Then she released her hold and faced Abby squarely. “First, I would never speak that way about another woman. Ever. God knows we have a hard enough time in this world without stabbing one another in the back. Second, if that’s what you heard, I don’t blame you for thinking the worst. And third, what you heard is not what I said.” She shook her head, scowling. “Those two,” she muttered, and Abby assumed she meant Mandy and Rachel, “can get things so twisted up in their heads.”
“Right,” she continued. “So here’s what I actually said. After you arrived, the two of them asked me if I was serious about helping out Mitch with the house and stuff. I said of course, and they said wouldn’t it be cool if the two of you—me and Mitch, I mean—got married. I just about killed myself laughing at that, because as much as I’d like to get into Mitch’s pants, I am not the marrying kind. I told them it was far more likely that you and he would get hitched, because given that you were a nanny, you were almost certainly more nurturing than I would ever be, and men tended to like nurturing. Not that I think you’re a pushover or anything,” she hastened to add, “but you just have that air about you, you know?”
Abby gaped at her. “So they...?”
“Behaved like typical thirteen-year-olds and jumped to all kinds of conclusions.”
“But—but things with Rachel got so much better after she and Britt stopped riding with you.”
Amusement danced in Perky’s eyes. “And did you stop to think it might be because Rachel had the chance to get to know you better and decided you weren’t the threat she thought?”
“Well, I...” Abby put one hand to a hot cheek. “Lord,” she whispered. “I am so, so sorry, Jessica.”
“Meh.” Jessica—not Perky—shrugged a shoulder. “I’m a divorcée and I’m not shy about going after what I want. You’re not the first to consider me a threat, and I doubt you’ll be the last. But if you're worried,” she added with a sly smile, “you don't need to be. I promise to behave myself where Mitch is concerned. I’ve seen how he looks at you, and I know when to admit defeat. I'll be setting my sights elsewhere.”
“I—I don't—” Abby stammered. But she didn’t know how to finish—how to explain.
“So, can I start taking the girls to school for you again after the holidays?”
Abby nodded. “That would be great,” she whispered, because it would be. For Mitch.
“Excellent.” Jessica held up her glass and tinked it against Abby’s. “Happy holidays, Abigail.”
Before Abby could summon a response, the other woman was already back in circulation, sidestepping children, weaving her way back into the thick of things, stopping to tip her glass against others and bestow the customary kisses on cheeks. Abby watched her for a few moments, and then, almost without thinking, she glanced around the room in search of Mitch. He was standing with Gareth and one of the neighbors, Kia in his arms, his head thrown back and teeth flashing white in laughter. As if sensing her gaze on him, his laugh faded, and he turned to look at her through a gap in the gathering.
“I have to go,” her heart whispered.
“I know,” his pale green eyes said.
***
“Are we sure Abby can't have Christmas with us?” Kia asked, standing with Hope beside Abby's luggage in the front entry.
Mitch uncrossed one arm from the other and reached out to tweak one of his daughter's ponytails. “We're sure,” he said, his voice gruff. “Abby has her own family, and they decided they want to see her, remember?”
“Well, they could have decided that before we got all excited,” grumbled Brittany. “We got her a present and everything.”
“And I'm sure she'll love it just as much when she opens it at Gwyn and Gareth's.” Mitch glanced over his shoulder as Abby came out of the hallway from the laundry room with her coat and scarf over one arm and her ridiculously fuzzy boots in her other hand. She'd changed from the dress she'd worn for the party into her usual jeans and a turtleneck that molded itself to all the body parts Mitch still wasn't supposed to notice... but did. He cleared his throat.
“All set?” he asked.
She nodded, the ache in her expression making his heart hurt. For the thousandth time that day, he battled the urge to ask her to stay. He was certain she would. He'd seen the answer in her eyes every time he'd looked her way, saw it now in the pale set of her face and the way her gaze lingered on each of the girls in turn, as if trying to memorize every detail. He would ask, and she would stay, and she would love them and care for them as Eve had done—and she would be lost in that love, as Eve had been lost.
“The cab is here,” Rachel said from living room.
“That's my cue to get a move on,” Abby said. She set the boots on the floor and stepped into them, then shrugged into her jacket and looped the scarf around her neck. Then, being Abby, she turned to the practicalities. “I've left everything you need for Christmas dinner in the fridge,” she told Mitch. “All you need to do is roast the turkey—instructions are on the counter by the stove—and reheat the vegetables in the microwave. They'll keep warm in the oven while you carve the turkey and put everything together. Oh, and there's a gravy base in the fridge, too. You'll need to add some of the turkey drippings to it. If you have any questions—”
“I have your number,” Mitch said, but they both knew he wouldn't call.
The doorbell rang, and Mitch held Hope back while Abby opened the door to the cab driver. The stocky man on the porch greeted them warmly, giving Kia a little wave as he took Abby's largest suitcase from her. He trundled it down the snow-covered sidewalk, and Abby turned back to face them. Taking a deep breath, she held her arms wide.
“All right, everyone,” she said. “Line up for Christmas hugs!”
There was a flurry of activity as three bodies pressed in on her for individual hugs and then a giant group one, while Mitch held back on the pretext of controlling placid Hope. Then Abby was looking across at him and whispering goodbye, and the last two suitcases were disappearing out into the night with her, and Mitch was closing the door, and—
She was gone.
Mitch stared at his hand against the door for a long moment before he dropped it and turned back to the house—only to find his daughters lined up across the hallway with hands on hips and accusatory gazes fastened on him.
“We have a question,” Rachel said with a scowl. “Exactly why does Abby need all her luggage for a couple of days with her sister?”
Chapter 47
"What do you mean, she's not coming back?" Rachel demanded. Her arms were crossed, now, and her scowl had deepened to a glower. Her sisters, one on either side, copied the stance—and the expression. Mitch might have smiled if the matter wasn't so serious.
Life-cripplingly serious.
"It was time for her to go," he said, wishing yet again that this conversation could have waited until after Christmas. But his daughters clearly would not be put off by excuses. "Abby did what she came here to do, and now she's finished. The house is clean and organized, she made us a binder that has everything we need to know in it, you girls are doing great, and I have a plan for keeping us all on track. All we need is someone to be here after school for you girls, and then we're ready to look after ourselves."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Brittany asked. "We like her. And she likes us."
"I know, sweetheart, but we knew this was temporary, remember? It's time for Abby to move on to her own life."
"Didn't she like looking after us?" Kiana asked, uncrossing her arms to wrap them around Hope's neck instead.
"Of course she did. But she has other things she likes to do, too. Such as going to university, and making her own friends, and—"
"So you're saying this was just a job for her," said Rachel.
"Well, yes. That's what we agreed it would be."
"If you married her, it wouldn't be just a job. We know you like her that way. Everyone knows. Mandy even heard Jessica tell Abby she was setting her sig
hts elsewhere."
Jessica was giving up her pursuit? Well, at least that was one small candle in the current blackout. Mitch leaned his shoulder against the wall and stuck his hands in his pockets. "It's not that simple, Rach. Marriage is a really big step, and things are... complicated with Abby."
"Complicated how? You like her, she likes you. I'm not seeing complicated here."
Freaking hell. She wasn't going to let it go without an explanation, was she? Mitch regarded his eldest with a mix of exasperation and admiration, choosing his words carefully. "Abby's husband was a very controlling man, sweetheart. Mr. Jamieson liked things to be a certain way, and he expected her to stay home and look after him and Olivia and the house. He didn't let Abby have any of her own money, so she never had the chance to go to school or make her own friends. As much as we might love her, I'm afraid that if she stays with us, she'll end up doing more of the same things she did for her first family. You saw how hard she worked around here. I want her to have the chance to do more than just cook meals and clean house. I want her to have the chance to be just Abby, without having all these responsibilities. Do you understand?"
The green eyes narrowed. "You let Mom do all those things."
"And I'm sorry for that," Mitch replied, making a mental note to remove the knife from his heart later. "I made a lot of mistakes with your mom, and I want to learn from those and not make the same ones."
"Hm," said Rachel. Then, clearly pulling from her critical-thinking class at school, she added, "It sounds reasonable, but I think your logic is faulty. I can't figure out where, right now, but I'll let you know when I do."
Mitch swallowed a smile. "You do that. In the meantime, are we good? You guys will pitch in and help me run this place?"
"Of course. We want it to be tidy when Abby comes back." And with that, Rachel turned on her heel, summoned her sisters, and marched upstairs with them, Hope trotting behind.
Chapter 48
"We're calling a family meeting," Kiana announced from Mitch's office doorway. "In the kitchen. Rachel says now."
Mitch looked up from the estimate he’d been staring at for the last hour and eyed his youngest, who stood with the fingers of one hand wound into the shaggy coat of her ever-present companion. "She does, does she? Can I finish this first?"
Kia shook her head. "It's important."
"Did you guys decide on someone for after school?" He'd called Estelle Gagnon at Nannies to Go that morning, relieved to find her in the office so soon after Christmas, and she'd already emailed five resumés for part-time help. Mitch had particularly liked the look of one of them, but he'd learned his lesson and decided to solicit the girls' input this time around. He'd left the information on the island for them to review.
"We're not getting someone." Kia's eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.
Mitch narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, we're not getting someone?" he asked. "We’ve already discussed this. Someone has to be here for you girls after school."
Kia shook her head, removed her hand long enough to say, "Can't say!" and then slapped it back in place and turned to go. Untangling her other hand from Hope’s back, she beckoned Mitch to follow.
Mitch hesitated, then stood. It wasn’t like he was getting any work done anyway. He’d been staring at the same column of numbers for an hour now, and he still hadn’t come up with a tally. Besides, even without the ironclad family rule about attending meetings no matter who called them, curiosity would have driven him out of his chair and down the hall behind Kia.
In the kitchen, he stepped over a sprawled-out Hope and sat down on a stool at the island. "Thank you for clearing up the dinner dishes," he said, thinking he’d start things off on a positive note rather than demanding an explanation. "You guys are a great help at keeping us on track. "
"We told you, we're keeping things clean for Abby," Britt said.
Right. Mitch grimaced. So much for positive. He moved on. "So, what's this I hear about us not getting a housekeeper?"
"That's not what this meeting is about," Rachel said, looking smug. "I've figured out the problem with your logic."
"What logic?"
His eldest crossed her arms and scowled. "Your Abby logic."
Her duh hung in the air unspoken, but only barely.
Hell. Mitch leaned an elbow on the counter and braced a hand beneath his head, thumb resting on his cheekbone and fingers against his temple. How much longer could they keep up their bring-Abby-home efforts? For four days straight, from Christmas Eve until now, they had reminded him at every opportunity that they only did things so the house would be in good shape when Abby returned. They’d refused to open the gifts she’d left for them until then, too. Sighing, he wondered how much longer he could hold onto his own equilibrium in the face of their efforts, because God, he missed her, too. He missed her calm presence in the house, her smile, her laugh, the expression he saw in those smoky blue eyes when he caught her looking at him with her guard down, the faint scent of strawberries that tickled his nose when he stood close...
In a nutshell, everything. He missed everything, and he’d been second-guessing his decision to let her go ever since she’d walked out that door. And third-guessing it, and fourth-guessing, and—
"But first," Rachel continued, jarring him back to the kitchen, "we have a question. You know all those times you've told us women should make our own decisions in life? That we shouldn't let a man tell us what to do?"
"Unless it's a police officer or a doctor or something and he's trying to help us," Kiana added.
The corner of Mitch's mouth twitched as Rachel predictably rolled her eyes. "Yes, except those times," she agreed. "But do you remember, Daddy?"
"I remember."
"Were you lying to us?"
Mitch frowned at her. "Why would you say that? Of course I'm not lying. I absolutely believe women should make their own decisions. Your mother and I both did, and—where is this going?"
"Bear with me." Rachel locked her hands behind her back and paced the length of the island on the other side, watching him. "Do you also remember telling us that Abby's husband wouldn't let her do what she wanted, only what he wanted, and you didn't want that to happen to her anymore?"
"Yes, of course. But why—"
"Uh uh." Rachel held up an imperious hand. "Wait, please. One more question."
"That makes three, you know," he said dryly. "You said a question when we started."
Rachel ignored him, not even bothering to roll her eyes this time. “When you say you don’t want Abby to have to clean house and look after us, and you want her to go to school and make friends and have her own life, doesn't that mean you're telling her what to do, too? Just like her husband did? Shouldn’t you ask her what she wants and let her make her own decision about whether she stays with us or not?”
“It’s hardly that simple, Rach.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because you—how—but—" Mitch broke off and replayed Rachel’s words in his head—twice. Freaking hell. Was it that simple? Had he really been so blinded by his good intentions that he'd taken Abby's decision-making capacity from her? He stared at Rachel as her truth sank in. He had. And his thirteen-year-old daughter had nailed it. She had discovered the flaw in his logic, which meant—
It meant nothing, because as wise as Rach’s words might be, the decision to leave had been Abby’s as well as his, and he couldn’t dismiss the world of hurt he’d seen in her eyes when she’d sat across from him in his office after Kiana’s concert and spoke those words. “I can’t stay...I'm afraid that the longer I'm here, the more attached she'll become. They all will. And I can't stay.”
“You make a good point,” he allowed. “But”—this as a triumphant grin spread across her face—“that still doesn’t change anything. Abby...” He trailed off and motioned for Rachel to join him on his side of the island. When she did, her smile fading, he took her hands in his and, looking at each of three girls,
said, “Abby has been through a lot. Losing her husband and daughter at the same time was incredibly hard on her, and she’s still healing from it. She’s afraid of getting too close to other people in case she loses them, too, and that’s why she wanted to leave. Why she had to leave.”
The girls stayed silent for a moment, and Mitch held his breath, hoping he’d finally found the words to convince them she wasn’t coming back, so they could start healing in her absence—him included, because seeing his daughters hurt all over again was killing him.
“But if we’re not there and she’s not here,” Kiana said gravely, “doesn’t that mean she’s lost us already?”
“Well, yes,” Mitch allowed, struggling for words, “I suppose it does, in a way, but she’s trying to protect you girls, too. Because she knew how much you were starting to love her, and—”
“And now we’ve lost her already, too.” Leaning her elbows on the island counter and cupping her face in her hands, Britt scowled at him. “Why do grownups have to make everything so complicated?”
Mitch tried to rein in his frustration. Love and loss at the level of Abby’s were experiences that came with adulthood, he reminded himself, and he couldn’t expect the girls to understand those experiences—or the sense of responsibility that came with them. He reached across with one hand and gave her arm a little squeeze. “Because sometimes being a grownup is complicated, sweetheart.”
“Did you at least ask her to stay?” Rachel asked.
“No, but—”
“Didn’t you want her to?”
“Well, yes, but—”
Rachel pulled from his grasp and held up both hands. “You want her to stay”—she ticked off the point on one finger—“we want her to stay”—another tick—“but we have no idea what she wants, because you didn’t give her a choice.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Daddy, but I really don’t see the complicated part of that.”
Abigail Always Page 24
