by Teresa Hill
Allie had never thought of it like that. She'd tried to simply escape her mother and bury everything in her past, but she'd never thought there might have been some point to it all. That there might be something she should take away from the whole experience to make her a different person, a better one. She'd never imagined anything good coming of what happened to her family.
Until she looked up at her former home and had an idea.
To her, this would always be Megan's house. She'd believed mistakenly that it would always be the site of a tragedy—the place where her family fell apart.
But it didn't have to be that way. She had the power to make it something else, something good. Genuine excitement surged through her veins, for what seemed to be the first time in years.
"A runaway shelter," she said. "That's what this should be. Something in my sister's memory, something that might help girls like her."
Megan's House, she thought, smiling broadly up at the stately old home. Stephen was right. It was time to look to the future, and this was exactly what she wanted to do with the house and with her time and energy.
"It's perfect," she said, feeling like she could fly, like she could do anything at all.
"Perfect?" Stephen began.
"Of course. I can't live here, and I'd been thinking of donating the money from the sale of the house to the organization that helped my mother. But this would be so much better."
"Money, yes. But this house?"
"Why not?"
"I could make you a list," he said.
"I don't want a list of reasons it might not work. I want to make it happen. That's what you told me to do," she reminded him. "Think of what I want and figure out how to make it happen."
"Allie—"
"I don't want everyone to forget her, Stephen. Sometimes it's like she never lived at all, like someone wiped a slate clean and she was gone. But if her death and her story can help other kids... If it can give them a safe place to stay or maybe help them get back home again, I can't think of anything better I could do in her memory."
"Allie, it would cost a fortune to fix up this house."
"Which you were perfectly willing to do five minutes ago."
"I have the money. You don't."
"I'll find it."
"You said yourself, the group you worked with in Connecticut lived on the edge financially. There was never enough money. There won't be enough to renovate this house." He frowned. "I admire you for what you want to do. But this isn't the way. Not here. Not with this house."
"Why not?"
"If not money, let's start with zoning. Do you know anything about zoning ordinances?"
"No," she said.
"I do. And I bet this whole area's zoned for single-family housing. That means one family living in one freestanding house. Communities protect their residential areas, and you won't find anything like a shelter for runaways specifically permitted in any zoning district in any town. It's going to be subject to more rules and special reviews than most anything you could build. Which means the zoning board will have a lot of discretion in deciding where it can or cannot go."
"I'll convince them it's a good idea," she said, ready to ignore all logic for once in her life. Where had logic gotten her anyway? It had kept her quiet and following a bunch of rules made by her mother, which had been a huge mistake. She was tired of playing by the rules, of dispassionately running through a list of variables and doing what she thought was safe and sensible.
For every reason he could cite to make this a bad idea, her heart said it was a good one, maybe even the real reason she'd come back here in the first place.
She'd always wanted to live in an orderly world, wanted to believe that in the end, things worked out the way they were supposed to. That there was a grand plan for the universe. Someone directed it, understood it all, even if Allie didn't. If for some reason her sister had to die, maybe Allie had finally found a way to make something good come of it.
"I don't think it's going to work," Stephen said.
"I do," she insisted. "And I thought you were going to help me."
"I am. I'm trying to talk some sense into you," he said. "Sell me the house, Allie. I'll pay you a good price for it. Take the money, then give it to the organization that helped your mother. With the kind of money we're talking about, they can build a new shelter. I'm sure they'd be happy to dedicate it to your sister's memory."
"It wouldn't be the same," she said. "This is where she lived."
"It doesn't matter," he argued. "This won't work."
Allie crossed her arms in front of her and glared at him. "Why are you so set against this?"
"I'm not. I'm being practical."
She paused. She was normally a very practical woman. She found she wasn't in this. "I can make it work."
"You'll never get the zoning approval."
"Never?" she asked, taking it as a personal challenge.
"Look around you," he said, annoyingly calm. "What do you see?"
"Rich people's houses," she guessed, seeing where he was going. Was he a snob after all? "And they shouldn't have to put up with something like a shelter for runaway teenagers in their neighborhood."
"I'm not going to argue the right or wrong in that. I'm telling you that your neighbors are some of the wealthiest and most influential people in this town, and they will not react favorably to having a shelter for troubled kids in their midst. They'll protest long and loud in front of the zoning board, most of whom are probably their friends, and you'll be dead in the water before you ever make it to the first meeting."
Allie looked back up at the house and thought of her sister. She pictured the house with a sign across the front that said Megan's House, thought of other families escaping from the devastation that had rained down upon hers at her sister's death. She thought about the amazing potential within each and every person, the unimaginable losses to the world when life was cut cruelly short because young people lost themselves at times and felt like there was nowhere they could go, no one who would understand.
Allie could do something about that.
She thought about all the compromises she'd made in her life to date, all the seemingly safe paths she'd taken. The paths of least resistance, she realized, ashamed of what she'd always been.
But not anymore. She was through compromising, through running away from things because they were hard and they might seem impossible at first. She was here, she owned this house, and she knew exactly what she was meant to do with it.
"It's going to be a runaway shelter," she vowed. "I'm going to make it work."
* * *
Stephen's cell phone rang as he pulled out of Allie's driveway. It was his father, and Stephen knew what his father wanted.
"I made her an offer, Dad."
"And?"
"She's thinking it over."
"What else?"
"There's nothing else to tell. Unless you want to tell me something for a change?"
Like what was his father so afraid Allie was going to find out? Or remember? Bruises on her sister's arm, maybe? What else might still be locked in her memory after all this time?
"I just want her gone," his father said. "You checked the records, right? The newspapers? The police reports?"
"Yes. I had someone check."
"There's nothing for her to find?"
"Not much." But someone had gotten there before him. More than one person, in fact. He didn't like the sound of that at all. And he'd already heard Allie had been there herself.
"We should have pulled the records before she ever came back here."
Stephen was sure his father could have made that happen. Newspaper records disappearing, police reports. Still, he couldn't see how that would have helped.
"Having them disappear would have looked even more suspicious than what little she could find from the records," he argued.
"All right. I'll leave it to you," his father said reluctantly. "Is that it?"
/> "That's it," Stephen lied.
There was no way he was going to tell his father about Allie's newest idea. A shelter in her sister's name.
That's just what they needed. Something to get everyone in town talking about her sister's disappearance all over again. He didn't see how Allie would ever trust him once his part in Megan's disappearance came out, didn't see how he could keep his position—firmly between her and his father—once she knew.
He had to talk her out of the shelter. It was a bad idea all around.
So was the fact that he genuinely liked her, that he hated seeing her hurt, that he truly enjoyed having her in his arms.
He could lie to his father with hardly a twinge of conscience, but he was finding it hard as hell to keep the truth from her.
He wasn't capable of lying to himself, either. He'd called her this morning because he had to find out what she was doing, but he could have done that anywhere. Taking her to the farm had been a purely emotional choice. It was one of his most favorite places, one of the most beautiful he knew, and he'd wanted her to see it exactly as he did. As a special place, one where he could breathe, where he could forget all the little stresses of everyday life and be reminded that in most ways he was a very lucky man.
He could have sworn she'd seen all the things in it that he did. He'd felt a connection with her, felt a need to dig deeper into who she truly was. He was afraid the more he knew about her, the more he'd like her.
Which was impossible.
Stephen closed his eyes and swore softly. The whole situation was getting more complicated by the minute, and she'd only been here for a day and a half.
"Call me," his father grumbled. "Call me as soon as you know anything."
"I will," Stephen said, which was yet another lie.
* * *
Allie refused to let Stephen's skepticism bring her down. She was determined to make the shelter work. She hadn't felt this energetic, this enthusiastic about a project in a long, long time.
She spent an hour on the phone with Holly Rowe, the director of the runaway shelter in Connecticut. Holly promised to send her all kinds of information on organizing and funding a shelter. Holly was cautious, too, particularly about zoning troubles. She'd helped organize three shelters and discovered people were picky about where they'd allow a bunch of troubled teenagers to live.
Allie put that thought to the back of her mind and concentrated on the positive. Holly had gotten three shelters up and running. Surely Allie could do one.
She felt more energetic than she ever had in her life, felt a sense of purpose that had always been missing. She was ashamed to say she'd never found anything truly important she'd wanted to accomplish with her life. She'd drifted along, trying to take care of herself, trying not to get hurt, always looking inward—at herself—and never outward at what she might have to give to the world.
Her past was her past. She still wanted answers. But Stephen was right that in the end, there would be nothing gained by knowing what had happened, except she hoped peace of mind for herself.
This was different. This was real. A tribute to her sister's life that would help kids like Megan.
It was so much more than columns of numbers on a page. How had she ever thought she could be happy doing something like that with her life?
Life was a gift, she'd decided today. Megan lost hers, but Allie hadn't. As she saw it, that meant she had an obligation to make something of her life.
Her first stop was town hall. The zoning office clerk confirmed that the area surrounding her house was indeed zoned for single-family housing. Anything else was permitted only by special exceptions granted by the zoning board, with even more stringent criteria for a shelter.
She left with a stack of papers explaining all the regulations—practically a whole book—and refused to be deterred. The rules didn't say absolutely no shelters for teenage runaways at 307 Willow Lane. It just said she needed special permission, and she'd get it.
What she'd told Stephen was true. Her own mother might as well have denied Megan ever existed, and after years of silence, Allie wanted to talk about her. She wanted everyone to know that she had a sister named Megan, a girl who thought she had no option but to run away from home, a decision that ultimately cost her her life. Allie didn't want anyone to ever forget that.
Part of the process would be telling her sister's story, telling the story of her own family. Allie knew a bit about raising money. People were most generous when the appeal was personal. She would use Megan's picture, would tell Megan's story. Which meant she had to have the whole story. It was all tied together now, a part of her end goal. Deal with the past, to move on to the future. Use Megan's story to help make the shelter work.
* * *
She was leaving town that morning when she drove right by the drugstore and remembered the waitress, Martha, who seemed to know something about Allie's sister. Allie was right there. Martha seemed like an obvious place to start.
Allie walked into the drugstore and sat down. Martha moved cautiously closer, another pot of coffee in her hand. She didn't spill or break anything this time, merely asked, "What can I get for you?"
"Answers," Allie said. "You knew my sister?"
Martha went still. In the entire time she'd been there the day before, Allie hadn't seen the woman hold still for an instant, except when she first looked at Allie's face.
"I knew all of you. Your mother and your sister and you used to come here." Martha's gaze narrowed on Allie. "You don't remember much, do you?"
"Bits and pieces. Seeing things is helping bring back more memories."
"I'm real sorry," Martha said. "About the other day. About everything."
Everything? She made it sound like a world of trouble had befallen Allie's family here.
"Did you know my father?" she tried. "What was he like?"
"Before you and your mother left? Or after?"
"After."
"He was quiet, kept to himself. He came in during off hours. He'd sit in the corner, order right away, hide behind his newspaper until his food came, then he'd eat and leave. I hardly ever saw him say a word to anybody."
Allie imagined him here hiding. She felt a little ache in her heart for this man she hardly knew, a man she'd both loved and resented her whole life, one she'd never understood.
"Why did he hide? Didn't people around here like him?"
"Oh, Lord, child." Martha looked concerned. "You don't know?"
Allie took a breath and thought, How bad could it possibly be? But her heart was racing and Martha was fiddling nervously.
"I never believed the gossip," Martha said. "Some people did, but I didn't. And nothin' ever came of it, so you'd think the whole story would have died down after a while. But you know how people like to talk, and the truth gets lost along the way sometimes. Still, when you and your mother disappeared so unexpectedly... No one knew where you were, and your father... he looked so..."
"What?" Allie said. "He looked so what?"
"Guilty," Martha said.
"Guilty of what?"
"Like I said, nobody knew for sure where you and your mother were. Or what might have happened to you...."
Allie's mouth fell open. "People thought my father did something to me and my mother?"
Martha nodded.
"But he wouldn't hurt us," she said. "He didn't. We just left. My mother took me away. That's all. She took me; he knew that. Didn't he tell anyone? Didn't he explain?"
"I don't know, and even if he did... I'm not sure how many people believed him."
"Oh, my God." Allie thought for the first time about what his life might have been like here. They'd left him in the house where they'd once been so happy, left him all alone with nothing but his own memories and the town's suspicions. "How could anyone think he'd hurt us? He was a wonderful man."
"I really wouldn't know about that," Martha said in a way that had Allie thinking just the opposite, that Martha did indeed know more.
"It was the way he looked, child." Martha's face fell. It took on a look of concern, of compassion, or maybe reluctance to bring about any more hurt. "He looked guilty, even said as much to some people. They'd tell him how sorry they were about you and your sister being gone, and he'd say it was his own fault, that he deserved to lose you."
"Why?" Allie cried. "Why would he say that?"
"I couldn't say, child. I just couldn't."
* * *
Allie went straight from the drugstore to her father's attorney, who agreed to see her right away.
"After my mother and I left..." she began, having trouble even repeating what she'd heard. "Did people blame my father? Did they think he hurt us somehow?"
"I'm afraid so," Mr. Webster said kindly.
"Why?"
"Nothing but circumstances, I'd say," he explained. "It was all so odd, Allie. One minute you and your mother were here, and the next you were gone. Your father didn't tell anyone at first, but he looked awful. Megan had just died, so that wasn't unusual. But people would ask about where you and your mother were, and he'd make up some excuse. That you weren't feeling well. That you'd gone to visit relatives. I think he was hoping you'd come back before he had to tell anyone the truth. But the lying didn't help him later, when it all came out. You have to understand, it was like you'd disappeared off the face of the earth. Your mother didn't tell anyone she was going away or why. She hardly took anything with her. It looked suspicious."
"So what happened?"
"Eventually, the school came looking for you, and you weren't there. By then, all sorts of rumors were flying around town. Your father said you and your mother had moved away, and when the lady from school asked where you were, he wouldn't tell anyone. I'm not sure he knew at that point. That's when the sheriff's department got involved."
Allie winced. "They arrested him?"
"No, but they questioned him, and in some people's minds, that was enough to make him look guilty. The cabdriver who took you and your mother to the airport was the only person who could verify your father's story, and it took a while to track him down. His statement was enough for the sheriff, but you know how stories get started...."
