Come Fly With Me (88 page)

Of
course,
her
father
renovated
the
kitchen
anyway,
albeit
without
her
input
because
she
was
adamant
that
she
would
NOT
be
using
it.
The
first
weekend
they
came
up
to
the
newly
renovated
cottage,
her
grandmother
managed
to
sit
outside
in
the
back
for
an
entire
two
hours
before
harrumphing
and
marching
inside,
complaining
nonstop
about
how
if
she
didn't
make
them
some
food
everyone
would
starve.
Allison
had
felt
sorry
for
how
hard
her
Bubby
was
always
working
in
the
kitchen,
slaving
away
over
the
most
delectable
fresh-picked
blueberry
pies
and
raspberry-apple
cobblers.
Only
many
years
later
did
she
realize
that
it
had
been
her
grandmother's
biggest
pleasure.
She
could
never
sit
around
idly;
it
wasn't
how
she
had
been
brought
up.

Allison
continued
her
survey
of
the
room
as
the
warm
memories
flooded
back.
Everything
seemed
more
compact,
well
she
was
quite
a
bit
taller
than
she
had
been
the
last
time
she
had
seen
the
place.
There
was
plenty
of
sunlight
still
streaming
from
the
windows,
but
there
were
a
few
dark
corners
and
Allison
calculated
that
if
the
buyer
were
much
later
there
would
be
little
point
in
trying
to
show
the
house
anymore
today.
She
had
thought
ahead
and
booked
a
room
at
the
Atlantic
Oceanside.
As
long
as
she
was
back
in
New
York
by
Saturday
night
to
ready
herself
for
the
unveiling,
she
could
make
a
mini-two
day
vacation
out
of
it.
She
had
run
out
of
town
without
even
telling
her
mother
of
her
change
of
plans,
so
Allison
was
reaching
for
her
cell
phone
when
the
front
door
opened.
She
turned
her
head
and
was
shocked
to
see
Paul
Franklin
coming
toward
her.

"Hello,
Allison,"
he
said.

"Paul,
what
are
you
doing
here,
are
you
the
buyer?
You're
the
one
who
responded
to
my
ad
to
sell
the
cottage?"
she
asked
bewildered.

"Yes,
but
I
won't
be
buying
what's
rightfully
mine—what
was
supposed
to
have
been
mine
from
the
beginning.
I
can
see
by
your
expression
that
you
have
no
idea
what
I'm
talking
about.
Did
your
father
ever
tell
you
how
he
met
your
mother?
"

Allison
nodded,
"Of
course,
he
met
her
in
college.
But
what
does
that
have
to
do—"

"Tut,
tut.
I'll
be
the
one
leading
the
conversation
here.
Just
be
quiet
and
listen."

Something
in
his
tone
sent
a
shiver
down
her
spine.
She
swallowed
over
the
rising
panic
in
her
chest.

"Pay
attention,"
he
admonished.
"As
it
happened,
your
mother
and
I
were
on
a
date
when
your
father
walked
into
the
restaurant.
Before
I
knew
what
hit
me,
he
was
joining
us
for
dessert
and
three
months
later,
they
were
engaged.
He
spent
his
life
married
to
my
woman.
Stole
her
right
out
from
under
me.
I
always
thought
he
offered
me
the
job
at
the
firm
out
of
guilt.
That's
how
stupid
I
was.
He
was
really
after
my
father's
country
club
buddies.
Those
contacts
proved
to
be
very
valuable
and
ultimately
were
responsible
for
RossAir
taking
off.
The
business
should've
been
mine."
His
mouth
opened
wide
as
he
sprayed
his
shirt
with
spit.
"Everything
should
have
been
mine."

Allison
opened
her
mouth
to
speak.

"It's
still
my
turn,"
Paul
said
as
his
eyes
darted
around.
"I
was
restless
and
unfocused
after
college,
and
I
joined
the
army
on
a
whim.
Care
to
guess
which
division
I
joined?"

Allison
straightened
her
shoulders
as
the
pieces
began
to
click
and
fixed
him
with
a
cold
stare.
"I'm
so
glad
we're
having
this
little
chat.
I
was
wondering
why
someone
would
make
the
cowardly
choice
to
shoot
out
a
streetlight
rather
than
putting
a
bullet
through
my
father's
head.
But
no
matter,
really;
I'm
glad
I
have
the
chance
to
thank
you
now.
You
saved
me
the
jail
time."

It
was
Paul's
turn
to
look
bewildered,
"You
knew
it
was
me?
You're
saying
thank
you?"

"Correction.
I
suspected
it
was
you,
and
we
both
know
what
a
bastard
my
father
could
be.
It
was
only
a
matter
of
time
before
someone
did
to
him
what
I
had
been
dreaming
of
doing
for
years.
There
was
no
way
he
was
giving
RossAir
to
anyone,
especially
not
a
woman,
as
long
as
there
was
air
in
his
lungs.
I
wanted
what
was
rightfully
mine
just
as
much
as
you
did."