Past Perfect Life Read online

  “Yeah. Quiet is good, especially after today.”

  “So I take it babysitting went well.”

  “It was fine. Although it was very clear from the start that I’m a very poor substitute. Annie, Thomas, and Liz kept reminding me of all the fun stuff you do with them.”

  “Oh God! You were at the Dorns’?” I stand up, jolted from my brief moment of tranquility. I knew she was babysitting, but I didn’t know where. I completely forgot that I was supposed to babysit for them today. It’s Saturday. I’m supposed to have my date with Neil tonight. I want to keep living my before life, even though that feels impossible right now. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

  “It’s okay.” Marian pats the seat next to her. “I’ve got you covered. Nobody expects you to do anything with everything going on. You just have to …”

  What? I want to ask. What exactly am I supposed to do? I can’t go to school. I can’t concentrate on anything.

  I close my eyes and feel the sun on my face, the warmth fighting its way through the frigid air. I try to not think about anything. The past is too painful, the present too confusing, and the future too scary.

  “Ah, so,” Marian begins. “There’s one other thing.”

  Of course there is.

  She continues, “I could only keep him away for so long.”

  I open my eyes to see Marian gesturing her head to the door, where Neil is peeking out from behind the blinds. He takes a step back when he sees me and gives me a little wave.

  “Believe me, I tried to give you some space, but he’s been freaking out. He doesn’t have to come out here. All he wanted was to make sure you’re okay. Apparently my word—as his flesh and blood—is useless. Besides, you haven’t been responding to any of his texts.”

  I have no idea where my phone is. It wasn’t like Dad needed to know where I am. There’s probably a part of my subconscious that knew I didn’t want to deal with the texts that were coming in after last night.

  “Do you want me to tell him to leave?”

  Neil is not even discreetly hiding now. “No, it’s okay.”

  I call for Baxter, but he’s happily chewing on a branch that has fallen from the large oak tree in the backyard. I let him have his happiness while I follow Marian into the house.

  “I’ve got some homework to do before Rob picks me up. Oh.” She shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m going to stay home tonight.”

  “Go out. Please. I’m exhausted. You have fun.” Someone should.

  Marian gives me a hug and pauses before she heads upstairs and leaves me alone with Neil. He’s standing on the other side of the kitchen table, looking at me like I’m a dangerous animal.

  Maybe I am.

  “Ah,” he says as he rubs the back of his head. “I’ve got my mom’s car. Do you want to go somewhere?”

  I look around the Gleasons’ home. This might be the only view I have for the foreseeable future. But there really isn’t anyplace I want to go, or more importantly, anybody I want to see.

  “Not really.” I pull out a chair and sit down. “Sorry that we can’t go out tonight. I’m not really in a social mood.”

  “Of course, of course! I wasn’t—that’s not why—I mean, I just—” he fumbles.

  “It’s okay,” I assure him.

  Although right now I’d love to have a date be the only thing I have to stress over.

  Neil nods for a bit. He then goes around the table and pulls out the chair right next to me and sits down. He puts out his hand for a minute before tapping my hand with his. He’s overthinking every move, every word. Is this how it’s going to be now between us? Is this how everybody is going to treat me? Like I’m some delicate flower who could turn into a Venus flytrap at any moment?

  “What do people know?” I ask.

  Neil grimaces. “Enough.”

  It’s exactly what Marian told me yesterday, which is entirely too much for me.

  He opens his mouth, and then closes it. He rethinks whatever’s going on in his mind before he opens it again and finally speaks. “I can’t believe it.”

  Me neither.

  He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a present wrapped in “Happy Birthday” paper with balloons printed on it. “I wanted to give you this.”

  A birthday present. Even though my birthday isn’t until January … something. I don’t even remember the date.

  I take the rectangular-shaped gift and open it. It’s a leather notebook with AS, my initials, stamped in silver on the front.

  “I figured since you prefer to take notes by hand, you’d need something fancy for college.”

  It’s not like I prefer to write by hand, but my old laptop weighs a ton and I don’t want to lug it around school. I rub my initials. But AS isn’t me. It never was me.

  “Thank you,” I manage to barely croak out.

  I stare down at the notebook. Not sure what to say. It’s such a sweet and thoughtful gesture, 100 percent Neil, but it’s for Allison Smith.

  Neil fills the silence. “I don’t know if you want to talk about it … Or we can talk about something else?”

  “Something else,” I reply, even though every time I try to focus on anything it brings me back to here. But then my mind goes to the one moment of peace I’d had in the past twenty-four hours. “Hey, Neil, do you remember when we went to Green Bay and you got that woman to make me a turtle sundae?”

  He appears taken aback by my abrupt change of subject. “Yeah, of course.”

  “I thought about that the other day. Actually, it was last night.” I can’t believe something that seemed so long ago was yesterday. “And it was the only time I wasn’t miserable about what was happening. It was a good memory. It made me smile.” I’m startled by a lone tear traveling down my cheek. I had thought I’d used up all my tears at home. I wipe it away, embarrassed that a memory of an ice cream sundae can unravel me.

  He puts his arm around me. I feel his breath on my neck. Neil has always been by my side. Always close to me, but never this close. It’s comforting.

  I lean into him. He brushes back a strand of hair that has fallen in front of my face. I turn to say something to him, but before I can get the words out, his lips are on mine.

  I make a noise of surprise as his hand reaches up to cup my chin.

  Neil van Horne is kissing me.

  It’s nice. Really nice. But …

  I pull away.

  “Sorry!” he says, slightly out of breath. “Sorry.”

  “My life is falling apart so now you decide to finally kiss me?”

  “Sorry!” He gets up from the table. “I’m sorry. You looked so sad, and I wanted to comfort you.”

  I stare at him dumbfounded. I mean, yeah, it did comfort me a little, but still.

  “You know, I never said I had great timing.” He gives me his embarrassed crooked smile.

  A laugh escapes my throat. I almost forgot what it was like to laugh.

  Neil begins to pace in front of the table. “I’m sorry. I know that was stupid. Oh God, I’m an idiot. I’ve been so worried, and I wanted to do something for you, and I wasn’t sure what I could do. Clearly, I screwed up. Don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.” I could never hate Neil.

  I stand up and walk toward him.

  He gives me a worried stare. “What?”

  I don’t know how I look, but I do know what I want.

  I want silence. I want to escape.

  I want Neil.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab him by the shoulders and pull him to me. I kiss him. And keep kissing. There’s a hunger inside me. I wipe my mind clear of anything but Neil. All I want is to feel his lips on mine. How his hand tightens around my waist, protecting me.

  I pull him in closer so there isn’t a millimeter between us. We are pressed against each other, our limbs entwined, our mouths connected. I don’t even need to breathe, all I want is—

  He pulls away abruptly. “Are you okay?”r />
  Everything I’ve been pushing down comes flooding back. I grab my head, wanting it to all go away. “I was.”

  “I don’t—I mean—I just,” he stutters. “Don’t get me wrong, that is one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me, but I want to be sure it’s something you want and you’re not …”

  He doesn’t finish his thought because we both know what he’s about to say. And we both know he’s right.

  He takes a step toward me, but I take a step away.

  “Ally?” The look on his face is a mixture of confusion and pity.

  I don’t want to look at it anymore. I don’t want to be reminded of what got us to this awkward place. It makes all the memories of the past twenty hours come crashing down all around me.

  I don’t say anything. I simply turn and walk away. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. First to Dad, now to Neil. I take the stairs two at a time and lock myself in Susan’s room. I fall onto the bed and put a pillow over my head.

  Wishing, praying that all the screaming and confusion swirling around my mind will silence.

  Chapter

  NINETEEN

  It doesn’t.

  Chapter

  TWENTY

  I finally slept.

  And slept. And then slept some more.

  My body shut down and gave me hours of some peace.

  I spent all of Sunday in bed. Anytime the bedroom door opened, I pretended to be asleep. There was food placed on the nightstand. It remained untouched.

  I didn’t have the energy to talk to anybody. I was tired. I was embarrassed. Two members of the Gleason family have seen me at my worst. First Sheriff Gleason with my total breakdown and then Neil with my … whatever that was. I basically attacked the poor guy.

  Even though I got some sleep, there were the occasional flickers in my subconscious. Memories of Dad. Of being in a car with him as a kid.

  And then there were flashes of the sun. The smell of the ocean. Was it a long-buried memory of living in Florida?

  I woke up after ten o’clock on Monday and stayed in bed for another hour. I knew the house would be quiet—Marian would be at school and her parents at work—but I didn’t want to get up and face the world. So while I stayed cuddled under my blankets, my dad was in court.

  My stomach rumbles for the first time in days so I venture down to the kitchen. I’m hungry. No, hungry doesn’t convey the emptiness I feel. I start eating. Cereal. Toast. More toast. I heat up a frozen pizza.

  Nothing is filling me up.

  I’m on the couch polishing off an entire bag of potato chips when the doorbell rings. I don’t move. Not solely because I’m still in my flannel pajamas and haven’t showered since Friday morning, but because I don’t want to see anybody.

  After a few moments, the door opens.

  “Hello?” Grandma Gleason calls out. “Ally?”

  I wonder if she’ll go away if I don’t move or make a sound.

  Her footsteps come closer so I realize I have no choice. “In here,” I call out as I shove the empty bag of chips under the couch.

  She enters the room and stops when she sees me. She looks exactly like Neil’s mom, but a little older and with bright white hair she wears in a bun. She glances up and down and grimaces at my chest, where I notice several broken potato chips rest.

  “When’s the last time you’ve eaten a fruit or vegetable?” she asks.

  I reply by staring blankly at her, because I honestly can’t recall.

  She walks over to the kitchen, which overlooks the living room, and opens the refrigerator. She pulls out some grapes, an apple, and an orange. She takes out a bowl, cutting board, and knife and starts making a fruit salad.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her that I’m full from all the processed food I just inhaled.

  “You are going to eat, then we’ll talk about a shower.”

  I know better than to argue with her. “Have you talked to your son?”

  She pauses mid-cut. “Yes. He says your father has been advised of the charges. The judge didn’t grant a bond, so he’s being transferred to a jail until his hearing. And the no-contact order has been issued.”

  “So it’s out.”

  “Yes.” She looks up. “It’s out. There’ll be a press conference in a bit from the sheriff down in Florida. I came over in case you wanted company when you watch it.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t even thought about watching it. But I guess I should know what people are saying about Dad. “Do you think we can find it online?”

  Grandma Gleason doesn’t answer. She finishes making the fruit salad, then comes over to sit next to me on the couch. She hands me the bowl and a fork.

  She finally speaks. “I think we should turn on the TV.” She grabs the remote, and the TV glows to life. A game show is playing, but then she switches to CNN, where we watch a commercial.

  I eat an apple slice. When the news comes back on, there’s a BREAKING NEWS graphic. The news anchor appears, and I almost choke.

  “For those just joining us, we are following a breaking story from Wisconsin. A teenager who was kidnapped by her father when she was three has been found. Amanda Linsley, the missing girl …”

  There’s a ringing in my ears as the two images from the MISSING poster fill up the screen.

  While I understand they’re talking about me, they aren’t using my face or name.

  Grandma Gleason takes the bowl from my shaking hands and places it on the coffee table. “Are you okay?”

  Can people stop asking me that? I’m going to start wearing a T-shirt that says, No, I’m Not Okay and It’s Not Going to Get Better.

  Instead, I remain silent. It’s difficult to focus on any one thing that’s being said. I will myself to listen, to be present, since this affects me, but I can’t. It’s too much.

  The screen goes to a podium in a sunny courtyard. That brings me back. A bald man in a suit comes out with two police officers behind him. A voice comes on over the picture. “We are now going live to where Sheriff Hunt of Hillsborough County, Florida, will make a statement and then answer questions from the press.”

  The sheriff swaggers up to the microphone. “Thank you for coming. I am happy to report that Amanda Linsley, who has been missing for over fifteen years, has been found in northern Wisconsin. Her father, Daniel Linsley, took Amanda from her home when she was three and has been on the run ever since. We received a tip six days ago that Amanda may have been found. We were able to confirm with the FBI and the local police in Valley Falls, Wisconsin, that the person in question is Amanda. Daniel Linsley will face multiple counts, including kidnapping and forging documents. Amanda’s mother has been notified, and I can tell you that, as a father, it was one of the greatest moments in my life to inform her that her daughter is alive and safe.” The sheriff pulls out a handkerchief and wipes away the nonexistent tears on his face. Camera shutters drown out any other sound for a moment.

  “Well, it seems like someone is going to milk his fifteen minutes,” Grandma Gleason says.

  “Has Amanda spoken with her mother? Have they seen each other? When will Amanda return to Florida?” a voice calls out.

  “Yes, I can confirm that Amanda has spoken with her mother, who is currently on her way to Wisconsin. I do not have any details about when Amanda will be returning to Florida. As she’s a minor, we expect that she will move back with her mother.”

  I stand up. Who the hell is this guy, and why does he think he has any say over me? He’s never met me. He’s never met my dad. He has absolutely nothing to do with the case. It was the people here who figured it out. Yet there he is, taking credit and acting like he has any idea what’s going on in my life.

  My gratitude for the Gleasons grows even more. Sheriff Gleason could be doing this same thing. He could be posing for pictures and talking about Dad and me, yet he’s remained silent. He’s letting the court speak for itself.

  I grab the remote and change the channel. But there he is. The sheri
ff’s face is on Fox News. I press another button and he’s on MSNBC. Another button, BBC World News.

  “Sit down.” Grandma Gleason pats the seat next to her. I oblige since I don’t know what else to do with myself.

  “Why did he say that they expect me to move back to Florida? How can someone who is a stranger make a decision like that for me? This is my home.” I find myself shaking. It’s difficult to breathe.

  Grandma Gleason puts her hand on mine. “It’s unfair. But in the eyes of the law, you’re still a minor.”

  “I’m eighteen!” No. God dammit, I’m not. Dad lied about my birthday. I’m only seventeen. “Okay, but I’ll be eighteen in … Do you happen to know when my official birthday is?”

  “January twenty-fourth.”

  My mind is reeling. “Okay, I’ll be an adult at the end of next month. That’s what? Six weeks? Seven weeks?”

  She nods. “Brian is seeing what he can do. But your mother is set on you moving back to Florida with her.”

  “What?”

  Just when I think there’s no possible way things could get any worse.

  “No. No,” I say forcefully, as if by protesting enough I can make this all go away. “I’m not going anywhere with her. She can’t make me.”

  “You’ve spoken with your mother?”

  “Yes, we talked for like ten minutes.”

  “And?”

  “Well, at no point did she drop that bomb. How convenient.” I fold my arms.

  “But how was it?”

  It was … I haven’t really discussed my conversation with Paula. I tucked it away, not wanting to deal with it. But this reality is cruising toward me and there’s nothing I can do to prevent myself from getting run over by it.

  I take a deep breath. “It’s weird. I know she’s technically my mom, but you’re more of a mother figure to me,” I state. “Jess down at the grocery store is more of a mom to me.” Whenever I’m buying groceries, Jess always makes sure I’m getting some fruits and vegetables. She does it in such a sweet and kind way that I can’t argue with her. “It’s not that I don’t want to meet her, it’s just … How can she expect that I’d be willing to pack my bags and leave everything behind?”