Anything for Her - By Janice Kay Johnson Page 0,51

that moment on, it had been all she wanted to do. The instructor had spoken to her mother, seeing something in her from the beginning—passion or skill, or perhaps both.

Doubtless assuming it would be a fleeting obsession, her parents had allowed her to take classes—and then more classes. The cost must have required sacrifices on their part. It seemed as though, once they resigned themselves to her single-mindedness, they’d never given any thought to broadening her education or experiences.

Although that might not be totally fair. It was also possible they’d tried, and she’d rejected those opportunities. She had had her eye fixed on a goal and saw very little else.

Allie had always known that their relocation had been harder for her than it would have been for most girls her age. She hadn’t only had to give up friends, the familiar, her name; she’d given up a consuming passion, her identity, her dreams, her future. It felt like everything then. She had been lost.

Maybe the only way she could survive was to wall off that part of her life. Remembering it hurt too much. Shying away from any reminder had become habit, more subconscious than deliberate. She never watched dance programs on PBS, had never been tempted to buy tickets to Seattle’s Pacific Northwest Ballet.

That week, she even noticed how she drove several blocks out of her way going home to avoid passing the local dance school and chancing to see eager girls in their leotards being dropped off in front by their moms. She hadn’t known she was doing it.

This year she’d agreed to let students hang a poster advertising their recital in her front window, but other than checking to be sure it hung straight and to note the day when the event would be over and she could rip it down and crumple it in her trash, Allie had never once really let herself see it.

Did the Y offer adult swim lessons? she wondered. It wouldn’t be so embarrassing if she wasn’t alone. Of course, it wasn’t likely there’d be that many occasions when she wished she knew how to swim better. Mostly people didn’t swim in Puget Sound. It was not only salty, it was bitterly cold. And the majority of beaches were rocky rather than sandy, too. Waterskiing, if Nolan ever took her again, well, she thought maybe she’d trust the life vest better next time.

Sean had been so enthusiastic, he’d taken a second turn, as had Nolan. By the time they returned, Sean was talking animatedly with the college boys and had enthused all the way home about waterskiing. Nolan, looking amused, had declined to buy a powerboat or to sell the house and buy a lakefront one.

“Maybe Ryan will invite you again one of these weekends,” he’d suggested. Ryan was Chuck’s son.

“He said he would.” Sean sounded flattered but doubtful.

“He and his buddy were pretty friendly.”

“Yeah, they were great, but they’re in college.”

Well, yeah. Neither Nolan nor Allie argued that Ryan would want Sean as his new best friend.

“It was a good day,” Nolan said with satisfaction.

Looking at his face, Allie had felt something complicated that she didn’t understand. Maybe because it was a wonderful, perfect day—except for the fact that she wasn’t the woman Nolan thought she was.

Ever since he’d told her about his mother’s affairs, she kept hearing him say, with steel in his voice, I’ve told Sean that the one thing I won’t tolerate is lies.

She was lying to him every time they saw each other. Not maliciously, of course; she told herself that made a difference, but she wasn’t completely convinced. How would he feel if he ever learned how different her life had been from what she’d told him? Would he understand why she’d had no choice but to lie?

Allie wanted to believe Nolan would. But then she wasn’t so sure when she remembered his bafflement and fury and hurt when he talked about his mother and the lie his entire life had been because his parents hadn’t been honest with him.

She tried to tell herself he’d never have to find out about her lies. Even if, well, they became more involved or even got married, it would be Allie Wright he’d wed. It was Allie Wright he loved, not Chloe Marr, who had died for all practical purposes, anyway. And certainly not Laura Nelson, the stunned girl who had almost given up talking at all in her grief over the life left behind and her worry of