The girl was three, maybe four years old and looked as if she hadn’t bathed in days. Her hair was a snarl of knots and mismatched hair clips, and a yellow sundress hung loosely on her tiny frame, just shy of her toes. She wasn’t wearing shoes.
“Dan?” Holly asked uneasily.
“Yeah,” Dan said. “I see her.”
He kept the driver-side door open after he exited the truck. They had been on their way to a midnight movie—running late as usual, thanks to Holly—and the parking garage was deserted, with only the faint sound of traffic from the streets below. The last thing they expected to find was a child slumped by the corner stairwell. The girl didn’t look scared, only tired and indifferent. Her eyes were fixed on Holly, who was now in front of the truck, partially blocking one headlight.
“Are you alone?” Holly asked, enunciating each word. “Are you lost?”
The girl gave no reply. She was standing on a scrap of weathered cardboard covered in faded writing. Homeless, was Dan’s first thought. Mom and Dad were probably sleeping it off nearby, or scrounging through garbage cans for food or recyclables.
“We should call the police,” Holly said, digging inside her purse. “Should I call them? I’m calling.”
Dan kept his distance from the girl as he checked the stairwell. Some parents weren’t above using their children to lure in victims to mug, and in this day and age, you couldn’t be too careful.
“I forgot my phone,” Holly said. Her knees popped as she squatted before the girl with a smile. “Hi. I’m Holly. Do you have a name?”
“Let’s take her into the mall,” Dan said. “Someone who works inside the movie theater can help.”
Holly ignored him. “Did your parents bring you here? Did you lose them?”
The girl slowly raised her thumb to her mouth. Her fingernails were chipped rectangles, and her hands were chapped and grimy.
“Holly,” Dan said firmly, “we should take her inside.”
“I don’t think we should try and touch her. You go. I’ll wait here.”
Dan glanced around. “I’m not leaving you out here alone—”
“We’re going to be fine,” Holly said, nodding at the girl. “Aren’t we? Everyone is going to be fine, and before you know it, we’re going to find your daddy and your mommy.”
The girl’s eyes widened.
“Your mommy,” Holly said again. “Do you know where she went? Can you show me?”
The girl’s face began to twitch and pull. She took two shuffling steps forward, and Dan’s stomach roiled when he read the words FREE TO A GOOD HOME written across the cardboard.
“Dan?”
The girl was pointing toward the corner of the parking garage. Not at the corner itself—past it. Out into the distance. Dan moved to the edge, his hands fused to the concrete wall as he looked over the side.
Three stories down, on the pavement below, lay the twisted body of a woman in a growing pool of dark blood.
Dan shot upright in bed. The phone was ringing, and his heart rate doubled when he saw it was past midnight. Holly and Ally were the only people who called, and they both knew he was always in bed by ten when he worked the day shift. He untangled himself from the sheets and made his way into the kitchen, stubbing a toe in the process.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Dad?”
Ally. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Can you come over here?” she asked. “Like right now?”
“Did something happen? Are you at the apartment?”
“I’m fine. I’m just… Ellie’s out with some friends, and I’m freaking out.”
Dan let out his breath. “I know it can be scary to be alone in a new place, but you’ve been living there now for almost two weeks—”
“Dad, no—it’s not that. I need you to come over and see something.”
“It better not be a trapped spider you’re afraid to kill.”
“It’s a letter,” Ally said with a catch in her throat. “It came in today’s mail, but I just got home from work now and opened it.”
“Is it the tuition bill for your first semester of college? That scares the hell out of me as well. Luckily for us, your mother remarried rich—”
“It’s not that. It’s a letter… about my father.”
At first Dan thought he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Why would someone send you a letter about me? Or is it a letter about Stepmonster Steve?”
“You know how much I hate when you call him that,” Ally huffed, “especially since it doesn’t make sense—people say stepmonster for a stepmother, not a stepfather.” She gave a frustrated sigh. “The letter isn’t about you or him. It’s a letter from someone who says he’s my real father, and he wants to meet.”
Dan switched the phone to his other ear, still unsure he was hearing her correctly. There was no way he was hearing her correctly.
“Dad?”
“I’m here. What do you mean, real father?”
“Just that. Someone claiming that he’s my father, he’s dying of cancer, and he wants to see me. I don’t know if the letter is real—”
“It’s not,” Dan said automatically. “It’s probably a joke from your friends. You know they’re always playing pranks on you because you’re so gullible. Like that time they convinced you a midget lived inside the ATM and pushed money out through the slot.”
“Dad, my friends wouldn’t do this. They know how strongly I feel about my real family.”
Dan’s insides shifted. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Ally said, softening her voice. “You’re my dad. Mom is my mom. You guys know that. But you also know how hard it is not knowing where I came from… and why I was…”
She trailed off. Dan could visualize her hand twirling through the air as she searched for words. Ally had always been a hand-talker.
“Okay,” he told her. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed, and I’ll be there. I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe it’s something from the adoption agency.”
“I don’t think so. Will you please hurry?”
“Yeah,” he said, already scanning the kitchen for his car keys. “Sit tight, kiddo.”
“Okay. Love you.”
The air conditioner kicked on, sending a chill through his feet from the floor vent. He considered calling Holly—she was always awake late into the night—but he dismissed the thought as he hung up the phone. There was no reason to worry her over nothing.
Ally was waiting for him at the front door.
“What took you so long?” she asked, pulling him inside. Her face was flushed, and her work clothes held the lingering tones of burned coffee. “Your cell phone kept going to voicemail every time I called.”
“Do you know how slow the stop lights change this late at night? And you know I only carry that phone because you ask me to. I barely remember to keep it charged or turned on.”
“I don’t like it when I can’t get ahold of you. What if you get hurt and no one knows where you’re at?”
“I think I’ll be okay,” he assured her. “Believe it or not, I’ve managed to survive forty years without being tethered to a mobile device.”
She dragged him into the kitchen. The counter was cluttered with dirty dishes and magazines, but one side had been cleared of everything but an ivory-colored letter with a missing corner—victim of Ally’s inability to carefully open envelopes. Even at age eighteen, Ally had ripped into her graduation cards with the delight of an eight-year-old. It was one of her best and worst traits: experiencing the world with childlike wonder.
“That’s the letter?” Dan asked.
“Yes,” she said, handing him an envelope. “This is what it came in. There’s no return address.”
Ally’s name and address were printed in all caps, and the stamp on the envelope was upside down and postmarked two days ago. All the color left Ally’s cheeks as Dan set it aside and picked up the letter.
“You know this is probably nothing,” he told her.
“Dad—”
“Ally, I just know how worked up you can get. Remember last week when you freaked out because that truck followed you all the way home?”
“How was I supposed to know he was delivering pizza to the upstairs neighbors?”
“I’m just saying you have an overactive imagination,” he said. “And all those ridiculous horror movies you watch—”
“Will you just read it?”
He unfolded the letter with a sigh. It was one paragraph, written in pencil with spidery handwriting.
“My name is Frank,” Dan read aloud, “and I’d like to meet you because I’m your father. I’ve known about you for a while, but it’s taken a long time to summon the courage to send this letter. I’m writing you because I’m dying of cancer, and I think it’s time we finally meet. If you don’t contact me, I’ll understand. I know you have lots of questions, and I will answer them all the best I can. God bless.”
It was signed “Frank,” no last name, followed by an e-mail address. Nothing was written on the back.
Ally was watching him with wide eyes, all at once the frightened three-year-old girl again, standing in the parking garage, lost and alone, waiting for someone to make things right.
“Did you send an e-mail?” Dan asked.
“No. Like I said, I just got home, read it, and called you.”
Dan silently reread the letter before returning it to the counter. “I know what you want me to say, kiddo, but… this…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. This is someone’s idea of a cruel joke.”
“I knew you’d be like this,” Ally said. Her voice was sharp, and the color had returned to her cheeks. “You won’t even consider for two seconds this could be real.”
“Think about what you’re saying. Some man claiming to be your father is contacting you now, out of the blue, after all these years? And while we’re on the subject, how would he know where you lived?”
“Everything is online now. I’ve told you this. And the reason he’s contacting me now after all these years is because he’s dying of cancer.”
“Of course he is,” Dan said quietly. “How convenient is that? It’s also convenient there’s no return address or phone number—only an anonymous e-mail address. You know nothing about who sent this. It could have been sent by anyone for any reason.”
“I already told you none of my friends would do this,” she said. “Why would someone send this if it wasn’t real?”
“Ally, this world is full of sickos who do messed-up things. Maybe it’s a customer you pissed off at work. Or an old boyfriend. Or maybe… maybe it’s someone who was fired from the adoption agency, trying to make trouble.”
“How does that even make sense?”
“It makes as much sense as your long-lost father suddenly reaching out to you. I know you always try to see the best in people, and that’s a wonderful trait, but it’s also a dangerous trait. Being gullible—”
“—is the same as being stupid,” Ally finished tersely. “I know, Dad. I’m stupid because I always believe everything that everyone tells me. I’ve been hearing it my whole life.”
Dan leveled his gaze. “You’re not stupid, and I know you don’t believe that. If you did, you wouldn’t have called me over to reinforce this is fake.”
“I called you because I hoped you’d finally be on my side. You made it clear years ago that nothing good would come from looking for my biological family, but I was never okay with that, and neither was…”
She didn’t finish. Her eyes were fastened to the floor, a signature Ally move that meant she was on the verge of saying something she knew she shouldn’t.
“Go on,” he coaxed. “Say what you have to say.”
He expected Ally to backpedal and say it was nothing, but she surprised him by firming her chin and meeting his eyes. He marveled again at how that tiny lost girl had become such a spirited young adult.
“Mom and I did look,” Ally said. “In junior high, we started going to the library on weekends to search through old newspapers for anything about runaways, abducted children, homeless families… but we never found anything.”
“I know,” Dan said.
This time it was Ally’s turn to look surprised. “You do?”
“Yes. Your mother told me.”
“And you weren’t mad when you found out?”
This was the last place he wanted to go right now—opening these old wounds—but she had asked, and he’d sworn to himself long ago that he would always try to be honest with her when asked questions.
“I was furious when I found out,” he answered, choosing his words carefully, “but for the wrong reasons. Your mother and I had been divorced for almost two years, but I was still bitter and angry. I worked hard to keep those emotions hidden from you, but when you weren’t around, your mother and I constantly argued. It tore me apart that I didn’t get to see you every day, and I was paranoid your mother was slowly turning you against me.” He silenced Ally with a finger before she could protest. “I know. It was stupid to think that, but I was in a bad place at the time. And when your mother confessed that the two of you had been secretly researching your past, it pushed me over the edge. I drove to the house and lost my temper in a way that even scared me. Things got… out of control.”
Ally’s face was sickly white. “Did you hurt Mom?”
“No,” Dan said immediately. “I’ve never laid a hand on your mother, and I never would. But that night… it was as if years of pent-up anger and frustration came rushing over me, and I needed to let it out. I started throwing things. Breaking things. It wasn’t enough, and I ended up punching the living room mirror. To this day, I still thank God you were at a sleepover that night.” He swallowed against his closed throat. “There’s no excuse for what I did. Your mother should have called the police, but she didn’t. She drove me to the hospital and sat with me as they stitched my hand. When the doctor asked how it happened, your mother told him I was hanging a picture and accidentally fell into the mirror. I doubt he believed us.”
Ally opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Your mom didn’t speak to me on the drive home. When we reached the house, she went inside without a word, and I went back to my apartment. I wasn’t angry anymore. I was empty. And I was terrified of what was going to happen next. My temper had already cost me my marriage, and now it was going to cost me you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m pretty sure the court system has a zero-tolerance policy for husbands who lash out toward their ex-wives, especially when a child is involved. I was already an every-other-weekend dad, and if your mother told the police what had happened, the best I could probably hope for would be supervised visits with you, which meant someone would always have to be there with us.”
Ally bit her lip. “So what happened?”
“I spent the next few days in agony, barely able to sleep or eat, waiting for your mother to call. She eventually showed up at my apartment with a manila folder, and I remember thinking, ‘This is it; she’s going to ask you to sign away your paternal rights, and you’re going to do it, and then you’re going to get on your knees and beg her to still let you see your daughter, even if it’s only once a month.’”
Dan pulled a breath.
“Your mother said my anger was going to destroy my life if I didn’t get it under control. She knew I would never hurt you or her, but she was scared for me. Then she handed me the envelope and left. When I worked up the courage to open it, I found a pamphlet for anger management inside, along with a note that made me promise to attend.”
Ally took Dan’s hand, and he realized he had been rubbing his knuckles, an old habit that always resurfaced when talking about the past.
“Your mother could have been done with me, right then and there. She could have taken you out of my life, but she didn’t, because she knew it would kill me to be apart from you.” He gave Ally a pinched smile. “And that’s one of the reasons why looking for your other family always scared me so much. I was afraid of what we might find, and that we might lose you in the process.”
Ally sighed. “You’re not going to lose me. You didn’t then, and you won’t now. No matter what happens, nothing is going to change how I feel about you and Mom.”
“I know. But when the adoption became final, and we knew you were ours—really ours—we swore we would protect you from harm. Even if this letter is the real deal and this is your birth father, what kind of man abandons a little girl inside a parking garage? And what kind of mother…” His voice dropped an octave. “What kind of a mother jumps off the side with her daughter standing there, watching?”
He waited for Ally to argue as she always did—maybe the woman was pushed or maybe it was an accident—but she only stared miserably into nothingness. The coroner ruled suicide as the official cause of death, a verdict that Ally refused to accept to this day. Until she did, she was never going to find peace.
“Free to a good home,” Dan reminded her somberly. His stomach wrenched as he relived the memory. “That was what was written on the cardboard. You know that. We’ve been over this a hundred times, Ally. The woman killed herself. It’s the only sane explanation.”
Ally’s mouth twitched at the corners.
“And you know the rest of the story,” he said. “They put you into foster care, and we fought hard to get you because we knew you were meant to be with us. Everything worked out the way it was supposed to. You see that, right? You were meant to be with us.”
“If everything worked out so great, then why don’t I know who I am?” she asked flatly.
“What are you talking about, kiddo? You know who you are. You’re Ally Nebel—”
“No, Dad; Ally is just the name you gave me. We don’t know my real name, or my real birthdate, or if I have any brothers or sisters, or even where the scar on my arm came from. I’m happy it worked out for you and Mom, but it only kind of worked for me… didn’t it?”
Ally went into her bedroom without waiting for a reply and shut the door. It was pointless to go after her; she was as stubborn as he was—score one for the nurture versus nature argument—and too much had happened to try and sort anything out that night.
“I’ll lock the door behind me,” he called out. “Goodnight.”
She gave no answer, and he didn’t expect one. He picked up the letter again, still unsettled that whoever sent it knew where Ally lived. Holly always told him he worried too much, and he knew she was right, but that didn’t change the fact that . . .
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