Past Perfect Life Page 9

“Ally?” he pleads with me.

  I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know anything anymore.

  It’s all too much.

  I need time.

  I need space.

  “Ally?”

  The walls are closing in on me. I try to call out for Officer Dash to get me out of here, but my voice fails. I try again, but nothing.

  “Ally?” Dad pleads.

  I can’t.

  I just can’t.

  It would be so easy to tell him that I forgive him, but it’s impossible. At this moment, I’m confused, I’m angry, and I’m hurt.

  I love my dad, but he has deceived me. The person I thought he was, the person I thought I was, doesn’t exist.

  I can’t.

  “GET ME OUT!” I scream.

  Officer Dash opens the door. “Is everything okay?”

  I shake my head. “No, it isn’t. I need to get out of here.” I turn my back on Dad.

  “Ally,” Dad says one last time. “I love you so much, honey. Please look at me.”

  I lock eyes with him. The eyes I’ve been staring at my entire life. The ones that had greeted me every day when he came home from work. The ones that had comforted me when I was upset. The ones that had looked into mine while he lied to my face.

  Every day.

  For fifteen years.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know who you are.”

  I rush out of the room. I don’t even flinch when I hear the door buzz, locking him in.

  Chapter

  SIXTEEN

  Minutes later, I find myself alone in Sheriff Gleason’s office.

  And I am completely broken inside.

  There’s something I can do to begin to put the fragments together again. Something I have to do.

  I pick up the phone in his office and stare at the receiver.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I start dialing. My hands shake, and I press a wrong number. I hang up and try again. Taking each digit one by one. I slow my breathing down in an attempt to calm my nerves.

  She picks up before the first ring can finish.

  “Hello? Hello?” The voice is unsteady, a desperate note to it.

  I can’t seem to find my own voice.

  “Hello?” she says again.

  It’s her.

  It’s … my mom. Although I can’t really wrap my head around that concept. No, it’s Paula, I tell myself. It’ll be easier on me if I think of her solely as a person from my past.

  I try to reply, but only a croak comes out.

  “MANDY?” she pleads into the phone.

  I hear a male voice in the background say, “Is it her?”

  Huh. I’ve been so focused on everything happening to me I never really stopped to wonder about her. Is she married? Or I guess remarried? Does she have other kids?

  “It’s not a prank call, is it? Or a reporter?” the male voice asks with a tone seeping of irritation.

  I clear my throat and finally speak. “It’s me.”

  A wailing sound comes from the other end. Not like she’s in pain or hurt, but like a person who has had a tremendous weight lifted off her shoulders.

  Of course. She’s your mother. Remember that.

  I have to constantly remind myself that this woman, even though I didn’t know she existed until yesterday, has been looking for me this entire time.

  All this time …

  The sobs slow down. “I knew we’d find you. I never gave up. Please know that, Amanda. Oh, wait. You don’t go by Amanda, do you? We named you after my mother, your grandmother. But now you go by Allison, right?” I’m glad I’m not the only one nervous about this. She keeps talking faster and faster. “Allison is a nice name. One of my college roommates was named Allison. Or do you prefer Ally?”

  “My name is Ally.”

  “Okay, Ally, sweetheart. Whatever name you want. How are you? I talked to the sheriff last night, and he said that you’re a really good student and smart. That makes me so relieved to hear that you’ve been doing great. Are you doing okay?”

  Of course I’m not doing okay! But I bite my tongue and lie.

  “I’m okay.” Although it might not technically be a lie since I have a feeling she’s more wondering what kind of person I turned into. As angry as I am at Dad, he was a good father.

  If only I could find the courage to tell Paula about Dad. About how I feel. A daughter should be able to open up to her mother, but Paula is a stranger.

  “I am thrilled to hear your voice.” I can practically hear her smile. “We’ve had so many false tips over the years. Even though it hurt to get my hopes up, I knew you were out there. I just knew we’d eventually find you. I don’t want you to think that I’d forgotten or moved on. Not a single day went by without me thinking of you.”

  “Honey, take a deep breath,” the guy says.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not giving you a chance to talk. I’ve just been imagining this moment for so long. I know you must be confused and scared, but, Mandy, I mean, Ally, please know that I love you and am here for you.”

  Love.

  She loves me.

  But she doesn’t even know me.

  She’s quiet now. Is she waiting for me to tell her that I love her? How can you love someone you don’t know?

  “I want you to know that Dad has taken great care of me,” I blurt as I try to hold on to the good memories. “I’m one of the top students in my class. I’m going to get a scholarship. I don’t do drugs. Ah, I don’t even have a single cavity.”

  She laughs at my babbling. “It’s so good to hear. Oh, honey, I have missed you so much. Do you …” She takes a deep breath. “I know you were so young, but do you remember me?”

  I search my brain again for any glimpse or memory of my mother.

  I’ve got nothing.

  When I think of a mom, I think of Julie Andrews. When I was little, I’d come home from school and Dad would still be at work. We couldn’t afford day care, so I would just lock the door and put on The Sound of Music. I used to want to be part of the von Trapp family. I’d even sing along.

  Maria was something special. The love and care she had for those children—that’s what a mom represented to me.

  Besides, beating Nazis is always a plus.

  “Mandy?”

  “I—I—” I stutter. “I don’t remember you. Sorry. I thought you were dead.”

  She sucks in her breath. “Oh, no. No, no, no … I can’t believe your father told you that.” Bitterness creeps into her voice when she mentions Dad. “All this time you thought I was dead?”

  All this time …

  “Cancer.”

  She starts crying. First it’s quiet sniffles, like she’s fighting it. Then the floodgates open and I can hear her sobbing.

  Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have told her that. Hey, Mom, I know we haven’t spoken in fifteen years, but I thought you died from cancer.

  She pulls herself together and starts talking again. “I know Sheriff Gleason said that you need some time to adjust to everything happening. I’m sure it’s a shock, but I can’t wait to see you with my own eyes. To hold my baby girl again. I’ve waited too long and can’t wait a single second more. So we’re getting on a plane as soon as possible. And when you’re ready to see me, I’ll be there. I’ve always wanted to be there for you, honey. Please know that.”

  I nod, even though she can’t see me. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.

  There’s no way I’ll be able to live up to whoever she has in her head. I’m just a boring, normal girl. Or maybe she’ll be disappointed with how well I turned out, if it seems like I didn’t really need a mother. Maybe she’s expecting to swoop in and save me.

  I don’t need saving.

  I meant what I said: my dad had taken really good care of me. I like the life I have.

  But last night was like a split in my universe. Every moment from my life will, from now on, be identified by whether it was before or after.

  “Honey?�
�� she says. I think she’s given up trying to remember that I’m not Amanda. “Is there anything you need me to do? I’ll do anything.”

  And the weird thing is, I believe her. She would do anything for me. At least, I hope she will.

  But can I really ask her to let me continue my life here uninterrupted? To let me live this lie of a life in semi-ignorant bliss.

  “No, I’m okay,” I reply.

  “I’m so happy to hear your voice. It’s like a piece of my life is back.”

  Well, I guess I should be glad someone is happy.

  Chapter

  SEVENTEEN

  I don’t believe in ghosts.

  I’ve always been too practical about life and trusting of science to get freaked out by ghost stories or urban legends.

  But now that I’m walking around my home, I feel as if I’m being haunted.

  Everywhere there are memories of my dad, our former life, before.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” Sheriff Gleason says as he pops his head into my bedroom. “Take your time.”

  I nod as I shove more clothes into a bag. I have no idea when I’m going to be back here. I’ve been warned that there may be journalists outside the home when the story goes public, although I can’t really fathom why on earth a journalist would care what’s happened to me. It’s really nobody’s business but my own.

  A photo of Dad and me at the lake catches my eye. We both look so happy and calm. Dad, holding up a big fish, and me, covering my nose with a book. I always had to take a shower immediately after we went fishing. Especially since Dad insisted upon cutting the fish as soon as we got home. “It keeps them fresh,” he used to argue. I’m pretty sure he did it because he knew it grossed me out.

  I put the photo facedown on my nightstand. Every happy memory is now tainted by the fact that Dad was hiding something from me. Every moment we had has been tarnished, and there’s no turning back.

  All this time …

  I stomp out of my bedroom and go directly into Dad’s.

  “Can I help?” Sheriff Gleason calls after me.

  I scan Dad’s room. He took the smaller of the two bedrooms, saying he only needed a place to rest his head at night, while I required my own space since I was growing up. His bed is still made, with a navy blue plaid comforter. The only other pieces of furniture are a chest of drawers and a nightstand, with a lamp and a book of crossword puzzles on it. I go to the drawers and start rummaging through his stuff.

  “Ally?” Sheriff Gleason asks. “What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I have no idea, but I hope to find some answers.

  There were plenty of times I could’ve gone through Dad’s things, but never had a reason to snoop around. Or doubt anything he’d told me.

  Not anymore.

  There are only clothes in the drawers. Next up, I open the door to his small closet. A variety of button-down shirts and pants hang. Sneakers and work boots are on the floor, but there are a few shoeboxes above. I grab them and pull them down.

  They are really light, practically weightless.

  Bingo.

  One box has the year written on it and is filled with receipts. (God, being an adult seems so mundane.)

  I open the second box and dump out the contents. More slips of paper. Some have numbers written on them. Then my breath catches as I see Dad’s old driver’s license from Florida. No, it’s Daniel Linsley’s driver’s license. It’s been hard to believe my dad was this other person—Daniel Linsley—but here it is. The name, the photo, the address, and his birthday.

  His real birthday. A month and year earlier than he told me.

  My eye catches on two small photos, which were probably in his wallet when we left.

  One is a photo of my dad and a woman I can only assume is Paula at their wedding. I’ve never seen this before. I’ve never seen her face before. Dad has always said that it hurt to look at her, so I never pushed him on it. The one picture of my mom and me in my bedroom is from right after I was born. The mother’s head is turned and looking down at a very pink newborn baby.

  I trace her face with my hand. We have the same green eyes. I have her eyes.

  That simple fact alone makes me feel closer to her.

  The other photo is a younger version of Dad on the beach. There are two older people. His parents? And a woman who looks a little older than he is. Could it be a sister?

  Oh my God, my dad’s parents might be alive. And his sister. Of course they are. I’ve been so focused on Paula, but I probably have family on his side as well.

  I sit cross-legged on the floor and stare at the two photos.

  “Ally?”

  “I’ve never seen these,” I say as I hold up the photo of Dad and his possible family. “He kept these from me.”

  He had kept the truth from me. Kept my family from me.

  I go back to the wedding photo. Paula is wearing a white lace dress and Dad is in a gray tuxedo. They aren’t looking at the camera because they only have eyes for each other. They are holding hands and laughing.

  What happened to them? It’s hard to believe that kind of love can turn sour.

  Maybe I am the reason?

  Sheriff Gleason comes from behind me and sees the driver’s license with all the scraps of paper. “Oh my God. We’re going to need the contents of that box. This saves us a search warrant.”

  These memories are now evidence. Everything has been tainted by this mess.

  Sheriff Gleason kneels down next to me. “Are you okay?”

  “I really wish people would stop asking me that,” I say angrily. “Sorry.”

  I stagger to standing, my head swirling. It’s a combination of everything I just uncovered and the fact that I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. I go back to the living room and sit in my normal spot on the couch.

  Looking around at the place I have called home for eight years, I wonder what’s going to happen to it. Every piece that has been added throughout the years tells a story from my life with Dad. I unsteadily get back up and head over to the shelf above the fireplace that is lined with the Precious Moments figurines that Dad had gotten me for my birthday every year.

  I hold a figurine in my hand and trace the outline. It’s of a girl in a blue dress, blowing out a candle on an oversized cupcake. It’s from my first birthday in Valley Falls. We’d only been here a few weeks, but twenty people came over for cake and ice cream, all thanks to the Gleasons.

  That night, when he tucked me into bed, Dad told me that we were going to stay put. No more moving every few months. He liked it here. I liked it here. I slept really well and felt so safe that night. So happy.

  And it was all a lie.

  I take the figurine and throw it across the room. It smashes into pieces.

  Sheriff Gleason flinches in shock. “Ally?”

  I grab another figurine and hurl it against the wall.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Sheriff Gleason backs away, knowing I need this release.

  It feels good. With every sound of shattering porcelain, I feel some of the hatred and betrayal lessen.

  Once all the figurines lie in pieces, I stagger back and look at what I did. There is only so much I have left, and I decided to destroy one of the good memories.

  They are gone. I did that.

  “Ally?” Sheriff Gleason steps toward me.

  That’s when it happens.

  This entire time, I’ve been holding on to small scraps of the past. I’ve been trying to convince myself of so many different things. My emotions have bounced back and forth.

  Now they have finally settled into despair.

  I collapse on the floor. The tears and anguish I’ve been holding back release in a torrent of screams and sobs. I don’t recognize this person I’ve become. I’m utterly destroyed. I’ve been thrown against the wall and shattered.

  Sheriff Gleason wraps his arms around me as I cry and cry. />
  And cry.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he says to me.

  But that’s just another lie.

  Chapter

  EIGHTEEN

  There is now only one constant left in my family life.

  Baxter licks my cheek as I hug him tightly. He tries to wiggle from my grasp, but I won’t let go. I desperately need to hold on to him.

  A low growl radiates from Baxter as he breaks free. He takes a few steps to grab a ball and then drops it in front of me. His tail is wagging; his legs are poised to run to catch it.

  I place the ball in my hand and throw it in the backyard. Baxter happily yelps as he runs after it, then brings it back. He drops the ball at my feet and barks.

  What it must be like to be a dog. He has no idea what’s happening. He doesn’t even seem to be upset that my dad’s not here. Of course, he also now has Marian’s family spoiling him rotten. Even their grumpy cat, Gizmo, has been hiding, so Baxter truly rules the roost.

  “Hey.”

  I turn around to see Marian standing near the sliding glass door that leads into the house. “It’s freezing out here.” She wraps her arms around herself as she sits down next to me, wearing a coat.

  I hadn’t really noticed the cold, and I only have my oversized UW sweatshirt on. I’m still feeling numb from my visit to the house.

  “How was seeing your dad?”

  I shrug.

  “Did you speak with your mom?”

  I nod.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I pause for a moment. “Not really, but I’m just so angry. At everything. Especially my dad.”

  “That’s understandable. I mean, I cried when I found out my parents lied about the tooth fairy and Santa. And that’s nothing. If you can’t trust your parents, you know.”

  I do. I really do.

  She rests her head on my shoulder. “You can trust me. And you can trust my family, who is really your family, too.”

  “I just, with everything … I mean, I can’t thank you guys enough.”

  “Of course.”

  I lay my head on hers as we look out at the backyard. A quiet peace falls over me for a moment, and I’m wondering how I can hold on to the best part of my life.

  “This is nice,” I comment.