Past Perfect Life Page 6

  My bag lunch (and any discussion about my upcoming date) is forgotten as we all sugar up.

  Cake for lunch? Maybe being an adult won’t be that bad.

  Chapter

  NINE

  “Oh, come on! Unbelievable!” Dad protests the next evening.

  Even though it’s Friday, we’re having our usual Taco Tuesday festivities since I had to babysit this past Tuesday. We just found out that in our latest telenovela obsession, the aunt is actually the mother of the main character.

  “You honestly didn’t see this coming?” I ask. “She kept looking longingly at Monse with dramatic close-ups, especially whenever Monse mentioned family. There had to be something fishy going on. Have we learned nothing from Perdóname, Padre, when the priest was actually the baby daddy? Nobody is ever who they seem.”

  “Okay, but this priest seems on the up-and-up.”

  “The apt word there is ‘seems.’ ”

  He wags his finger at me. “You are starting to become a conspiracy theorist.”

  “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘realist.’ ”

  He grimaces. “Okay, but if Ceci and Pato don’t end up together, I give up.”

  We both laugh that we’ve become so invested in these characters, particularly since Dad can only piece together the plot from the mannerisms and the few words he’s picked up. Every once in a while he asks me for clarification, but it’s pretty scary how much he can get from studying people.

  Our living room is suddenly flooded with red and blue police lights.

  “I wonder what’s going on.” I pause the TV and walk to the front door.

  Baxter follows and starts barking at the door, assuming we have visitors. “Baxter, it’s not for us.”

  “What is it?” Dad asks.

  “It’s Sheriff Gleason and … someone, I don’t know who.” A black woman with short, dark hair gets out of the car. Then I see her jacket. “Oh, she’s with the FBI.”

  The FBI in Valley Falls? This is huge, and a little bit exciting. Everybody in town is going to lose their minds over this. It’s just like watching a movie.

  Sheriff Gleason sees me watching from the window. I wave at him and he nods.

  “Someone must’ve done something really bad. Sheriff Gleason looks all serious and professional.”

  My mind races through the past few episodes of our favorite crime show, its topics ripped from the headlines. What could it possibly be? Drugs? Money laundering? I can see the headlines now: Small Town, Big Murder.

  Sheriff Gleason and the FBI woman talk for a few seconds before walking up the sidewalk. I keep waiting to see which neighbor’s house they are going to. I notice both the Paffords and Rosses across the street are also looking out their windows.

  The whole town is going to know about this in ten seconds.

  My heart stops when Sheriff Gleason and the FBI woman turn in to our walkway. They’re heading to our front door.

  “They’re coming here.” I step away from the door, scared of why they’d be visiting us. I mean, it’s Sheriff Gleason. He comes over all the time, but never with his lights flashing. Or with an FBI agent.

  Wait a second. “Dad, is this some belated birthday prank?”

  When he doesn’t answer, I ask again. “Dad?” I turn around and instantly know this isn’t a joke. Dad’s as white as a fresh sheet of paper, with tears cascading down his face. I run to him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  He lets out a loud sob. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ally.”

  I feel sick. “Just tell me, what did you do?”

  There’s a knock at the door. “Ally, can you open up?” Sheriff Gleason’s tone is stern.

  Dad’s voice is a whisper. “I always knew they’d find out, and I’m sorry. You have to believe I did it for you. Everything I have ever done has been because I love you.”

  Chapter

  TEN

  “Ally? Ally?” Sheriff Gleason kneels in front of me.

  I’m on the floor.

  I don’t know how I got here. But at some point in the past few minutes, I simply collapsed.

  It’s as if my body can’t handle what’s happening.

  I know my mind can’t.

  I don’t understand what’s going on. What I’m being told.

  “Are you okay?”

  No words can escape my mouth. I can’t even think straight. Or breathe. All I can do is shake my head, try to get rid of the accusations.

  He places his hand on my shoulder. “Of course you aren’t okay, honey. That was a silly question.”

  The FBI agent with Sheriff Gleason approaches. “We really need to go down to the station and get everything on the record.”

  “Please, Agent Kinblad,” he pleads in a soft voice, “I know these people.”

  She snorts. “Apparently not well enough.”

  I try to open my mouth to speak, but I am too numb.

  I know I have to snap out of my catatonic state and discover the truth.

  “Can you …,” I say, my voice near a whisper. “Can you begin again?” I haven’t been able to fully process what I’ve been told. I probably never will. It’s just too much. And impossible. It has to be. “Sheriff Gleason, who am I?”

  Who am I? It’s such a ridiculous question. I always thought I knew who I was, the kind of person I’ve always been. That still has to count. I’m the same person, deep down, as I was ten minutes ago.

  But can that really be true if what Allison Smith was built on is entirely false?

  Sheriff Gleason rocks back to his heels, still next to me on the floor, while Agent Kinblad stands over Dad, her hands on the cuffs that are clipped to her belt. “We’re investigating a tip we received. We believe your real name may be Amanda Linsley. You were born in Tampa, Florida. The allegations are that your father, whose real name may be Daniel Linsley, took you from your mother when you were three.”

  “He took me,” I say slowly, as if the words can sink in better that way. “What does that mean?”

  “Kidnapped,” Agent Kinblad states bluntly.

  “Kidnapped?” I echo. There’s no way. He wouldn’t … He’s my father. How can a father kidnap his own child?

  I look over at Dad. Why isn’t he telling them it’s a lie, that they’re wrong? “Dad?”

  He doesn’t look up. He hasn’t spoken a word since the officers came in. “DAD!” I scream, which finally lifts him out of his haze. “Tell them it isn’t true,” I beg as my voice cracks. “Tell them.”

  He stands up, and Agent Kinblad puts her hand near her gun. “Settle down,” she commands him, as if he’s some criminal.

  My dad couldn’t hurt a single soul. When he was laid up from an accident at work three years ago, we had to scrimp to get by. Yet Dad never stopped buying Baxter treats. Dad was the one who deprived himself. He took a smaller portion at dinner. He made sure I had plenty of food for lunch. I’d come home to a freezing house, but he would turn up the heat as soon as I walked in. He’s always cared more about other people. How could they think that he would even be capable of doing something like kidnapping?

  Dad rubs his head—what was once a nervous tic has now turned into something more desperate. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry …”

  He spins around to look at me, and as he meets my eyes, I find myself frightened of my father for the first time. His face softens in defeat. “I never wanted to hurt you. I love you. I did this for you, for us.”

  “What did you do?” I ask, trying to make sense of what this all means.

  Dad couldn’t have done anything wrong. Look at me. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I’m healthy. I’ve got a great education and a home. What more could any child want? How is that a crime?

  Dad takes a hesitant step toward me, but Agent Kinblad holds her arm out to stop him and steps between us. “I have to ask that there be no more contact between the two of you. We shouldn’t even have you in the same room until we get full statements. This is highly unorthodox.”
She glares at Sheriff Gleason.

  “I understand. I do.” Dad’s shoulders are slumped. “I knew it would eventually catch up to me.” Dad looks at me. “Ally, sweetheart, you have to know that I did it for you. She was going to take you away from me.”

  I want to ask him, Who? But I’m unnerved that Dad would … confess. Is that what he’s doing? Is he saying that these allegations are true? They can’t be.

  They simply can’t be.

  “Dad,” I barely croak. My mind is spinning with so many questions. Who was going to take me away from you? Who would do that to a daughter and her father?

  Agent Kinblad puts handcuffs on Dad.

  “That’s really not necessary,” Sheriff Gleason says.

  “I’ll go,” Dad replies. “Brian, please take care of Ally for me.”

  “Of course,” Sheriff Gleason replies.

  Agent Kinblad puts her hands on Dad’s back as she leads him to the front door. “Daniel Linsley, alias Jason Smith, you are under arrest for the kidnapping …”

  I put my hands over my head. I can’t watch. I can’t hear these horrible accusations against my dad.

  But I also heard what Dad said. That it’s true.

  It can’t be. It just can’t be.

  Agent Kinblad can have her charges, Sheriff Gleason can say what he wants, but I know the truth. I know what my life has been up to now. It’s been good. Because of Dad.

  How could he be punished for that?

  How can they think arresting my dad is the right thing?

  I watch in horror as my father, my only family, is pulled out of our home in handcuffs.

  This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. You’re going to wake up soon. This will all be over soon. Just wake up.

  If I don’t, my life will never be the same again.

  Chapter

  ELEVEN

  I wait in Sheriff Gleason’s office. It’s been nearly two hours, and I can no longer tell myself that it’s only a nightmare.

  It’s my new reality. I still have no idea what that is or what’s really happening. I’m absolutely terrified.

  “Hey, Ally.” Officer Basini pops her head in. “Sheriff will be here in a couple minutes. They’re just finishing up.” She gives me a tight smile since “finishing up” means that they’re almost done questioning my dad. “Do you need anything else? Chips? Another soda?”

  “No thanks.” I haven’t touched the soda and sandwich they gave me when I first arrived.

  “Sure I can’t get you something to read? Or turn on the TV?”

  I shake my head. It’s impossible to concentrate on anything.

  It’s almost ten o’clock at night. There’s a part of me that wants this day over as soon as possible. There’s another part that dreads what tomorrow may bring.

  Photos of Sheriff Gleason’s family fill every space on his desk and nearby bookshelf. I try to find some solace and normality in Jan’s and Julia’s smiling faces, but I can’t help feeling a twinge of spite that they’re in their home untouched. They’ll wake up tomorrow with their family. The only worry they have is whether or not they’ll get into their top college choices.

  All I want at this moment is to talk to Dad. At first, it was so he could comfort me. That’s always been his job. Now what I want, more than anything, are answers. Kidnapping. Why would he do this? Why would he lie?

  Why? Why? Why?

  There’s also a sickening feeling taking over me. While I had tried to block out all the charges Agent Kinblad flung at Dad, one of them was social security fraud. My college applications. My meeting with Ms. Pieper. Is that what led us here?

  Kidnapping. Is this my fault? Would we have continued living our wonderful life if I had talked to Dad about the issue with my applications instead of Ms. Pieper?

  Kidnapping. The word keeps echoing in my head. Kidnapping connotes that I’ve been held against my will, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

  I want to be in the safety of my home with Dad. But I’m the reason we are here.

  My questions. My applications. My needs.

  Me. Me. Me.

  I can hardly breathe.

  Dad is being questioned by the police, and it’s all my fault.

  I lay my head on the cool surface of Sheriff Gleason’s metal desk.

  But … Dad has lied to me. For at least fifteen years.

  He kidnapped me.

  He forged documents. He did work that paid off the books.

  The only thing he was ever strict about was oversharing on social media. He didn’t want people to find us.

  If all of that is true, what does it mean? When can I see Dad again? Are we going to be able to go back to our life like nothing has happened?

  Tears burn behind my eyes. It’s all too much.

  The one person I’ve relied on my entire life is not at all who I thought he was. I’ll never be able to look at him the same way.

  “Hey, Ally.” Sheriff Gleason comes to sit in his office chair. “Sorry you had to wait so long.” He looks tired. “Your dad’s doing okay. He’s told us everything we need to know. And I need to talk to you about a few things.”

  He opens a manila folder and places a few photos in front of me. One of the photos is me, covered in cake, from my first birthday. It’s the one that’s on Dad’s bedside table. The other is a photo of me from a year or two later, I guess. And then there’s another image of a girl about my age. We share the same green eyes, dimpled chin, and light brown hair. There are certain features that look like I’m staring into a mirror.

  I’m about to be sick. “Who is that?”

  Sheriff Gleason shows a paper with two of the photos—the one of when I’m probably around three and then this other one, which features a big MISSING sign above the name Amanda Linsley. The other photo has AGE PROGRESSED written across the bottom. I start looking at all the information they have on this Amanda Linsley person.

  “Wait a second.” I have a small glimmer of hope that this has all been one big misunderstanding. I point at the date of birth on the flyer. Amanda’s birthday is January twenty-fourth. “That’s not my birthday. Mine is December eighth. Yesterday.”

  Yesterday feels like a lifetime ago.

  Sheriff Gleason rubs his eyes. “January twenty-fourth is your birthday. Your real birthday.”

  “What?” That can’t be possible. We just celebrated my birthday. “I can’t—” The look on Sheriff Gleason’s face tells me it’s the truth.

  An exhaustion I didn’t know was possible takes over me. “When can I go home? When can Dad come home?” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I know that isn’t happening tonight.

  “I’ve called Marian’s mom. I think it’s best that you stay with them for a while. Is that okay?”

  “Baxter.” It’s all I can muster, but Sheriff Gleason nods.

  “Marian is already at the house getting Baxter and packing a bag for you. Listen, Ally, it’s been a long night. Now that we’ve talked to your dad, our next step is for him to appear before a judge in federal court, which he’ll do on Monday. Because we didn’t have time to get an indictment, he’s going to be advised of the charges and the judge will address the bond. From there, a case will be presented to the grand jury for an indictment.”

  “What does that …” I put my head in my hands. “Federal court?” That’s the only thing that stood out. Federal court sounds bad.

  “He took you across state lines, so this is a federal matter.”

  “There’ll be charges?”

  “You have to know that your dad is making it easier on himself—and you—by coming clean. This is good.”

  A cold laugh escapes my throat. I can tell you two people none of this is good for: Dad and me.

  “So can Dad come home on Monday after the charges?” I know the bond will probably be a lot of money, but I’ll give every cent I have so he can return home. Return to me.

  Sheriff Gleason sighs. “The prosecutor is going to recommend again
st a bond. I don’t see the judge granting him one.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a flight risk.”

  “Flight risk? My dad isn’t going to go anywhere. He’s—” I stop myself. It’s because he’s done it before. He fled. With me.

  I have to keep reminding myself that everything I thought I knew is wrong.

  Although I don’t feel like I can truly believe this new version of the truth until I hear it directly from Dad. I’m sure there’s a part of me that never will.

  Sheriff Gleason shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “You should prepare yourself for what happens when this becomes public on Monday.”

  A bitter laugh escapes my throat. “Are you kidding? The entire town has to be in a gossip frenzy by now. My dad was dragged out of our house in handcuffs by an FBI agent.” Even though I say it, I still can’t believe it.

  “I’m talking about the media.”

  “The media? Why would they care?”

  “Listen, we are going to protect you the best we can. The charges will only have your birth name, Amanda Linsley, so hopefully that will help with your privacy. I’ve made it clear that nobody in this station is going to talk. My family will do whatever we can to make sure you aren’t hounded. And it’s probably best if you don’t go to school for a couple days.”

  So I can’t see my dad. I can’t go home. Now I can’t even go to school.

  It’s probably best to remain numb to it all.

  “Sheriff Gleason, how much trouble is my father in?”

  He hesitates for a minute before answering. “A lot.”

  I’ve got to fix this. I don’t care what they think Dad did or even if he confessed. This is about me. I should get some say.

  “But what if I don’t want to press charges? That’s how this works, right? He took me, but I don’t care. He’s my father.” A thought suddenly comes to me. “He is my father, right?”

  “Of course.”

  I exhale loudly, grateful for one thing in my life to remain the same.

  “Can’t you do something?” I beg. “You know my dad. You’ve seen how he’s raised me. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  Sheriff Gleason clenches his jaw. “I wish I could, but the law is the law.” He leans back in his chair. “Ally, I know this is a lot to process, but I don’t think you fully understand what this means.”