6 Rainier Drive. Debbie Macomber
baby began to cry, demanding attention. He was loosely covered with the blanket Allison had knit. At first glance she thought Aaron resembled Cecilia’s husband, Ian, but as she studied the baby, Allison saw plenty of his mother in him, too.
“Oh, Cecilia, he’s adorable,” she whispered, giving Aaron her finger to hold. The infant immediately clutched it with one tiny hand, and she was surprised by the strength of his grip.
“He’s already spoiled,” Cecilia said, smiling fondly down on her son. “It’s bad enough that I’m at his beck and call, but you should see Ian. You’d think the sun rose and set on this baby.”
Because Cecilia and Ian’s first baby had died shortly after her birth, Allison knew how precious this child was to her friend. Aaron started to fuss again, more loudly this time. Cecilia lifted him out of the carrier and sat down at the table. “I think I’d better nurse him for a few minutes,” she said, draping the blanket over her shoulder while she unfastened her blouse and expertly arranged her son.
“Sit,” she ordered Allison, gesturing with her head at the chair beside her.
Allison willingly complied. “I’ve wanted to talk to you so badly,” she said. Thankfully, no one had come in search of her. Busy though the staff was, they seemed to know that Allison needed this time with Cecilia, just the two of them.
“You can call me whenever you need to,” Cecilia assured her. “I worried about you when I didn’t hear anything.”
“I couldn’t—”
“I know,” Cecilia said as she nursed her infant son. Her gaze was focused on Aaron. With her free hand, she stroked the wisps of hair at his temple.
“Do you remember that when we first met, I was going out with Ryan Wilson?”
“The kid with the paper-clip earring?” Cecilia asked, grinning down at her son as if to suggest she dreaded the day he’d become a teenager. “I believe your father might’ve have mentioned him.”
Allison felt embarrassed now to recall how foolish she’d been. Ryan was trouble, and getting involved with him had been a blatant attempt to pay her parents back for their selfishness—what she saw now as their temporary insanity. Soon after that, her parents had reconciled, and before the summer was out they’d remarried.
“Anson isn’t anything like Ryan.” She shook her head. “People might think he is, but Anson’s a much better person. He’s smart and loyal and kind. Ryan isn’t any of those things. He isn’t even in school anymore. I have no idea where he is.” But she had no idea where Anson was, either…
“I know that,” Cecilia said calmly, “and the reason I do is your father. He would never have gone out of his way to help if he thought Anson would hurt you.”
“He has hurt me,” Allison protested, clenching her fists. “I don’t understand why he ran away.” She wondered if Anson considered what a terrible position he’d put her in. She realized that he didn’t have the luxury of thinking about anyone but himself. He had to escape, had to run. However, he’d left Allison to face his detractors, alone, and she was afraid.
“Sometimes people don’t know how to deal with pain,” Cecilia said, her gaze still on her baby. “The only way they can react is by running.”
“That only makes things worse,” Allison said.
“You’re wise to recognize that,” Cecilia told her. “But unfortunately, Anson hasn’t figured it out. My guess is he’s hurt and confused, and taking off was kind of a knee-jerk reaction to pain.”
“Where would he go?” As far as she knew, Anson didn’t have any family. His mother was a sorry excuse for a parent, and he’d never known his father. Not once had Anson mentioned grandparents or uncles or aunts. She’d racked her brain, trying to work out where he could possibly find a hiding place. She hoped he was safe and had enough to eat.
“Mom and Dad said the minute he contacts me I need to call Sheriff Davis.”
“And they’re right.”
Allison agreed, although she didn’t like it. “Anson is what the sheriff called a person of interest.” She was interested, too, darn it. She had questions of her own.
As soon as Aaron was finished, Cecilia buttoned her blouse and placed the baby over her shoulder, rubbing his back. “Everything’s going to work out, Allison. If Anson is innocent—”
“He is,” she said vehemently.
Cecilia raised her head abruptly, staring at Allison. Her dark eyes seemed to burn straight through her. “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”
Allison swallowed convulsively.
“I can see from the look in your eyes.” Cecilia paused, waiting. “Allison? Have you heard from him?”
“No.”
“Allison?” she asked again, her voice calm. “You’d better tell me.”
“I…I’m not sure…”
“Why are you afraid?”
Lowering her head, Allison bit her lip. “No one else knows,” she murmured. Last week, when the sheriff had come to speak to her, she’d answered all his questions—to the letter. But he hadn’t asked about this particular thing, and Allison hadn’t volunteered the information.
“You can trust me,” Cecilia added. “You know I want only the best for you.”
Allison nodded. “You won’t tell anyone?” She tried to keep the pleading out of her voice.
“If you ask me not to say anything, I won’t.”
“Not to anyone,” she insisted.
“I promise.”
“Okay.” Allison took a deep breath. “If I tell you…you might think—you might believe Anson set the fire.”
“You’re not withholding evidence, are you?” Cecilia asked urgently. “Because that would change everything.”
“No! I couldn’t do that.”
Cecilia sighed with relief. “Good, because that would make you an accessory.”
Sheriff Davis and her parents had already explained this. “I answered all his questions truthfully,” she said.
Cecilia frowned. “This was a sin of omission, then?”
Allison slowly released her breath. “That night…when Anson knocked on my bedroom window.”
She glanced up and Cecilia nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“We talked, and…and then he came into my room.” Her mother had been really upset when Allison admitted that; she could only imagine what Rosie would say if she knew the rest.
“Yes?”
Allison hesitated again. “He…he was in my room for a few minutes and then he left and when he did—” She nearly choked on her words.
Cecilia leaned closer.
Allison could hardly make herself say it. “I…I could smell smoke.” Her throat was painfully dry. “Not at first, I didn’t, because all I could concentrate on was not letting him leave. I noticed a smell but I didn’t think about it. Later I did, and when I realized what it was, I cried myself to sleep.”
“Anson smelled of smoke?” Cecilia whispered the question.
“Like that other time,” Allison said shakily. “As if…as if he’d been standing close to a bonfire.”
Cecilia’s shoulders sagged and she closed her eyes.
It was just as Allison had feared. Now even Cecilia believed Anson had burned down The