A Past Refrain

by Brenda Barrett

  "I told you already. My ex-husband wants me dead." Abby swallowed. "I saw something I shouldn't have seen and he believes I am dead. If he knows where I am, I will be in trouble."

  "Who is your ex-husband?" Jayce asked.

  "I can't tell you," Abby said wearily. "I won't tell you."

  Jayce groaned. "I am operating in the dark here, Abby. Cut me some slack."

  Abby closed her eyes. "I can't. Not now. I am going to bed."

  Jayce stood up. "Good night."

  He watched as she walked to the guest room farthest from his and closed the door. He couldn't sleep now.

  "Thanks, Abby," he whispered resentfully.

  He wandered down to his office. He almost snagged his leg on a box he had left in the corner. It was his Haley box; he had been moving it from room to room, not able to make his mind up about throwing away the contents.

  It had a huge chunk of his past in there. Why should he throw it away, anyway? Maybe this was the only piece of Haley that was out there in the world. He had been meaning to ask Hillman about her.

  He had been meaning to ask Greenwald if he knew that she was dead. He hadn't gotten the chance to question either of the men.

  He found a pocketknife in his desk drawer and cut the box open, and the first thing he saw was a stack of letters neatly packed on the top.

  He hadn't opened the box in years. In fact, he couldn't remember packing the thing.

  He smiled at a caricature that Haley had drawn of him. It wasn't bad. He pulled it out. Maybe he should frame it, keep it in his study. He looked at the little signature at the bottom, Haley G.

  He pulled out a stack of CDs. On top was the Maxi Priest CD with Haley's picture on the front. He remembered when she had given it to him the last night that he had seen her, the night that Greenwald had unceremoniously kicked him out of the house.

  He studied it intently. She had been such a pretty girl, with a zest for life. Even in the picture there was a sparkle in her eye. Nostalgia rolled over him in waves. By the time he was through with the box he had gone through many memories.

  He held a seashell that they picked up at the beach. It was perfectly shaped, with a porcelain sheen, and was pink on the inside.

  Haley had joked, "Whenever you say my name in this, I will appear like a genie. I will never leave you, Jay. I will always find you."

  Jayce smiled and whispered her name in the shell. They were so childish then. He wondered if they hadn't parted if they would still be together. Carson and Alice were still together and they had known each other longer than he knew Haley. They could have made it work.

  But they hadn't and he knew why he was in the box, stirring up the past, rummaging around in the stuff of his youth and mourning once more over Haley. He didn't want to think about Abigail's rejection. He had a sinking feeling that they would not end up together. Abigail seemed determined not to get married, and he was not in the frame of mind to sit around and wait on her while she sorted out her secrets by herself.

  So instead of dealing with the here and now and the woman upstairs, he felt like delving a little in familiar heartache ground. Except now he wasn't feeling a heartache; he was feeling a dull pain of regret.

  He sighed and pulled the elastic that bound the letters together. Back in the day, he and Haley would write each other letters. They started doing so after a year of knowing each other.

  He opened the first letter; he had arranged them according to date. About six or so years ago when he had moved out of his Dad's place and into his first apartment he had found himself reading the letters over again and he may have shed a tear or two. That's when he had put them away.

  He looked at the letter now. Haley had taken pride in writing in cursive. She gave her letters elegant loops and under curves and over curves. She loved to write with very fine point pens. Her letters were like a work of art. He read it:

  October 5, 1995

  Hey Jayce,

  Today is our mutual birthday and I am so happy you were born. At least you make my life bearable. I definitely think you are superstitious about bad things happening on your birthday because hey, I am not a bad thing and I happened on your birthday. As you said, you had the day first. Happy Birthday. Live long and prosper. I can't believe you have me hooked on Star Trek.

  November 3, 1995

  Jayce Aman Morgan,

  Your name stands for Jam and my mother is making some. I wish you could come over but Daddy said the only XY chromosome that should darken his door is his. He is even talking Biology at the dinner table. It's creepy.

  Oh by the way, you won't believe this but I have the lyrics to Water Runs Dry. I listened to it repeatedly. I think I have it perfect this time. It is actually: Let's don't wait till the water runs dry; we might watch our whole lives pass us by...

  It is not as Carson said, we might watch as the cars pass us by...

  I swear Carson has cars on his brain and that cars thing didn't make sense anyway.

  Love you loads.

  Haley

  Jayce skipped through until he came to the last letter, the one that had given him hope well past the time that it should have. It was at the back of the CD case that she had given him as a going away to school present.

  January 7, 1997

  Hey Jay, it's Hay.

  I was thinking about you last night. Actually, I think about you every night but last night I thought that I feel as if I am going to love you forever. Maybe it's the song on the CD, I don't know. I kind of understand your obsession with it, but I got nostalgic. I just know that this is not just young love, as your father calls it, or some kind of fleeting emotion that teenagers go through.

  I know that what I feel for you is the forever kind of feeling, I can imagine myself sitting on some porch somewhere in the future, way in the future—just you and me rocking under the stars and me holding your hand; it's all wrinkly but I don't mind and I say to you, Jayce we came through all right, and you nod and say, Yes Haley, we made it.

  Anyway, as you can see I deliberately wrote this letter nicely, because I don't want you to lose it. I want you to read it to me on our fiftieth wedding anniversary or something, where all the kids can hear it. It is like a time capsule kind of thing.

  I was thinking three kids, tops... or four: two boys and two girls. We'll raise them the best way we know how and hope that they find life-long partners like the both of us.

  There I am rambling again...

  I feel as if I am going to miss you more than ever this semester when you go away for school, like a rip your heart out kind of missing. I won't eat a morsel of chocolate until I see your face again. I deserve to suffer.

  I'll love you for always, Jayce. Never forget it. For always... I'll never stop.

  Your Love For Life,

  Haley

  Jayce clutched the letter to his chest. This was the kind of thing that had him in limbo for years. He closed his eyes. He shouldn't have read it just now. It just confirmed how fickle women were and that I love you's were not to be trusted: his mother's, Haley's, or Abigail's.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jayce's phone woke him up. It felt as if he had barely gotten into bed. He squinted and looked at the clock. It was six o'clock in the morning on a Christmas Eve, not a workday. He looked on the phone. It was his father.

  "Dad," Jayce cleared his throat, "I am not exercising today. I deserve a lie-in."

  The General sounded wide-awake and brisk. "Listen, son. We have a little problem. Oliver Hillman is dead; our guy on the early shift found him in bed this morning. We need to check the security footage for any foul play."

  Jayce got up swiftly. "Okay. I can access the data feed from my home computer."

  He groggily pulled on his robe. He felt a niggling feeling of regret; he wanted to talk to Oliver Hillman about Haley. Now it was too late.

  He went to his office and switched on the light. The air was nippy at this time of the morning. He turned on his monitors and typed in the code t
o access the data feed for Oliver Hillman's residence; the video signal was crystal clear.

  He fell asleep in his sofa at eight, with the television watching him. He had a bad bout of coughing at eight-thirty. After that he took a whole bottle of pills. Jayce zoomed into the pill bottle and paused it. Hillman took at least twenty pills with a full bottle of whisky and then he stumbled to bed, coughing again.

  There was no movement in the house until the personal security that Oliver had requested to wake him up at five in the morning knocked on his door. Not getting any response, the security pushed the door, went in, and decided to shake him awake.

  Hillman killed himself. Jayce sighed. He was sick and he took a whole bottle of pills, one by one. He probably didn't want to live anymore; he was old and alone, the closest people to him gone. What a sad way to go.

  Jayce flicked off the monitors and called his father. "Dad, it was not foul play. I don't know what pills Hillman took but he took a lot of them."

  "Okay," his father said. "Thanks. What are you doing later?"

  "Lunch at Logan's, dinner at Ian's. What are you doing?"

  "I am going over to Rashida's house."

  "What?" Jayce sputtered.

  "Apparently Rashida was not after me," The General chuckled. "She was trying to set me up with her mother, who is age-appropriate and very much my type of woman: relaxed, friendly, mature, outspoken and caring.

  "I only realized that after she dragged her poor mother to the office last week under false pretenses. I thought she had invited me to lunch and I went down to the cafeteria to tell her that she was too young for me and all that but she introduced me to her mom and disappeared, then we got to talking."

  Jayce exhaled fully. "Thank God. I would have to commit you to hospital if you ended up with Rashida."

  "She might become your stepsister." The General cleared his throat. "We will see how it goes."

  Jayce laughed. "Okay, sir. Have a good day. You know you deserve some happiness."

  "And you too," his father said gruffly. "What is Abigail doing for Christmas?"

  "Whatever I am doing," Jayce said, sobering up. "She is staying over here. I proposed last night and she turned me down."

  "Is she crazy?" his father asked indignantly. "You are the best thing to ever happen to her."

  "Only you Dad, my cheering squad of one." Jayce laughed, "I am not giving up, I might be able to convince her yet."

  "You do that." His father hung up the phone.

  Jayce went to the kitchen and put on the kettle. Outside, it was still dark; the sky was taking its time to brighten up. He put a tea bag into one of the cups and swirled it while absentmindedly thinking about Haley and Oliver Hillman and Abigail and her husband. The similarities with the situations couldn't be missed. Haley had married an older guy who Abigail had suggested might have killed her, though he didn't believe that theory. Why would Hillman even want to do that?

  Abigail was paranoid because her ex-husband was out to get her. If only she would tell him what his name was. Then he could do so many things to help. He knew the right law enforcement channels to tap. That was what he and his father did for a living. Abigail was making a big mistake in not telling him.

  He carried his tea to his desk and brought up the file with her name. He had slowly been gathering information on her. She had given him no choice since she wouldn't tell him about her past.

  He glanced at the bare data that he had on her; it was as if her life started a year and a half ago. Then it clicked. Maybe Abigail was not even her right name. What type of ninny was he? All this time the clues were there: there was no data on her birth date, or high school, or parents.

  He put the cup down on his desk abruptly, sloshing some of the liquid on the side. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He opened the desk drawer. He always kept a pack of tissue in there. He rummaged around, hoping to find a pack before the water spread toward his keyboard.

  Then his hand hit some papers: the lists that Abigail had made for the furnishing. He had barely glanced at them at the time. He took them out; they would have to do and besides, he didn't need them again.

  He placed the first one down on the water and it quickly absorbed the wetness, creating an even bigger mess. He got up to get napkins this time, but the writing on the top list got his attention. It was in cursive. The loops and the swirls were so familiar; he had just seen them late last night in Haley's box. He sat down abruptly, again a breathless feeling of disbelief overtaking him.

  "No," he whispered. His chest constricted and he was finding it difficult to breathe.

  He closed his eyes. The first time he met Abigail Petri, it was as if a shaft of lightning had hit him. It was a Thursday. He could see it in his mind's eye. He had gone to Searock and headed to the VIP section upstairs as usual, where the place was air- conditioned. He hated to eat in the hustle and bustle of downstairs; he liked to look out on the view while he savored the food.

  It was a year and seven months ago. Abigail had stopped when she saw him. She had been coming up the stairs and she literally stopped. She had been checking him out. He hadn't made up that scene in his mind. He had subsequently excused it because he thought that no woman had ever stopped when they saw him because they found him attractive.

  Then she had walked over to him with a wide smile on her face, as if she knew him, as if she was happy to see him. He had responded to that smile. He had responded to her as if he had known her.

  He didn't know how, he didn't know why, he didn't even know if it were true, but he would bet the very house that he was sitting in that Abigail Petri was Haley Greenwald.

  He felt dizzy for a moment, just absorbing the facts. She knew his friends because they had been her friends too. The picture on the kitchen wall she knew the year of, even though there was no year on it, was because she had taken that picture. She loved raisins in her porridge. She knew most of his likes and dislikes without him telling her. She had been married to an old guy who wanted her dead and when she saw Oliver Hillman she had an unusual panic attack. The thought made him sit up. Oliver Hillman was now dead. What would she do now?

  He wanted to go and confront her and find out her story, but he was going to play this smart. He shook his head in disbelief. What if he were wrong? The coincidences were too many to be ignored, and handwriting rarely lies.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Abigail woke up to the sound of whistling. She had no idea that after that intense conversation with Jayce last night she would have fallen asleep, but she went out like a light as soon as her head touched the pillow. Maybe that was what she needed, a different bed. She showered quickly and pulled on her red maxi dress. It seemed appropriate for the season and she had packed it with that in mind.

  She looked at the clock. It was nine o'clock. Jayce must have been up for a while. He was in the backyard watering the plants and whistling.

  "Hey," she called to him, opening the patio doors and looking out.

  "Hey." Jayce gave her an intense look and then came over to her. He put down the can and grabbed her in a bear hug. He squeezed her so tight, Abby had to protest. "What are you doing?"

  "I am happy to see you." Jayce raked his eyes over her face.

  "Okay," Abigail said, grinning, "I am happy to see you too. You look happy."

  "I am happy. I love you." Jayce kissed her hard.

  "Wow," Abby grinned back. "I love you too."

  "And you are going to marry me," Jayce continued.

  "Didn't you hear what I said last night?" Abby drew back from Jayce.

  Jayce nodded. "Yup, but I don't care."

  "Jayce..." Abby said fearfully.

  "Stop trying to protect me," Jayce said harshly. "You know, when all of this is over, I have a cussing for you."

  "All of what is over?" Abby looked at him strangely. "What has gotten into you?"

  The doorbell rang and he looked at her fiercely. "I invited Pastor Greenwald and Sister Greenwald over this morning."
/>   "You did?" Abigail opened her eyes wide. "Why?"

  "Because they are a part of my closure." Jayce headed to the door. "Remember, I was grieving over my ex-girlfriend. Last night I read one of her letters and I realized that I am not really over her. Maybe I'll never be over her," Jayce said over his shoulders.

  Abigail pressed her lips together. They were trembling. What was Jayce saying? She heard her father's deep voice in the foyer and she headed upstairs.

  "No, you aren't going anywhere." Jayce looked at Abigail severely. "You are going to stay for this."

  "No, I am not," Abigail said, petrified to see her parents face-to-face and bewildered at Jayce for pushing Haley in her face so strongly this morning.

  "Come on," Jayce said sternly. "You will want to hear this. The pastor is going to confess something about Haley."

  "He is?" Abigail turned around and headed down the stairs, curiosity getting the best of her.

  "Funny, isn't it?" Jayce asked her. "How you like hearing about Haley."

  "Well, she sounds like an interesting girl," Abigail said uncomfortably. "You certainly think so. I am interested in what you are interested in."

  Jayce chuckled.

  They entered the living room. Pastor Greenwald was studying a picture...

  It was the picture of them, the old picture of the band with her and Alice and Keisha: the ladies of the New Song band. She hadn't seen it before. Jayce must have found it last night.

  Pastor Greenwald turned around. "I didn't know you had company."