As if by some prearranged signal, all three of Mitch’s daughters turned and headed for the kitchen door, where Britt paused and looked back to shake her head sadly before following the others down the hall. Mitch stared after them, then dropped his gaze to Hope.
The dog, while undoubtedly devoted first and foremost to Kia, had an intuitive ability to seek out and offer comfort to the person most in need of emotional support, and it spoke volumes that he’d chosen now to remain with Mitch, looking up at him with those intelligent, too-understanding brown eyes.
“Well, damn,” Mitch said to him. “Now what?”
***
"You sure you won't come join us for a movie? Sean and Grace and the kids are here, and they’d love to see you."
Abby looked up from the couch and the magazine she wasn't really reading and summoned a not-really-smiling smile in response to Gwyn's query—and her concern. "Honestly, I think I'd rather just sit back here." She gestured at the sitting room addition her architect sister had designed. "It's peaceful."
And it didn't contain a pile of children that made her ache for the ones she’d left behind. Lord, but she missed those girls more than she’d expected. She still hadn’t been able to bring herself to open the gift they’d sent with her. It was already two days past Christmas, and the brightly wrapped package still sat on the desk in Katie’s room where she was once again ensconced, silently chastising her for her cowardly departure every time she looked at it.
Gwyn surveyed her with pursed lips and furrowed brow. "I'm worried about you," she announced.
"Don't be. I'm fine. And I promise I'll be out of your hair sooner rather than later this time. I already have three places lined up for viewing this weekend, and today's only the day after Boxing Day. You watch—another week, and I'll be gone."
"That's not what worries me." Gwyn stepped down into the sunken room and made a shooing motion at Abby's feet. Abby drew her pajama-clad knees up to her chest, and her sister plunked down beside her. "You've just been so quiet since you came back here, Ab. You're like a shadow, the way you move from room to room. You barely touch your food, and you're with us, but you're not. Honestly? It’s as bad as it was when you arrived here from L.A. That is what worries me."
That bad? So much for thinking she was putting on a brave face. She’d have to try harder.
"Well, you can stop worrying, because I'm all right. Really." Abby reached over and squeezed Gwyn's hand. "I'm not saying I haven't been through a lot, because I know I have. But I'm tougher than you think, Gwyn. Heck, I'm tougher than I think, most days. I just need a little time to get my feet back under me is all. And look at this." She reached over to the oversized trunk that served as a coffee table and retrieved a stack of papers, which she dropped in Gwyn's lap. Distraction time.
Gwyn leafed through them. "University course descriptions?"
Abby nodded. "Mitch—" Her voice wobbled on the name, but she shored herself up and continued, "Mitch brought home a course catalog for me a couple of weeks ago, and it got me thinking about going back to do that psychology degree. I'm not sure yet if I can get into the winter term, but at least it's a start. And I have the money for it now."
"You do," Gwyn agreed, her eyes turning suspiciously bright.
"Stop that," Abby ordered. "Or you'll get me going, too."
Her sister sniffled. "It's just—when I think of everything you went through, first with William and then losing your family, and me not being there for you, and then you finding and losing another family—"
"Hey." Abby put down her magazine and shuffled along the couch until she could give Gwyn a one-armed hug. "You're here for me now, remember? You and Gareth and your entire brood—you're my family now. And that's more than enough."
Gwyn looked sideways at her. "You're a terrible liar, Abigail Jamieson."
"Yeah," Abby said, resting her head on her sister's shoulder. "I know.”
They both fell silent, and Abby felt the slight rise and fall of Gwyn’s breathing in the shoulder beneath her cheek. There was a pause. Then a deep exhale.
“Can I ask you a question?” Gwyn asked, then proceeded without waiting for permission. “Why didn’t you just stay? I mean, I know all the excuses you gave me about the girls getting too attached, but if you stayed, that wouldn’t be a problem, right? You and Mitch—it’s pretty obvious there are some feelings between the two of you...”
Abby closed her eyes.
“I have to leave.”
“I know.”
“Abby?” her sister prompted. “Why didn’t you stay?”
Abby let out a tremulous sigh. “He didn’t ask,” she said simply.
There was another long pause, and then Gwyn’s arm went around her. She dropped a kiss into Abby’s hair. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“Me, too. But I'm still going to be okay."
"Yeah," said Gwyn. "I know."
With a last hug, Gwyn went to join her family for their movie, leaving Abby to her magazine, her memories, and her absolute determination to never, ever again attempt a Christmas that even resembled a traditional one.
"No tree," she muttered, flipping a page. "No lights. No ornaments. No turkey. No—"
The tumult of voices coming from the end of the hall died down as the strains of the theme song from The Grinch floated through air, and Abby’s thoughts stopped dead at the sheer irony. In spite of herself, she felt the corner of her mouth twitch. Then she snorted. Then she lifted her gaze ceilingward.
"Touché, universe," she said. "Touché."
And she wondered again how Rachel and Britt and Kia—and Mitch—were faring with their holidays.
Chapter 49
Mitch plugged in the kettle and took the makings for tea out of the cupboard, going over the “family meeting” in his head for the hundredth time. The girls had made some excellent points, but so had he—and nothing had changed. Whether he had asked her to stay or not, Abigail’s decision to leave had been her own.
Hadn’t it?
Except a few days ago, she offered to stay longer, too.
He scowled at the lazy spiral of steam drifting upward from the kettle spout. She might have offered to stay longer, but she’d also hesitated about it. And then she’d changed her mind. “I have to go.”
Her words, not his.
But he hadn’t disagreed.
Because I knew it was best.
But Rachel was right. He hadn’t asked her, and he hadn’t given her a choice, and he’d made the decision for her, and damn it to hell, what if he asked now and she said yes and then it didn’t work out? If she left, how would his kids cope with the loss of someone else? How would he cope? Losing Eve had damn near killed him, and losing Abby might well finish the job. Except Britt was right about that, too. If he didn’t make an effort, if he didn’t at least try, then they’d have lost her already.
The kettle reached a full boil and switched itself off with a loud click in the otherwise silent kitchen. Mitch reached for it, then paused as he looked at the two cups he’d set out beside it, one with a chamomile tea bag for him, and the other with peppermint... for Abby. He looked down at the dog still sprawled on the floor watching him.
“Well, damn,” he said again. “I guess that kind of answers my question about what to do, doesn’t it?”
Hope yawned loudly, heaved himself to his feet, and padded from the room, nails tapping on the floor. Mitch watched him leave, yet again both impressed and somewhat unsettled by the dog’s uncanny ability to know where he was most needed in the house—and when he was not. Then he roused himself, unplugged the kettle, and followed in the dog’s wake.
“Girls!” he called as he headed for the living room to turn off the tree lights. “Get your coats and boots on! We’re going to see Abb—”
He stopped in his tracks. His three daughters were squished together on the loveseat with their coats, hats, and boots already on.
“Took you long enough,” Rachel said, standing and pulling Kia up wit
h her. “We’re boiling!”
***
Thank God for technology, Mitch thought as he retraced Abby’s route to her sister’s house using the vehicle’s GPS history.
“Are we there, yet?” Kia asked from the back seat.
Mitch glanced at the moving blue dot that was their SUV on the GPS display, then at the estimated travel time ticking down at the bottom. “Ten more minutes, sweetie,” he said. He did a rear-view mirror check on his two youngest, but the streetlights lining the bridge they crossed weren’t strong enough to penetrate the shadows. The remnants of an unease he’d been unable to shake stirred in his chest. This could still go so, so wrong.
He looked sideways at Rachel and cleared his throat. “So. We’re clear on there being no guarantees about this, right? Abby might not—”
“We know, Daddy. She might not want to come home with us. You’ve told us a bajillion times since we left the house.”
“And you’re sure you’re okay with taking that chance?” Another sidelong look.
“We’re sure it’s better than not asking at all,” she retorted. “And we’ve told you that a bajillion times, too. Can you please just stop worrying?”
Easier said than done, sweetie, Mitch thought, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and focusing his attention on the road. So much easier said than done with this much at stake.
***
Abby made it to the halfway point of the movie before the merriment coming down the hall from the living room drove her out of the sitting room and upstairs to her—Katie’s—room. There, with the door closed and a pillow pulled over her head, the sound was muted enough that she could hardly tell who was laughing anymore. It didn’t help.
Neither did not being able to breathe.
She shoved the pillow off in exasperation and stared at the ceiling. Why was this so difficult? She’d already lost a husband and a child, hadn’t she? That was way worse than walking away from Mitch and the kids, right? A hundred thousand times worse, in fact. At least.
So why did leaving the Abrams still make her feel as though a knife had wedged itself between her ribs at just the right angle to scrape her heart raw with every beat? Why—
She turned her head toward the package still sitting on the desk. It was wrapped in paper covered with snowmen wearing red scarves and black top hats, and an enormous bow sat crookedly atop it, the way Kiana’s poof ponytails always seemed...the knife scraped again.
Abby sat up on the bed. Dear heavens. She blinked at the gift. That was it, wasn’t it? She wasn’t hurting because she’d lost Mitch and the girls, but because she hadn’t lost them. She’d walked away from them. Left them instead of the other way around—and on purpose, no less. And all because Mitch hadn’t asked her to stay, just as she hadn’t asked him if she could, and neither one of them had a clue how the other felt.
And they never would, if they didn’t talk. And then the choice she’d made to leave would be permanent, and she really would have lost them, and—
The very possibility made her want to fold in on herself, but instead she scrambled off the bed and fumbled out of her pajama top. No. No way would she lose another family. Not without one heck of a fight, because no one knew better than she did how very short life could be—or how precious the people in it. She tugged on her sports bra and snatched up the thin cotton turtleneck she’d dropped on the chair back earlier. She’d seen how Mitch looked at her. Heck, Gwyn and Perk—Jessica had both commented on it. That meant something was there, right? And if something was there, then—finished with the turtleneck, she hopped around on one foot, trying to slide the other into her jeans—then there was a chance. She needed to give it a chance.
She wiggled the denim over her hips and then paused with the zip half done up.
But what if Mitch didn’t want to? What if the reason he’d responded to her I need to go with his own I know had been his way of saying he wasn’t ready...or interested...or—
Abby turned her head toward her reflection in the mirror hanging on the back of Katie’s door and stared herself in the eye. She could go around in circles on this for the rest of her life, wondering what if, she told herself firmly, or she could just talk to him and find out. At least if she took the latter route, she would know one way or the other, and that had to be better than continuing to wallow in angst the way she’d been doing.
Talking it would be.
Decision made, she finished dressing, grabbed her handbag off the dresser, and ran down the stairs. Halfway there, she turned and ran back up again to collect her unopened gift from the girls. That definitely needed to go with her. Then she retraced her steps downstairs, arriving in the living room as the Grinch’s heart was about to grow three sizes that day.
“I need to borrow a vehicle,” she announced breathlessly.
All heads turned toward her, and Gareth pointed the remote control at the television. The Grinch paused mid heart-growth.
Belatedly, Abby looked around the crowded room at the kids sprawled on the floor and the adults wedged together on the sofa. She hadn’t even come out to say hello to Grace and Sean and their brood when they’d arrived. “Hey,” she said to them now. “Sorry for the interruption, but I just”—her gaze returned to rest on her sister and she clutched the wrapped gift against her chest—“I need to see Mitch and the girls. Can I please borrow a vehicle?”
“It’s about blasted time,” Gareth said, his mouth quirking with more smirk than smile. “You can take mine; Gwyn’s resembles a fast-food restaurant gone wrong at the moment. The keys are in my coat pocket in the closet, tank is full, and there’s no need to get it back to me tonight.”
Abby’s face turned hot at the underlying meaning behind her brother-in-law’s words. She hadn’t got as far as that idea, and she didn’t dare stop to address it now. Summoning every ounce of bravado she possessed, she nodded her thanks, shoved her feet into her boots, collected her coat and Gareth’s keys from the closet, and opened the front door.
“Abby!” squealed a child’s voice, and a small shadow hurtled across the porch and launched itself at her.
Chapter 50
Abby staggered under the impact and grabbed for the doorframe so they didn’t both tumble backwards into Gwyn’s front hall. “Kia?” she wheezed. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to get you!” The little girl beamed up at her, arms still fastened around her waist. “We missed you, and we’ve been keeping the house really really clean so you won’t have too much work to do when you come home again, and Hope says he misses you, too, and...”
Across the porch, Mitch stepped into the light, tall and broad-shouldered and utterly gorgeous. Abby lifted her gaze to his, and Kia’s words faded into the background. “You came...to get me?” she whispered.
Mitch grimaced. “Nothing that presumptuous, but I did come to talk.” He gestured at the coat she held. “You’re going somewhere?”
“I was coming to see you. To talk.”
“I see,” he said. He cleared his throat, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he gave her a half-smile. “Then I suppose we should. Talk, I mean. Is there somewhere...?”
“Use the sitting room!” Gwyn called from within the house. “The kids can hang out with us here.”
Kids, plural? Abby pulled her gaze from Mitch and saw Rachel and Britt peering out from behind him on either side. Rachel gave her a little wave; Britt, a big grin. Then, before she could react, Gwyn was behind her, urging everyone inside and taking coats. She pointed Mitch toward the back of the house, plucked Abby’s coat and gift away from her, and gave her a little shove between her shoulder blades in Mitch’s direction.
“No need to rush,” she said. “I’ll make sure the girls are looked after, and we have popcorn and drinks here, so you won’t have any interruptions.”
Leaving her sister to supervise the rearranging of the bodies on the living room floor to accommodate the newcomers, Abby tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the
other as she followed the broad, strong shoulders down the hall toward the kitchen and sitting room. She wasn’t terribly successful. Mitch was wearing one of those long-sleeved t-shirts that molded itself to his every muscle—and there were a lot of those. Hard to the touch, she remembered from her brief encounters with them, but warm and—
She put her hands up to her cheeks. Talk, he’d said. He’d come here to talk. That was what she wanted to do, too, and—Mitch stopped abruptly in front of her and she skidded to a breathless halt, just shy of running into him. He glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.
“Did she mean to send us to the kitchen?”
Abby opened her mouth to respond, decided she didn’t trust her voice while standing this close to him, and edged past him to flip on a light switch. Two lamps came on, illuminating the sitting room that had been in deep shadow beyond the brightly lit kitchen, and Mitch’s gaze turned to it.
“Nice,” he murmured.
Abby seized on his admiration, relieved to have a neutral topic of discussion. “It’s my favorite room in the house. Gwyn designed it herself—she’s an architect. She’s very good. She does mostly houses, but I think she’s done small offices and other—”
“Abby.”
She snapped her mouth shut and wrapped her arms around herself, then gave a rueful grimace. “I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
“Maybe a little.” Laughter danced in Mitch’s eyes, the kind of warm, gentle teasing that made Abby’s toes curl against the cool ceramic tile. “Come on,” he said, tipping his head toward the sitting room. “Let’s sit.”
She led the way across the kitchen and down the single step, but she didn’t try to sit. She didn’t think she could, given how rigid her body had become. She hugged herself tighter.
“So,” she said.
“So,” said Mitch at the same time.
They both stopped. Abby stared at the floor. Mitch, she was sure, stared at her. She felt his gaze as if it were a physical touch on the top of her bent head.
Abigail Always Page 25
