Past Perfect Life

by Elizabeth Eulberg

  My mood shifts once again from confused and tired back to angry. “Of course I know what this means. My father is being taken away from me. I have no idea when I can see him again. Oh, and to top it all off, I have no clue who I am.”

  “That’s not what—” Sheriff Gleason stops himself and takes a deep breath. He shifts in his seat. “There are more people affected by this.” He pauses, realizing the weight of what he’s about to say. “Your mother is alive.”

  Chapter

  TWELVE

  How much can one person take? One heart? One mind?

  This can’t be happening …

  “Ally?” I hear Sheriff Gleason’s voice, but it’s as if he’s underwater. I suddenly yearn for the safety of being submerged. Where my hearing and vision are muted. Where I can duck down and be comforted by water hugging my body. “Ally? Did you hear what I said?”

  “I don’t have a mother.”

  I can’t possibly have a mother.

  Yes, everybody has a mother, but all this time …

  All this time …

  Sheriff Gleason tries to get me to focus on him to steady myself. I can’t look at him. I can’t do anything.

  “I understand that—”

  “You can’t,” I spit out. I can’t even comprehend it. Maybe it’s easier for someone on the outside of my life to put everything back in order, but I can’t.

  I won’t.

  “You’re right, you’re right.” Sheriff Gleason holds his hands up in surrender. “But you should know how relieved and grateful she is. She’s been looking for you all these years, Ally. She never gave up hope that she’d find you.”

  I lean forward and put my head in my hands.

  All this time …

  Dad has lied.

  Your life is a lie.

  YOU are a lie.

  I start hitting my head, hoping I’ll wake up from this nightmare. That I can find something that feels real to hold on to. None of this is real.

  But it is real.

  Even though I don’t want it to be.

  “Ally, please don’t.”

  I feel Sheriff Gleason’s grasp on me as he tries to stop me from doing any damage to myself. I jerk my hands away from him and abruptly jump up from the chair. “I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand. Please make this all go away.”

  Maybe if I stubbornly refuse to acknowledge this, it will disappear. The last agonizing and confusing hours will flutter away with it. I can go back.

  Dad made this life for us because he did what was best. I don’t know this woman claiming to be my mother. I do know my dad. If he decided I shouldn’t be with her, there must be something wrong with her. Maybe she was abusive. Maybe she didn’t love me.

  The thought that my mother is out there should give me comfort. I should be yearning to learn about her, but instead it absolutely terrifies me.

  Her existence is the final blow to life as I knew it.

  “Listen, I have her phone number.” Sheriff Gleason puts a small piece of paper on his desk. “Your mother is desperate to hear your voice. Maybe she can answer some questions for you. I’m sure you have many.”

  “No!” I scream.

  I beg my mind to stop processing all that’s happening. I can’t concentrate on whatever Sheriff Gleason is saying to me now. I can’t focus my eyes. I can barely breathe.

  This is what it must feel like to lose your mind.

  Another person enters the room, and I can make out Sheriff Gleason gesturing them to leave. I think he’s telling them everything’s fine. But it’s not. I don’t feel right. I want to go back to feeling nothing. I want to be numb.

  I want this to all go away.

  I finally make out a few words from Sheriff Gleason. “Breathe, just breathe.”

  I try, but my breath is caught in my lungs. It comes out in fits and starts.

  You’re hyperventilating! my mind screams at me. Start breathing. It wants me to fight what’s happening to my body. I want to give up.

  But I can’t. Dad needs me.

  I focus on a picture on Sheriff Gleason’s desk. It’s from the last Gleason family reunion. I see Neil, who stands out with his bright red hair and pale skin. I focus on his smiling face as I try to breathe.

  In and out …

  In and out …

  I will my mind to conjure a happier time—hell, even a miserable one—to focus on anything but the present. Every moment that surfaces features my dad. The one constant source of joy in my life.

  No, I have other people, other things. Concentrate on them.

  A memory flashes in my head from this past summer. Marian, Neil, and I took a ride over to Green Bay to tour the UW campus. We went for frozen custard afterward. I was craving turtle custard. They were out. Before I had a chance to pick another flavor, Neil smiled at the cashier. “You have hot fudge, right?” She nodded. “And caramel? And I assume you have pecans since the flavor of the day is butter pecan?” The woman confirmed that they did, indeed, have all those items. Neil continued, “Okay, you have all the elements to make this amazing friend of mine a turtle sundae. So tell me, Judy, what do I need to do to persuade you to put a smile on her face?”

  At the time, I was horrified of his making a fuss. But as soon as I took a bite of the sundae with the cool vanilla custard, the combination of hot fudge and caramel, the saltiness of the pecans, I gave Neil that smile he wanted.

  There are good things in this world, like turtle sundaes and friends.

  My breath steadies.

  “See,” Sheriff Gleason says. “It’s going to be okay.”

  I realize that a small smile has spread on my face, but it quickly vanishes. “No, it won’t. Nothing is going to be okay ever again.”

  I truly believe that. I can’t, I won’t, ever get past this.

  “Sheriff Gleason.” I look him in the eye. “I need to see my dad.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t make that happen tonight. He’s still talking to the FBI. Maybe tomorrow?”

  I nod. I’m too exhausted to fight anymore.

  “My brother is here to take you to his house. Whenever you’re ready. It’s probably best if you get some rest. I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can talk some more. This will give you time to figure out what questions you may have for your dad. I know you’ve had a lot to process.”

  I collapse back in the chair, unsure how I’ll make it to the parking lot. Every time a new thought forms in my head, it gets shoved away by another one. Now there’s only one thought, one word, that keeps repeating in my head.

  “I already know what I want to say to him,” I announce in a voice that sounds steady for the first time in hours.

  “What’s that?” Sheriff Gleason bends down so he’s close to me.

  “Why?”

  After a few beats, Sheriff Gleason realizes I’m not going to say anything else. “Why …?”

  “Just why? That’s all I want to know. Why?”

  Chapter

  THIRTEEN

  “You can stay as long as you like,” Marian’s mom, Janet, says as we enter their quiet house.

  “And let us know if you need anything at all,” Dennis replies. He places a cautious hand on my shoulder as if I’m breakable.

  I blink in my surroundings. I’m not really sure how I got here. There are snippets of the car ride over. But if I had to recall any specific moment, I’d fail.

  “We made up Susan’s room for you, unless you’d prefer to sleep in Marian’s,” Janet offers.

  Usually when I stay over, Marian and I both sleep on the floor of her bedroom in sleeping bags. Even after Marian’s older sister went away to college, we kept up our tradition. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here. A night on the floor whispering secrets to each other would be a welcome comfort, but not a good long-term solution.

  Dennis and Janet exchange looks since I haven’t spoken in … I don’t know how long.

  “You don’t have to decide now. No rush.”

 
My reply is to stare blankly back at them and then look around. Even with Susan gone, their house is rarely this quiet. Whenever I come over, Marian usually bounds down the stairs to greet me, but it’s only her parents and me in their kitchen. The yellow walls and pristine white cabinets always made this room cheerful and bright. It’s hurting my eyes now.

  “Do you want something to eat? Or drink?” Janet opens the stainless steel refrigerator, which is covered with photos and invitations. “I have some leftover lasagna that always tastes better the next day. Or I can make you a sandwich.”

  The thought of food makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t imagine ever having an appetite again.

  My silence is deafening, so Janet keeps talking to fill in the void. “Or I can cut up some fruit. Pete got in some ripe avocados at the store. I could make you some avocado toast or guacamole.”

  “Honey.” Dennis nods at her. She closes her mouth, and then gives me an embarrassed smile. He turns to me. “Why don’t you go up and see Marian? If you need anything, just let us know. But help yourself to whatever you need. We’ll be here.”

  “Thanks,” I finally say while they exchange relieved glances that I can speak.

  I take the familiar stairs to Marian’s room slowly. Each step is a painful reminder of why I’m there. Going to Marian’s house and sleeping over is one of my happiest memories from growing up. Is it now going to be tainted like everything in this nightmare?

  Marian’s door is open, music playing softly. The second stair to the top squeaks. We’d skip it if we had a late night, but today I put my foot down firmly so she can hear me approaching. As the stair groans, I hear Marian shift.

  “Ally?” she calls from her room. Her head pops out, and before I can even register the look on her face, she embraces me. It’s the first welcomed touch I’ve received in hours. I lean into her. “I’m so, so sorry.” She takes me by the hand and closes her bedroom door behind her. My duffel bag is on the floor beside her bed, along with Baxter’s favorite chew toy.

  “Where’s Baxter?” I ask. I’m used to him greeting me when I’m home, but I almost had forgotten that he was going to be here.

  “Neil and I took him for a long walk, and he’s passed out in the basement. Do you want me to go get him?”

  “In a minute,” I reply as I sit next to her on the bed. As much as I want the comfort of my dog, I need a few moments to collect myself. For some reason I don’t want Baxter to see me unraveled. At least one of us should live in ignorant bliss.

  “Do you want to talk? Or not talk? Or we can talk about anything else?” she offers. “Two truths and a lie?”

  Maybe confiding to Marian will make me feel better. Not like I could ever feel great about this, but it could keep me from drowning.

  “I’m angry. I’m scared. My life.”

  She waits for me to continue.

  I throw my head back. “I’m doing two truths and a lie. The lie, of course, being my entire life.”

  She rubs my arm. “That’s not true.”

  “How much do you know?” I ask, both embarrassed that this will all be public soon and yet hopeful I don’t have to relive it all again right in this instance.

  “A little.” She looks down at her colorful floral rug. “Enough, I guess.”

  “Do you know that I have a mom?”

  It’s such a foreign word to come out of my mouth, “mom.” There’s something not right about it.

  I, of course, knew at one point that I had a mom. Everybody has or had a mother. But this fact—that the woman who gave birth to me is alive and has been looking for me—is something I can’t ignore. Her phone number burns in my back pocket. Only ten digits away from being connected to a voice that may have some answers, a voice I didn’t even know existed.

  I try to place myself in her shoes. How she’s probably waiting by the phone to talk to me, her daughter. How she is happy I’ve been found.

  I know I’m a total asshole for refusing to call her right now. For asking that she give me time. Time to figure out what to do. To see what I can even do. To see Dad. To get answers.

  “Ally?” Marian’s waving her hand in front of my face. It’s a familiar gesture. Usually she has to get my attention when I’m busy thinking about a class assignment or my to-do list.

  “Sorry,” I reply.

  “You don’t need to apologize for anything. So … you have a mom?”

  “Can we talk about something else?” While I brought her up, I realize that I want to shove her back down again. Just like I don’t want to talk about what my father did. If I concentrate too long on him, anger starts to bubble up.

  “Of course.” She bites her lip. I’ve never seen her so unsure of herself. “Ah, so this probably isn’t a surprise or anything, but Neil is a nervous wreck right now. He really wants to talk to you. I had to shut off my phone because he was texting me every two minutes to see if you were here. It was everything to get him to go home so he couldn’t bombard you when you arrived.”

  “So everybody knows.”

  Marian flinches.

  It was a stupid question. Of course they do. I knew it the second the police showed up on our block.

  “Can I ask a favor?”

  “Yes, whatever you need,” she replies.

  “I know it’s going to be hard, but I don’t want this to change anything.”

  A serious look spreads on her face. “We’ve already talked about it.” She didn’t need to clarify that the we is the Gleason clan. “And lives have been threatened if anybody even thinks about talking to the press.”

  Her answer surprises me. I’m not worried about the media. I’m worried about this second family I’ve built over the years. “I don’t understand why the media will care.”

  “Well, as my dad said, people can get obsessed about their fifteen minutes of fame. But my family takes care of our own, and you are family. This town also takes care of its own. I mean, everyone practically thinks you’re a Gleason anyway. Oh!” Marian’s hand goes up in front of her face.

  “What?” I ask, afraid of the answer.

  She shakes her head. “Nothing, I just realized something.” She studies me for a second before continuing. “I know you don’t want to talk about your mom, but you know what this means?”

  “That my life has been a lie,” I reply, the constant echo inside my head.

  “You probably have aunts and uncles, a grandmother and grandfather. Cousins!” Marian’s face lights up, ignoring the dread that has enveloped my entire body. Marian has been surrounded by a large family her whole life. It’s the only thing she’s ever known. There might be this other huge family out there that I belong to, but they are strangers to me.

  Shouldn’t I feel like there’s this part of me that’s missing? But I feel nothing. I’m empty inside.

  Marian looks confused at my nonreaction to having a family. I should be happy that there’s a piece to the puzzle of my life that will be put into place.

  But I’m not.

  I don’t want any of this.

  Chapter

  FOURTEEN

  I’ve never been the type of person who needs to be entertained. If Dad has to work late, I stay in my room and read. Or watch TV. Or just stare out the window and daydream.

  I wish I could just think of something now to take me away.

  But I can’t. No matter what I try to do to distract myself, the truth comes crashing down around me.

  I let out a loud groan in frustration, and it echoes throughout Marian’s empty house. It isn’t even noon on the longest morning of my life. Marian is babysitting while her parents are out running errands. At least that’s the story I was told, although I’m convinced they’re probably at some emergency Gleason meeting to discuss yours truly.

  Baxter has been happily running around the backyard barking at squirrels or, at one point, his own shadow. I took him for a walk earlier, but it was unsettling. People I’ve known since the day I moved here would either greet me with an esp
ecially cheery disposition or they’d give me a look of pity.

  I can’t escape the truth anywhere.

  So I decided to stay inside, to confine myself to the Gleason house. Just like a prisoner. Although unlike Dad, I’m innocent.

  Even homework, which can usually occupy hours of my time, isn’t helping. I try to work ahead in every subject, but I find myself reading the same sentence over and over again. Nothing sticks.

  I’m staring blankly at the ceiling when there’s a knock, followed by the front door opening. My protective instinct makes me duck behind the kitchen counter. Most of the people in town don’t lock their doors, but Dad and I always have.

  “Ally,” Sheriff Gleason calls out. “I’ve brought in reinforcements.” When he sees the worried look on my face, he clarifies, “Donuts. Not to be a cliché, but yum.”

  He sets down a bag from Dunkin’ Donuts. The closest one is over a thirty-minute drive from here. He’s trying to make an effort, so I give him a forced smile. Plus, he’s the one who can decide when I get to see Dad again. I also wonder if he could be a character witness or something. I don’t know how this kind of stuff works, but everybody knows my dad is a good person.

  You’d think that with all the courtroom and police shows I’ve watched I would have some kind of understanding of the legal process.

  “Thanks.” I open the bag and pull out a chocolate-glazed donut. I place it on a napkin and pick at it. I haven’t been able to eat since, well …

  He pulls out a stool from the counter and sits down. He takes a swig of coffee as he studies me. “How are you feeling? Were you able to get any sleep last night?”

  “A little,” I lie. I tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling and then the clock, wishing that the night would be over, but dreading what fresh hell today would bring.

  “I wanted to give you an update. After your father’s court appearance, the sheriff in Tampa is planning a press conference.”

  “Tampa? Why?” I ask.

  “You’ve been a missing child from Tampa for years. There will be a lot of people there relieved you’ve been found.”