Kara stopped, nearly causing Andrew to bump into her. She looked up at him and smiled.
“You’re in luck,” she said. “Uncle Robert and Aunt Margaret are heading back to their table from the buffet. I guess the others seated with them must be filling their plates. There’s Uncle Robert over there. See?”
Andrew’s heart thundered and a trickle of sweat ran down his chest.
There he was, he thought. Robert MacAllister. It was hard to believe that the man was only a few feet away and coming closer with every passing second.
He was much more dynamic in person than in the newspaper picture. He looked taller, his gray hair thicker, shoulders wider, and there was no sign of a belly inching over his belt. His suit was obviously expensive, custom-tailored, and he had brown eyes and an even tan.
Yes, there he was, in living, breathing color.
Robert and Margaret MacAllister reached the table, and Robert set down his plate to assist Margaret with her chair. She settled into place and spread her napkin on her lap.
“Uncle Robert?” Kara said before he had a chance to sit down.
“Oh, hello, Kara,” he said, smiling. “Are you having a nice time this evening?”
“Delightful, thank you,” she said. “I’m the meeter and greeter of the moment, and I’ve brought one of your guests to you so you can say hello.” She glanced up at Andrew, then back at her uncle.
Robert frowned as he looked at Andrew. “My guest? I’m sorry, but Kara must have misunderstood you. I don’t believe you and I have met.”
“We haven’t,” Andrew said, his gaze riveted on Robert where he stood on the opposite side of the table.
“But you told me that…” Kara started, obviously confused.
“I said I was here to see Robert MacAllister,” Andrew said, not looking at Kara. “I didn’t say that he’d invited me.”
“You crashed this party?” Kara said, planting her hands on her hips. “Of all the nerve. Are you a reporter? Is that it?”
“No,” Andrew said, “I’m not a reporter.”
“Then what do you want?” Kara said.
“Kara,” Robert said, “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for why Mr….”
“Malone. Andrew Malone,” Andrew said.
“Why Mr. Malone has come here,” Robert said. “Would you care to clue us in, young man?”
“I’m here,” Andrew said, a muscle jumping along his jaw, “because it’s time. In fact, it’s long overdue.” He reached into his jacket and removed a folded piece of paper, which he tossed onto the table. “That picture made up my mind for me.”
Margaret retrieved the paper and opened it. “This is the group picture of our family that was in the newspaper a few days ago.”
“I don’t understand,” Robert said, frowning. “What does that photograph have to do with your arriving here uninvited, Mr. Malone?”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell?” Andrew said. “Malone? It doesn’t mean anything to you?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Robert said thoughtfully. “Should it?”
“I suppose not,” Andrew said, a rough tone to his voice. “It didn’t mean anything then, so why should it now?”
“Look, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Robert said. “I have no idea why you’re here, but this is a private party and—”
“For family only,” Andrew said. “I know. That’s why I’m here. You forgot to send me my invitation. The name Malone doesn’t ring a bell? Okay, try this one. Sally Malone. Sally. Does that conjure up any memories, Robert? A summer a long time ago? An innocent young girl who fell in love with you? Hey, come on, Robert, surely you remember Sally.”
The color drained from Robert’s face as he stared at Andrew.
“Sally Malone,” Robert said, hardly above a whisper. “I’d forgotten all about her.”
“No joke,” Andrew said, with a bitter sharp bark of laughter. “You forgot about her the minute she was out of your sight. But she never forgot you, Robert. That would have been really tough to do, considering her circumstances. Oh, no, she never forgot you.”
“Robert, what is going on?” Margaret said. “Who is Sally Malone?”
“My mother,” Andrew said, taking a step closer to the table. “My mother, who died when I was fifteen years old. My mother, who had your baby after you abandoned her that summer, MacAllister. Let me introduce myself again. I’m Andrew Malone. Your son.”
“What?” Kara said.
“Robert?” Margaret said, a frantic edge to her voice. “What is he saying? What does this mean?”
“My God,” Robert said, his gaze riveted on Andrew. “You’re…oh…oh…pain…I…”
Robert pressed both fists to his chest and in the next instant collapsed to the floor, knocking over his chair in the process.
It was bedlam. Margaret screamed Robert’s name and jumped to her feet as people at other tables rose and turned in the direction of the commotion. Everyone seemed to be talking at once as Margaret dropped to her knees beside her husband.
“Get out of my way,” Kara said, pushing past Andrew. “Move.”
Andrew took a step backward as people began to hurry to where Robert lay on the floor, his eyes closed. Kara knelt beside her uncle, loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. She looked up and quickly scanned the crowd of people.
“Give him air,” she yelled. “Ryan, I need help here with CPR. Forrest, call 911. Hurry up. We need an ambulance, paramedics. Tell them to contact Mercy Hospital where I’m on staff and tell those on duty in the emergency room to stand by for our arrival. I think Uncle Robert has had a heart attack!”
Hours later Andrew wandered aimlessly along a dimly lit hall in the hospital. He’d removed his tie, shoved it into his jacket pocket and opened three buttons on his shirt. A deep frown was on his face as he walked slowly, his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
A nightmare, he thought. He was in the middle of a nightmare he had created. He’d never be able to erase from his mind the image of Robert MacAllister crumpling to the floor.
What had followed was a blur, one scene slamming into the next in his mental vision.
The band had stopped playing. How strange that he should remember that. There had been no more pretty music floating through the air. Just shocked and panicked voices. People shouting. Margaret MacAllister crying. Kara MacAllister giving orders, telling everyone to move back, move back.
Kara was a doctor, that much was obvious. She’d assisted the paramedics when they’d arrived, told them what she wanted done. The guy who had helped her perform CPR on Robert—what was his name? Ryan. Yes, Ryan MacAllister. Someone had said that he was a cop.
Andrew dragged a restless hand through his hair and continued his trek.
Reporters had appeared in the ballroom at almost the same moment as the paramedics. Flashbulbs had gone off and questions had been asked of the people who were standing around with horrified expressions on their faces.
He’d kept backing up, backing up, until he’d reached the door, then hurried from the ballroom to the registration desk to ask directions to Mercy Hospital.
He’d managed to enter the hospital through a delivery door and had stayed out of view, not wishing to encounter any of the MacAllisters or the reporters.