by Teresa Hill
"Your mom..." she began. "She really treats you well?"
"Yes."
"She doesn't drink?"
"No."
"Do drugs?"
"No, Allie."
"She doesn't... hurt you?"
"No." He did laugh then. "We're not exactly the Brady Bunch. It's just me and my mom, but that's okay. We're tight, you know?"
Allie shook her head sadly. She didn't know.
"I've always known she'd be there for me. No matter what. If I get into trouble here, I could call her today, and she'd be here tomorrow—"
"Assuming you had a chance to make that call. That she could get here fast enough to save you," Allie pointed out.
"She'd get here. She'd do whatever it took. She'd yell and stuff about me taking off, but she'd get over it. Because she loves me. We do that me-and-her-against-the-world stuff." He frowned. "That used to be a song, right?"
"I think so," Allie said.
"She used to sing that to me when I was little," he admitted, blushing a bit. "And it's pretty corny, but... that's the way it is with us. She'll never let me down, you know?"
"No," Allie said. "I don't know."
"Really? You and your mom?" He fumbled with the words. "You didn't—"
"No." Allie cut him off.
"Your dad?"
"Never saw him again after my mother and I left when I was nine."
"He just didn't want to see you?"
"That's what my mother said."
"You never asked him?"
"No," she admitted.
"So, when you were talking about giving up... You were talking about that?"
"Among other things, yes." Allie frowned. "But we weren't talking about my problems. We were talking about yours."
Casey just grinned at her. Allie wanted to hug him, but fought the urge. She didn't think teenage boys appreciated those kinds of things.
"You think you don't have a problem, do you?"
"Nope."
"Casey—"
"Allie, if you need to take care of someone else today, why don't you go buy that girl some food," he suggested. "I know you won't leave until you do."
Allie frowned. He was right. She was going to buy this girl dinner. But she wanted more than that.
"Casey, I want you to help me with the shelter. I need to talk to someone who knows kids, someone who can help me understand them, can help me plan a place where they'd feel comfortable. A shelter they'd use."
"I've never stayed in a runaway shelter, Allie. I've never needed to. I don't know what I can say to make you believe me about that, but it's the truth."
Allie didn't know what to say, either. He seemed absolutely sincere and completely immovable. She supposed it was possible this was a complete anomaly to him—to be here on his own like this. But why?
"I want to understand," she began. "Help me make sense of this—"
"Let's make a deal," he interrupted. "When you're ready to come clean with me about some stuff, I'll tell you all about me."
"Me? Come clean about what?"
"Everything."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
He shrugged again, maddeningly nonchalant. "Then, neither do I."
"Casey?"
"I've had enough of this for today, Allie. I'm done."
And then he turned and walked away. Allie called out his name, fought the urge to run after him and grab him and make him explain. What in the world did he think she was keeping from him? She didn't have anything at all to hide, and the whole damned town seemed to know all of her business. He must; he'd certainly heard enough gossip based on the questions he'd asked her.
Feeling very sad and frustrated and at a total loss to understand the boy or what she'd done wrong, Allie stood there for a long time watching people come and go in the Dairy Queen parking lot.
There were lots of kids here, a few who seemed a bit lost, a bit wary, but only one—the girl she'd spotted in the beginning—who appeared to be in a truly troubling predicament. Casey was right about one thing—there was no way Allie could leave without making sure the girl had something to eat.
She walked back to the window at the front of the restaurant and ordered yet again, walked up to the girl, who glared at Allie with each step she took, and then handed the girl the bag of food.
In the end Allie didn't try to ask her anything at all. She realized she wasn't ready. She didn't know how to deal with teenagers like Casey or this girl yet. She had a lot to learn.
Night classes, she thought. UK wasn't that far away. Neither was Eastern in Richmond. She'd take some classes at night—adolescent psychology and things like that—and worry about zoning issues and fund-raising and renovations to her house during the day.
It seemed more daunting than ever before. She was finding out how little she actually knew about all the things she would have to do to make this project work. But she was every bit as determined as before. More determined, even.
She was worried about Casey and this girl and all of the others she hadn't even found yet, and she felt a sense of urgency. The kids were out here, and she had to help them. Before anyone else died like her sister had.
* * *
Allie was curled up on her sofa that night making yet another list of things she needed to do. She supposed that was progress. Figuring out all the things she didn't know about starting and running a shelter. It gave her a starting point, at least. A course of action.
She'd called and requested course listings for the upcoming terms at the University of Kentucky and Eastern Kentucky University. She'd talked to Holly again about the academic qualifications and work experience of the people who worked at the shelter in Connecticut and the kinds of courses Holly felt had helped her most of all in dealing with the kids there.
Holly suggested Allie talk to local social workers, police officers, and even judges to find out more about how many runaways were in the area. What the social services system had to offer them. What the kids needed most. What would be most helpful to them.
Allie dutifully added that to her growing list. She'd start with Mr. Webster, she decided. He would likely have names. She'd start there.
She was prioritizing items on her list when shortly after eight, the phone rang. It was Greg.
"I think we're getting somewhere," he said. "I went back to the trooper. He told me they had a group of runaways in town that winter, living in an old barn east of town—"
"A barn?"
"Yeah." Greg sighed. "I know."
"It was February," she said. "It's cold in Georgia in February."
"They had a roof over their heads, Allie. A lot of runaways don't."
"Okay. I'm sorry, I just never imagined my sister living in a barn." God, Allie hated the thought.
"It turns out one of the boys in the group staying at the barn that winter ended up living in town for a while after the others left. A guy named Mitch Wilson. Seemed like a pretty responsible kid, from what I've heard. I was thinking he might be able to tell us what was going on with Megan back then."
"Great. Is he still there?"
"No. He's in Kentucky. Odd coincidence, isn't it? Did Megan know anyone named Mitch Wilson?"
"I don't think so. I don't remember the name."
"From what I've found out so far, he was born and raised in Michigan, but, as I said, it's odd that he'd meet Megan in Georgia as a teenage runaway and end up living so close to her hometown."
"He's in Dublin?"
"Lexington. If it's the same Mitch Wilson, he owns a restaurant and bar just off Vine Street in downtown."
"Have you talked to him?"
"Not yet. I will, if you want me to. I'll come up there and do it in person, when I'm done here."
"No, I'll do it," she said. She wanted to look the man in the face when she asked him about Megan.
"Okay." He gave her the address and phone number. "I'll stay here. I want to talk to my doctor friend. Allie, if it's all right with you,
I'd like to tell the doctor I'm working on behalf of Megan's sister. Maybe he'll open up to me, if he knows you're the one looking for information."
"All right. Do it," Allie said.
"I'll call you, as soon as I know anything else."
She thanked him and hung up the phone, thinking of a man named Mitch Wilson and what he might be able to tell her about her sister's last days. She thought about the fact that she'd always had a roof over her head and enough to eat, while her sister, at one time, had lived in a barn in February, and there were certainly runaways living in worse conditions.
Not here, Allie decided. It wouldn't happen in this town. Not anymore.
Chapter 9
Stephen called her at the crack of dawn the next morning. Five minutes after she turned on the light in the family room, to be exact. She asked if he was spying on her, and he claimed it took no effort at all. All he had to do was look out his bedroom window. Allie fought off a hint of unease. If he wanted to spy on her, he was in a perfect position to do so. She was getting more paranoid with each passing day.
He claimed he wanted her to spend the morning with him, that he had something else he wanted to show her, something he hinted was connected to the shelter.
Allie sighed. She'd lasted an entire day and a half in her resolve to keep some distance between them, and she'd missed him terribly. Which should have told her how much trouble she was in where he was concerned.
But if he wanted to, he could help her so much with the shelter. She believed she could win him over to her side. Maybe she'd already done so. After all, he had something to show her. For the sake of the shelter, she absolved herself of her vow to stay away from him and agreed to go with him, felt not quite so guilty when she realized they were heading for Lexington once again. Mitch Wilson's restaurant was in downtown Lexington. Maybe Stephen would help her find it. Maybe he'd go with her to talk to the man.
Allie was surprised when Stephen drove her to an old brick building. It wasn't the best of neighborhoods, but not the worst, either. He led her to the front door and produced a key.
The building was vacant, and once she was inside, she could tell by the setup that it had once been a school. A former school for the blind, he said, housing thirty-five students and several staff members.
"It has an industrial-sized kitchen," he said. "Enough exits to meet the fire codes, a nice-sized courtyard in the back, and I don't think anyone would give you much trouble over the zoning."
"You want me to put the runaway shelter here?"
He nodded.
Allie looked around the building once again, seeing something that reeked of the word "institution." She hated it. It was absolutely wrong, absolutely the opposite of what she envisioned.
"This isn't right, Stephen."
He ignored that and went right on. "The guy bought it four years ago for a song, probably betting the neighborhood was going to get a lot better than it has. Right now he has a fortune sunk into a condominium project off Tates Creek Road and a permit to develop this that's expiring within the next six months. I think if you give it some time, maybe a few months, you could pick this up for next to nothing."
"It's not a house. It's not Megan's house," she explained. Surely he could see her point. Aside from her sentimental attachment to the house in which she grew up, he had to see that no one would ever feel at home here. Allie knew what it meant to long for a place to belong, for a home, and maybe her judgment wasn't what it should be on this subject. But she knew what she'd wanted all her life, and she imagined she knew what kids desperate enough to run away wanted, too. They wanted a home.
"Let's look at some other variables. To staff a runaway shelter, you need a volunteer base and a lot of money, a community big enough to support it. Dublin can't do that."
"You think the only people who'd support a runaway shelter in Dublin are the people who live there?"
"For the most part, yes," he said, sounding maddeningly sure of himself. "People take care of their own. Their town, their backyard, their neighbors' needs."
"True, but—"
"Dublin has a population of less than ten thousand," he said. "Have you made an operating budget yet?"
"No," she said, although she had talked to the shelter director in Connecticut again and knew the financial commitment was staggering. She'd known Dublin was small, but less than ten thousand residents? Only a fraction of those would contribute to charity in any significant amounts, and she hadn't gotten as far as thinking of volunteer staff, either. Mostly she hated that he was coming at her with calm, cool logic. She'd been utterly logical her entire life.
"I know it's not what you envisioned." Stephen came to stand right in front of her and took her by the arms. "But I think you could make this work."
"I'm not ready to give up on the house. Not yet."
"You want to make the project work?"
"Of course I do."
"Okay. This is my job, Allie. I know what I'm talking about. You have to be careful with any big project. You want to think it through, anticipate objections, find ways to overcome them, before you ever go public with your plans."
Allie stared at him, not sure if he was right or if she was just very, very wrong. "I get the feeling you're taking over—"
"Sorry." He grinned a bit. "It's in my genes, I'm afraid."
"Whittakers tend to take over, too?"
"Goes along with thinking we're always right."
"You mean you have to be right. That you don't enjoy losing."
"Who could possibly enjoy losing?" he said in all seriousness.
Allie frowned, thinking it was a quality that could be admirable, but also seriously annoying when she happened to disagree with him. And she had a funny feeling about this. That there was more going on than he'd admitted.
"I'm sorry," he said, backing down. "I came on too strong. It's an instinct I try to curb outside of business. This just feels like business to me. It's what I do. I know what I'm talking about when it comes to planning a project, to siting it, to getting all the approvals, to finding the money."
"I know, and I appreciate what you're trying to do, Stephen. Maybe the whole project is just too personal to me—"
"It is."
"And I can't be as objective as I should be. I admit that."
He nodded.
"You're starting to really annoy me," she warned.
He just grinned.
"This just isn't what I want for the shelter," she said. "It practically screams institution."
"Okay. I understand. But will you do one thing for me? Before you go announcing any kind of plans about turning your old house into a shelter—"
"I haven't made any announcement."
"You don't have to. Not in a town the size of Dublin. Walking into the zoning commission's office was probably enough to get news out. But just in case the whole town isn't talking about it yet, will you just take some time? Think about some of the things I've said? You might not agree with me now, but in time, I think you'll see..."
"That you're right?"
He nodded.
"Stephen, we talked about this. You don't enjoy it, but sometimes even you have to admit that you might be wrong."
"I'm not wrong about this," he insisted.
"I don't think I like you like this," she complained.
"The whole idea was to make you like me before you saw this side of me," he claimed. "And I'm giving you good advice, Allie."
"Maybe," she conceded, growing more uneasy by the minute. "But why are you so insistent about this? You don't even want me to talk about the shelter with anyone yet?"
"I think it would be better if you didn't."
"Why? What do you think's going to happen?"
"I'm nervous about the letter you got," he admitted. "I think it would be best if you kept quiet about everything for a while."
"That's it?"
He looked decidedly uneasy. She felt like the whole situation was about to take a bizarre turn, one
she wouldn't like.
"What's going on here?" she asked softly.
"I don't know. That's why I want you to be careful."
"Why do I think you do know, Stephen? Why do I think there's so much more to this than you're telling me?"
She thought about it, how he just wouldn't let go of this, how he kept pushing when it came to the shelter. Everything came back to her sister. It always had. Why Megan left, why she stayed away. Stephen didn't want Allie telling people about the shelter, didn't want people talking about it. What did he think she'd hear? What did he know?
"Have you told me everything you know about Megan's disappearance?"
One look into his eyes, and she knew. Dammit, she knew.
"God," she said. "I don't believe you."
She shoved past him and headed down the hall. He followed her, stopping her at the front door, his arm extended, palm flat against the door, effectively trapping her between his body and the door.
"Just listen to me, Allie."
"I have listened to you, and what have you told me? You told me about all these things you just don't know—"
"I don't."
She felt so stupid, so very stupid. "And now you want me to listen while you spin some more lies for me?"
"I haven't lied to you." He slipped an arm around her from behind, drawing her gently against him and wrapping his arms around her waist, the back of her body flush against the front of his. He was a tall man, broad through the shoulder, his arms strong and powerful, his touch ever so gentle.
"You drove my sister out of town the day she disappeared, and you didn't tell me. People suspected you'd done away with her, and you didn't tell me that, either."
"I didn't tell you everything I knew, but I didn't lie to you. I won't."
"And you think there's a difference?" She shoved back against him, to dislodge him, so she could open the door, but he held her fast.
"Listen to me," he whispered, his lips against her ear. "I can help you. I can figure this thing out, if you'll just give me a little time. I want the answers, too, Allie."
"You?"
"Yes, me. I cared about your sister." He turned her to face him. "Not like that. I never saw her as anything but a girl who'd always lived next door to me. That's it. And I've felt guilty about her death for years. So if there's anything to find out, I want to do it."