend. Or so Alyssa had thought.

Swallowing all the questions that arose, Alyssa said, “She’s beautiful.”

Was beautiful.

Megan had been killed in a car accident the previous autumn—after avoiding Alyssa’s calls for years.

Nine years, as a matter of fact. Ever since they'd graduated.

Feeling suddenly too warm, Alyssa took off her jacket and draped it over her arm.

Peri sat on the bed and pulled a folder from her backpack. She opened it, tucking her long hair behind her ear, and Alyssa remembered Megan doing the same thing a thousand times.

In college, Megan had been convinced that Alyssa had a thing for Callan. No matter how many times Alyssa tried to deny it, Megan had seen right through her.

And then…somehow, Megan had Callan’s kid.

How long had it gone on? How had it happened?

Why hadn’t Megan told her?

Peri held out a piece of paper, and Alyssa took it, settling beside her, all but shaking herself to return to the moment and focus. It was a crayon drawing of a unicorn. “Wow. Did you do this yourself?”

“Uh-huh. In art class.”

Alyssa traced the white body, the rainbow horn on its horse-head. “It’s really good.”

“Thanks.” She pulled more artwork from the folder and showed Alyssa each one, chattering about what they were and how much she was learning and how she wanted to be an artist someday.

Artistic, like her mother, though Megan’s talents had been literary. She’d taken every literature class offered at BC, along with every mythology and folklore class.

Like mother, like daughter. “You should show these to your daddy.”

“Maybe.” Peri returned her drawings to her folder.

Obviously, Alyssa had said the wrong thing. “They’re very good. You’ve got a lot of talent.”

That brightened her expression, but a yawn interrupted her smile. It was after nine, probably past her bedtime.

Peri slid off the bed. “I’m gonna ask Aunt Hannah for a snack.”

“Is it okay if I use the bathroom?”

“Uh-huh.” Peri led her to one down the hall and turned on the light. “See you downstairs.”

“I’ll find you. Thanks.”

Alyssa used the restroom and washed her hands. Three towels hung from hooks near the porcelain tub. Two were pale blue and matched the decor. The other was smaller, pink-and-white striped.

How long had Peri lived here? Long enough to have her own bedroom. Long enough to fit right in as if this were home.

Megan’s daughter. Megan and Callan’s daughter.

She squelched a hot wave of jealousy. Stupid, considering her old friend was gone. Considering she’d spent four years pretending her Callan-crush didn’t exist.

Had they been married? No, surely not. Callan had been in the service. But people in the service got married.

She obviously couldn’t guess at what had happened. Maybe if she asked him, he’d tell her.

She made her way down, draped the jacket she’d bought that morning over a dining room chair, and was nearing the back of the house when Hannah’s voice—low but angry—reached her.

“I’m not doing it.”

“I need your help,” Callan said. “I can’t?—”

“You should’ve thought of that before you got involved in…in whatever this is.”

Where was Peri? Surely they weren’t arguing in front of the child.

“She was in trouble. I had to help.”

“Right. It has nothing to do with the fact that she’s gorgeous.”

Alyssa cringed. Where was Peri?

“I’m doing my best.” Callan’s words came out hard. “I need you to take her. I can’t have Peri anywhere?—”

“Not my problem.”

“Hannah, come on.”

“I had to get someone to cover my classes today so I could take care of your daughter. Listen, I love her. I adore her. I’d love nothing more than to take care of her twenty-four seven. But I have a job. Now, with everything going on with Dad, he’s going to need help. Mom’s going to need help. I can’t risk my career because you refuse to risk yours.”

Obviously, Peri wasn’t with them. But where was she?

Hannah said something too low for Alyssa to hear as she tiptoed back toward the front door and peeked into the living room. Peri wasn’t there.

“I know, I know.” Callan sounded wrung out. “You’re right. I know, it’s just…I’m worried, that’s all.”

“If it’s that dangerous, then you shouldn’t be involved. You promised us, Callan.”

“It’s not. It’s…”

Alyssa thought about their terrifying escape the night before and all the things that could have happened. It was dangerous, this thing they were involved in. And Callan shouldn’t have anything to do with it. He’d stepped in to help her, and now look what had happened.

She peeked into the dining room and found Peri sitting against the wall between that room and the kitchen, her knees pulled up to her chest, her forehead pressed against them.

“You need to step up,” Hannah said. “She’s your daughter.”

Alyssa wrapped her arm around the child's shoulders and urged her toward the stairs. “Come on, sweetie.”

They made it back to Peri’s bedroom, where Alyssa settled on the edge and lifted Peri onto her lap.

She could feel little sobs against her chest.

“It’s okay, baby. They’ll figure it out.”

“He doesn’t want me.” Her words were almost too faint to hear.

“He does want you. Of course he does.” She backed up to see her face. “Who wouldn’t? You’re amazing.”

She shook her head, her long hair falling across her cheek.

Alyssa brushed it back. “Your daddy wants to be with you more than anything.” Alyssa hoped it was true. Prayed it was true. “He’s just got a really hard job, and he’s having trouble getting out of it. He’s a hero. Did you know that?”

Peri swiped her fingers beneath her eyes. “Like Spider-Man?”

Alyssa smiled. “He’s better than Spider-Man because he doesn’t have to wear that silly outfit. Can you imagine your daddy in bright red tights?”

That elicited a smile.

“Your daddy saved me from a bad guy, and he’s trying to keep me safe. He wants to be with you, though. More than anything.”

The girl’s smile faded. “Mommy said Daddy doesn’t love me and doesn’t want me.”

Megan had said that? To a child?

Why?

Was it true? Or had she said it out of anger or jealousy? Alyssa had loved Megan, but not so much that she hadn’t seen her friend’s vindictive streak.

True or not, she shouldn’t have said that to little Peri. Anger burned in Alyssa’s chest. How could any loving mother tell her little girl something like that?

How could Callan be such an inept father that he’d allow Peri to believe it?

“Your father loves you so much, and he wants to be with you.” She hoped, anyway.

Thank God Hank and Fiona had taken Peri in. Thank God for Hannah, who was obviously doing everything she could for the child.

But Hannah was right. It was time for Callan to step up.