The Life Intended (28 page)

“For real?” she whispers.

My eyes feel damp now, and my heart is suddenly thudding too quickly. “For real.”

“Well, when did he die, anyways?” Allie asks.

“A long time ago.”

When she doesn’t say anything, I elaborate. “It’ll be twelve years on September eighteenth.”

“What happened to him?”

“Car crash.”

“Oh.” She pauses and looks up, a guilty expression on her face. “I’m sorry. About your husband, I mean.”

“Thanks.” We’re silent for a moment, then I add, “No one’s life is ever perfect, Allie. And most of the time, there’s more going on beneath the surface than you know. What if your mom is so focused on getting clean that she can’t process the big stuff—like you—right now?”

Allie looks like she’s about to say something, but then there’s a commotion at the front door, and Andrew bursts into the restaurant, his face full of worry. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, and then he scans the bar and spots us. He looks relieved for a split second, but then his expression turns stern as he strides over to us, his fists clenched.

“Allie!” he says, his voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “What on earth were you thinking?”

She glances at me, and for a moment, I can see guilt in her eyes. Then it’s gone, replaced by something cold and defensive. She juts her chin out. “Like you care.”

“Of course he cares, Allie,” I cut in before a fuming Andrew can reply. “Do you think he’s happy that he’s up in the middle of the night chasing after you?”

She glances at him and then back at me, but she doesn’t reply.

“You’re lucky I didn’t call the police!” he continues. “Do you know what would have happened? They would have taken you away from the Greghors. And you’d be back in a group home until your mom got custody.
If
she got custody. Your little stunt here could have messed that up.”

“Geez, sorry,” she mumbles.

“I hate to say it, Allie, but all the apologies in the world aren’t going to change things if you get yourself into real trouble,” Andrew says firmly. “I know you’ve got some stuff going on. But
this has to stop. The fights at school, the acting out against Rodney and Salma, and now this? I’m really disappointed in you.”

Allie looks like she’s about to cry. “Well, why didn’t you call the police anyways?” she mumbles.

Andrew glances at me, his expression softening. He looks back at Allie and says, “Maybe because everyone deserves a second chance.”

B
ack at the Greghors’ house, Allie gets ready for bed, while Andrew and I explain to Rodney and Salma where we found her and that she was upset about her mom.

“So it wasn’t something we did wrong?” Salma asks.

“No, not at all,” Andrew reassures her. “Allie’s just struggling with some things. I don’t think this will happen again.”

Salma clasps her hands together and looks up at Rodney. After a moment, he says, “We were assured this placement would only be for a few months. We can’t keep her any longer than that. That’s why we do temporaries.”

“It’s not that we don’t want her,” Salma rushes to add as my heart sinks for Allie. “It’s just, well, we’ve recently found out I’m pregnant. And if this is going to be a continuing pattern of behavior . . .”

“I don’t think it will be,” Andrew interrupts firmly. “And she should be going back to her mother within the next month or two. You know that.”

“Congratulations on the pregnancy,” I murmur, and Salma smiles at me slightly before turning her attention back to Andrew.

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” she says, and I know she’s trying to convince herself.

Andrew nods and thanks them stiffly for their help tonight.
Then he asks me to go check on Allie, to make sure she’s all set for bed.

As I walk down the hallway toward her room, I feel like my heart is splitting open, and I wonder if part of the reason Allie fled was because she could sense the fact that the Greghors are ready to move on. I wonder if she knows they’re having a baby, if she feels pushed aside already by a little person who hasn’t even arrived yet.

I find Allie in bed, in a pink T-shirt and pink pajama pants with hearts stamped on them. With her face freshly scrubbed, she looks younger than her twelve years.

“You okay?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

She shrugs.

“Allie, what happened tonight, I get why you did it,” I begin carefully. “But you have to trust us. We all care about you. No one’s going to let anything bad happen to you. If you feel hurt or mad or sad about something again, you just need to call me or Andrew, or talk to Rodney and Salma, okay?”

She nods again and slides down in her bed so that she’s under the covers. I start to get up, but Allie grabs my arm.

You’re wrong about my mom,
she signs.

“What do you mean?” I ask aloud.

“You said she was probably trying to stay clean,” Allie says. “And that’s why she pretended not to see me.”

“You have to give her the benefit of the doubt, I think.”

“Well, then why was she smoking meth?”

I blink at Allie a few times. “What?”

“She was smoking something in a pipe,” Allie goes on, her voice flat. “Had to be meth. That was always her favorite.
That’s
why she looked away when she saw me, Kate. Not because I’m so important. But because I’m
not
important enough to quit drugs for.”

Before I can reply, she rolls away from me, takes her headpieces off, and pulls the sheets over her head.

“Allie?” I say, and when I realize she can no longer hear me, I touch her shoulder lightly. “Allie?”

“Go away!” she says, her voice muffled. “Leave me alone!”

I stay for another minute, just in case she changes her mind, but there’s only silence, so I say, “We’re going to make this right, Allie.” I know she can’t hear me, but I needed to make the promise. I give her shoulder a comforting squeeze and turn away.

In the hallway, I find Andrew waiting for me. “She okay?” he asks as we walk out into the warm night and head back toward a main street so that I can flag down a cab.

I shake my head. “Andrew, she said that when she saw her mom today, her mom was smoking something.”

His face falls. “I’m going to assume from your expression that you’re not talking about a cigarette.”

“She said she thinks it was meth.”

“Damn it!” Andrew rakes a hand through his hair. “I was hoping she could stay clean. I’m going to have to report this.”

I nod. “How much longer can Allie stay here?”

Andrew sighs. “A few months, at most. The Greghors are right; they’re only signed on to provide temporary care. And now with a baby coming . . .” He shakes his head and sighs again. “I just wanted Allie to have some stability.”

I could take her.
The thought is so immediate and so clear that it startles me. I blink a few times and tell myself it’s a silly thought. I can’t even get my own life in order. But then again, what if I could? What if I could become the stable person Allie needs? My heartbeat quickens a little as I consider the possibility that the dreams were leading me here, to Allie.

“—about your husband?” Andrew is saying something, but I’m so lost in thought that I only hear the end of it.

“What?” I can feel my cheeks turning red.

“Allie said you told her about your husband?” Andrew repeats, looking concerned.

Instantly, I feel terrible. “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have said something so personal to her. I was just trying to show her that no one is perfect, and that even if a life looks perfect on the outside, sometimes it isn’t perfect in reality. But I’m really sorry. It was totally unprofessional of me, and it won’t happen again.”

“Kate.” His voice is soft, and I realize I like the way he says my name. “I wasn’t criticizing you. I was going to remind you that you always have someone to talk to if that’s ever something you want.”

“You?” I ask, and it’s not until he flinches that it occurs to me how rude that must have sounded. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He shrugs. “No pressure, but sometimes it’s better to talk to a stranger than to someone who’s been there from day one. Not that I’m a stranger, exactly. I’d like to think we’re becoming friends.” He looks down. “Besides, I owe you after unloading on you about my brother.”

“You didn’t unload on me,” I murmur. I consider, for a moment, whether I should tell him about Dan and the problems we’re having, but it feels oddly disloyal to share my relationship worries with another man. Still, I realize I’m longing for someone to tell me that this will pass.

“What is it?” Andrew asks softly, reading my mind.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. Then I pause and reconsider. “Okay, well, you know how I told you I was having some really vivid dreams?”

“Of Patrick,” he says with a nod, and for some reason, I’m startled that he remembers my husband’s name.

“Right.” I glance at him uncertainly. “Well, they’ve reminded me what it felt like being with him. And being with my fiancé—Dan—isn’t anything like that.” My words border on too personal, too much, and I wonder if my good judgment has evaporated. “Not that I don’t love my fiancé,” I hurry to add. “I do. It’s just different.”

Andrew nods. “But it’s supposed to feel different, I think,” he says after a pause. “The question is whether you’re happy and whether it feels right. That’s what you have to think about.”

“I know,” I mumble, already feeling silly for saying anything.

“Look, what happened with your husband changed you forever, just like what happened with my brother changed me,” he says, and this time, I really listen, because it feels different from the advice I’ve gotten before. “So you can’t compare the present with the past, not really, because you’re a different person than you were when Patrick was alive. You have to look forward, at the things you want, not back at the things you once had.”

I can feel tears prickling my eyes. “How’d you get so wise?”

He laughs. “Trial and error. Emphasis on the error.”

We’ve reached Thirty-First, and we’re silent as Andrew raises a hand to hail a passing cab. As it pulls over, he gives me a hug and I climb into the backseat. “Hey, Andrew?” I say just before he shuts the cab door.

“Yeah?”

“I’d like to think we’re becoming friends too.”

Twenty-Four

O
n Monday morning, I awaken again in the life I share with Patrick, and I’m so grateful that for a minute, I can hardly breathe. I’d feared, after my last dip into this reality, that I’d ruined my chance to come back.

But Patrick is there beside me in our bed, real and solid and warm. I feel tears in my eyes as I reach for him. He stirs and wakes up slowly as I nestle into the nook under his right arm.

“Morning, honey,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep. He pulls me closer and kisses the top of my head.

“Tell me you love me,” I say urgently, clinging to him like he’s a life raft.

Patrick laughs and ruffles my hair. “I love you, weirdo,” he says. Then he softens, the corners of his eyes crinkling into crow’s-feet that weren’t there twelve years ago. “I knew before I met you—” he adds, looking into my eyes.

“—that I was meant to be yours,” I whisper. I listen to his heartbeat for a moment before asking, “How’s your mom doing?”

He sighs. “I talked to her yesterday, and she doesn’t sound great. This chemo’s really taking a toll on her. I don’t know what I’d do if we lost her.”

“We won’t lose her,” I tell him firmly. “She’s going to be fine.” I feel another twinge of guilt over the real-life Joan, whom I haven’t called since the day I showed up on her porch. I’ve gotten so absorbed with my own life and problems that I let it go. I make a mental note to follow up with her as soon as possible.

In the kitchen a few minutes later, Patrick pours me a cup of coffee and I struggle with the words I want to say. “Can I ask you something, Patrick?” I finally ask. “Am I . . . Am I a good mother?”

He turns around to look at me.

“I mean, do you look at me and see problems and shortcomings?” I go on, thinking of what Dan said to me about our ability to parent. “Or have I been mostly good for Hannah? Have I been there for her and made the right choices and made her feel loved?”

“Of course you have, honey,” he says. “Where is this coming from?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I’m doubting myself.”

He frowns. “Kate, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but the first time I saw you hold Hannah in your arms, I just knew.”

“You knew what?”

“I knew that this was exactly what was meant to be. You always had those maternal instincts, I think—it’s one of the million things I’ve always loved about you—but from the very first moment I saw you holding her, it was like everything fell into place, like the universe was suddenly in total alignment. You were meant to be a mother the way that rain was meant to be wet and grass was meant to be green and ice was meant to be cold.”

I smile. “You’re sure?”

“You’re a
great
mom,” he replies.

Our conversation is interrupted by Hannah coming into the
kitchen, her pajamas rumpled, her hair sticking up at weird angles.

“I had a bad dream,” she says, rubbing her eyes. “I dreamed that—”

But before she can finish her sentence, I’ve pulled her into a tight hug. I’m so glad to see her, so relieved that for a few moments, at least, I get to be here with her, that nothing else seems to matter.

“Geez, Mom, are you trying to suffocate me?” Hannah asks, but when I finally let her go, she’s smiling.

“I’m just so glad I’m your mom,” I tell her.

“Ooooookay,” she says, making the sign for
cuckoo
around her ear and rolling her eyes at Patrick, who playfully rolls his eyes back but shoots me a quick look of concern when Hannah looks away.

“Okay, you two, enough mocking me,” I say, and when they both laugh, it sounds like music.

“Come on, slowpoke,” Patrick says to Hannah. “Get yourself some cereal and get moving.”

“Wait, where’s she going?” I ask, suddenly panicked at the thought that my already-limited time with Hannah could be cut any shorter.