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Allie took a quick shower, then caught a ride with Zeke on his way to work. He pulled into the senior center parking lot. “You sure you want to be here?” he asked.
She didn’t expect the ghost to suddenly materialize, but after all that had happened this past week, it seemed fitting that she be here for the big tear-down. “Yep, I’m positive.” She opened the door to the police cruiser and hopped out.
Zeke stuck his head out the window. “How are you getting home?”
“I can walk. It’s a beautiful day and I could use the exercise.” Pause. “I checked my bank account online and I have enough money to pay the suspension. Do you think you can give me a ride to the courthouse later?”
“Not a problem.” There was relief in his dark eyes and Allie realized, not for the first time this visit, how much stress Zeke must have in his life. To him, she must be one more person to take care of. One more person he had to keep tabs on. She hated that she was a source of worry for him. Especially now that she knew he had more important things to worry about. They made plans to meet back at the house at noon.
The scene in the parking lot was similar to what it had been the past few mornings. Lots of men. Lots of machines. She spotted Tom speaking to Hard Hat, aka Keith. Tom made his way over to her. His shoulders seemed tight with tension but he still looked handsome enough to take her breath away. He looked surprised to see her and Allie realized what he must be thinking.
“Before you say anything I’m not here to ask you to stop the demolition. No tricks. No last minute appeals. I concede defeat.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I guess I couldn’t help myself.”
He glanced around the parking lot and turned back to her as if he was going to say something but then changed his mind.
“I’m leaving town tomorrow,” she said, feeling the start of a babbling attack. Maybe there was a self-help group out there. Babblers Anonymous. If not, then she could be the founder. She stifled an inappropriate giggle. Laughter and tears. It must be kind of like the love-hate thing. Two emotions on opposite ends of the spectrum that weren’t really opposite after all.
Why did the idea of demolishing the senior center suddenly make her feel so sad? A week ago, she wouldn’t have blinked if she’d heard about the building coming down. But today…
“Have you decided what to do about your story? For the magazine?” Tom asked.
“I’ll think of something.” Then she put on her best smile because she certainly didn’t want Tom Donalan feeling sorry for her. “I always do.”
“I hope everything works out for you, Allie. You deserve nothing but the best.”
“Thanks,” she managed to say. “Best of luck with the building and Henry and, well, with everything.”
He nodded, but he didn’t make a move to leave.
Oh God. They were having another moment. Only this one felt final.
She almost reached out to hug him. But of course, she didn’t. You hugged friends or puppy dogs. You didn’t hug Tom Donalan. Not unless she wanted a whole lot more than a hug.
Before she did or said something she’d regret, she took off across the parking lot. Good thing she had on her running shoes. She could feel tears welling up behind her eyeballs. But not because she was saying goodbye to Tom. It was the building. The ghost story. The agony of defeat. That’s what it was.
She was so busy trying to get away that she ran smack into Roger Van Cleave, nearly knocking them both down in the process. “Oh! So sorry,” she mumbled.
“Whoa!” Roger led her to a grassy area on the side of the parking lot. “You okay?”
“Perfectly fine. For a journalist without a story, that is.” She pointed to the camera slung around his neck. “That looks fancy.”
“This old thing?” He grinned. “I thought I’d come out and record the demolition. For prosperity.”
“Good idea.” Allie forced a smile. “So, how’s your sister?”
“Phoebe’s madder than a wet cat. But she’ll get over it.” He glanced back at the building. A crane with a large wrecking ball sat poised on the edge of the senior center, ready to take aim. “You know,” Roger continued, “this place was originally built as a residential home by
Earl Handy. He and Margaret raised their kids here, then after she passed on he donated the building to the city. Pretty prime real estate, huh?”
She shaded her eyes to avoid the bright morning sunlight and looked at the building for what was probably the last time. She’d known about the building’s original owner, of course. Everyone knew old Earl Handy, grandson (or was it great-grandson?) of Cyrus Handy, one of Whispering Bay’s original founders. Heck, half the town was practically related to him, Mimi and Lauren included. A horn blared, nearly making her jump.
“Everyone, clear the premises!” Hard Hat yelled into a bullhorn, followed by the sound of heavy machinery going into action. Allie and Roger stepped behind to a marked off area, where a few other spectators looked on as well. Roger began snapping pictures with his camera.
Allie had never seen a building demolished. The roar of the cranes combined with the sound of smashing bricks to produce what appeared to be a well-orchestrated production. Allie glanced over at Tom. This is what he does. He tears things down, and then he builds things back up. She shuddered.
