were lucky—but Allie was a realist; she knew the odds didn’t favor a happy reunion. Chances increased by the second that she’d be standing in another field, over another little girl’s body.
“Stop it!” She had to say it out loud, so she could hear it through her own ears. It’s what Simone or Eden would tell her, but they weren’t here. What she wouldn’t give for her best friends to be standing beside her. They were her support system, had been from the moment they’d met on the kindergarten playground.
Allie had been trying to stand up for herself against a second grader who wanted the bright blue plastic ball she’d gotten for her birthday, but she soon found herself flat on her back on the cement.
Next thing she knew, Simone Armstrong and Eden St. Claire were standing over her, hands stretched out for her to take. They hauled her up, introduced themselves and then their friend Chloe Evans, who had been standing behind them. Chloe, with her excitement-tinged, wide-green-eyed uncertainty, crooked pigtails sticking out on either side of her head. Her clothes hadn’t matched, not even a little, Allie remembered.
That day Simone had helped Allie straighten her new pink dress and sweater while Eden retrieved Allie’s ball—before being sent to the principal’s office for kicking the second grader somewhere Allie later learned was vastly inappropriate.
They’d been picking each other up off the ground ever since.
Times like this, as she stared at the youthful optimism of Hope Kellan’s bedroom, Allie envied people like Max Kellan.
Where other people became jittery and restless when faced with a traumatic situation, Allie pulled into her tiny, tiny shell like a petrified, silent turtle.
Call it professional training or life experience, it was part of what had kept her sane all these years. Today, for the first time, the calmness seemed to be pushing her to the brink.
When her cell phone buzzed, Allie answered without thinking. “Dr. Hollister.”
“Well, there’s a surprise. I thought for sure I was going to get your voice mail.” Nicole Goodale’s cheery voice dropped Allie into the quicksand of her youth, exactly the last place she wanted to dwell. “I just wanted to thank you for coming last night to the soft opening of Lembranza. We really appreciate the family support.”
“It was my pleasure, Nicole.” Allie rubbed the space between her brows. If there was one talent her foster siblings, Nicole and her brother Patrick, had picked up during her three years as one of Allie’s parents’ “projects,” it was Allie’s mother’s bad sense of timing, unfortunately. “The meal was fabulous and it was great to see both of you again.” Funny how, after more than fifteen years and sporadic contact, Nicole seemed inordinately determined to make up for lost time. Not that Allie minded. Nicole and her brothers were among the few bright spots in her childhood.
“Glad to know we earned your seal of approval. I also wanted to check in and see if everything’s okay with you.” The concern in her foster sister’s voice dropped another weight of guilt onto Allie’s shoulders. She hadn’t wanted to go last night and had even contemplated cancelling at the last minute, but if she’d done that she never would have heard the end of it, especially from her mother.
“Everything’s fine,” Allie lied. “I’m just dealing with a problem with one of my patients at the moment. Sorry if I sound distracted.”
“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Nicole said.
“Serious enough,” Allie said. “And I hope I wasn’t too much of a downer last night at dinner. There’s just been a lot going on.” Being stalked by the monster responsible for murdering your best friend didn’t make for emotional stability. “But it was great to reconnect.”
“Seeing you again made us realize how much we’ve missed you,” Nicole said. “And you’re right, things have been...” Her voice trailed off and Allie flinched. “It’s been a rough few years trying to get Mom settled and, well, the rest of what happened.”
She did know. Of the three Goodale kids who had stayed with Allie’s family while their mother underwent in-patient treatment for severe psychosis, Tyler had been the youngest and, even to Allie’s young eyes, the most fragile. She hadn’t been surprised to hear years later that he’d eventually developed the same issues as his mother and been committed to a long-term psychiatric facility. “Tyler was always very nice to me.”
Allie shivered and looked down at the pale pink carpet. Tyler had been so considerate, so attentive. Especially after Chloe’s death. He’d followed Allie around, offering to help, to talk. He’d paid attention to her, listened to her, which was more than her own parents had done. Sitara and Giles Hollister had been wrapped up in their own lives, their own ideas, and had chalked Chloe’s death up to “one of those things the universe gives us as a test of character.”
It was only now, years later as a practicing therapist, that she realized the damage they’d done; but walking away completely would have felt hypocritical given her professional dedication to healing families. Besides, no one could work guilt like Sitara Hollister. But Tyler? He’d been her savior.
Whenever Allie recalled the quiet times she and Tyler spent in the ramshackle tree house her father had built, eating peanut butter sandwiches and playing board games, she smiled. A little.
“Well, we all have to move on, don’t we,” Nicole said. “I’ll check in with you again soon. If only to remind you to bring your famous potato salad on Sunday.”
Allie sighed. “Ma called you, didn’t she?”
“She thinks you’re ignoring her texts.”
That’s because she was. “Yeah, well, I’ll answer the next time she calls.” Like Allie had the wherewithal to deal with her mother today. “Thanks for checking in on me, Nicole. I’ll see you soon.”
Allie called on every ounce of courage that had abandoned her the second she’d stepped foot in the makeshift campground at the Vandermonts’. This wasn’t her. She didn’t flounder. Yet here she was, spinning out of control as if someone had pulled the floor out from under her. Adding her wacky and emotionally scarred family to the mix only made her rotate faster.
Where was the control she’d based her entire life on? Control that had been slipping away from her for months? Ever since Eden had begun receiving her “reminder” gifts. As if any of them had gone a day without remembering Chloe’s murder.
Never had it occurred to Allie that Chloe’s killer would target someone Allie cared about, other than Simone and Eden. Why would she, given a motive for Chloe’s murder had never been uncovered? Chloe’s case had simply been designated cold, attributed to an individual passing through who had taken advantage of a young girl out on her own in the middle of the night.
For decades the police and even Chloe’s family, who had moved away long ago, had assumed it was a random act.
Except it hadn’t been.
Allie should have been more aware as far as Hope was concerned. The physical similarities between Hope and Chloe were part of the reason Allie had been so determined to help the little girl. She didn’t need another therapist telling her the dangers of transference. Chloe hadn’t been given a long, happy, stable life. Allie wanted that—maybe too much—for Hope Kellan.
And by doing so, she had inadvertently put the little girl
