by Wendy Tyson
Allison was livid. Behind her, she heard Judge Lint’s breathing go from slow and steady to quick and labored. She had to get Hank out and Norman calm. They’d recognize each other, of course, both being powerful men traveling in a very tight Philadelphia political circle.
Confirming her thoughts, Hank said, “Norman.”
The judge nodded, but his cheeks were bloated and his face beet red. That telltale sweat was already beading across his forehead.
“Out, Congressman. Now.”
Hank looked from Allison to the judge and back again, considering, it seemed, whether to back down. Allison pointed toward the door. She made no attempt to hide her anger. “I’ll see you when we’re finished here.”
Vaughn placed his hand on Hank’s shoulder, but the man shrugged it off. After a final glance at Norman, Hank left the room with Vaughn at his heels.
Allison turned her attention back to the judge, who stood, back against the wall, arms clutching his chest. “I’m so sorry, Norman. Remember to breathe. Good, good, straighten up. That’s it.” She helped the judge to the couch and handed him tissues to blot his face. “Part of public speaking is learning to roll with the unexpected, so consider that a good lesson.”
Allison took her time with Norman. When they were finished, she apologized again and walked the judge out. She’d finally calmed down enough to give Hank McBride—the blooming bastard—a piece of her mind.
She found him in her office with Vaughn, who glowered over Hank like an angry prison guard. Allison thanked Vaughn. “You can go,” she said, “we’ll be fine.” Then to Hank, she said, “What were you thinking? I had a client in there, Congressman. You can’t barge in that way.”
Hank walked over to the window, one hand clutching his mobile, the other arrogantly planted on his hip. His face was a mask of infuriating calm, though the red creeping from underneath his collar told Allison that he was feeling less than serene.
“Are you finished yelling at me, Ms. Campbell?”
“I wasn’t yelling. To the contrary. I would love to yell at you, but I’m a professional.”
He looked away. “I apologize for the misunderstanding. I thought you were alone.”
Bullshit. “What do you want, Congressman? My time is limited.”
Head still turned away from her, he said, “Maggie.”
“What about Maggie?”
“I received a phone call from one Mark Helms this morning. Ring a bell?”
“Lieutenant Mark Helms?” With sudden understanding, she said, “He’s investigating the Feldman murder. But what does he have to do with Maggie? Or me, for that matter?”
Hank took two menacing steps toward her. “Why don’t you tell me what Helms has to do with my daughter, Ms. Campbell?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He took another step, closing the distance between them. Allison stood her ground.
His eyes squinted menacingly. She said, “I think you should leave, Hank. Before you do something you’ll regret.”
“The police are investigating my daughter for the murder of Arnie Feldman.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea what that means?”
Allison’s mind sorted through the implications. Maggie must not know at this point, or she would have mentioned it this morning. But once she found out, once Hank got a hold of Maggie...This was the end of the line for Maggie, regardless of the legal outcome. Boarding school would look like Disney World.
Allison said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Maggie must be terrified.”
“You knew Maggie was dating Ethan. It’s awfully coincidental that the Lieutenant comes knocking on our door just weeks after we hire you.”
“I have no idea why the police are questioning Maggie, and I certainly haven’t talked to anyone about Maggie in relation to this case.”
He tossed the cell phone on the floor and came at her in one swift move. He rammed her hard against the door with both hands, digging his thumbs into her shoulders. His breath smelled like onions and cigarette smoke.
“You bitch,” he hissed. “You told Helms that Maggie was with Ethan the night of the murder.”
His fingers pressed deeper into her collarbone, twisting the light cotton of her sweater. She tried to push him away. He didn’t budge.
“Get off me! You will be very sorry, Congressman. I had nothing to do with Helms.” Another push. McBride was dead weight against her. She tried to knee him in the groin, but the best she could manage was a stomp on his foot. She wished she’d worn stilettos.
Hank winced. He lightened his grip. “Maggie told Sunny that you knew. I’m not stupid—”
“Listen to yourself.” Allison gave him another shove and this time he backed off. There was a loud knock at the door.
“Allison, everything alright in there?” Vaughn said.
“Fine, Vaughn.” Allison shot Hank a warning stare.
“I’m right here if you need me.”
“Everything’s under control,” she said to Vaughn. She turned her attention to Hank. Her heart was racing. Sweat beaded across her brow. She wiped it away angrily and said, “What the hell were you thinking? I could have you arrested for battery. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you are a congressman!”
“I just assumed.” Hank looked down at his hands as though surprised at what they’d just done. He walked slowly back toward the window, still facing Allison. Allison rubbed her collarbone where his fingers had squeezed.
“Maggie seems even less compliant since she met you, not more. You come along, then Lieutenant Helms. It was a logical deduction. I’m sorry. You must understand. She’s my youngest, after all.”
Allison detected a hint of real concern in Hank’s tone and mannerisms. She wanted to believe the fear was for Maggie—and not his political career—but instinct told her otherwise. She said, “We’re through, Congressman. This engagement is predicated on trust. I’m afraid I can’t work with you anymore.”
He stood straight, a look of surprise replaced by the glare of righteous indignation. “We had a deal. You signed a contract.”
“Didn’t Sunny tell you? I refused to sign the contract. Our deal is off.” She opened the door and motioned toward the waiting room. She wanted Hank out of here, out of her building and her life. I should have trusted my gut, she thought. She felt awful for Maggie and, if she was being honest with herself, she would actually miss the kid. But the truth was, without the support of her family and a willingness to roll up her own adolescent sleeves, change was nearly impossible.
“Payment is dependent upon completion—”
“Then don’t pay me. I don’t want your money.” She pointed at the front door. “Please leave, Congressman.”
He picked up his phone and walked through the open door. In the waiting room, he paused and turned toward Allison. “You’ll be sorry, Ms. Campbell. Few people cross me and survive with their careers intact.”
“Don’t threaten me, Congressman.” Allison walked him to the front door of the office. She opened it, waiting for him to leave.
He flashed a crooked smile. “Oh, it’s not a threat Ms. Campbell. Merely a fact.” He held his wrist up to the light and made a show of checking the time. “I’m late for a press conference. Fancy that. I never know what will come out when I speak with the media. You know how rumors start.”
Allison tried to keep her voice even. “I also understand how fragile a politician’s reputation can be. And I’m sure the press would like to know about the stunt you pulled today.” Allison put her hand on her throat. Then, before he could respond, she slammed the door in his face.
Damn him. Media. Threats. Let him try. She rubbed her collarbone again, the unpleasant sensation of his fingertips still chafing against her skin. She wondered how often McBride resorted to violence to get what he wanted.
Su
nny’s unhappiness was suddenly understandable. And Maggie’s. Tonight would not be a pleasant one in the McBride household. Allison would keep her promise about that dog, but otherwise, she was afraid there was nothing more she could do.
Sixteen
Mia switched off the ignition and stared at Allison’s house. Until Jason had called earlier in the day, Mia had been under the mistaken impression that he was as bitter as Mia over his and Allison’s divorce. Perhaps I’m too sheltered up there, she thought. I’m projecting my own feelings onto my son.
Too many memories lingered here. Allison had been like a second daughter to her. She remembered the wounded creature who showed up at her doorstep a decade ago, looking for work. When Allison told her she was a semester shy of a doctorate, Mia had turned her away. She’d needed an assistant—someone to do intake, file, answer the phone. Allison had been overqualified. And hopelessly plain. But something about her dejected air had tugged at Mia, and when Allison showed up a second time, assuring Mia the job was exactly what she was looking for, Mia gave her a chance.
The assistant position had grown as Allison blossomed. She soaked up all Mia had to teach her. The clients loved her. She was warm and no-nonsense at the same time, a wonderful contrast to the Main Line exclusiveness that surrounded them. After Bridget’s death, Mia had clung to Allison. Sold her—no, practically gave her—the business and watched it grow in ways Mia never imagined, all the while feeling a mother’s pride in Allison’s accomplishments.
And then Allison left Jason. Her only son. Indeed, her only surviving child.
Mia forced herself out of the car. She opened the trunk and grabbed a leash and a dog blanket, which she spread over the backseat. When was the last time she had come here, to this house? Three months before Allison and Jason had announced their divorce. Allison had come home late that night. She’d just heard that her book, From the Outside In, was to be published. She’d seemed overjoyed...whereas Jason had not.
One more thing separating Allison and Jason: success.
Was divorce inevitable? Mia liked to think they could have salvaged their marriage. They were good for one another. Jason had had a succession of girlfriends during college and afterwards. Mia found most of them vapid and boring and wondered whether her son wasn’t too fixated on the physical, for all of them were beautiful. Tall, short, thin, voluptuous but always beautiful.
But then he met Allison through her and something changed. He stopped going out so much. He listened to people. He wanted a family. Allison broke her son’s heart. This Mia knew deep in her soul, and it was this knowledge that had caused her to turn Allison away two years ago. Losing a child to her own husband’s drunk driving was bad enough. She couldn’t bear to watch her other child suffering.
Perhaps she had been unfair.
Mia knocked on the door. She heard shuffling and then a dog barking. Something crashed. Allison screamed. Mia knocked again, more loudly this time.
Another scream. Hurry.
Mia tried the doorknob. Unlocked. She dropped her purse and the leash and ran inside. Another scream, followed by a giggle and a moan, came from the dining room.
Mia sprinted through the foyer and kitchen and into the dining room... and there they were, dog and woman. Allison lay on the floor with the largest boxer Mia had ever seen sitting on her chest. The dog had a face only a mother could love—jutting jaw, protruding bottom teeth. Allison’s face was scrunched up, eyes squeezed shut. The dog was watching her face. Every so often, he’d reach his head down and lick her, stubby tail wagging.
Mia said, “I wish I had a camera.”
Allison opened her eyes. “Help!”
“It looks like you’re doing just fine.”
“Ha, ha.” Allison lifted her head. “Can you get him off? Please?”
Mia grabbed the dog’s collar and pulled. “What’s his name?”
“Brutus.”
“Come on, Brutus.” Mia tugged again. The dog seemed determined to remain on top of Allison, as though claiming his prize. “How about a treat?”
Allison said, “In the kitchen. He loves Meaty Bones.”
Mia jiggled the Meaty Bone box. That was all it took. Brutus came running into the kitchen and sat before her, tongue hanging out. She gave him a bone, and he devoured it as splinters of Meaty Bone flew from his lower jaw and clustered in his jowls. Mia shook her head. This dog was a mess.
“His table manners are lacking,” Allison said. She came into the kitchen. She wore faded jeans and a cotton blouse, which she was tucking back in. She looked at Mia warmly and said, “Thanks for coming.” She nodded toward Brutus, who was waiting for another treat. “He escaped from the kitchen and tackled me. Jumped right over the barricade.”
Mia laughed. She knew Allison had a bad experience with a dog when she was younger, so she was surprised to see her so calm now. Mia took a long look at her former daughter-in-law. She’d aged little since Mia had last seen her—a few faint crows-feet around her eyes and light lines on her neck and around her mouth. Allison’s hair seemed shorter and blonder than before, cut shoulder length and angled around her face, giving her a more mature air. All-in-all, she still had a pleasant, easy smile and features that leaned toward cute rather than beautiful, although there seemed to be a calmness about her now that hadn’t been there before.
Mia took stock of her feelings and was surprised to find only a vague sense of regretful longing. She’d expected to feel anger and bitterness.
“Tea?” Allison said with a wistful smile. “You didn’t use to be a coffee drinker, unless that’s changed.”
“Tea would be lovely.”
While Allison filled the teapot, Mia watched her tall, slim frame, still so familiar, at the sink. When they’d parted ways, Allison had been just on the cusp of career success. But despite her promise, she had always seemed a little bit of an outsider. Maybe that had been her appeal for Mia. She’d been a refreshing change from the Main Line sameness. But this Allison was a published author, a respected professional, a sought-after speaker. Had she finally managed to fit in?
Mia looked around. The house was a study in contradiction. Some rooms, like the kitchen, were professionally decorated and spotlessly clean. Others, like the dining room, were nearly devoid of furniture or anything personal that hinted at the woman who lived here.
“Chamomile, Mia?”
“Perfect.”
Allison poured water into the teacups. As she carried them to the kitchen table, Brutus hit her elbow with his massive head, causing one cup, then the other, to spill. Some of it splashed on the dog’s back.
Allison yelled, “Brutus!”
Brutus yelped and dove under the table. Mia climbed after him. His skin, though wet, seemed fine. When Mia looked up, she saw Allison standing there, looking at the dog, her shoulders shaking with big, chunky sobs that caused rivulets of black mascara to snake down her face.
“Hey,” Mia soothed. “It’s okay, Allison. He’s not hurt.”
“I didn’t mean to... the poor dog.” She backed up and wiped at her eyes. Mia stood up and handed her a paper towel.
“He’s fine.”
“It’s not just the dog. It’s everything.” Allison blew her nose into the paper towel. “I’m sorry, for whatever I did. To make you so angry.”
“Stop. You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing.”
“I let you down.”
“You didn’t let me down. I was crushed when you divorced Jason, yes. But only because I love you, and I was afraid. Afraid I’d never see you again.” Even as she said the words, she understood the irony. It was she who’d initiated the freeze between them, not Allison. The divorce hadn’t taken Allison away; Mia had pushed her out of her life. Before Allison could hurt her, too.
“Oh my, Allison.” Mia took Allison’s hand. “It’s I who am sorry.”
Their eyes met.<
br />
“You’d been through a lot. With Bridget.” Allison gently pulled her hand free. She dampened the paper towel at the faucet and wiped it over her swollen face. Then she pulled out a kitchen chair for Mia and took the seat opposite. “I know her death broke your heart, Mia. Jason and I, we weren’t sensitive to that. We should have waited to tell you.”
“Her death did break my heart. It was the most crushing pain I’ve ever felt. But I survived.” Brutus pushed his head up under Mia’s hand. She stroked it absentmindedly. “Maybe that’s the funny part of it. That any of us can go on, can continue to do and think and be, in spite of what happens. And before that, that we keep making music, or painting, or cleaning, or punching numbers on a cash register, all the while not realizing what horrible things wait for us around the corner.”
Mia rubbed under Brutus’s chin. The dog seemed to like it and raised his head up further to lean against Mia’s arm. Allison’s house was quiet except for the hiss of the tea kettle releasing the last sprays of steam. Mia thought about Bridget, about all the times she and Bridget had sat, waiting for water to heat, talking about things that meant nothing at the time but, looking back, meant everything, really.
“Maybe those of us who’ve never experienced the worst life has to offer get along with a peculiarly human kind of denial,” Mia said into the silence. “And maybe those of us who’ve touched the void and lived—and losing a child immerses you in the void, Allison, believe me—maybe we survivors just need to protect ourselves from ever visiting its depths again.”
Mia looked up to see Allison staring at her. Her eyes showed only kindness.
“I’ve spent the last few years being so angry at Edward. For killing. And at Bridget. For dying.” Mia swallowed, biting back her own tears. “I judged her, Allison. I judged her in my heart and condemned her for being the one to go. And I am just now realizing that the anger I directed at you was my anger toward her. For leaving me.”
Mia felt her own tears come in a rush, long overdue. Then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and a wet nose under her arm. She was grateful for the comfort, for the knowledge she was not alone.