“Is what she told me true?”
The question sliced the morning air like a newly sharpened blade. Tracy’s father looked up at her with narrowed green eyes under dark blond eyebrows. “What?” he asked.
Tracy took a deep breath. “Ally Field. Is what she told me true? About the fight between you and your sister? About mom and her dad keeping in touch for the last fifteen-some-odd years?” she asked.
Her mother and father exchanged glances over the kitchen table. Tracy had been safe at home for a week, and it was mutual knowledge that this question would come up sooner or later.
They had just hoped it would have been later.
Tracy’s mom cleared her throat. “Hank Field was a good friend of mine throughout school. And, after the fight between you father and your aunt Mary, I kept in touch with him. Your dad knew about it - and he was fine with it; he just didn’t want to hear about it,” she explained. Then, puckering her mouth up and lowering her voice a half-octave, she added, “Because a man can never admit he’s wrong when it comes to an argument.”
Tracy gave a small laugh. After a pause, she cautiously added, “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
Her mother looked away momentarily before replying, “I thought it was for the best.”
Tracy nodded. Oddly enough, she understood what her mother meant. After a moment’s debate, she turned her attention to her father. Delicately, she asked, “What was the fight about, anyway?”
He shrugged. “It’s been so long. I don’t even remember what the final straw was anymore. Mary and I . . . We just never got along. Then, finally, it all came to a head and we stopped talking,” he told her.
A silence fell over the room. The soft hum of the air conditioning unit permeated the air. Tracy stared at the tabletop.
“Any more questions?” her father asked at length.
Slowly, she looked up. “Just one,” she said quietly. “Where is Ally now?”
Tracy’s mother hung up the telephone. “A juvenile detention center,” she said.
Tracy’s eyes widened. “A . . . She’s at a . . .” she stammered.
“It seems,” her mom continued, “that after she ran away from the Hanson’s house, she vandalized some property with spray paint and broke windows with a hammer. Then, she tried to hold up a convenience store clerk with a pair of scissors held to his neck. The police apprehended her and she’s been at the center since. Mary and Hank think it’s the best thing for her right now.”
Tracy took a deep breath. Question answered. Somehow, the news made her feel better . . . safer. She knew now that there was no way for Ally to try and retaliate on the Hansons.
Or her.
She sighed.
“Are you okay?” her mother asked quietly, catching her attention.
Tracy nodded. “I’m fine, Mom,” she assured her.
