Holding the Dream Page 0,1

churned and knotted. He had stolen, because he was desperate for money and took the easy way out. Because he was a thief, she thought now. A cheat. And he had cheated the justice system by hitting an icy patch of road and crashing his car, killing himself and his wife and leaving his daughter an orphan.

So fate had given her as a father the very man her own father had been so envious of. Through his death, she had, in essence, become a Templeton.

Had it been deliberate? she wondered. Had he been so desperate, so reckless, so angry that he'd chosen death? She could barely remember him, a thin, pale, nervous man with a quick temper.

A man with big plans, she thought now. A man who had spun those plans out into delightful fantasies for his child. Visions of big houses, fine cars, fun-filled trips to Disney World.

And all the while they lived in a tiny house just like all the other tiny houses on the block, with an old sedan that rattled, and no trips to anywhere.

So he stole, and he was caught. And he died.

What had her mother done? Kate wondered. What had she felt? Was that why Kate remembered her most as a woman with worry in her eyes and a tight smile?

Had he stolen before? The idea made her cold inside. Had he stolen before and somehow gotten away with it? A little here, a little there, until he'd become careless?

She remembered arguments, often over money. And worse, the silences that followed them. The silence that night. That heavy, hurting silence in the car between her parents before the awful spin, the screams and the pain.

Shuddering, she closed her eyes, clenched her fists tight, and fought back the drumming headache.

Oh, God, she had loved them. Loved the memory of them. Couldn't bear to have it smeared and spoiled. And couldn't face, she realized with horrid shame, being the daughter of a cheat.

She wouldn't believe it. Not yet. She took slow breaths and turned to her computer. With mechanical efficiency she accessed the library in New Hampshire where she'd been born and had lived for the first eight years of her life.

It was tedious work, but she ordered copies of newspapers for the year before the accident, requested faxes of any article mentioning Lincoln Powell. While she waited, she contacted the lawyer back east who had handled the disposition of her parents' estate.

She was a creature comfortable with technology. Within an hour she had everything she needed. She could read the details in black and white, details that confirmed the facts the lawyer had given her.

The accusations, the criminal charges, the scandal. A scandal, she realized, that had earned print space because of Lincoln Powell's family connection to the Templetons. And the missing funds, replaced in full after her parents were buried. Replaced, Kate was certain, by the people who had raised her as one of their own.

The Templetons, she thought, who had been drawn into the ugliness, had quietly taken the responsibility, and the child. And, always, had protected the child.

There in her quiet office, alone, she laid her head on the desk and wept. And wept. And when the weeping was done, she shook out pills for the headache, more for the burning in her stomach. When she gathered her briefcase to leave, she told herself she would bury it. Just bury it. As she had buried her parents.

It could not be changed, could not be fixed. She was the same, she assured herself, the same woman she had been that morning. Yet she found she couldn't open her office door and face the possibility of running into a colleague in the corridor. Instead, she sat again, closed her eyes, sought comfort in old memories. A picture, she thought, of family and tradition. Of who she was, what she had been given, and what she had been raised to be.

At sixteen, she was taking an extra load of courses that would allow her to graduate a full year ahead of her class. Since that wasn't quite enough of a challenge, she was determined to graduate with honors as well. She had already mentally outlined her valedictorian speech.

Her extracurricular activities included another term as class treasurer, a stint as president of the math club, and a place in the starting lineup of the baseball team. She had hopes of being named MVP again next season, but for now her attention was focused on calculus.

Numbers were