She glanced at her high-heeled feet before bringing her gaze back to Jack. “I should have introduced myself and explained that I used to live here.”
“Your family’s long gone, Allie, and so are your friends” Jack’s tone sounded terse. “You’ve got no business back in Oakland Park, and you know it.”
The remark stung. So much so, it brought tears to her eyes. But, blinking back her emotion, she knew Jack spoke the truth.
“You’re right. I guess I shouldn’t have allowed myself the luxury of reminiscing.”
“Sign of old age.” Jack flipped his palm-size notebook open.
Allie watched him closely and took a few steps forward . “I’m not afraid of growing old. Are you?”
He didn’t reply, but kept writing in that little book of his.
“I hope to be a grandmother soon.”
Finally pocketing the spiral-bound pad, he looked at her. “Bully for you. Now, you’d best be on your way.”
“Sure.” With a parting glance at her former home, Allie headed toward the rented auto. Reaching the door, she turned back and, finding Jack’s eyes on her, she decided to ask one more question. She walked back and stood a couple of feet away. “Jack, do have any idea what happened to my stepfather and stepsisters? Any idea where I might find them?”
She watched while he seemed to wrestle with something threatening to explode within him. She knew that look and almost took a step backward. Allie willed her feet not to move. She refused to be intimidated.
At last Jack swallowed hard. “Your stepdad’s most likely dead. I heard he had cancer. That was about fifteen years ago. Brenda married someone she met in college, and Colleen married Royce Strobel. Remember him? Royce? He lived right up the block.”
“Royce…” Allie searched her memory. “Oh, of course! The Strobels lived right over there.” She pointed at a white, wood-framed home.
“Still live there. Mr. and Mrs. Strobel are in their eighties now.”
Allie smiled. “So Colleen married the boy next door. Well, almost next door. Three doors away.” Suddenly she took note of Jack’s scowl and her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re what’s wrong. Did it ever occur to you that you’re about twenty-five years too late in coming back here? It’s long past the time for happy reunions, Allie. Everyone’s got their own life, and you’re not part of them. But that was your decision. Remember?”
“Yes. I remember.” Allie’s heart twisted painfully. “And perhaps I am too late on some accounts. Maybe even on most accounts.” She squared her shoulders. “But I refuse to believe that at least a few of the bridges I burned can’t be rebuilt.”
“Oh, I get it,” he muttered. “You’re trying to appease a guilty conscience. Well, did you ever consider the cost of that, Allie, or are you still thinking of only yourself? Everyone you once knew has gotten along perfectly fine without you for decades. Your dredging up the past isn’t going to rebuild bridges. It’s going to blow up in your face―and everyone else’s too. More hurt.” He narrowed his gaze.“Is that what you want? You want to cause more hurt?”
“Of course not.” Folding her arms, she allowed her gaze to wander down the block. She sensed Jack spoke for himself more than he protected her former friends and family members. “I never hurt my stepfamily. I never hurt my friends. I couldn’t deal with my circumstances thirty years ago and I didn’t even know how to try and begin. So I ran away. It’s as simple as that.”
Letting her arms fall to her side, she met his gaze head on and unabashed. “I was very young, Jack. I’m sorry I hurt you. More sorry than you’ll ever know.” Allie wanted to add that he’d hurt her too, but decided now wasn’t the time. She’d start with an apology and go from there.
Jack stared at her hard and Allie noted the steely glint in his dark eyes. “Kind of a trite little speech there, Mrs. Littenberg.”
She brought her chin back at the sharp reply, shocked and disappointed in that Jack refused to forgive her.
“Hey, Sarg, everything’s cool with Mrs. Patterson.” Jack’s partner came to stand at his side. He was a young man who looked as eager to please as a puppy.
“Great, then let’s get something to eat. I’m starved.” Jack gave Allie a rigid glare. “Go back to California or wherever you came from. There’s nothing for you here. In fact,” he added, opening the door to the squad car, “there probably never was.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
Jack paused in mid-stride.
“Then, again, Officer Callahan, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d be wrong.”
Jack gave her a sharp look before getting into the car. Moments later, Allie watched the vehicle pull away from the curb and roll down the peaceful, suburban street. In spite of her backtalk just now, she felt discouraged. More than discouraged―downright heartsick. What if Jack was correct? Had she made a mistake in returning to Illinois? Would she cause more hurt than good?
The late summer breeze suddenly held a chill, and Allie shivered. Pivoting, she walked back to her car, but as she opened the door and prepared to slide in behind the wheel, she heard a light, but decidedly female voice hailing her from off in a distance. Off to her right, an elderly woman waved at her.
Allie smiled. “Mrs. Strobel,” she said under her breath, although she wouldn’t have recognized the woman under any other circumstances. But since she’d obviously emerged from the home in which the Strobels had lived ever since Allie could remember, it had to be her.
Closing the car door, she headed toward the old woman.
“I’d know you anywhere, Allison Drake,” she stated when Allie reached her. “And then when I saw you talking to our very own Officer Callahan…why it took me back a whole generation!”
Allie laughed in spite of herself. “I’m sure it did.”
The old lady held out blue-lined, arthritic hands, and Allie took them in hers.
“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Strobel.”
“It’s good to see you, too, dear.” A little sigh escaped her. “My, but it’s been so very long, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Will you come in for a while and tell us what you’ve been doing with yourself? Where do you live now?”
“California. And, sure, I’ll come in and visit awhile.”
Together, they strolled up to the front door.
“I understand Colleen married Royce,” Allie said.
“Oh, yes, and they’re very happy. They’ve had their share of ups and downs, of course. Haven’t we all? But, truly, they’re doing fine. Three children, two girls and a boy…all in college now.”
“Is that right?” Allie paused the woman just inside the door. “Say, Mrs. Strobel, do you think Colleen would…well, do you think she’d want to see me again? I’d like to see her, but I don’t want to…to dredge up any bad memories.” She borrowed Jack’s verbiage.
“I’d love to see you, Allie.”
Turning sharply, Allie suddenly came face to face with her stepsister.
Chapter Six
Colleen Strobel gave Allie such an exuberant hug that it brought tears to her eyes. She knew she didn’t deserve the welcome, but she was thankful for the bit of encouragement. Perhaps she hadn’t made a mistake coming back here after all.
“Colleen…” Allie pulled back and searched her stepsister’s face. “How good to see you again? I mean it.”
“It’s good to see you too, Allie.”
The merriment in Allie’s soul couldn’t be matched. “I’m so relieved that you don’t hate me.”
“I don’t, although I’ve often wondered about you.”
Mrs. Strobel interrupted their reunion. “Let’s all sit down, shall we?” She led Allie and Colleen away from the front hall. “Philip’s asleep on the sofa and I don’t want to wake him,” she said, referring to her husband. “A cup of tea sounds good, doesn’t it? I’ll set the kettle to boiling and you two can keep talking.”
Entering the kitchen, wallpape
red in gray plaid accented with bright red cherries, Allie seated herself at the table, across from Colleen. She noticed the kitchen set was fashioned after the old 1950s dinettes, right down to the chrome and red vinyl chairs.
“This is a charming room,” Allie remarked, glancing around the spacious room. “So quaint.”
“We redid it last year,” Colleen said.
“But it probably doesn’t look like it because Colleen likes old fashioned stuff, and she’s rubbing off on me. For instance, I never would have thought I’d buy one of these kitchen sets.” Mrs. Strobel laughed. “My mother had a table and chairs much like these in her kitchen.” She shook her gray head. “And now they’re back in style. Who would have ever thought?”
Allie smiled and glanced at her stepsister. Time had filled out the once skinny teenager who liked cheerleading and gymnastics. “Catch me up, Colleen. Tell me about yourself and your family.”
“Well, let’s see…” Colleen tucked a few strands of her foggy-brown hair behind one ear. “Where should I start?”
“What happened after I left?”
“Nothing right away, I guess. Brenda and I finished high school and went to college. Dad remarried.”
“Is he still alive?”
Colleen shook her head. “He died of cancer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. My kids were still in grade school. But I’m glad they got to know their grandfather for a little while.”
Allie stared at the table’s shiny rim, saddened by the fact that she’d never be able to make amends with her stepfather. That opportunity had escaped her.
“After college, I got married first. Then Brenda. We both sent you invitations.”
“You did?” Allie shook her head. “I never received them.”
“I called your dad in California and got your married name and address. When we didn’t hear from you on both occasions, Brenda and I just figured you weren’t interested in coming.”
“Oh, Colleen, I don’t know if I would have come or not, but I honestly didn’t receive the invitations. I suspect my husband intercepted them and didn’t pass them on to me. That was rather typical of him.”
“Are you still married Allie?”
No. Widowed.”
Mrs. Strobel’s gasp wafted across the kitchen.. “At such a young age? How sad.”
Allie shrugged and picked at an imaginary piece of lint on her black linen skirt. She didn’t want to sound heartless and say that Erich’s death had set her free, except it was the truth.
“Hey, Jack’s available.” Colleen laughed and Allie looked up in time to see a spark of mischief in her stepsister’s hazel eyes.
“Jack can’t stand me. He told me to go back where I came from.”
“He said that? Oh, man!” Colleen wagged her head from side to side. “Jack can be too blunt at times, although I like him. He and Royce play on the same baseball team.” A cloudy expression settled in Colleen’s eyes. “At the same time, Jack’s got issues. You probably don’t want to get involved with him anyhow, Allie.”
“He’s a different man today, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“I’m determined not to feel guilty, but sometimes I think it’s my fault.”
“Allie, you have no control over the actions of others. I mean, maybe you did hurt Jack. Everyone knows he was crazy about you. But I think a lot of Jack’s problem happened when he got married. I heard his wife ran off with another guy while he was working and she left their baby at home alone. That would devastate anybody―and it had lasting effects. What’s more, Jack got stuck with a kid to raise on his own.”
Allie didn’t add aloud that Steve and Nora had stepped in an shared the burden of Logan’s upbringing.
She shifted in her padded, chrome chair. “How did he ever get involved with a woman like his ex in the first place? Do you know?”
“Same way he got involved with you,” Colleen quipped. “He felt sorry for her and wanted to save her soul.”
A dark shadow of disappointment fell over her. Thirty years ago, Jack had loved people. To him, they were precious souls. He volunteered regularly at a rescue mission for alcoholics and drug addicts in downtown Chicago. He led scores of men to Christ. He reached out to her, Blythe, and Wendy, and, obviously, to his ex-wife. Allie had no trouble envisioning the scenario.
“And you should see Jack’s son,” Colleen said as Mrs. Strobel set a steaming, porcelain teapot on the table. “He’s a chip off the old block.”
Allie smiled. “Yes, I know. I’ve met Logan. Steve and Nora invited me over for a barbecue the first night I arrived in town. I attended church with them on Sunday and I got to meet Logan’s girlfriend.”
Colleen tipped her head. “She’s a teacher, right?”
“Right.”
“It never fails,” Mrs. Strobel said, settling into a chair, “whenever I see Jack’s boy, I always call him by his father’s name. Can’t seem to help it.”
“Logan’s a fine young man.” Allie meant every word.
“A minister, isn’t he?” Colleen asked.
Allie inclined her head. “A youth pastor.”
“I hope he’s got more sense around women than his dad.”
“Listen, sis, I take umbrage with that.” Allie raised her chin, half-joking.
“I wasn’t referring to you, silly. I meant Roxi. His ex-wife.”
“Roxi?”Allie ran the name through her memory and came up blank. “Did we know her? Did she go to the same high school?”
“I didn’t know her. I don’t think she was from around here. Someone told me she was a floozy and that Jack met her when the cops raided a tavern that used to be on the edge of town.”
“Lovely.” Allie sent a glance upward before gratefully accepting the cup of tea Mrs. Strobel had poured.
“Now, girls,’ the older woman said as if Allie and Colleen were teenagers instead of pushing fifty, “he must have seen some redeeming quality in his ex-wife. Jack was an upstanding man…still is, in my book. Who doesn’t make mistakes?”
Colleen simply shrugged and held her teacup to her lips with both hands.
However, Allie felt properly chastened. “You’re right, Mrs. Strobel.” You’re absolutely right. Who doesn’t make mistakes?”
* * *
The pain had once more become unbearable.
“Help me! Help me!” Cynthia Matlock hoped someone would hear her. It seemed as though she’d been calling out for hours. But no one came. “Help! Help me!”
At last the door of her room opened and a male attendant walked in. He stood at least six feet in height with broad shoulders and a straight back. His eyes were a lively bluish-green and Cynthia guessed his hair would be a nice shade of light brown if he hadn’t shaved his head completely bald. “What are you hollering about?”
Wasn’t there a compassionate heart anywhere in this place? Well, that would be her daughters’ doing. They had made sure she wound up in the worst place possible, and Cynthia figured they would be pleased to know her dying days were filled with pain and suffering.
“What do you want?”
“Some pain medication,” Cynthia rasped. “And water. I need water.”
“No water. You’ve been told that before.”
The man turned to go.
“Wait! Help me! Help me!”
Ignoring her pleas, he left.
At that moment, Cynthia hated the whole world and everyone in it. She couldn’t wait to die. She stared at the clock on the wall in front of her and watched the big hand tick off the minutes.
The attendant returned and, to her surprise and relief, he held a syringe in one of his gloved hands. Good. He’d brought the pain medication. However, he inserted the needle into her flesh with such force that Cynthia screamed, feeling the tube in back of her throat reverberate.
“Shut up, old lady.”
With that, the nurse departed, leaving Cynthia in tears and her arm aching from th
e assault She’d heard somewhere that before people die, their lives flash before their eyes. Cynthia’s life wasn’t exactly “flashing,” but segments played over in her head like reruns on TV―reruns she was unable to turn off with a switch.
In her mind’s eye, she envisioned the small town in Iowa in which she’d grown up. Dad’s corn fields spread out before her. Tall, green stalks reached skyward. She could almost smell the rich soil from which they’d sprung. Her parents were farmers and had great aspirations for her, their eldest daughter. According to their plans, Cynthia would be the first in their family to attend college. But she had her own ideas. She wanted excitement. Adventure. College could wait.
Then one night, she ran off with Tom Addison, the local “troublemaker,” according to the church-going folks in town. Back in 1965Tom was dodging the draft, saying there was no way he’d go to Nam. To Cynthia’s fifteen-year-old way of thinking, defying the United States Government sounded like a grand escapade, so she decided to dodge the draft with him.
But they’d gotten caught at the Canadian border, and Cynthia was sent back home. Alas, the ordeal caused quite a stir in town and brought shame to her parents―a fact they never let her forget for years to come.
Finally, at age nineteen, Cynthia left home for good. Not for college, but for the bright lights and excitement of Chicago. She changed her name and found work in a tavern, serving food and drinks. Sometimes she even sang with the jukebox and entertained the patrons. That’s what she’d wanted―a stage career. However, it never came to pass the way she’d envisioned.
Eventually she found her way into an escort service where Cynthia made more money than she knew what to do with. Young, pretty, and sought after, she quickly learned how to please a man. As a result, she kept her customers coming back for more.
Ah, yes, those were the days.
A warm, dreamy feeling flowed through her body. The narcotic was working its magic on her body as she remembered even more.
Money, yes the stuff that made the world go ‘round At the point in her life that she had money, she also had power. She could have any man she wanted.
Now all she had was pain.
Broken Things (Faded Photograph Series) Page 6