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e which it seemed to him. She only knew she wanted Claire safely home as soon as possible. So that she could strangle her.
“If you wouldn’t mind?”
Tom twisted around in his seat to address the boys. “Stay here. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“But I have to go to the bathroom,” Cameron said.
Henry jumped on the bandwagon. “Me, too.”
Tom tossed Allie a look that said they were probably being played, but what choice did they have? “I guess we’re all going in, then.”
The boys smiled at each other but were smart enough not to say anything else. The four of them walked to the front of the house. Somewhere upstairs Fergie and Will.I.Am’s version of True played loud enough that Allie could hear it through the closed door. Twelve years ago she and Tom had slow danced to the classic original by Spandau Ballet. To this day she couldn’t hear it without thinking of him. Or of the kiss he’d given her afterward…
Flash forward, Allie.
What was she going to say to Claire? Better yet, how was she going to explain this to Mimi and Zeke?
Allie rang the doorbell but the music was so loud that they couldn’t hear whether the ringer worked or not. A couple of minutes went by but no one answered. Tom raised his fist and pounded on the door.
A teenage boy holding a red plastic cup finally answered. “Yeah?”
Tom’s gaze zeroed in on the cup. “You live here?”
“Who wants to know?”
“How about you answer my question first,” Tom said in a far more neutral tone than Allie would have used.
The kid must have decided they didn’t look old enough to be the parents of anyone inside because after a few moments he visibly relaxed. “Nah, this is Jordan’s house.”
“We’re looking for Claire Grant,” Allie said
“And Jordan’s parents,” Tom added.
“Claire…yeah, I think I know her. Hold on.”
The kid attempted to close the door, but Tom was too fast for him. He propped the door open with his shoulder, grabbed Allie’s hand, and whisked all four of them into the foyer.
The house was a large, two-story Mediterranean with tiled floors and plush leather furniture. All the noise seemed to be coming from upstairs. Still holding on to her hand, Tom headed toward the party. “Everyone stay together,” he instructed the boys.
“Hey! You can’t go up there,” the kid shouted.
“Watch us!” Allie said, scrambling to keep up with Tom.
They took the stairs two at a time and found themselves in a rec room, complete with a wet bar and a huge flat screen T.V. The scene in front of them seemed typical of most teenage parties but Allie couldn’t help but feel a bit shook up. She still thought of Claire as playing with her American Girl dolls. Not being a typical American girl herself. A typical teenage American girl, that is. But there she was, a beer in one hand, giggling away at something some pimply faced skinny hipster kid was saying to her.
Allie marched over to confront her niece. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” she heard herself screech.
Claire whipped around. The look on her face was almost comical. “Aunt Allie! What…what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? I thought someone kidnapped you, for God’s sake!”
“I know this looks bad,” Claire began.
“Looks bad? Claire! You lied to me.”
Some of the kids began looking their way. “Can we just talk about this outside?” Claire whispered.
“She’s right. Save the reunion for later,” Tom said. He took the beer out of Claire’s hand and dumped the contents down the wet bar sink.
