skim the gist of it.
Congratulations… the first recipient of the Lady George Administration Memory Care Grant… Delighted to inform you that your father’s long-term care expenses… covered in full for the next twelve months…
A piece of paper fluttered to the ground, and I bent to pick it up. It was a receipt for twelve months of care.
I couldn’t breathe, so I stayed where I was, head to knees, and sucked in air.
“How did this happen?” I wheezed.
“The foundation contacted us. We submitted your name for their approval process. And you won, Ally!”
Dad’s care was guaranteed for twelve months. That meant… everything.
I gave up on the whole breathing and standing thing and sank to the floor as an entire nursing staff cried with me.
Once I recovered a tiny bit of my dignity, after I hugged and wiped my nose on every single staff member there, I spent a joyful hour with Dad. He didn’t recognize me, but he was in a good mood and telling stories about his daughter Ally.
When he started asking what time his piano student was arriving, I decided it was time to head home to get ready for my serving shift.
My steps were lighter than they had been an hour ago. But as relieved as I felt over the unexpected answer to my prayers, my heart still ached.
I missed Dominic. And I hated that. It reminded me of how much I’d missed my mother that first year after she’d left. When I’d still had hope. I’d never really stopped missing the idea of having a mother. But every time the pang arose, it brought with it a bigger, meaner twinge of self-recrimination.
How could I miss someone who had so carelessly hurt me?
I was so busy feeling like crap that I almost walked right by the big house on the corner without my usual daydreaming. And today, I didn’t feel like daydreaming. I didn’t know if I even believed in happily ever afters like the walls of that house held.
As if to add insult to injury, an older couple appeared in the front window. They were locked in one hell of an embrace that didn’t look even remotely grandparenty.
Okay, fine. So happily ever afters existed. Just not for me. The jokester who said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved was a real jerk as far as I was concerned.
I turned my back on the happy scene and started down the block when my phone clunk-clanked inside my pocket.
I could just make out my real estate agent’s name on the dimly lit screen.
“Bill, hey,” I said.
“We’ve got a full-priced cash offer on the table, Ally,” Bill said in an excited rush.
I stopped in my tracks and shook my head to quiet the ringing in my ears. I was dreaming this whole day. I was going to wake up on my stupid twin bed and be devastated any moment now. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?”
“Full-priced cash offer,” he said. “They want to close by the end of the week. I know it’s short notice, but—”
“Accept it. Oh my God. Accept it!” I said, dancing a circle on the sidewalk. Then I froze, a terrible thought stealing into my brain. “Wait a minute. Tell me the buyer isn’t Dominic Russo.”
“Who? No. It’s not even a person. It’s a trust. The buyer’s agent said the buyer fell in love with the house.”
“They did?” I whispered.
“Actually the email said fell in love in the house, but that was a typo. So you’re going to need to start packing.”
There wasn’t much to pack. A couch and a gym bag of dance clothes and work uniforms. The extent of my earthly possessions. But it was better to start fresh without a lot of baggage.
72
Ally
Things kept happening. Good things.
On Tuesday, the Foxwood police contacted me to tell me my weasel of a contractor had been arrested for fraud, theft, and some other charges that sounded like general douchery. Apparently I hadn’t been the only client he’d skipped out on.
The detective wasn’t confident that I’d get my money back, but she had recovered my father’s pocket watch that the guy had helped himself to.
On Thursday, I got an email from a design firm in Manhattan. They’d seen my work in Label and somehow got a direct line to Dalessandra, who sang my praises. They wanted to know if I was interested in a job doing design work.
Friday was bittersweet goodness. The closing on my father’s house went off without