TEN

  

The luncheon was a merry affair, or it would have been, had Allison been in the mood. Delvar presided over his Designs for the Future board of directors like a nervous bride meeting her future in-laws for the first time. He bounced from person to person, fussing over tiny details. Allison finally pulled him aside.

“Are you okay?”

He smiled. “Sweetheart, do I look okay?”

They were in a small alcove next to the restrooms. Delvar, as always, was dressed in dark colors: a European-cut suit and Giza cotton button down shirt, all in shades of gray.

“Why the nerves? You should be used to the spotlight by now.”

Delvar looked down at his nails. The jagged edges contrasted to the neatly trimmed cuticles. “This is important,” he said finally.

“And your work isn’t?”

Delvar motioned toward the private room where twelve people and two reporters were gathered to discuss the new nonprofit. “When I’m designing, it’s all on me. If I fail, I fail on my own terms. I know I can design circles around any one of those people in there. But this—” he shrugged “—this is bigger than me, Allison. Kids on the street who might not get a chance otherwise? I’m their hope. We’re their hope.”

Allison touched his arm. “And you’re making their dreams a possibility.”

Delvar shook his head. “You don’t get it. When you gave me a chance, you were established. People listened to you. Me? I’m still a punk kid from a little city in Pennsylvania. Who the hell is going to listen to me? These folks? We have people from all sorts of companies in there. People who are educated, who’ve been around. I can’t make Designs for the Future happen on my own.”

Allison smiled. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Delvar echoed. His stormy eyes held her own. “Maybe. But I need people to contribute real money. That’s a risk for them. What if they see through me?”

Allison laughed. She hugged him to her. He was a boy, under all that designer bravado. Still a young kid on the streets making doll clothes with his mother’s scraps. She pushed him back and, still holding on to his shoulders, looked into his eyes, round with surprise.

“Then let them see through you, Delvar. They will see exactly what I see, what I’ve always seen: a gifted, intelligent, kind and beautiful man.” She smiled. “Now let’s go start a nonprofit company and raise some funds.”

Delvar finally smiled. “One condition. You sit with Beth Duvall. Her husband was one of those holier-than-thou types. Preached from the pulpit of his corner office, if you know what I mean. I’m not sure I’m ready for her.”

“Deal.” Allison led him back toward the dining area. She hadn’t gone through the biographies of her fellow board members, but she would—eventually. “But only if you sneak me an extra brownie. It’s really been a need-chocolate kind of day.”

  

Allison’s last stop was her parents’ home. She pulled alongside the small one-story and walked to the front door with a heavy heart. She knew what she would find: her mother asleep in a chair, her gaunt form thinner than the last visit; her father watching some sports program with the television turned up way too loud; and Faye, sanctimonious Faye, busy being busy. They would all look to Allison to fix something: a broken sink, a clogged toilet, Faye’s ongoing dispute with their mother’s insurance company. Allison would do her best to make things right. That was her role. Despite being turned away by her father more than a decade ago, now that they needed her, she could hardly do the same.

But it didn’t make coming home any easier.

Allison knocked once, twice. She knocked a third time more loudly. The bell was broken, had been for years, and probably no one could hear her over the television. When still no one answered, she began to worry. She fumbled with her purse and pulled out the key. She wiggled the lock to get the key in and finally pushed open the door. No one was in the living room. She heard sounds from below, in the small room that had once been their playroom. It’d been empty for years.

It took her a moment to realize what she’d been hearing. Laughter. Giggling.

“Faye?” Allison ran down the steps into the musty room. Only it wasn’t musty. The carpet had been washed, the walls scrubbed, and the furniture, an old couch and a velour-covered blue recliner, vacuumed. The room smelled of Pine Sol and citrus. And there, in the twenty-by-fifteen space, was her family. Her mom sat on the recliner looking dazed but happy. Her father sat on one end of the couch, next to their nurse, Eloise. And Faye was kneeling on the floor, playing with a plastic dollhouse with Grace. When Allison walked in, the pair looked up at them.

“Aunt Allison!” Grace said. “Aunt Faye bought me this house. Do you like it?”

Allison glanced from the toy to her sister and back to Grace. She said, “I absolutely adore it.”

“Get the girl another!” her father yelled. He watched his granddaughter play with the rapt attention he usually saved for football.

“Faye,” Allison said, “can we talk?”

Faye placed a tiny plastic female doll next to the kitchen sink. A male doll was by the kitchen table, a tiny coffee cup in front of him.

Grace grabbed the male doll from the kitchen and tossed him casually to the side. “We don’t need him, do we, Aunt Faye?”

Faye looked worried. She stood up, straightening neatly pressed dark indigo jeans. “Not today, perhaps,” she said to the child. “For now, the mommy will be enough.”

  

In the kitchen, Allison mulled over what to say. Why was Grace here? And where was Amy? And, for that matter, what had happened to the $10,000?

Before Allison said a word, her sister put a hand on her shoulder, much the way Allison had done to Delvar just hours ago.

“That’s Amy’s girl.”

“I know. I met Amy, gave her money.”

Faye nodded. “She told me.”

“I don’t understand…why is Grace here? Where’s Amy?”

Faye took a long, hard look at Allison, clearly struggling with how to say something. This sort of self-censorship was new for Faye. She’d always been the first to hurl an accusation, and she loved to play the martyr role. But ever since Allison was injured a little more than a year ago, ever since the sisters’ estrangement had climaxed and they both thought they would lose each other, Faye seemed to temper her interactions.

Faye said finally, “Amy isn’t ready to be a mother.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure you do.” Faye sat down, and when she did so everything about her seemed to sag. “Your sister is a drug addict.”

“I figured as much.”

“Yet you gave her money.”

“She said she was getting help. That she needed cash to start a new life.”

“And you believed her?”

Allison crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I saw how she was with Grace. I thought…maybe. Okay, yes, I believed her.”

“Oh, Allison.” Faye looked at Allison with a twisted mix of love, affection and frustration. “Your baby sister is a hot mess. She’s been living with a trucker who beats her every chance he gets. She only stays with him because he keeps the drugs coming.”

“She told me about him—”

“She told you what she thought you’d want to hear.”

“Did she come here looking for money, too?”

Faye nodded. “I knew she’d steal what little mom and dad had, so I turned her away.” Faye blushed. It was her turn to look ashamed. “I had no idea about Grace.”

“And then she came back here after I gave her the cash?”

Faye nodded. “She didn’t want the child. At least not right now.”

“So she could get settled first?” Allison said hopefully.

Faye just stared at her, eyebrows knitted into a frown. Allison was sure she, too, remembered a younger Amy—from the tempestuous little toddler to the precocious preteen to the delinquent who spent more time in detention than in class. Amy hadn’t changed, that much was clear.

Allison sat down, hard. “She could have left Grace with me. I offered.”

Faye’s mouth turned upward in a mockery of a smile. “I’m not sure you’re ready to be a mother, either.”

When Allison started to speak, Faye raised her hand. “You can’t just throw money at things and make them right. It doesn’t work with drug-addicted sisters, and it doesn’t work with children.”

Allison swallowed. Was she right? Is that what Allison had done with Amy? “What now? How will you take care of Mom and Dad and Grace?”

“Oh, we’ll manage.” Faye smiled, and this time the expression was genuine. It wiped fifteen years off her features. “We kind of like having the little one. Mom seems more alert than I’ve seen her in years. And you can visit anytime you like.”