Abigail Always

by Linda Poitevin

  “So what's your story, Abigail Jamieson?” Mitch rested his head against the chair back, watching her. “How come someone like you is working as a nanny?”

  Abby tried not to react to the question, but a watchfulness in Mitch's gaze told her he'd noticed her stiffen. She buried her nose in the mug, clinging to it as if to a life preserver while she pretended to sip from it. “No story,” she said when she emerged. “I like children. And I'm good at running a house.”

  Mitch didn't say anything for a minute, then he raised an eyebrow. “No dreams or aspirations of doing something else? You never went to university?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I—” I married young and had a child and then I lost everything, and... “I did a semester in psychology once. Maybe one day I’ll go back to finish.”

  “Why didn't you continue?”

  Because my husband refused to pay for my classes, and I couldn't save enough out of the house budget he gave me because I was already saving for—

  “It wasn't financially feasible.”

  “And now?”

  Now there were too many feelings and memories welling up inside for her to continue this conversation. Abby leaned over and set her mug on the coffee table, careful to keep her gaze averted so Mitch didn't see the sheen of tears she blinked back. “It's getting late,” she said. “I should get some sleep.”

  “You haven't finished your hot chocolate,” he pointed out. “Besides, tomorrow's your day off. I'll keep the kids quiet so you can sleep in.”

  “It's been a long week. I'm tired.” She stood and, hands trembling, folded the blanket, then laid it across the back of the loveseat. “Thank you again for the drink.”

  “You're welcome, but—”

  “Goodnight.” She fled before the expected tears overflowed, but by the time she reached her room, they had retreated, replaced for the first time ever by the prickles of an unfamiliar anger. Not at Mitch for asking the questions he had, but at William, for never having asked about such things himself. For not caring about her dreams and aspirations. For holding her back and down and making certain she stayed where he wanted. What he wanted.

  The other wives among their couple friends had led much the same life as Abby, but if they’d felt the same restlessness and resentment, they’d never spoken about it. The few times Abby had asked, the subject had been changed, and she had slowly learned to suppress her discontent. Olivia became her sole focus, and that was as it should be, William told her—that, and caring for him. It had been easier to agree than to continue fighting a battle she stood no chance of winning, and over time she had convinced herself that she was—well, if not happy, then at least satisfied.

  Until William had discovered her secret savings account and screamed at her that he would take Olivia away forever, and then slammed out of the house with their daughter and—

  And they had never returned.

  Victims of a drunk driver, the police had told her. An accident William had no chance of avoiding.

  But Abby had known better. She'd known that if she had just done as her husband had asked, if she could have been happy with the life he’d given her, then he and Olivia would both still be alive. She would still have her daughter. Instead, the rest of her life yawned before her like an immense, immeasurable void into which everything had disappeared. Pleasure, happiness, love, dreams. Until now, when twice in the space of two days, two different men had made her remember that, once, she had wanted more. Dreamed of more. Been more.

  Now, when the restlessness that had killed her husband and daughter was back.

  Abby went into the adjoining bathroom, switched on the light, and stared at her reflection. Blue-gray eyes in a pale, near alabaster, face stared back at her. She still wore her hair pulled back in the tight knot William had favored on her. He said it made her look more maternal, and he liked being the one to release it at night, to turn her from mother into wife. She hadn't let it down except to wash it since he and Olivia had died.

  The blue-gray eyes scowled at her. She put up both hands and plucked out the pins holding every stray hair in place, letting them fall like metallic rain into the sink. The hair elastic went next and, released from its prison, her hair tumbled in wild, spirally disarray around her face and shoulders. Abby's insides quivered nervously in response, and her chest went tight.

  It felt dangerous, like the start of a rebellion.

  And? her reflection's eyes asked.

  Abby had no answer, so she switched off the light again and headed for bed.

  But she left her hair down.

  Chapter 14

  Mitch found Abby sitting in a sunbeam in the kitchen the next morning, knees drawn up and feet on the chair, mug of coffee at hand and face turned to the warmth. She looked so relaxed and peaceful that he hated to disturb her, but the rest of the gang would come thundering down the stairs at any moment anyway, and so he headed to the coffee machine.

  “You look like your first day off is starting well,” he said. He was glad of that. He wasn't sure what he'd set off in her last night, but he'd begun to suspect his new nanny carried quite a bit of invisible baggage with her.

  “Mm,” she responded. She gave a small smile but didn't turn her head or open her eyes. “I won't lie about how nice it is not to have to make breakfast and rush everyone out the door.”

  Mitch added a spoon of sugar and a splotch of almond milk to his coffee, then picked up the mug and strolled over to stand beside her. The back yard was a blanket of brilliant white diamond-dust, sparkling in the sunshine. “Nice day,” he said. “Any plans?”

  “I'm considering sitting in this sunbeam for the entire day.”

  He chuckled. “Sadly, it will disappear around the side of the house in about a half hour. No windows there.”

  “Figures.” Abby sighed. “Would you mind very much if I hung around here? I won't get in the way. I'm just not inclined to go anywhere at -23.”

  “That cold?”

  Eyes still closed, she pointed vaguely in the direction of the thermometer he'd mounted in a shady spot beside the sliding doors. “Unless it's miraculously changed in the last five minutes.”

  “Well, I guess that settles it. The science museum it is for us.”

  “On a Sunday when every other parent in the city is thinking the same thing? You're a brave man.”

  “It's either that or stay inside with a sulky teen and two others who are pinging off the walls. But whether we're here or not, you're more than welcome to stay in. This is your home for as long as you're here.”

  “Thank you.” The shadow from a cloud passed across Abby's face, and she cracked open one eye to glare at it. Mitch grinned again. She reminded him of a cat, all curled up and content until something disturbed it. A fuzzy, pale blond cat.

  His gaze settled on the tumble of curls around her shoulders. That's what was different. He'd thought it was just because she was so relaxed, but no. It was her hair. And it was...gorgeous. He cleared his throat. “You didn't put it up today,” he said. “Your hair, I mean.”

  Abby put a hand to her head and gave a self-conscious half shrug. “I decided I needed a change.”

  “Abby!” Kiana thundered into the kitchen on slippered feet and skidded to a halt by the table. “Ohhh... your hair is so pretty! You look like a golden fairy. Doesn't she, Daddy?”

  Mitch sipped his coffee, watching over the rim of his mug as the color climbed into Abigail's cheeks. He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone as pale as she was, as if her skin had never seen the sun. Kiana pulled on the bottom of his sweatshirt, demanding an answer, and he tweaked a ponytail in response. “Indeed she does,” he agreed.

  The red in Abby's face glowed brighter.

  Deciding to take pity on her—and not entirely comfortable with the direction the conversation was taking—Mitch set down his mug and swung Kiana up in his arms. “So,” he said. “What do you think? Museum today?”

  “Science?”

  “You read my min
d.”

  “Yay!” Little arms clasped around his neck. “Can Abby come with us?”

  “It's Abby's day off today, sweetie. I think she'd appreciate some quiet time, don't you?”

  Kiana tipped her head to one side and pursed her lips, considering his words. “I s'pose,” she allowed at last. “But I wish she could. She's fun.”

  “She's confused,” a new voice drawled, and Mitch noted a fine tensing around Abby's eyes before he turned to a pajama-clad Rachel.

  “Who's confused about what?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. He set Kiana on the floor and picked up his coffee again. Sure enough, Rachel responded first with an eye roll, then a huff.

  “Kiana, of course. She's confused about Abigail only working for us because you're never home anymore, and the nanny runs the place like it's her own.”

  Mitch stared at his eldest, not quite believing his ears. Rachel had become so prickly and difficult these days, he hardly knew her anymore. He certainly didn't see any of the sweet, funny, generous little girl he remembered. He steeled himself for a confrontation he didn't want to have, particularly in front of Abigail. A touch on his arm distracted him, and he looked down at Abby. Her blue eyes gave a roll that outdid his daughter's six ways from Sunday, and he caught back a surprised snort of laugher. He was even more surprised when she gave a small shake of her head and a discreet, sideways hand movement that said, “Don't.”

  Mitch's lips tightened. It went against his grain to allow such disrespect in his house, and this was the second time in the space of twenty-four hours. He practically itched to send Rachel back up to her room until she'd improved her attitude. Abby's fingers waved side to side again. He glowered, then turned his attention to his daughter, whose tense body told him she, too, was braced for a fight. Perhaps even looking for one.

  “You're right,” he said, sparking surprise in her eyes. “I haven't been around much. We had a lot of work piled up, and Derek needed my help. We're lucky Abby has been so willing to pitch in.” He watched Rachel's gaze narrow, then slide back and forth between him and Abby, as if suspecting a trap. Huh. Maybe Abby was onto something with this less punitive approach. At the very least, putting Rachel off balance like this was more fun than grounding her. He strolled over to give her a one-armed hug. “How about I promise to do better this week? Even if I have stuff I need to finish on a job, I'll come home for dinner every night and stay until bedtime. Does that work?”

  For a moment—well, a split second, at least—the little girl inside Rachel shone through, and she forgot herself long enough to give him a happy nod before the scowl returned to her face. “I suppose,” she muttered.

  “Yes, yes, yes!” Kiana hopped around in her usual on-the-spot circle, hands flapping like the wings of a grounded bird.

  Mitch put a hand on her head to slow the bounce. “Breakfast out,” he announced. “We'll give Abby the house to herself, and no one has to eat burned pancakes. Deal?”

  Perhaps predictably, the rate of bounce increased again.

  ***

  Remaining seated in her chair while Mitch got the kids ready and out the door was equal parts bliss and torture for Abby. While she loved that she had no responsibility for the day, a part of her longed for the distraction of the happy chaos happening in the front entry—and dreaded a day with nothing to focus on but her own thoughts. She hadn't been alone in a house since she'd arrived on Gwyn and Gareth's doorstep in August. It would be so much easier to tag along with Mitch and the kids, but that would be doing them a disservice. They needed time on their own, without an outsider, if they were going to function as a family by the end of her three months here.

  She sighed. Maybe it would be better if she did go out... but where? The thought of wandering around a mall or a museum by herself held no more appeal than sitting in the house, plus it required going out into a bone-chilling cold for which her California-acclimatized body was seriously unprepared. Visiting Gwyn and Gareth was equally unappealing, given the freshness of her conversation with Gareth and the certain grilling she expected from Gwyn about how she was holding up on the new job. Which left what... a movie? A book? Total panic at the idea of hours of empty time on her hands?

  A chorus of goodbyes reached out to her as the troops filed from the front hall through the laundry/mud room and out into the garage. She really did need to sort things out so that everything was in one place—especially for the winter. Doors slammed. A vehicle started. The garage door rumbled shut. Silence descended.

  Abby stared at her coffee, now cold in the mug on the table. As Mitch had predicted, half her sunbeam had already disappeared, leaving behind a chill.

  “Well, damn,” she said to the kitchen. And then she stood, crossed the kitchen to dump her cold coffee down the drain, and set about keeping her thoughts at bay the only way she knew how.

  Chapter 15

  By the time Mitch and the kids arrived home just before dinner, Abby had made the beds, moved all the winter gear from the front hall closet into the mudroom (where she sorted it into labeled baskets beneath the bench), dusted and vacuumed the entire house, completed a pile of mending, written out the week's menu and accompanying grocery list, cleaned the fridge, made spaghetti sauce, and was in the middle of peeling apples for an apple crumble.

  “Really?” Mitch asked from the kitchen doorway, surveying her efforts. “Your first day off, and you spend it cooking?”

  “I like cooking,” she replied, avoiding his gaze and keeping the mending and cleaning part to herself.

  “Daddy, Daddy! I have my very own basket in the mudroom with my name on it and everything!” Kiana's voice floated in to join them. “And a coat hook, too!”

  Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Cooking and organizing?”

  “There's a lot to do if I'm going to have everything ready for you to take over.”

  “So much that you can't take a day to yourself?”

  She sighed. “I told you I'm not very good at sitting.”

  “I'm beginning to believe you.”

  Brittany bounded into the kitchen, Kiana close behind, and peered into the simmering pot on the stove. “Ooh, spaghetti! With meatballs?”

  “Is there any other way?” Abby asked, ruffling the girl's short, bouncy curls. “And there's apple crumble for dessert, if someone wants to help me peel the apples.”

  Two voices clamored to volunteer, and Abby dug out two peelers and got Britt and Kiana settled on stools, all the while conscious of Mitch's continued presence in the doorway. Then, when she picked up her own knife again, he plucked it from her fingers and pointed it at the third stool.

  “Sit,” he said. “It's time I learned how to make an apple crumble. How many apples do we need?”

  “The rest of the pile, but I—”

  “You have done enough for one day.” Mitch raised his voice to call, “Rachel! We need your help in here.”

  Supervising a kitchen full of people was a new experience for Abby. William had expected her to take full responsibility for meals—three a day—and year after year, he had decreed Olivia too young to help. Abby had often felt more like the hired help than a wife and mother, but then her husband would arrive home with an unexpected and extravagant gift, and guilt would once again hold her silent. Watching Mitch and his girls pitch in to complete the meal she'd started was a revelation... and then some. All those years of preparing food, and she'd had no idea kitchen work could be so much fun. Even Rachel cracked a smile a few times and let a giggle slip through once, when Mitch's vigorous stirring of the crumble topping raised a cloud of flour dust that turned his beard strip and eyelashes white.

  It took a little longer than it would have if she'd worked alone, but at last the crumble was in the oven, the pasta was drained, and the table was set. Mitch served up spaghetti and meatballs, the girls carried their plates to the table, and then he brought his own and Abby's over—and, for the first time since her arrival, sat down to join them.

  Eating a meal wit
h him at the table was different from eating alone with the girls. Rachel didn't spend the entire time glowering at her plate, there were no awkward silences, and Abby—refreshingly—didn't feel like an interloper. In fact, halfway through her plate of pasta, she realized that she felt very much like a part of the family. Which raised a whole lot of other issues for her—primarily, paralyzing guilt at the thought of enjoying herself with someone else's children when her own was gone.

  The idea sucked the air from her lungs, and she pushed a meatball around her plate as the table talk and laughter flowed around her. Desperately, she tried to recall the sound of Olivia's laugh, a sound she had once loved more than life itself, but her memories stayed stubbornly silent. A knife slipped beneath her ribs. She'd forgotten. She'd forgotten her own—

  “Abby?”

  She blinked and looked across the table at Mitch, his brow creased. Her gaze searched his for a hint of the same shadows she carried inside her. He had lost his wife. The mother of his children. Did he ever look at them with the same guilt that Abby felt? The grief counselor had assured the bereaved parents' group that it was normal. Survivor's guilt, she'd called it. The ache of remaining alive and daring to find happiness, no matter how small, without your loved one.

  “Everything okay?” Mitch asked.

  All three girls watched her.

  “It's fine,” Abby said, hearing catch in her voice. “I think I just overdid it today. Do you mind if I excuse myself?”

  “Don't you want dessert?” Kiana asked.

  “You can save mine for me.” Abby forced a smile. “I'll have it for lunch tomorrow.” She stood and pushed back her chair, but when she made to pick up her plate, Mitch's voice stopped her.

  “I've got that,” he said. “You go and rest.”