Allie had stopped the story just short of Joel’s last words to her, about Rob Newman’s admirable job of raising his daughter.
Susan brought the tea to the table and, echoing Allie’s thoughts, said, “Your father can’t be here to advocate for himself, so we shall have to do it for him. He was a good, decent and honest man. We know that and so does everyone who knew him. That’s not to say some of this Kennedy’s story isn’t true.” She stirred a spoonful of honey into her cup and blew on the tea gently before sipping.
“I guessed about six months after we’d started dating that your father had a former life he wanted to forget.”
Allie glanced up from spooning honey out of the jar. Susan had never spoken about her personal relationship with her father, not even after his death. She had never once uttered an irritated or perplexed word about the man who shared her life for twenty years. Allie, who often prided herself on her intuition, felt a pang of guilt that she’d so blindly assumed Susan’s calm nature had signified unconditional acceptance of Rob and his daughter. What doubts and questions ran through her mind all these years? Allie wondered.
“He was always so vague about his origins. Said his parents had both died, and he had no siblings or family nearby. Of course, I gathered immediately that he’d grown up in the States.” She looked across the table at Allie and smiled. “His accent.”
“How come I never noticed it?”
“You grew up with it. Besides, he never used the colloquial expressions that Canadians use. Although he told me he was from Northern Ontario, he never spoke like anyone from there.”
“Did you ever ask him?”
“No. Somehow I never had the courage to confront him directly.” She gave a small, deprecating laugh. “Maybe I was afraid of frightening him off, even losing him. And you.”
“Dad wasn’t like that,” Allie blurted out, reaching out her hand to stroke Susan’s. “He loved you. You know that.”
“I know, but this was early in our relationship. Suddenly this big bear of a man with a tiny waif of a daughter was attracted to me—the stereotypical librarian—and I didn’t want the fairy tale to end.” She laughed again.
“And it didn’t,” Allie said. “You were the love of his life.”
Susan smiled fondly at her stepdaughter. “I know that. As you were. He’d have done anything for you.” She took another sip of tea, then said, “That’s why I can believe this private investigator’s story.”
Blood rushed into Allie’s head. “But—”
Susan raised a hand. “Hear me out, sweetie. When I realized your father was probably an American, I thought he might have been a draft dodger. The war in Vietnam was winding down then, but American soldiers were still being sent over. My suspicion was reinforced by his almost paranoid fear of authority. He drove very carefully, so as never to be stopped by any traffic police. He kept to himself out here on the farm. Some people in town thought he was reclusive, but I knew he was too social to be a real hermit. It was just that he avoided big public functions or occasions.”
“Lots of people are like that,” Allie protested.
“Yes, but he was very protective of you. Don’t you remember all those sleepover parties you had here, rather than going to someone else’s house?” She nodded at the glimmer of recollection in Allie’s face.
“He came with me to every swim meet. And I always had to check in with him if I went out of town for any reason. I used to think that’s why he got Casey for me. She was meant to be a friend, as well as a protector.”
“Of course she was. You were fifteen the Christmas you got that dog. Just starting to be interested in boys.” Susan chuckled. “That was no coincidence, my dear.”
“I guess not. I’m happy that you raised one of Casey’s pups. Tiggy looks just like her.” Allie smiled at Susan, warming to the reminiscences they were sharing at last.
“Remember the argument you had with him when you told him you were moving into town?” Susan asked gently.
Allie sobered at the memory. It had been the one serious quarrel she’d had with her father. “I was twenty-four years old and still living at home. I was a freak,” she whispered. “God, that was an awful fight.” Allie laid her head on her forearms. Susan stroked her hair back from her face, the way she’d done whenever Allie had been sick or upset. If only I could turn back the clock, Allie thought. And make everything right again. Make Dad come back.
“I guess we’ll never really know the whole story now,” Susan said with an audible sigh. “That’s why we must never doubt our faith in Rob. We must always believe that whatever he did, he acted out of love and concern for you.”
“I do believe that!” Allie cried. “I just wish Joel Kennedy would leave Kingston and let us go on with our lives.”
Susan gave a quiet laugh. “You know that’s never going to happen, Allie. It’s too late. Whatever choice you make will stay with you the rest of your life.”
Allie shivered at this playback of Joel Kennedy’s words. “But I don’t want to have to make a choice. That’s the problem. I just want things to go on—unchanged.” She sat up to look at Susan.
Her stepmother smiled. “There’s that ten-year-old face I remember so well! You’ve always resisted change, Allie. And always had difficulties making decisions. Remember when we’d go for ice cream?”
“That’s because there were too many flavors. If there’d been only a few, I could’ve managed a quicker decision.”
“So you shouldn’t have difficulty with this. Aren’t there only two choices?”
“But a man’s life may depend on me!” That fact struck Allie for the first time. The horror that such a decision was up to her brought her hands to her face.
Susan waited a few seconds before murmuring, “Then maybe there’s no choice at all.”
Allie locked eyes with her stepmother, knowing then what she had to do.
JOEL HUNG UP the phone and shifted back onto the pillows plumped up against the headboard of his bed. He felt a tinge of satisfaction that his judgment of Allie Newman had been spot on, but at the same time, a tiny part of whatever conscience was still operating inside him held back his usual grin of satisfaction at a job well done.
She was coming with him to Grosse Pointe. He knew from the moment he walked out her door that she would. Mainly because she hadn’t shouted after him or angrily protested his parting comment. Walking down the stairs, he’d thought that he might have overdone it, but his parting line had just popped out. Such spontaneous remarks were rare for him, and that worried him. For some reason Allie Newman’s very presence seemed to prompt stirrings he hadn’t felt since he was a gangly teenager. She had a way of making him feel, well—he hated to admit it—out of control. As if the game could go any way and it made no difference how he played his hand.
Joel rubbed his face. He’d taken an afternoon nap, unusual for him, while he waited for her phone call. It was now almost four o’clock and probably a good time to call Grosse Pointe with the news. He should be exulting, but instead, he felt flat inside. Probably because he knew the game was just starting. There were so many more cards to deal and he hoped Allie Newman could stay in the play. Then he thought, she’s a grown woman, she can handle things. Save your concern for yourself, chum.
JOEL SAUNTERED UP to the front of the car ferry. It was a bright morning, warmer than the day before. Puffy cotton-ball clouds drifted across an achingly blue sky. The ferry was almost empty. There were only two other cars, a Canada Post truck, a small transport and an RV with an American license plate.