Really Something (25 page)

“I should have known better. I thought out here, far from anything, you'd be okay.” He'd had a date that night, one that had seemed so important at the time, but now, years later, he couldn't remember the woman's name.

“
I
should have known better,” Katie said. “And now that I do, I'll do better. And so can you, especially with Allie.”

Duncan's gaze caught Allie's across the way, and unbidden, a smile crossed his lips, then hers, exchanging a moment between them. She'd lied to him, and years ago, he to her. Was his sister right? Could he change the future? Mend those rips in their past?

“I'm going to fix some of my mistakes right now. You need to deal with your history, too, big brother,” Katie said, sounding far wiser than her twenty-three years. Then she turned and wheeled away toward Carlene Gray, moving so fast, Ranger had to run to keep up.

If Allie could have chosen her nightmare dinner guest list, it would have been the assembled party sitting around the makeshift table. Before leaving, her mother had made sure to grab all of Katie's prepared dinner, along with a few pots and some foil. By improvising, she'd warmed the food over a backyard fire pit and then warmed up the garlic bread by wrapping it in foil and tucking it along the edges of the fire.

Allie had thought Jerry and crew would be out of here as soon as the winds died down, and had even given them directions to a ritzier-than-normal hotel in Indianapolis—one complete with room service—but to her surprise, they had come back for seconds of Ma and Katie's dinner. Even more surprising, they lingered around the table, chatting and laughing, as if they'd been part of the family for years.

And then, Duncan had arrived.

Her heart had stopped the instant she'd seen him step out of Earl's truck. It had taken everything inside her to keep from running up to him and into his arms. But there'd been spaghetti to dish up and—

And well, she still didn't know where she stood with him, so she'd kept the spaghetti and the garlic bread and all that between them.

Katie came wheeling back from her conversation with Duncan and drew Carlene aside, the two of them quickly engaged in a conversation that seemed very serious, and long overdue.

Allie put down the plate in her hands and moved to talk to Duncan, but he'd been recruited to help her mother, and then was interrupted by the WTMT-TV van, which screeched into the driveway, or what Allie thought had been the driveway. With all the debris in the way, it was hard to tell what was land and what was house anymore.

Jim, the cameraman, jumped out of the van, a camera slung over his shoulder, his jeans and boots spotted with mud. “There you are, Dunk! I've been looking all over for you. Steve wanted to do some live shots of the town, you know, post-tornado report. You ready to go on air?”

“Sure.” Duncan put down the plates. “How'd you find me?”

“It wasn't easy. Took a lot of talking to some people in town before someone remembered you had an Aunt Mae who used to live out here, and they thought you might have wanted to check on the place.” Jim looked over Duncan, his gaze dubious. “You don't look camera-ready, dude.”

Jim was right, Allie thought. Like her, Duncan was covered in dust and dirt. He no longer resembled Indiana's sexiest anything. He had a five o'clock shadow, his hair had lost its neat, combed look, and he had a smear of dirt on his left cheek. Allie crossed to him, wiped the dark smudge off his check with her napkin, then stepped back and smiled. “I think you're perfect, Duncan. You look like yourself.”

And to her, he did. He looked like the Duncan beneath Duncan Henry. The man who wasn't the perfect son of John Henry, the one who could get messy, pitch in and help out, who would serve up extra helpings with her mother and not have any qualms about a meatball dropping onto his shoes. He had the good looks of a man she could love.

A man she already did love.

But also a man she had betrayed, a betrayal she could still read in his eyes.

“If she says I'm ready, I am,” Duncan said, reaching for the mike in Jim's hands.

Jim exchanged a quick conversation with the station via a bulky satellite phone, set up a few things in the truck, then moments later, gave Duncan the cue.

“This is Duncan Henry, reporting live from the outskirts of Tempest, Indiana, where the first tornado in fifteen years to hit this town first touched down. The downtown area was the hardest hit, but the people in Margie's diner heard the warnings and were able to get to a safe place in time. Here at the Mae Grendell farm—my late aunt's farm—an interesting crew of people banded together during this scary time. The director and a few key crew members from Chicken Flicks were here when the tornado struck, but all are okay, as are the members of the Gray family, who took shelter in the storm cellar.” He pivoted, to indicate the family. “Would any of you like to say a few words?”

Allie held her breath. Undoubtedly Ma would have a few to say and a few more to add on top of those. She pictured her father grabbing the mike and launching into an anti-Henry diatribe. Or worse, Carlene, making some inappropriate remark, just to set off the ladies at the Council on Aging.

Ma strode forward first. “I'm thankful to the Lord above and to my daughter, Allison Jean, for having the foresight to yank us out of our trailer and bring us here. If she hadn't done that…” Ma shuddered. “I can't bear to think of what might have happened.”

Behind her, Dad nodded, his eyes misty.

Duncan stepped to Carlene, extended the mike, clearly a man who liked to jump off a cliff without a parachute. “Glad I'm here,” Carlene muttered, her face screwed up with the effort.

“I'd like to say something,” Katie whispered to her brother.

His face curved up into a soft, caring smile, then he bent down, the camera following his movements. He held out the mike, and she took it, facing first him, then the camera. The sun glinted off the metal in her wheelchair, spiraling outward in an arc off the chrome circles of the wheels. “I've been given a second chance at life twice now. And I don't intend to waste it. The things around me might be gone, but the sun is shining and I'm surrounded by the people who love me. And to me, that is gift enough. The rest can be rebuilt.”

Duncan rose, swiped at his face, then faced the camera again. “I think that says it all, Tempest. This is Duncan Henry, for WTMT-TV.”

Jim gave Duncan a nod, then lowered his camera. “You coming to do some live shots in town?”

“No. I'm staying here for now. With Katie, and Allie.”

Jim looked doubtful for a moment, then realized Duncan wasn't kidding. “Man, Steve's going to have a heart attack.”

“He'll be fine. Besides,” Duncan said, his gaze meeting Allie's, and the heat in it telling her something again brewed in the air, but this time it had nothing to do with a storm system, “I have some unfinished business here.”

“Unfinished…?” Then Jim looked to Allie, back at Duncan, and then gave a slow, knowing nod. “Okay. Back to the office for me then, to get Klein. I guess I'll suffer through his intestinal stories. Apparently he spent the tornado stuck in a restroom. That man and bathrooms. He's scarred for life.”

Duncan chuckled as Jim walked away, then headed over to Allie. “Think we can get away from this…zoo for a while?”

She looked over at her mother. “Ma, you need any more help?”

“No, I'm fine. I'm about to make s'mores, but Katie and Carlene already offered to help.” Allie heard no malice in her mother's tone. Somewhere between the car ride and the tornado, all had been forgiven. They hadn't solved everything—life, Allie knew, didn't come with nice, neat Hollywood endings—but they'd made a start. “But, there is one thing.”

“One thing?” Allie asked.

Her mother set the bowl of spaghetti on the planks that formed the table, then crossed to her daughter. “I meant what I said on the TV camera. Thank you for taking care of us. I'm proud of what you did today and…” She hesitated only a second before she put out her arms and drew Allie into a hug, one that didn't have a cookie or a piece of pie or anything in it except pure love. “I love you, Allison,” she whispered, her voice thick and soft. “Just the way you are.”

Allie let those words wash over her. Words she'd waited so long to hear, words that came as a balm, soothing a hurt soul, filling in the gaps better than any peanut butter or frosting ever had.

“And I love you, too, Ma,” Allie replied, the ringlets of her mother's hair catching the words and her tears.

“What the hell is a s'more? And you think I could get a latte to go with one of those?” Jerry said, striding up to them, oblivious to the moment.

Allie and her mother laughed and broke apart. Ma swiped a couple of tears off her face, then turned to Jerry, clearly her newly adopted son. “No lattes, but I can get you a glass of powdered milk. It's good for your bones anyway. You Hollywood people are way too thin. You know, osteoporosis can start in your twenties.” Then she was off, lecturing Jerry about his eating habits and his lack of vitamin D. “S'mores?” Duncan asked. “How did you mother do that?”

“She never goes anywhere without snack foods and Carlene apparently had a stash of marshmallows. The family bonded together in a time of crisis,” Allie said with a laugh.

Chuckling, Duncan took Allie's hand and led her around to the back of the house, away from the crowd. They walked for a long moment, absorbing the silence, a relief after the storm and its aftermath, the crazy afternoon.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Yeah,” Allie said. It was time to come clean all around. She'd mended some fences this afternoon, and she knew she couldn't return to L.A. without finishing all of them. Because if she did, all that undone business would follow her. “You were right. I shouldn't have said what I did to Lisa. I feel terrible now, like I sank to her level. I mean, when I said it, I wanted to get back at her for every mean thing she ever said to me, but then as soon as I finished, I felt like—”

“Like you'd punched yourself in the gut?”

“Exactly.” She turned to him, surprised he could finish that sentence.

“I did the same thing once. Told my father off. Gave back a taste of all he had given us over the years. Those words had built in me good, because I'd had plenty of experience listening to them come out of him.” Duncan ran a hand through his hair and let out a gust. “We had a hell of an argument outside the hospital the night of Katie's accident.”

“He blamed you?”

“Yeah. And rightly so, I'm sure. I didn't buy the alcohol, but I did give her the key to Aunt Mae's, told her to have a party. I should have known teenagers would do something stupid.”

“You didn't have a crystal ball. And you couldn't police everything your sister did, Duncan.”

He sighed. “I know, but guilt's a funny animal. It's got a really strong grip.” They'd reached the back of the property, where a small pond lay flanked by tall marsh grasses. A couple of mallard ducks floated along the edge, as if nothing had happened, quacking and swimming, looking for lunch, dunking their heads beneath the surface, little orange feet waving in the air. “After I told my father off, I felt terrible, too, and wished I could take it all back.”

“Even after everything he did to you?”

“Yeah.” Duncan shook his head. “I guess that makes me either very stupid or a hell of a softie.”

“Or maybe a good man.”

He looked out over the pond, exhaling a long breath. “I don't know about that.”

Allie came around him and pressed her hands to his cheeks, then a kiss to his lips, wishing she could take that burden away. All this time and Duncan had yet to forgive himself for what had happened to his sister. He still shouldered so much Henry blame. Her heart broke for him, for the load he carried. “I do. That's the one thing I've always known deep inside. The Duncan underneath is a pretty good guy.”

“Even if he's the same man who broke your heart?”

She turned away. It was far easier when they were talking about him, rather than her, and the one night she'd never forgotten.

Allie plucked a milkweed from the bank and stripped off the little bells of lavender flowers, flinging them at the water. They floated away, attracting the ducks for a second before they realized it was nothing more than a plant. They quacked in indignation, then swam away.

Allie closed her eyes, drew in a long breath, then opened her eyes again. “Do you know why I wouldn't tell anyone who I was when I came to town?”

He shook his head.

“Lisa was a nice, easy scapegoat for me to blame everything on.” Allie tossed the stem to the ground. “It wasn't just her, Duncan. It was about you. I chose Tempest, planned this whole thing, to come back here and…get even.”

He stared at her, the shock on his face giving way to understanding, to realizing, maybe just a little, what he had done to her back then. “Because of prom night?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes, the familiar pain tightening her gut into a lump of stone. “You were the one person in my world, in that awful, horrible high school world who I thought understood me. Who liked me, and who I thought didn't see my weight. Who really saw
me
. You told me—” Her voice shredded apart and she shook her head, unable to finish the sentence.

He took a step closer, his hand cupping her jaw. “I told you I liked you. I asked you to the prom and then I didn't show up.”

She nodded, and damn it all, began crying, unable to stop the memory, the words, from flooding forward, the hurt from stabbing at her again, as fresh as it had been that day. “I stood there in that goddamned trailer, waiting for you, my hair all curled and fancied up with baby's breath, in a stupid pink dress, waiting. And you couldn't even call me yourself. You had your
father
do your dirty work.”