Really Something (11 page)

“Tell us more about this movie thing,” Dad said, dishing up another scoop of potatoes. Carlene shoveled her food into her mouth, fast as a driver in the final laps at the Indy 500. “Why are you shooting it here anyway? Tempest isn't exactly a tourist trap.”

“That's what makes it perfect. It's remote, off-the-beaten-path, and it has that empty quality about it.” Allie tried to roll off the thick cream-of-mushroom soup coating on the green beans, but it stuck like Elmer's glue. She opted instead for a small bite of fried chicken.

“Tempest is about as exciting as a barium enema except without the neon green,” Carlene said. “It's where bad towns come to die.”

Allie didn't bother to point out that Carlene had yet to change her own zip code. “I found this farmhouse that would be a perfect setting for the movie, but so far, the owner's been…resistant.”

“Who's the owner?” Dad asked. “Maybe I know him from the factory. I could talk to him for you.”

Allie swallowed. “Uh…Duncan Henry.”

Silence suffocated the table.

“Duncan Henry. Gee, isn't he the same guy you had a crush on in high school?” Carlene's voice ranged into high and innocent, as if she didn't know her words danced on a hornet's nest.

“Why you'd ever like a Henry, I'll never know,” Ma said.

“Bunch of bastards,” her father grumbled. “I hope John Henry rots in hell for what he did to us. What he did to Tempest. Steer clear of Duncan. Any son of a Henry comes with trouble in his genes.”

Ma patted Dad's hand. “Larry, don't get yourself worked up. Here,” she said, reaching for the dish of fried chicken, “have some more dinner. You'll feel better.”

Dad waved off the Crisco-laden heart-attack-on-a-wishbone. “If it hadn't been for that John Henry, I'd be collecting retirement instead of asking for extra hours at the Dollar Market.”

“And we wouldn't be spending Allie's ‘gifts' at the grocery,” Carlene said. Ma smacked Carlene's hand and shushed her.

Heat invaded Allie's cheeks. She'd sent the money once a month for five years, increasing the amount in the envelope as her income did, knowing things at home were tight, had been ever since the factory had shut its doors.

And yet, she knew, even as she'd signed the checks, that she'd sent the money not to help her parents cover the bills, not to repay their help with her college tuition, but to assuage her guilt at staying away from this town. From Duncan Henry and all the pumpkin pies that came with him and this place.

“Allison means well,” Ma said, giving her eldest daughter's hand a squeeze, but the notes in her voice didn't ring true.

“Doesn't matter what you do or say,” Carlene said. “Duncan Henry isn't going to let you into that farmhouse. Nobody's been in that place for years. It's where the accident happened.”

Ma and Dad's heads both swiveled in Carlene's direction. “It is?” Ma said. “But I thought…didn't the paper say it was out near State Road 89 or something like that?”

Carlene colored. “Yeah, well, that's where the farmhouse is. I heard it was, like, a family place or something. Katie had a party there.”

Ma sighed and shook her head. “Such a tragedy that was, too.”

“Damned parties,” Dad said. “Nothing but trouble.”

Ma leaned forward. She'd taken out her rollers ten minutes ago and her hair bounced as she talked, little gray ringlets dancing like poppies in a breeze. “I always warned you girls to stay away from parties. Nothing good ever comes from boys and rum.”

“The twins of sin—men and mai tais,” Carlene muttered under her breath.

Allie bit back a giggle and shared a conspiratorial smile with her sister. The words brought back a memory of the two of them, in the back bedroom of the trailer. Carlene, home late from a date, and a comeuppance from Ma for her tardiness, whispering the details of a party at Darla's house to the envious Allison, who had, as usual, stayed behind with a bowl of extra-buttery popcorn and a rented movie. She'd lived vicariously through Carlene in those days, hearing all about the men and mai tais that Carlene had experienced, wishing just once it could be her at those parties, her getting those kisses.

“I heard,” at this, Ma lowered her voice, “Mr. Henry funded the whole thing. That man always did try to buy his kids' love. They wore only the best, lived in the best house.”

“He bought the whole damned town.” Dad snorted, then leaned back in his chair, his gaze going to a photo on the wall of himself and his buddies outside the Whiteside Tire factory, a month before John Henry bought the business, three months before it shut its doors and Tempest nearly imploded. “But we all have our price, don't we?”

Ma pursed her lips, then buttered a roll and handed it to her husband. “All those kids, drunker than skunks. The sheriff said the place was a mess.”

“Lenny Dunne wheeled in a couple of kegs through the backdoor and drank half the Bud himself,” Carlene said to Allie. “He ended up passed out in his own puke on the front lawn. One of his finer moments.”

Allie laughed. For a moment, she was transported back to those days, her and Carlene laying in the dark, their beds pushed together, whispering about the kids at school, daydreaming about boys.

“But Katie and her friends,” Ma added, shooting both girls a glare as if they were about to do that very thing, “got in a car, is what I heard. Poor things, they probably didn't even know how drunk they were.”

“Where were they going?”

“Katie got upset,” Carlene said, her attention on her food, the words slipping out so quietly, it was almost as if Carlene didn't realize she'd said them. “Drank too much and got into a fight with someone about something they said about her father. So she got the keys to her car, grabbed her friends, and said they'd decided to leave.”

Allie glanced at her sister. “How do you know so much?”

Carlene's head jerked up and she scowled, the moment of connection broken. “I read the friggin' paper.” She grabbed her plate and utensils, then rose. “
Jeopardy!
is on. I'm going to eat in front of the TV.”

“Carlene, your sister is here—”

“And this table is too damned small for four.” Carlene stomped off to the sofa, winging out a cornucopia-decorated TV tray with one hand. She plopped onto the floral couch and flicked on the television, thumbing the volume upward.

Dad looked over at Carlene's position with clear longing.

“Don't you even think about it,” Ma said. “Our daughter is here and we will eat with her, not on the sofa like a bunch of heathens.”

As long as Allie could remember, they'd always eaten on the sofa. Even Thanksgiving dinner had usually migrated to the cushy seats, so they could have the game and their turkey, too.

“You tell the rest of the story, Larry,” Ma said, probably to distract him from his clear remote-control envy.

“There isn't much to tell.” Dad shrugged. “And really, no one knows much. All I remember is what I read in the paper. Katie's car hit a tree, it snapped a branch that landed on her side. Crushed the thing, too.”

Allie thought of Duncan, and a shiver of sympathy went through her. How hard it had to have been on him to see his sister like that. The Katie she remembered had been a vivacious, energetic girl. A cheerleader and a softball player, always friendly and perky. Whether Duncan had broken her heart or not, she wouldn't wish a tragedy like that on anyone.

“That Whitmore girl died, poor thing,” Ma said, apparently forgetting who was supposed to be telling the rest. “Katie broke her back, ended up paralyzed, is what I heard. But that Darla Reynolds came out without a scratch, like she had a guardian angel looking over her.”

“Or a seat belt across her lap,” Dad said.

“Duncan's sister was
paralyzed?
” Allie sat back in her chair, stunned. Vanessa had said hurt, not paralyzed. Once again, sympathy for Duncan crowded against the old feelings of betrayal, pushing aside her resolve to hurt him as he had once hurt her. “Forever?”

Her mother shrugged. “Who knows? We only have rumor to go on. John Henry kept most of it out of the papers. I swear, he had the Levine family in his pocket. Ever since the accident, no one ever sees Katie. She's a
recluse
,” she added, whispering the last word.

“You know how those Henrys are,” Carlene said from the sofa. She stuck out her pinkie finger, imitating what their mother called “uppity” people.

Dad reached for another biscuit, slathering on some butter. “Old Man Henry died pretty soon after that. I think it broke his heart to see his little girl like that.”

Her mother harrumphed. “You give him too much credit. He was always a mean old bastard. Wouldn't have given a naked man the shirt off his back in a blizzard.”

“Ma, you didn't finish telling Allison about your grocery store encounter.” A smirk played on Carlene's lips.

Dread sank to the pit of Allison's stomach. This couldn't be good. Already, everything that could possibly go wrong with the location scouting had gone wrong, from Ira to Duncan's refusal to sign over the property. She'd come here with determination, and yet it seemed like every time she turned around, another roadblock had been thrown in her way. Allie glanced at her mother, whose face had gone red.

Ma rose suddenly, clearing plates in a quick swoop. “I should get these dishes. Food needs to go in the fridge—”

“Beatrice,” Dad said, trying to grab back his plate, “I'm not finished.”

“Ma, what did you do?”

“I've got to wrap up this chicken. I'd hate for it to spoil.”

Allie caught her mother's hand before it got tangled up in Saran Wrap. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. Really. Just idle chitchat in the Ten Items or Less lane.”

“With Lisa Connelly's mother,” Carlene put in.

“Ma?”

“I tried to tell you but we got distracted by the conversation about that party. And it's nothing, really. I just told her you were home, that's all. I didn't mention the movie or—”

“You told her that I was in town? I asked you not to say anything to anyone.”

Her mother spun around, her curls doing a little jig. “I didn't give her specifics. Besides, why don't you want anyone to know you're here? Are you ashamed of us?”

Her mother's voice broke on the last words and Allie wanted to take it all back, to rewind her life. The times when she had wanted to pretend she was anyone else but a Gray. The daughter of a well-meaning mother who had embarrassed her a hundred times with her overprotective, worried visits to school, her hand-wrapped bologna sandwiches and slices of chocolate cake, when all Allie wanted was to buy the school lunch like the rest of the kids, or better yet, to skip lunch all together. “No, of course not.”

But she was and she knew it showed on her face. There were only so many things that CoverGirl could cover.

“I'm glad you went and got yourself all pretty, Allison Jean,” her mother said, but her makeup wasn't hiding much either. “But let me tell you one thing. You can dye your hair blond. Put on a smaller size. Even change your last name. None of that changes who you are on the inside. And if you aren't happy with that, none of this”—she waved a hand over her daughter's form—“is gonna matter more than a hill of beans.”

Then she left the kitchen, leaving the chicken to spoil. The relationship between mother and daughter had already gone bad.

Allie, who had dreamed up Hollywood endings all her life, knew she wasn't going to be able to write her way out of the mess she'd just created in this trailer.

Before Allie could make amends, her cell phone rang. She dug it out of her purse, noticing how her father and Carlene suddenly found Alex Trebek intensely interesting. “Hello?”

“You still want my farmhouse?” Duncan asked.

She had to think for a second, to clear her head of this moment, and get back to the other. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Then be at my house in an hour. I have a proposition for you.”

She hung up the phone, then began wrapping up the chicken.

One mess at a time.

Duncan paced the front room of the house he had lived in all his life, twice, three times, the wait agonizing.

Finally, there was a crunch of gravel, the purr of an engine. He sent a glance up the stairs, but Katie had either gone to sleep or back to not talking to him after he told her he'd hired a new caretaker.

But not before also telling him where he could put his new hire. Katie's constant watching of HBO had clearly expanded her vocabulary.

Before Allie reached the door, Duncan opened it and stepped onto the porch. “You came.”

“You said you had an offer I couldn't refuse.” She grinned. “That's the kind I like.”

Now that the moment had arrived, Duncan hesitated. He hadn't shared Katie's situation with anyone outside of Mrs. Loman and the medical team in Indianapolis. Even the visiting nurses, who came whenever Mrs. Loman couldn't, were brought in from outside the area, at a hefty expense to Duncan, because Katie had demanded her privacy, and Duncan had given it to her.

He had no other choice. He had to work. Katie needed a caretaker. And that meant he needed Allie.

“Let's have a seat.” He gestured toward a white wicker porch set, lowering himself to the loveseat while she took the chair opposite. He clasped his hands together in his lap. He hesitated. Was Allie the right person for the job? What if things went wrong? What if Allie got hurt—or worse, what if Katie did?

Could Duncan live with that? He looked toward the empty, tomblike house, most of the furniture long ago sold off, the antiques carted off by a dealer. He had little left, except a sister who needed round-the-clock care.

“You mentioned some kind of deal…?” Allie said, breaking the near oppressive silence that seemed to extend outward from the massive house, draping over the landscaping, causing even the roses that ringed the porch to droop in a listless funk.

He nodded, cleared his throat. “I'll sign the paperwork for Chicken Flicks to use the farm, but in exchange, I need help and I need it now, because I have a forecast to deliver in thirty minutes.”

“Just like that, you've changed your mind.” Her gaze narrowed. “What do you need help with?”

“My sister. She was in a car accident and she's…” He drew in a breath. The words had never been easy to say. “She's paralyzed.”

“Oh, Duncan, I'm so sorry.” Allie reached forward, her hand linking with his. The unexpected comfort surrounded him with warmth and added a dynamic he hadn't expected—

A connection.

He rose, brushing off the touch before it could affect him further. He didn't have time for a relationship, particularly with a woman who would go back to California soon. Business only, that was his intent.

Yeah, if that was the case, then what was all that back at Aunt Mae's farmhouse a few days ago?

“I need someone who can care for Katie while I'm at work,” Duncan explained, clearing his throat, forcing off the feeling of connection before it invaded his heart, “just until I find another nurse to take over for Mrs. Loman. She was…injured yesterday. I tried a temp today, but that didn't work out so well. Katie has this thing about, ah, throwing stoneware when she gets upset.” Duncan cringed at the thought of the poor young woman who had left in tears a few minutes ago. Allie, however, didn't flinch or seem to be upset by that, so he went on. “Visiting nurses will be in and out for Katie's medical needs, but she really needs someone to…” He paused. “Well, frankly, baby-sit her. Right now, I can't take any time from work to watch her.”

“Why not hire a private nurse from the outset?”

“Katie can be…difficult. The last time Mrs. Loman went on vacation, I had to interview fifteen people before I found one willing to take her on.”

“Oh, she can't be that bad,” Allie said, but her smile wavered. “Can she?”

From inside the house, he heard the sound of his name being called, then cursed in the same breath. “Maybe you better meet her and see. You may change your mind.”

Allie's eyebrows arched, but she followed Duncan into the house and up the stairs. Katie's swearing and listing of Duncan's worst attributes gained in volume with each step.

“She's got quite the vocabulary,” Allie said. “Does she get that from you?”

“She watches a lot of
Wheel of Fortune.
”

Allie laughed. “I had no idea Vanna and Pat had moved into such colorful territory. No wonder their ratings are still high.”

Duncan paused on the last step and glanced over at Allie, who seemed to be taking the entire thing in perfect stride. Maybe this would work after all. Then he thought of Mrs. Loman, who had loved and known Katie all her life. Even she'd been driven away in the end. “You can always change your mind.”

“Duncan, I can't find that goddamned remote!” Katie's voice echoed off the walls, bounced off the wood floors. “Get in here and change the channel.”

Duncan hesitated at the first door on the right, his hand on the knob. “She's a little, ah, demanding.” Understatement—his new skill.

Rather than turn away, Allie grinned. “Has she ever worked in Hollywood?”

Duncan chuckled. “No, but she's working on a resume in diva.”

Allie smiled, then gestured toward the door. “Trust me, there's nothing she can throw at me that I haven't heard already from a leading actress.”

“Okay.” Duncan pushed open the door while at the same time wanting to close it, to protect his sister from the inevitable questions and stares.

To protect her from being hurt again. He couldn't abide the pain in her eyes. Or worse, the knowledge that he had caused it.

He turned to Allie, to say he'd changed his mind, when Katie's voice cut in. “Who the hell is she?”

Damn. As much as he'd hoped otherwise, Katie was drunk. Darla must have been by again this afternoon, while he'd been delivering the noon forecast. There were days when Duncan swore his sister had a Camel backpack of rum stashed between the mattress and the box spring.

“Katie, don't—”

But Allie had already skirted around him and into the bedroom. “Hi, Katie. I'm Allie.”

Katie crossed her arms over her chest. “You his girlfriend or something?”

“Yeah, right.” Allie laughed. “You know your brother. Would
you
be his girlfriend?”

To Duncan's complete amazement, a smile curved across Katie's face. “He's not exactly boyfriend material, is he?”

“Doesn't matter. He's not my type anyway.” Allie moved closer to the bed. “I'm here to help you and keep you company.”

“So how'd he talk you into the pity case? Did he tell you all about me?” For proof, she ripped back the blanket, exposing her paralysis.

Allie paused, her gaze drifting over those legs, taking in the pale sticklike appearance. Duncan's heart clutched and he took a half step forward to cover Katie up, but Allie put out a hand to stop him.

“Pity case, huh?” Allie put her hands on her hips. “To me you're just another wannabe hard-ass with a bad attitude and a hell of a hangover.”

Duncan sucked in a breath, did a quick scan for breakable dishes. This had been a bad idea. A very bad idea.

Katie blinked. “You're not like the others, are you?”

“No, and I don't play games, nor do I hold bourbon parties. So if this is going to work, you're going to have to stay sober.”

“Go to hell. I'll stay sober when you live five friggin' years in my bed.” Katie turned away, her gaze going to the wall, shutting down, blocking them out.

This was when most sane people left, before the stoneware hit the fan. But Allie remained. In fact, she took another step forward. “I already did, except mine was more like eighteen years.”

“Bullshit. You're not paralyzed.”

“You don't have to be paralyzed to lock yourself in a prison, Katie.” Allie's voice spoke of a shared world. Duncan glanced at her, but couldn't imagine this beautiful woman ever battling self-imprisonment.

Katie's head swiveled back toward Allie. She stared at her, openmouthed, for several long seconds.

Duncan suspected his sister was gearing up for a long diatribe and raised his hand, hoping to head her off at the pass. “Katie, I don't think this is going to—”

“Where are you from?” Katie asked, as normal as apple pie, ignoring her brother.

“Los Angeles.”

“L.A.?” Katie's eyes widened. “I always wanted to go there. Blow this lousy ass town and be something.” Wistfulness, sliced with anger, washed over her features. “But shit happened.”

“Trust me, L.A.'s not all that different from Tempest. There's as much cat crap there as you find here. At least in Tempest the cats use a litter box.”

Katie laughed. Duncan rocked back on his heels, stunned by the sound. The
smile
on his little sister's face. “You can get out now.” Katie waved at her brother. “She'll do.”

Still, Duncan hesitated. Allie barely knew Katie. Not to mention, Allie wasn't wearing body armor or a helmet to deflect stoneware tantrums. But his sister had already gone back to talking to Allie, the conversation sounding so normal, that for a few minutes, Duncan could believe he had the old Katie back.

Before he walked out the door, Duncan looked back at Allie, at this stranger who had dropped into his life. He heard Katie giggle and wondered if maybe there was a possibility of happiness for all of them.

Or if he was imagining a future that didn't exist.

 

After several hours of talking and watching a movie, Katie had fallen asleep, leaving Allie free to wander the faded, empty grandeur of Duncan's house. And marvel at the irony of it all, of how her world had been turned inside out. Duncan's house, now empty of the wealth it had had years ago. Katie, the belle of the ball, confined to bed, while Allie, the former reclusive wallflower, was now the one getting second looks from men and enjoying her days in the sun.

At first, she'd been worried she'd have nothing to talk about with the defiant, argumentative Katie, but she'd soon found she shared a common denominator with the girl who had once been social and was now restricted by her body, just as Allie had been.

The difference was that Allie had the tools to change her situation, while Katie's paralysis was permanent. She'd asked Katie about the possibilities of rehab or an operation, and Katie's eyes had welled up. After that, the young girl had been snappish until Allie suggested a good comedy, complete with air-popped popcorn, to change the mood. Allie hadn't brought up the topic again and after Julia Roberts had rescued Richard Gere on the fire escape, Katie's eyes closed.

Allie had popped out the DVD of
Pretty Woman
, wondering at the irony of them watching a movie about the transformation of a woman's looks, when most of the people around her still saw her as the streetwalker. Everyone except the hero in the end. Allie shook off the thoughts then switched the channel, and landed on the local Tempest station. Duncan Henry appeared on the screen, even more handsome, if that were possible, on-screen.

She didn't hear the predicted temperature. Couldn't have cared less if a blizzard was on its way into town. All she saw was him.

And the fantasies conjured up by his smile. Not to mention that little laser pointer in his hands.

 

A small anniversary clock on a hall table chimed once for six-thirty. Duncan's house seemed barely lived in, as if nothing had changed since the days when John Henry and his wife Matilda had lived in the spacious mausoleum he'd built her after they'd married.

Built in the Victorian Italianate style, it was an ice-cream sundae of yellow columns and peach balustraded balconies. Hooded moldings hung heavy dark peach eyebrows over the tall double-paned windows.

The house was large, especially by Tempest standards, but empty of the grandeur John Henry had boasted of around town. The rare paintings were gone, leaving only lighter spots on the wall where they had once hung. The furniture—ordered from Italy, she'd heard—had clearly been pared down to the minimum, and she saw none of the crystal and antiques the Tempest gossip mill had mentioned existing in Henry's possession.

“If you're looking for the silver, there isn't any,” Duncan said from behind her.

She pivoted, to find him grinning at her. He wore the dark blue suit he'd had on earlier, still neat and pressed as it had been on TV, only he'd loosened the maroon tie and undone the top button of his blue shirt. He looked tired—and incredibly sexy. The distance imposed by the television screen was gone. He stood before her, touchable and real. The space she'd meant to impose—the emotional space she'd vowed to keep since she'd arrived in Tempest—disappeared. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself. How'd it go today?”

“Great. Katie talked my ear off, then we watched a chick flick, and she fell asleep about an hour ago.”