Gladys considered this, swiveling back and forth in her chair. She made a pyramid with her hands and rested her chin on her fingertips. “Put in applications everywhere you can, but try the new vet too. Sometimes people will surprise you.”
After another ten minutes of lecture and advice, Allie shook hands with Gladys, left the office, and slipped into her mother’s car. She slid behind the wheel, but instead of heading home, she drove south, taking Ocean Highway, crossing Fancy Bluff Creek, and turning on Jekyll Island Road, then South Beach View Drive. She needed solitude and time to think.
Allie drove the narrow streets until she reached St. Andrews Beach overlooking Jekyll Sound. It was just as she’d remembered it, with its walking trail, a nature overlook, and areas for bird watching. It was a short walk to the ocean’s edge, and Allie slipped off her shoes after crossing the deserted wooden boardwalk.
Not caring that she’d dirty her pants, or if anyone saw her, Allie sat cross-legged on the sand, gazing out at the waves. The sound and motion were magical. Her pulse slowed; Allie’s brain quieted.
Allie thought again about Gladys and her advice. She said a silent thank-you and counted this as an unexpected blessing. It was a nod toward hope, faith, and a bright future. Encouragement. Something Allie so desperately needed after so much heartbreak.
2000
Sixteen years ago, the night she’d met Caroline’s father, Allie was celebrating. Earlier that day, she’d finished the MCAT exam with dozens of other medical school prospects. The assessment was grueling. Hours later, chemical equations and compounds still swam in Allie’s head, iridescent minnows in a fish bowl, darting like the haphazard patterns she’d left on the answer sheets.
Indulgence seemed the proper reward. She was spending the night in Atlanta, and Allie allowed herself to veer off the path of reason for a few short hours. The other students—a few acquaintances from near Brunswick, the rest, new faces—swept her off to dinner, laughing, swapping stories. Afterward, they’d all headed to an upscale bar and restaurant, planning to keep celebrating late into the night.
A mile from the bar, Allie admitted that she was still twenty and underage.
“What?” One of the girls from Dahlonega smiled as if she hadn’t heard her correctly.
“How?” The guy who lived in Buckhead wrinkled his brow.
The chatter in the car silenced.
“Um, I finished high school in three years,” she protested, feeling her cheeks flush pink. It had always been a bit of consternation between her and Emma, who’d accused her of doing it to show off. Her sister didn’t understand. Allie was ready to break out of Brunswick, ready to tackle medical school and start her career. “Hey, you can just drop me back at the hotel,” she added, squirming down in her seat.
But in the end, she’d been overruled. And during the evening, after being slipped a few martinis and dancing under the lights, Allie caught the attention of a dark, handsome foreign exchange student.
A half hour later, Antonio had sidled over, introduced himself, and whispered in her ear. Minutes later, he kissed her full on the lips. When his hand slipped under her shirt, resting on the small of her back, Allie shivered with delight. Dizzy with anticipation, giddy with attraction to the dark and exciting student from Italy, she let him take her home.
He was engaged, a fact Allie discovered eight hours too late. The morning after, on the back of the bathroom door, triangles of white tied with bits of string caught her eye. A woman’s bathing suit.
Antonio had smiled and explained, his expression unwavering, matter-of-fact.
It was as if Allie had found a lost key or a missing piece of cheap jewelry. His fiancée had left for Rome only days before. He’d join her when the semester ended—for their wedding—in December in Milan.
Allie left his apartment building, half dressed, oxygen like fire in her lungs as she choked on the knowledge. She didn’t want this anyway—she convinced herself—the complications of a relationship, especially one that involved another country, another culture. Certainly not one that involved a wife.
By the time Allie realized she was pregnant, the handsome Italian exchange student had already flown back to Tuscany. She’d never contacted him. And wouldn’t.
The mistake was hers alone.
As the months passed, Allie hid her burgeoning belly in her parents’ backyard while everyone in Brunswick buzzed about the identity of the baby’s father. Her friends had rallied, planned a baby shower, and her parents had eventually accepted the idea after initial shock and disappointment.
Ben, the boy next door, came to her rescue. They’d grown up together, scraped their knees together, lost their front teeth at the same time. There were pictures of them together in her backyard, splashing in a blue plastic pool.
In the months before Caroline’s birth, and almost every day after, Ben was there. He’d bring a funny book on parenting or a small baby gift, Allie’s favorite cookies or a new magazine.
Little by little, Allie began to sense what was obvious to everyone else. The day after Caroline’s first birthday party, when her daughter was down for a nap, Ben confessed.
“Ben,” Allie said, shaking her head, thinking she heard him wrong. “You . . . what?”
“I love you. I’ve always loved you,” Ben said, his face breaking into a wide grin at her reaction. “Since you were in diapers.”
Allie blinked back tears as Ben took her in his arms and kissed her. When she caught her breath and met his steady gaze, one question burned in her mind. “But what about—”
Ben put a finger to her lips. “I love Caroline like my own daughter. Don’t you know that?”
All at once, Allie melted, sobs of joy wracking her body.
“You don’t have to worry. I’ll take care of you and Caroline,” Ben whispered, lifting her face in his hands. “I will spend every day, every waking moment, making you happy. I don’t care about the past. I love you, and that’s for always.”
2016
Allie woke with a start, clutching her pillow. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She clicked on the lamp next to her bed, willing the light to chase away the nightmare that had haunted her for the last decade.
He was there, pale and motionless. Lying on his back, arms and legs sprawled out like he’d fallen from three stories up. There was blood, a cut on his head. He blinked at Allie and opened his mouth to speak. There was a gurgle, low and wet, deep inside his chest.
Screaming, Allie sank to the floor and checked for his pulse. Tilted his head back and started compressions, rescue breaths. Too late. It was all too late.
Heart thudding inside her chest, Allie rubbed at her eyes with her fists, blinking into the darkness, trying to shake the panic. It was midnight—she had fallen asleep hours ago.
After spending the afternoon in downtown Brunswick looking for a job—and being met with a very chilly reception—Allie was so exhausted that she didn’t even bother to undress.
Kneading her temples, Allie let her eyes adjust to the darkness, taking steady breaths to slow her racing pulse. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, scrolled through her contacts, and dialed the number of the only person she trusted in the world.
“Allie?” Emma’s sleepy voice came through, punctuated with a wide yawn. “It’s midnight. What’s wrong?”
Allie hunched her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.” She started crying.
“Hey. Whoa. What happened?” Emma asked.
After choking back more tears, Allie cleared her throat. “I don’t think . . .”
Emma waited. “What, Allie?”
“I don’t know if I can do this. Be here.” The words tumbled out of Allie’s mouth faster than she could catch them.
“What happened?”
Allie swallowed and wiped at her forehead. “First parole meeting.” She inhaled deeply, put a hand on her chest.
Emma didn’t answer right away.
�
��Then I put in job applications. Like, a dozen, all over town. Some of them I did online at the library. A few I had to do in person. One restaurant, a tackle shop down by the pier,” she added. “There was one job for a cleaning technician, which is a nice way of saying janitor. That lady snatched the application out of my hand and told me they’d filled the position.”
“Listen,” Emma said. “That’s a lot of stress. Give yourself a break.”
In her brain, Allie knew her sister was right. But in her heart, she was frightened. That she couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t do this. Any of it. Allie eased her way to the floor and stretched out on a small rug. She stared into the black of the ceiling. Lying close to the ground felt better, sheltered. There was only the sound of her sister’s breath in her ear.
“And Caroline never came by the house,” Allie admitted. “Not all week. And I’m really hurt.”
This wouldn’t be news to Emma, but Allie needed to say it out loud. The words made it true. Without telling someone, without sharing her feelings, staying in her fantasy world was possible. Her daughter might have forgotten, she was late, or she had a valid excuse.
“I know,” Emma replied. There was silence, and then her sister let out a deep, long sigh.
As Allie turned her face to the window, the moon, shimmering and silver, peeked out behind a cloud. The sudden light washed over her arms and legs, found its way across the room, where a photo of Caroline sat in a white frame. Sitting up and reaching for the picture, phone still in the crook of her neck, Allie took it in both hands as if somehow she still had a thread connecting her daughter. Her breathing slowed. Deepened.
“Hey, you still there?” Emma said.
Allie readjusted the phone on her shoulder. “Yes. And I’m a little better. Thanks for listening to me go on like a crazy person.”
“Get some sleep,” Emma answered, punctuating the command with a yawn. “It’s late. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?” Allie paused, staring at the night sky beyond her daughter’s picture.
“Sure,” Emma murmured into the phone. “See you then, okay?”
ELEVEN
EMMA
2016
Almost without breathing, Emma watched Caroline sleep. The spill of her lush, dark hair over the pillow, one slender arm flung over her head. There was a steady rise and fall of her chest under a lavender camisole. The pendant she’d given her lay on Caroline’s chest, the tiny diamonds glinting in the light from the hallway.
It was early morning, before the dawn broke over the city, and Emma had been up for hours, her mind full of questions about what the future might hold with Allie back in Brunswick. She couldn’t lose Caroline. She wouldn’t let it happen.
Unable to fall back to sleep, she’d tiptoed into Caroline’s room. Slipping Caroline’s cell phone from its charger, Emma entered the password and checked Caroline’s social media accounts and e-mail. She searched for anything out of the ordinary, but after coming up with only the usual teenager banter, and a few benign messages from Maddie and Jake, Emma breathed relief and returned the phone to the exact place Caroline had left it.
Checking on her—watching over her like this—was a habit for her. Though Caroline shared much of what happened in her life, Emma needed to know everything. And anyone who hurt Caroline would have hell to pay. Especially Emma’s sister.
Deciding that an early-morning walk might help clear her mind, Emma inched from the room and closed the door. She scribbled a quick note for Caroline, set the alarm, and locked the door.
Outside, all of the windows in the row of well-kept houses were still dark. There were no children playing, no rumble of mommy SUVs, and no avid bicyclists to avoid. Misty morning rain fell from the clouds, and a slight breeze caused the nearby hibiscus and bougainvillea to bend and sway, heavy with moisture.
As the rain intensified, like the rat-tat-tat of a snare drum, Emma turned toward home, picking her way around the growing puddles. She frowned up at the slate-gray sky.
How many times had she considered leaving Brunswick, just catching a bus, taking a train, or buying a plane ticket, after hearing endless stories about her wonderful sister?
After high school, she was given the chance.
When Armstrong State in Savannah offered her an athletic scholarship, Emma snatched up the opportunity. Volleyball was the one thing she was really good at, other than earning an A in her computer science class.
At Armstrong, though, Emma partied more than she’d studied, chased boys, slept with professors, and cut classes. Despite a natural affinity for computer programming and excelling in those classes, at the end of two semesters, she was rewarded with a 2.5 GPA, numbers that, to Emma, evidenced that she would never measure up to her sister. Despite protests from her academic counselor and pleas from her coach to get a tutor, Emma spiraled into a fog of lethargy, quit college, and came home.
Back in Brunswick, her father, tight-lipped, held the door open while she dragged in her only suitcase. Her mother, ever the peacemaker, insisted Emma be given a position at the veterinary clinic. After a week of negotiations, she got her way. Emma spent her first week updating the network, installing software, and designing a simple website. Upgrading, improving, streamlining. Proving her worth, which was no small task.
She was only twenty, and to make her parents happy, she tried community college at the College of Coastal Georgia, finally cobbling together enough credits for an associate’s degree in computer science. Her sister, of course, had finished her bachelor’s degree, had a toddler, and was busy making grand plans to go to med school.
It was all so easy for Allie. Even as a single mother, Allie made it all look effortless.
Before Arrendale, it was still true.
1994
Towels tucked under their arms, Emma and Allie wandered behind their parents down the familiar squares of sidewalk. Her mother carried a luscious fruit salad in a chilled silver bowl. Her father swung a small cooler as he walked.
The neighborhood party at the Hicks’s home was well underway when the Marshalls arrived, the scent of barbeque sauce and charcoal briquettes wafting through the warm air. Her parents immediately struck up a conversation with the hosts. Allie ran over to talk to Morgan and the other teenagers, while ten-year-old Emma hung back, taking it all in. A pool sparkled at the far corner of the expansive yard. It was long and curved like a tropical oasis, with pink oleander trees edging the water.
Emma glanced around. Her parents were still talking. Morgan was giggling with Allie. Her sister was smiling and laughing. Emma wandered closer to the pool, over the manicured lawn, onto the Pennsylvania blue stone deck. She plopped down on her towel, stuck her feet in the water, and kicked, watching the droplets arc and fall.
“You’re not supposed to be by the pool, Emma,” Morgan Hicks announced.
Startled, Emma jumped and whirled.
Allie stood next to Morgan, looking uncomfortable.
It was Morgan’s house. Emma glanced over to where the adults were standing. None of them looked the least bit concerned. They had drinks in their hands and were laughing at something Morgan Hicks’s father had just said.
“Come on,” Allie pleaded, waving her hand back toward the house.
Morgan glared and took a menacing step forward.
“Why should I?” Emma argued back.
“Because my mom said.” Morgan reached down and grabbed for Emma’s hand.
The motion threw both girls off balance, sending Emma straight into the deep end.
For the longest ten seconds of her short life, Emma thrashed and pulled to get to the surface, making no headway. She paused and looked up, seeing Allie’s face distorted above the ripples of the water. Staring. Motionless. Waiting.
Fear swallowed Emma. Allie was going to let her drown. She was Morgan’s friend. She would take her side. Pretend it was an accident.
Like air bubbles to the surface, a million awful ideas
floated skyward and burst.
With a splash, her sister and Morgan jumped in. Their feet hit the bottom of the pool. Each girl took one of Emma’s elbows and pushed off from the pool floor, kicking up hard, dragging Emma to the side. Coughing and sputtering, Emma clung to the edge. Her shoes, tiny and yellow, remained at the bottom.
There was a rush of frenzied activity, shouts, and panic. Legs and arms, hands reaching. Her parents pulled her out, dried her face and hair, hugged and kissed her a hundred times. Someone brought dry clothes. A drink of water.
Emma dozed on her father’s shoulder on the way home. Sometime while she slept, the owner of the local newspaper called.
Emma found out later that a reporter came to her parents’ house and interviewed Allie. The writer called Allie and Morgan heroes; they’d saved Emma’s life. It was front-page news the next morning.
The article, Emma noted, explained nothing about what happened in the seconds before she’d plunged into the pool. That her sister had tried to coax her away, that Morgan Hicks had grabbed her hand. How Morgan had deliberately pushed Emma off balance and watched, expressionless, as she’d sunk to the bottom.
Emma was small and helpless. She was ten years old. And she could have died.
Her own parents, oblivious, rallied around popular opinion. Didn’t question. Enjoyed the snippet of publicity. Counted their blessings, and went on with life.
It was then Emma knew.
One small voice, speaking the truth, wouldn’t make a difference.
People accepted the stories they were told.
The community believed what it wanted to believe.
Allie might have forgotten the incident, but Emma never did. And she vowed that one day the tables would be turned, only she wouldn’t be the one to jump in the pool to save her sister. In fact, she might be the one to give her a little push.
TWELVE
SHERIFF GAINES
2016
Sister Dear Page 7