“Not even to friends?”
She grimaced. “William was quite a bit older than I was, and our lifestyle didn't lend itself well to me forming my own friendships. I tended toward being private.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“I didn't mind at the time, because I had Olivia, but yes. Now that I look back, I think it was.”
“How much older was he?”
Her gaze slid away from his. “Twenty-six years. I was nineteen when I met him.”
“Wow. You're right. That's quite a gap.” Mitch watched her. “But you loved him.”
It was more statement than question, but Abby answered anyway. “I suspect I was more in love with the idea of him at first. He was very handsome and very sure of himself, and I was very young. But, yes, I think I learned to love him.”
“You think...?”
“He wasn't an easy man. He was set in his ways, and he could be demanding.”
“You thought about leaving him.”
Another statement. Another answer. “I did, but I had no money of my own and nowhere to go. And then I had Olivia, and he made it clear he would take her from me if I tried to leave.”
Mitch stared down at his hands, his expression dark, and she added the same thing she'd told Gareth. “He was a good man in his own way. And a good provider. He cared about us.”
“As long as you did things his way?” Mitch's voice was neutral. Too much so.
She hesitated and then sighed. “Yes.”
He scowled at her. “You know there's a term for relationships like that, right?”
“Yes,” she said again. “And you know how hard it is to admit you're in that kind of relationship, right?”
He held her gaze for a second, and then his shoulders sagged. “No,” he admitted. “But I can imagine.”
“I had a plan to leave.” The admission surprised Abby as much as it seemed to surprise Mitch. She'd never told anyone that, not even Gwyn. “I opened a savings account when Olivia was six, and I tried to keep a few dollars aside every week from the household budget. I had enough for one and a half plane tickets to come here when—when—”
“Take your time.” Mitch's calm, soothing voice was at stark odds with his clenched jaw.
She did, inhaling shakily before continuing. “William found out about the account, and we had a huge fight. He told me he would make certain I never saw my daughter again, and then he took her and left. He'd taken off before, when we had disagreements, so I knew he'd come back—only this time he didn't. And neither did she. There was an accident. A drunk driver, head on. The police said he didn't stand a chance of avoiding it, and...”
“And you blamed yourself,” he finished softly. “Oh, Abby.”
The compassion in Mitch's voice nearly broke her again. She gripped the tissue and held onto the last vestiges of her inner fortitude as, for the first time, she spoke the words that had haunted her for so long. “If I'd just been happy with what I had, she'd still be alive,” she whispered. “They wouldn't have left the house. He wouldn't have taken her from me. I'd be putting up the tree with her, and wrapping her gifts, and—”
Mitch leaned forward and engulfed her hands in his work-roughened ones. “You are not to blame, Abigail. No one is to blame. It was an accident, and it wasn't any more your fault than Eve getting sick was mine.”
“What?” The last bit shocked Abby into blinking at him. “You thought that?”
His lips pulled tight. “I did,” he said. “I'd been working insane hours and leaving her to look after the house and kids pretty much solo. I knew she was exhausted. She told me so. But I thought I was too busy to change anything. So, yes. You bet I blamed myself when she was diagnosed.”
“But that makes no sense.”
“I know that here”—he took one hand away to touch his temple—“but things got a little confused here.” His hand traveled to his heart. “Grief isn't a kind thing, Abby. And it's not particularly reasonable. The accident was not your fault. Sometimes bad things just happen.”
“I know,” she whispered. And she did, but somehow, hearing it from Mitch gave a depth and truth to the words that hadn't existed before. A truth she hadn't wanted to accept, because it meant letting go of the guilt that had anchored her for the last year. Part of her had been terrified of what would remain in its absence.
The inevitable moving forward with life.
A life without Olivia.
A life alone.
Mitch's hands returned to hold hers again, and his callused thumbs stroked gently, warm and strong and comforting.
“But good things can happen, too,” he continued, “such as you being with us for Christmas. We're all hurting this year, Abby, but maybe we can be there for you the way you've been there for us. “
If it had been anything more than an offer of friendship, she wouldn't have been able to accept it, because despite her growing awareness of Mitch and her behavior on Friday night, she was in no shape to be considering anything more. Not with him; not with anyone.
Not yet.
“Well?” Mitch asked.
That's all it was. An offer of friendship and shared space for healing. Abby took a deep breath.
“I think I'd like that.”
“Me, too,” he said, giving her hands a little squeeze. Then he grimaced. “The girls will have questions.”
Her insides froze. She hadn't thought about that yet.
“If you'd like, I can tell them about Olivia while you wash your face,” he suggested, and Abby gave a little start at the sound of her daughter's name on someone else's lips. It had been a long time. Too long.
She nodded. “That works. Thank you.”
Mitch stood and pushed his chair back under the table. Abby let him pull her to her feet. “I'll warm up the pizza,” he said. “See you in a few minutes.”
Chapter 37
“Is Abby okay?” Britt asked when Mitch joined them in the living room. The tree sparkled beside her, casting a warm glow over the room and its occupants—and the unopened pizza boxes. He motioned to the latter, stacked on the coffee table.
“You guys were supposed to start without us.”
“We were worried about Abby,” Rachel said from the floor, where she and Kia sat with Dog on his back between them, belly exposed for rubs, snoring lightly.
And Mitch had been worried about the dog's temperament.
“Abby's going to be okay,” he said, lowering himself into his usual armchair, repositioned to make room for the tree. “But it turns out she's going through a rough Christmas, too. You were right about her having been married before, Rachel. Her husband and daughter died in a car accident just before Christmas last year.”
“Oh my gosh,” Rachel breathed the words, eyes wide with shock. “That's awful. I feel even more horrible for snooping in her room, now.”
“You snooped in Abby's room?” Britt demanded.
“Already dealt with, Britt,” said Mitch. “Let's stick to the subject at hand.” He pulled Kia, who'd gotten up from the floor, onto his lap. “Abby's going to be here with us for Christmas, but I need you girls not to ask her too many questions, all right? Let's be patient with her and give her some room. In fact, let's be patient with everyone. The next couple of weeks are going to be pretty rough for all of us, and we're going to need a little extra love and understanding.”
“Abby's picture should be on the mantel,” Kia said, leaning back against his shoulder.
“Pardon?”
“Her picture of her little girl and her husband. It should be there”—his youngest pointed to where Eve's picture sat—“beside Mommy, where they can see the tree, too. Then they'll know that Abby is happy with us, just like Mommy knows we're happy with her.”
Out of the mouths of babes...
“That's a great idea,” Britt said. “Rach?”
“I agree. Daddy? Can we ask her if she wants to?”
Mitch blinked away a sheen of moisture and cleared his throat. Damn,
but he was proud of these three. “I think that would be a wonderful, but let's wait for a day or two, okay? Now, is that pizza still warm, or should we heat it up?”
Rachel placed a hand on the top box. “Feels warm to me.”
“Then let's dig in.” Mitch set Kia on the floor again and passed out plates and napkins. By the time Abby joined them, each of the kids was halfway through their first slice, all sitting cross-legged on the floor by the tree with Dog watching them hopefully.
“Abby! Are you better now?” Kia sprang up and threw her arms, plate and all, around Abby's waist. Her pizza slid off and, before Mitch could open his mouth, disappeared down Dog's throat.
Mitch blinked at the sheer speed with which the bulk had moved.
“See? He can be useful,” said Rachel, making them all laugh—including Abby, he noted.
He replaced Kia's missing pizza, then put another slice on the last free plate and set it on the coffee table for Abby. “Come and eat,” he said. Then he pointed a finger at Dog. “Not you.”
Dog pulled back his top lip in a grin, then curled up beside the tree again with a deep, contented sigh. Mitch echoed the sigh, but his was one of concern rather than contentment. The animal had been with them only a few days, and he already fit into the household as if he'd been with them forever. If his owners turned up, Mitch's family was in for a world of hurt—and an already battered Christmas would take another serious blow.
But one day at a time, right? Because if there was one thing Mitch had learned in the last couple of years, it was that there was no point worrying about things he couldn't control—and that life didn't come with guarantees of ease, or happiness, or forever. He'd forgotten that lately. Forgotten it for a long while, if he was being honest. He'd fallen into the trap of bouncing from one disaster to the next, always scrabbling for a handhold and trying to do more instead of recognizing what he already had. Seeing what was truly important.
Abby's story had reminded him in a big, big way.
He studied her as she sat on the loveseat nearby, her skin so pale in the lights from the tree that she almost looked translucent. A far cry from Eve's dark coloring, which he had so loved, but beautiful in its own right—and covering a core of steel that he had only guessed at before tonight. He had no idea how she'd remained standing after what she’d endured, because just dealing with Eve's death alone had nearly felled him to his knees. If he'd lost a child at the same time...
Mitch's throat tightened, and his gaze touched fiercely on each of his daughters. Rachel, with his eyes and her mother’s take-no-prisoners attitude; Britt, the family peacekeeper—and resident troublemaker, depending on her mood; Kiana, blissfully oblivious to the challenges that faced her. All so beautiful, so confident, so generous. He looked back to Abby and wondered what her daughter had been like. Had Olivia looked like her? Had she had the same wonderful laugh? The same smoky blue eyes?
“Daddy, are you even listening?” Britt asked, exasperation edging her voice.
He brought his focus to bear on his middle child. “Sorry, kiddo—I missed that.”
“We're talking about the party. Abby said we should have it on the twenty-third. Can we?”
“That's not too close to Christmas for everyone?” Not to mention being the date on which Abby had said Olivia and William had died. He shot her a sharp look. “Are you sure you're up to that?”
“I think it will be fun. Especially if we go with Britt's idea of a potluck.” Abby smiled at Britt, who beamed. “By the twenty-third, most people have finished their shopping, and the holiday parties are pretty much done. It's kind of like the eye of the storm.”
“That wasn't what I meant.”
“I know.” She turned to him, still sad, but calm, too. “And yes, I'm sure. It will keep me busy, and it feels... right.”
He held her gaze, then nodded. “Then that date is fine with me, too. Who are we inviting?”
“We need a list,” Rachel said. “I'll get some paper.”
“Top drawer of your father's desk,” Abby called after her. “Pens are in the righthand drawer beside it.”
Mitch sat back and laced his fingers behind his head. “You were busy in there today.”
“I got a good start on it,” she agreed. “But I'll need your computer password to access the financials on Monday.”
He pulled a face. “Yeah... about that. I don't have them.”
“Your partner does the books? That's okay. He can send the files—”
“Derek doesn't have them, either. At least, not electronically.”
“You're still on a manual system?” Both of Abby's fair brows rose. “Wow.”
“Tell me about it. Is that the end of our deal?”
“Not at all. I started off doing Will—William's books manually. I'm sure I remember how. Maybe you can set up a meeting with your partner for me, so I can get a handle on his system.”
“That, I can do.”
“I have paper!” Rachel announced, skipping back into the room. “And a pen.”
Mitch couldn't help but smile. He hadn't seen his oldest move in such an undignified fashion since before her mother got sick. Whatever else Abby might do for this family in her time here, returning Rachel's childhood to her would top the list. Well, that and making sure Kiana's needs were recognized, and lifting their home out of the chaos into which it had sunk, and restoring his hope for their survival, and—damn, but he hadn't thanked the woman nearly enough for what she'd accomplished around here.
He looked across at the cascade of blond curls around the bent head as she huddled with his daughters over the guest list and, not for the first time, wondered how they would manage without her.
How he would manage.
And not just for practical reasons anymore.
Chapter 38
Abby texted her sister on Monday after she dropped off the kids at school and got the laundry started. She tried to tell herself that it was only for the girls’ sake, because they wanted Gwyn and Gareth and their family to come to the party, but she had to admit that she was glad of the excuse. She'd ignored Gwyn's every-single-day texts since their blowup, but now that she had opened up to Mitch about Olivia and William, it was time she did the same with her sister. And so, taking a deep breath for courage, she typed, Hey. It's Abby.
She waited, but the cell phone sat unresponsive in her hand, her message showing as delivered but unread. She set it down and poured coffee into a travel mug, so that she’d be ready to head out again, then she switched off the coffee maker and waited some more. Was Gwyn maybe still in transit herself, ferrying kids to school?
The notification changed to “read,” and three dots blinked in the bottom left corner to indicate typing at the other end.
Hey, came her sister's answer.
...
Sorry it took me a sec to answer.
...
I almost dropped the baby when I saw it was you.
...
I thought it was safer to put her down.
Abby caught herself rolling her eyes. Great. Rachel was contagious. Funny, she texted back.
...
I try. What's up?
You guys busy on the 23rd? Mitch and girls are having a party. Potluck. The girls would like all of you to come.
The message showed as read, but it took a while before the three dots appeared again.
Only the girls? Gwyn asked.
No. I'd like you to come, too.
...
Can we maybe talk while I'm there?
Deep breath. Yes.
...
We're in. Put me down for a pineapple ham.
Mom's recipe? Abby asked.
...
You remember it?
Abby smiled and typed, Of course. But I haven't had it since that last family Easter.
...
I'll bring you the recipe. What time should we be there?
It's a family thing, so we thought 4:00 would be good, Abby tapped in.
...
Perfect.
...
Abby?
What?
...
I'm glad you texted.
Me, too.
Abby turned off her phone and leaned back against the counter to consider her final response to Gwyn, surprised at how much truth was in it. And how much she was looking forward to talking to her sister. Or rather, how she wasn't dreading it anymore, the way she had been. Maybe the whole opening-up-to-people thing gets a bit easier once you start actually doing it, she thought. Not a lot, but a bit. It was a beginning, at least.
She glanced at the clock on the stove and screwed the lid onto the travel mug. And now she had another beginning to make, by getting the company books from Mitch's business partner. She headed into the laundry room and nudged a toe against the dog laying across the doorway to the garage.
“Come on, you big black beast. Move, so I can get out of the house.”
Dog opened an eye, regarding her with a look that seemed to inquire what was in it for him. Abby took a bone-shaped dog cookie from a box on the back of the utility sink and held it up.
“Will that do?”
Heaving a sigh, Dog lumbered to his feet, daintily accepted the offering, and moved aside. He wouldn't go far, Abby suspected. He'd spent the entire day in front of the same door on Friday, waiting for Kiana to re-materialize. At most, if he gave up waiting here, he'd head upstairs to Kiana's bed, which was his second-favorite place in the house—his first being wherever Kiana herself was.
“Be good,” Abby told him, patting the broad black head and edging out the door.
She arrived at the address Mitch had given her with five minutes to spare, only to find the second-floor office locked up tight. She knocked on the door that bore old-fashioned brass letters spelling out Abrams Construction Ltd., with the letters for Abrams looking somewhat shinier than the others, and the shadow of a former, longer name underlying them that Abby couldn't quite make out. There was no answer to her summons. She stared at the door for a moment. Mitch had said 10:00, she was sure of it. Maybe Derek had run out for—
A square of paper taped to the sidelight caught her eye, and she bent closer to look at it. A terse message was scrawled across it.
Abigail Always Page 19
