Begin with You

by Burgoa, Claudia

  Abby’s an amazing cook. It was Mom who initially taught her. In their case, the student surpassed the teacher.

  “Don’t get too excited.” She escapes my grip, rolling her eyes.

  Damn woman, I just want to touch her and she keeps evading me.

  “It’s a quiche I bought at Whole Foods,” she says as she grabs the oven mitts from the kitchen island.

  Abby takes the dish out of the oven and sets it on top of the counter.

  “I was talking about the coffee, but the quiche looks good too. Would you mind serving me a piece, please?” I waggle my eyebrows hoping she’ll serve me while I set up my computer and start working.

  Abby points to the cupboards. “You know where the mugs and the plates are, Ahern. Pour some coffee for me too. I’m going upstairs to change and to send a suggestion to HR. They should make Mondays and Wednesdays casual too … think about it, Ahern. You’d be the most popular boss ever.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. If my father knew about casual Fridays, he’d resurrect himself just to fire me. He liked the elegance of a suit. In the early two thousands, against his own beliefs, he changed the dress code to business casual. Switching that trend to casual every other day like Abby suggests would make him roll over in his grave.

  I serve our coffee, preparing mine with cream and sugar. Abby takes her first cup of the day black. After setting them on the counter, I begin looking for a spatula to serve the quiche. I exhale, shuffling around the contents of the drawers. Abby’s pantry is neatly organized. Every box and can are put away by size and in alphabetical order. I bet she did this at night because she couldn’t sleep. Her silverware and kitchen tools, however, are every which way. There’s no logic or reasoning to why she does what she does. I’d hoped that since she just moved back it would have been different, but some habits never change.

  “Finally,” I say as I snatch the utensil. “Do you need me to organize your kitchen, Lyons?”

  “Are you going to start complaining about my drawers, Ahern?” She says as she’s walking down the stairs.

  “I’d love to mess with your drawers, baby,” I say with a wide smirk.

  “Wes, are you having dirty thoughts about your friend Abby?”

  “Are we still friends?” I arch an eyebrow.

  “I hope so,” she whispers. “Above everything, I never want to lose our friendship.”

  “We won’t,” I promise. “Best friends can become lovers, though.”

  I hold my breath for a few beats, waiting for her reaction. We haven’t talked about taking our relationship that far. In fact, I’m not sure if she’s ready at all. She dated a few times while in college, but the relationships never lasted too long. I don’t want to assume anything, but should I?

  She closes her eyes, exhaling. “Look, you’re going to have to be super patient with me.”

  Abby opens her eyes and gives me a pained look.

  Sex, she mouths.

  “I don’t have any experience in that arena for a reason, Wes,” she continues.

  What happened to you, Abby? I don’t dare ask, instead I try to say something simpler, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “So much has happened to me, Wes. As you know, I freak out when things change. Being together in that way most likely will change our relationship.” She shakes her head. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

  She tenses. “What if I have a panic attack in the middle of the act?”

  “Hey, I’m here for you. You lead, and you need to remember that nothing will happen unless you want it to, okay?”

  She presses her lips together tightly and nods. I begin to work as we eat. I usually arrive at the office between six and seven. In that way I can start the day almost at the same time as the East Coast. If I do that, I’d miss this, sharing breakfast with Abby. I look up to her, smiling at her. Having her by my side has changed a lot of things in just a few days, and I’m happy about it.

  When I move my attention from the computer to her, she’s frowning at her empty mug. Without saying a word, I stand up, pour her more coffee, adding a spoon full of sugar with a little milk this time.

  “Thank you.” Her lips turn up into a lovely smile. “You didn’t have to; I was just thinking that …”

  “Hey, it’s me, your best friend Wes. What do you need?”

  “Can we go away for the weekend?” her voice is almost lost.

  “Of course, Abby.” I hop back onto the bar stool, open my email app, and start sending a message to my assistant. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Tahoe.” She exhales, her sigh softly deflating. It’s as if some of the tension has lifted from her back.

  “We’re going to Tahoe, then,” I announce, asking Anita for the plane to be ready at noon. I’d rather arrive early and have a few hours to work facing the lake.

  This might be good for Abby. It’s been a long week. She’s been a little more skittish than usual when we’re out. Last weekend we visited the fresh market by Cherry Creek Mall and she kept looking around. It seems like the ghosts from her past follow her everywhere. I wish I knew what’s going on with her.

  “By the way, I wanted to ask you for a favor, if it’s possible,” she says quietly.

  “Anything for you, Abbs, you know that.”

  “Can you get me the police and autopsy reports about Ava’s death?” The hesitation in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

  I nod once, studying her face.

  “Are you sure you want to know about this?”

  “I think so,” she says biting her lip avoiding my gaze.

  “Let me see what I can do,” I ignore the quick twist on my gut. This feels like a bad idea.

  She shrugs a shoulder, looking at the granite counter. “You know, just whatever you can gather would be helpful.” She squints, pressing her lips together.

  I can hear the gears inside her head moving. She’s choosing her words carefully to tell me just what I need to hear while withholding the real reason she wants to go through these documents.

  “Maybe they’ll help me find closure,” she finally says, and the tension in her shoulders increases.

  “It might not be today, but I can try. Mom can tell you the story,” I suggest.

  “Well, you didn’t know about Shaun. Does she?”

  I shake my head but in truth, I’m not sure about Mom’s knowledge. Like Abby, they don’t disclose too much information.

  “See, that’s why I’m wondering what Corbin told the authorities about me and his children.” She shrugs as if she’s just curious.

  Fuck, I’m dying to know the truth.

  “Why did you continue to stay with him after your mother died?”

  “I don’t know,” she says, lowering her gaze. Her fingers playing with the fork as if it were a baton.

  She’s hiding the truth. I’ll let it slide for now. Until she’s comfortable enough, I can’t push her any further. Hopefully, those reports will reveal what she’s been hiding all along. I should find someone to help me search deeper though. I have a bad feeling about this Corbin character.

  How was he able to stay at Abby’s house after her mother died? Did she leave him the house? Finally, the puzzle I’ve been trying to build for years is taking shape. She’s beginning to give me the pieces to put it together.

  “How long were they married?”

  “A little more than a year, my mom fell ill before their one-year anniversary and died not long after,” she says shivering.

  “What happened to her?”

  “I don’t know; we weren’t close but … I’m sure Corbin knows what happened.” Her voice is cold, detached.

  — — —

  Abby

  Abby Age Sixteen

  Mom didn’t mention her boyfriend Corbin after our first meeting. She disappeared a lot, but as usual, I never knew where to find her. It surprised me when a few months later she announced her impending nuptials.

  “We’re going to Vegas.” />
  For once, my mother’s life excited me. We were going to Vegas. I made a few calculations and wondered if I could get a fake ID and gamble while we were there. If only I had enough money, I could emancipate myself. It was a couple of hours into the planning when I found all the flaws. Even if I learned to count cards, the cameras might catch me. I’d be kicked out of the casinos. If I succeeded, the authorities would want to know how I made that much money—they’d confiscate it or worse—send me to jail.

  Then, I came up with a new plan. What if I were to just run away while in Vegas? Even better, what would happen if I ran away now? Since my mother stayed with Corbin almost every night, there wasn’t anything in the house to eat. Not that I cared. I had two part-time jobs: one at the smoothie bar and the other at the diner a few blocks from home.

  I didn’t need her anymore. She hadn’t paid the electric bill or the water bill. I did. My savings plan was suffering, but I couldn’t wait to turn eighteen. I’d claim the house and the little money that was part of the trust and kick my mother out.

  You can run away and come back when you’re older and stronger. It was a good option, but what if the police found me and brought me back to her. She’d punish me. I decided that running away in Vegas would be safer.

  My plan was set into action the next day, when the Stanley family moved into our house. Ava became my roommate. Shaun used the guest room that was just across the hall from mine. I decided to run away once we arrived in Nevada. Except, it turned out, the only ones going away for the weekend were the bride and the groom.

  “Shaun will take care of you and Ava,” Mom said.

  I can take care of myself, I screamed inside my head.

  That night, Ava spoke to me for the first time.

  “Stay away from Shaun,” she whispered.

  I rolled my eyes. Did she think I had a thing for her brother? The guy creeped me out.

  “Where’s your mom?” I asked her, because these strangers were going to be around for longer than I wanted, and I at least wanted to know if they would be leaving every other week to see their mother.

  “Dead,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry. How old were you when she died?”

  “I was eight,” she sobbed.

  My heart squeezed as I heard her crying. It had been almost ten years since she lost her mom. I bet she missed her just as much as I missed my grandmother.

  “What happened to her?”

  Chills ran through my body when I heard her mumble something like, Dad didn’t need her anymore.

  But I shook my head, between her low voice and the sobs I thought I must have misheard what she said.

  21

  Abby

  “So, do you prefer to stop in Vegas for a shotgun wedding?”

  I jolt at the question, tearing my eyes off the book I’m pretending to read.

  “Seriously, Weston?” I growl at him. “What kind of question is that?”

  I feign annoyance. But in truth, I should be apologizing for being so distant. I just can’t help it. And I know that he hates when I disappear into my mind or when I go into complete silence.

  Wes hates when I’m quiet and brooding.

  He says that it reminds him of the time when I first arrived at the Aherns. He feels like I’m hurt and pushing him away along with everyone else around me. I bet right now he assumes that I’m scared. I’ll deny it, even when he’s right.

  Just empty your mind and don’t think about anyone else but Wes, I order myself

  “The kind of question I ask when you’re not paying attention,” he answers with his signature half smirk and half scowl that scares many but makes me laugh.

  Well, not only laugh. It sucks the air out of my lungs because in a way, it looks really sexy. That’s Wes. A sexy guy in a Henry Cavill kind-of-way. Except Wes doesn’t have a hot British accent.

  “What’s going on, Abby girl?”

  I stare at him. His midnight blue eyes stare at me. He’s studying me, trying to guess what the hell is wrong with Abigail this time. So much for treating me like a normal person. So many things. I’m so wrapped up in what happened earlier today that I wasn’t paying attention to Wes.

  Sterling forgot about our call. He was busy according to his text. For three hours I couldn’t stop thinking about Corbin and Shaun. I was tempted to google them, but afraid of what I would find, I resisted. Then I went to the coffee house … I should stop visiting it on my own.

  Since then, my mind has been on automatic. Packing wasn’t hard since I don’t bring much to Tahoe. My little piece of heaven has a closet full of clothes for all seasons.

  “It’s the turbulence,” I say grabbing onto my seat. “Feels like we’re gliding and not flying.”

  Wes sighs and adjusts himself before setting one foot on top of his opposite knee, his fingers tapping his knee.

  “You have to be a little more convincing. Your acting is terrible,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s not what’s going on with you.”

  I raise a challenging brow. “If you know what’s going on with me, why are you asking?”

  He shrugs and rakes his dark hair with both hands. “That’s not what I meant. Something happened to you after breakfast. Was it the conversation we had?”

  No, that’s not what’s bothering me. I purse my lips, staring at him. Wait, what conversation? My dear mother’s dead, right. Ugh, I think I need a few drinks. An entire pitcher of daiquiris—blueberry mint or mango pineapple ...

  “See, there you go again, retreating into your own mind.”

  “Maybe just a little,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.”

  The pilot announces that we’re free to move around the cabin. Unlike Wes, who unbuckles his seat belt and gets up off the seat, I remain in place. I swear, using commercial airplanes is safer than these little jets. I don’t feel the turbulence as much when we’re traveling in big planes. But then I have to deal with the people around me. At least here, I can freak out and the incident will be forgotten.

  Wes goes to the mini-fridge, taking two bottles of water and two Kaisers, his favorite beer, out of it. It’s like the man can read my mind. Well, not exactly since there’s a huge difference in taste between my favorite fruity-frozen drinks and his sour beer, but I’ll take anything that will help calm my nerves.

  My current anxiety has nothing to do with the unfortunate death of my mother. Maybe Wes thinks that I’m still mourning the bitch. The only part I mourn is that when she left, I realized that I’d been living in heaven compared to what happened after her loss.

  “We should have finished our conversation during breakfast,” he says.

  “I assure you, there’s nothing much to say about her.”

  “We don’t have to have that conversation, but if you want to talk more …” he shrugs and drinks from his beer. “Did anyone help you with the grief?”

  Grief? I don’t think that word is applicable when one loses someone who abuses them. After she got sick, I needed help, but not because of her … I close my eyes, but the only thing I see is him. Just like I did earlier, when I ran downstairs for one of those delicious cupcakes that they sell next door. One moment he was there, sitting in the corner booth watching me, serving me with that creepy smirk I hated.

  I can’t breathe. There’s a pain on the center of my chest. It’s sharp and jabbing, like a knife lodged in my lungs. He’s here. His gaze pinning me, my arms tied. He can’t hurt me.

  I gasp for air, unbuckling my seat belt.

  My hands fly to my neck. I touch it. My throat is so tight, and I can’t scream or ask for help. Don’t speak. If I do, Corbin’s going to kick me in the head. The only place no one notices the bruises.

  I need to get out of here.

  The mind-blowing panic paralyzes me. I draw in a deep breath trying to swallow my fear to show him that I’m not afraid.

  “Abby, breathe for me.” The calm, soothing voice breaks through my thoughts.

>   I look at my arms. I’m not tied up.

  “Are you okay?”

  My heart rate is out of control, just like my shaky body. Wes lifts my chin. “Look at me, Abby. Where are you?”

  I look around. “Not home, but with you,” I whisper.

  “Hey, if you’re not feeling well, I can order the pilot to turn around.”

  “Please, don’t do that. I need a break from Denver.”

  It hasn’t been long since I arrived, but I already want to get the fuck out of that place. Away from the monsters.

  I squeeze my eyes shut harder, trying to calm myself. It’s impossible. He’s back, and I swear he’s watching me. But who is he? Corbin or Shaun. Maybe both. Or is it just my imagination? No, I swear I’ve been seeing them. I’m almost sure that Shaun was at the café earlier today. He’s much older, but that gaze. I would recognize it anywhere. There was a guy leaning against the wall of the coffee shop. He was there one second and the next, he was gone. My legs wobble as I remember the way I’ve been feeling all week.

  Someone is watching me.

  Am I going crazy?

  “Abby, look at me. You have to go to a therapist,” he pleads. The desperation in his eyes makes me reach for his face. “This … whatever it is you have, it’s getting worse.”

  Is it getting worse?

  I break eye contact. He’s right. Everything that’s happening to me is just inside my head. Nothing is real. I’m feeling like people are following me, and I’m losing my fucking mind because I haven’t dealt with the past. How do I start? I close my eyes and look at the girl lying on the floor, crying, broken after another night of torture. She’s trying to forget. Why is it that she can’t just leave everything behind and start anew?

  22

  Abby

  After a two-hour flight, we land at Reno International airport. Unlike the other times since Wes bought the house in Tahoe, my car isn’t in the parking lot. When we pick up the rental, Wes makes a passing comment that he should just buy a car. He suggests going to town and checking out the dealerships. If he can’t find anything suitable, we’ll order something in Denver and have it brought to Tahoe. He’s ridiculous, but I remain quiet.