Protecting Abigail

by R. R. Banks

  I laugh.

  "I thought you'd be happy to have your quiet back," I say.

  "I am," he admits.

  "What time are you going to be in? I can meet up with you after work."

  As I talk to Evan, I gather my bag and the papers I need to grade at home and walk out of the school. This is one of the reasons I enjoy Mondays. Every other night of the week I end up sitting at the school for an hour or more finishing up tasks and preparing for the next day. On Mondays, I had the entire weekend to get ahead and can leave almost as soon as the students do. I wave to a few of the playground stragglers as I exit the grounds through the gate and turn left down the sidewalk in the direction of my apartment building. After I finish up my conversation with Evan, I drop the phone into my purse and disengage for a few minutes to enjoy the fall weather. There is a distinct chill in the air now, and the sidewalk is flanked with trees that occasionally sprinkle down their orange and gold leaves.

  I feel content and relaxed as I continue toward my apartment. Fall has always been my favorite season, and even though it's very different here in the city, it's still gorgeous. I'm so caught up in looking at the deep blue sky and festive leaves that I'm at the front door to the building before I notice it’s open a few inches. The door is meant to be locked at all times, and I briefly hesitate before stepping inside. I look at the door, trying to figure out why it’s standing open, and notice it's caught on a piece of mail. One of my neighbors must have dropped the envelope, and not realized it stopped the door from closing all the way. I pull the mail out from under the door and check the name. Taking it into the appropriate mailbox on the front of the building, I go inside and head up the steps to my apartment. As I approach my door, I notice the lock looks strange. Leaning down, I notice a few faint scratches around the key slot. I run my finger across them, trying to remember if I've seen them before. They are barely noticeable, and I tell myself I probably made them one of the first few times I opened the door. The caretaker of the building warned me that the lock was a little tricky, and I’d had minor scuffles with it on a near-daily basis since moving in.

  Ignoring the scratches, I walk into my apartment and lock the door behind me. Just like I do every day, I take a deep breath and exhale, enjoying the sense of solitude I get from this space. It's mine, and mine alone. For the first time in my life, I'm not sharing my home with anyone else, and although I wondered at first if I would feel lonely, I’ve been reveling in the quiet and freedom.

  A few hours later I've heated up some leftovers from last night and am curled on the couch, ready for a marathon of mindless TV. I feel like I should be doing something useful, but this is a guilty pleasure of mine. Cuddled up in my favorite sweats, oversized t-shirt, and thick socks, cradling a far too large bowl of pasta in my lap, I happily lose myself in the story playing out on my screen. I don't pay attention to anything else around me until I hear something outside on the tiny balcony off my living room. I ignore it at first, telling myself it’s something in the show. A few seconds later, though, I hear it again.

  Pausing the show, I listen intently. The sound comes again, a faint scratching that occasionally gets louder or turns into a click. My chest tightens, and I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck. I don't know what to do. Part of me wants to go to the curtain-covered door and fling it open to find the source of the sound. The rest of me is paralyzed, stuck in place on the couch, unable to move. Finally, I will my fingers across the cushions to my phone where it sits beside me. I pick it up, but before I can start dialing, the scratching stops, and silence envelops me. I strain to hear the sound of footsteps or more clicking, but there’s nothing. Drawing in a shaky breath, I let it out slowly, trying to push away the nervousness and anxiety I’m feeling. The minutes tick by, and I still don't hear anything. By the time another episode ends, I’ve finally willed up the courage and am ready to walk over to the door. I pause again, standing against the wall and leaning closer to listen for anything, or anyone, who might be outside. Nothing. I rest one trembling hand on the handle and pull the door open in one sharp movement.

  The little balcony is completely deserted, nothing beyond the door but the city and my potted plants. Shivering at the drop in temperature since getting home from school, I close the door and lock it behind me. I turn the TV off and head to bed, ready to be done with the day. I have no intention of telling Evan what just happened. He's already worried about me. The last thing I need is to give him more of a reason I shouldn’t be here.

  Chapter Five

  Xavier

  The next day…

  "She's already asleep?" I ask.

  Ruth nods regretfully.

  "She was exhausted today. She got through her lessons, but by the time her tutor left, all she wanted to do was curl up on her window seat and read. I gave her an early supper, and she drifted off about an hour ago."

  I came home early today with the intention of having dinner with Anna, only to find her already stretched out in her bed, deeply asleep.

  "Why was she so tired?" I ask.

  "She said she had nightmares last night and had a tough time sleeping."

  I nod. It's just another sign of how much my daughter has grown up. I remember a time, not too long ago, when she would have woken me up if she had a bad dream, her shrill little voice panicked. She's only six, but she's changed so much in the last few years. Part of me feels like I'm losing touch with her, that I don't understand her as much as I should.

  "I guess I'll get some work done, then," I say. "I'll just grab a quick bite to eat."

  "I'll get started on your supper," Ruth says. "I wasn't expecting you this early."

  "It's fine. I have to go back to the office for some papers. I'll get something while I'm out. I appreciate it, though."

  Slipping back into the coat I just shrugged out of, I head back out into the cold October evening. I make my way to the office and gather some files to go over tonight. I'm contemplating which of the restaurants near the office I want to stop by when I hear a familiar voice cutting through the sounds of the busy street around me.

  "How can you think that doesn’t mean anything?"

  I walk toward the voice, looking through the people strolling down the sidewalk toward a new restaurant that opened a few weeks ago. I had eaten at it several days before the official opening and thoroughly understand the popularity.

  "It's just a flower, Evan."

  "A flower? Just a flower would be a carnation or a daisy. Even those would be strange, but…"

  "Hey, Evan," I say as I step around a cluster of people chatting after their dinner.

  He looks up and smiles.

  "Xavier," he says. "Great to see you."

  "You, too. I thought I heard you, but these sidewalks get so fucking crowded when a new trendy restaurant opens up."

  "You only say that because you don't have to deal with the crowds to get in."

  I see the raven-haired woman beside him look over at me briefly.

  "I didn't know you were in the city tonight," I say to Evan.

  "Just for a few hours for some work stuff, and I met up with Abigail to make sure she's settling into the city alright." He gestures to the gorgeous woman he had been arguing with when I walked up. "I don't think you've ever met Abigail."

  She looks at me with suspicion radiating from her intense green eyes.

  "No," I say. "I haven't."

  I sure as hell would remember if I had met this woman. How did Evan even find a woman like that? And why is he trying to piss her off this early in the evening?

  I extend my hand to her, and Abigail takes it.

  "I'm his younger sister," she says, a hint of aggravation in her voice as if she's used to Evan not telling people about her.

  "He knows," Evan says.

  I shake my head, still holding onto Abigail's hand. Her skin is warm and soft in my palm, and I imagine how those fingers would feel on my body.

  "No," I say. "I didn't know that."

&nb
sp; Evan gives me a quizzical look.

  "You knew I had a sister," he says.

  "You've mentioned having a sister," I say, "but never her name."

  My eyes slide over to Abigail again, and she takes her hand from mine. In the years Evan has been my best friend, I’ve never met or heard much about her. It's obvious how protective he is. I completely understand.

  "It's nice to meet you," she says. Her voice is silky and smooth as it washes over me.

  "Xavier," I tell her. "You just moved to the city? That's something else your brother conveniently decided to leave out of our conversations."

  "I moved here at the end of August," Abigail says. "I teach at The Primrose Academy."

  Evan makes a strange choking noise, and I remember they were talking about a flower when I walked up. I glance at the line leading up to the restaurant.

  "Are you trying to get in here?" I ask.

  Evan nods.

  "Yeah," he sighs. "I've heard from a few clients it's been really popular since it opened. Impossible to get a table. I thought trying to sneak in early on a Tuesday would be a bit easier, but it's looking a little futile at this point."

  My eyes slide over to Abigail, and I see her pull her sweater closer around her body. She shifts back and forth like she's trying to warm herself.

  "How long have you been waiting?" I ask.

  "About an hour," Evan says.

  "I'll be right back."

  I walk up to the marble-faced host standing behind a podium with a tablet in front of him. One hand grips the side protectively, while the other hovers over it, ready to add more names to the stream of waitlist hopefuls.

  "The wait is more than three hours," he says without even looking at me.

  He must have developed some kind of sixth sense during his long nights at the podium.

  "My name is Xavier Pearson," I say.

  I rest my business card in front of him. His eyes lock on the name of the business before lifting up to me.

  "Yes, sir," he says in a slightly wavering tone.

  I nod at him, and gesture with a slight tilt of my head toward Evan and Abigail.

  "Do you see those two waiting over there? That man is my best friend, and the beautiful woman accompanying him is his sister. I'd appreciate it if you could make sure they are well taken care of tonight."

  "Absolutely, sir."

  I nod again.

  "What's your name?"

  "Robert."

  "Thank you, Robert."

  I walk back toward Evan and Abigail.

  "What was that all about?" Evan asks.

  "Just checking where your name is on the list," I say. "I have a feeling you aren't too far down."

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, a waitress scuttles toward us. She grips menus to her chest and looks breathless as she approaches. It looks like the busy pace of the night has just about gotten the best of her.

  "Come with me, please," she says, managing a smile.

  I step back to let Abigail slip past me, and gesture toward the waitress.

  "Enjoy your dinner," I say.

  Evan narrows his eyes at me. He knows what I did.

  "Just checking?" he asks knowingly.

  I look at Abigail. She looks unsure, biting into her bottom lip briefly.

  "It was nice to meet you," I say. "Evan, give me a call next week. I have some new clients, and you might be interested in some of the work they're throwing my way. Let's get together."

  "Absolutely. Talk to you soon."

  Abigail's eyes meet mine, and we look at each other for a few brief moments.

  "Again, it was nice to meet you, Abigail."

  She gives a single nod, and they turn to follow the waitress into the restaurant.

  "How did he do that?" I hear her mutter.

  Evan shakes his head slightly.

  "I'm convinced there's almost nothing in this world Xavier can't do," he says.

  I laugh to myself as I walk away. What Evan said was pretty spot on. I don't like when people try to stand in my way or tell me what I can or cannot do. I always take it as a challenge, and I never back down from a challenge. And what I want, I get. There's been only once in my life when what I wanted was taken from me, and I fully intend to never let that happen again.

  As for what happened tonight, it was hardly a stretch. It's easy to get your way when your business is a financial backer of the restaurant. Most of my investments and holdings, however, I keep to myself. I don't really see a point in advertising my wealth or the steps I take to grow the fortune I inherited. My philosophy is if that information is relevant to someone, then they'll know it. If not, then it’s none of their fucking business.

  I'm nearly back home when the conversation Evan and Abigail were having as I approached comes back into my mind. Evan was talking about a flower, and it obviously was upsetting him. I can't imagine how a flower could impact him so much, and I make a note to bring it up when I see him next week. Like I told him, a few of the companies looking to partner with me are coming on strong during the courtship period, and offering a variety of perks to keep me interested. Most of them don't appeal to me much, but it's fun to share them with Evan, who will never turn down sports tickets or premiere invites. He gets far more enjoyment out of it than I ever do, especially the rare times when he finds a woman to bring along and impress with the VIP experience.

  Realizing I never stopped for anything to eat, I pull out my phone and call for delivery before walking past the doorman into my building. I'm distracted, and I know it's because of Abigail. It's not just that she is stunning. There was something more to her that captivated me. There was a tension in her eyes and posture that told me there was more weighing on her mind than their long-awaited dinner alone. Their voices were tight with emotion, and I saw how stiff the expression on Evan's face was before he saw me. It all makes me curious about what is going on with the two of them.

  ********

  Abigail

  The next day…

  I place the flower I found in front of my door on a blank page, securing it in place with two pieces of tape. Under it, I jot down yesterday's date and the time I found it. Skipping a few lines, I start to write.

  I found this flower outside the front door of my apartment. The front door to the building was closed when I got home from work yesterday, but this was inside, right at my door. It is a primrose. I didn't mean to mention it to Evan, but it slipped out, and he thinks it is significant because of the name of the school. Everyone else who works in this building also works at the school, but I didn't notice flowers at any of their doors. I haven't mentioned it to the other teachers yet.

  I haven't heard anything outside of the balcony door since the first time, and the marks on the lock haven't changed.

  I close the journal and tuck it into the woven basket under the coffee table. The words sound ridiculous as they go through my head. When I first found the dark blue bloom on the floor outside my door, I wanted to throw it away and pretend it never happened. As soon as I saw Evan's reaction to it, I knew I couldn't do that. He forced me to draw the connection between the flower, the scratches on the door, and the weird noises on my balcony. I won’t let my thoughts venture too far. Recording the incidents is as far as I'll go. For now, at least. I tell myself I probably won't have to use them, or even let anyone else know about the writing, but somehow having everything written down makes me feel more in control. When I was younger, I journaled to work through the memories and trauma that followed me to Trevor’s house from my father’s. I couldn’t write as much after Trevor revealed his true nature, but in the rare moments I felt courageous enough to write, I filled dozens upon dozens of pages with frantic, uneven lines, encapsulating everything I thought and felt before hastily returning the journal to its hiding place in my bag.

  They are the possessions I am most grateful I got out of that house with me.

  Now that I've tucked the flower away, my mind feels free to wander the rest of the
day. I find it drifting to the dinner I had with Evan. I barely remember what I ate, or even what we talked about. Throughout the meal, I had been far too distracted by the man I’d just met to pay that much attention to anything else. I'd heard about Xavier from Evan over the years, but only in passing. I knew he and my brother were good friends. I never would have expected the man we encountered on that sidewalk to be Xavier, however. If I were to visualize someone my brother would refer to as his best friend, it would probably be someone like Evan. A little rough around the edges, but a good man. He'd probably try to look sophisticated and suave, but end up just a little bit off, like the navy-blue shirt Evan wore with black slacks to dinner tonight. Xavier was nothing like that. Towering over me, he had a muscular chest and shoulders so wide I could easily have hidden behind him. His body was exquisitely clothed in a tailored, extremely expensive suit and trench coat that gave a glimpse of designer shoes I'd only seen in the glossy pages of magazines I tried to lose myself in during several dark, miserable afternoons. He carried himself with complete confidence and security.

  I think about how he was able to walk up to the door of the restaurant, talk to the host for a matter of seconds, and immediately get Evan and I ushered to our table. Both the waitress and the host were in awe of his presence, and I hate to admit to myself that I felt a flicker of the same awe just by being near him.

  ********

  Halloween

  "I love your tutu, Michelle. That superhero suit is wonderful, Jason. Are you ready to save the city? Molly, what are you?"

  "A highly sophisticated internet hacker."

  "Of course, you are."

  I giggle as I walk with my class down the hall toward the playground behind the school. A ray of rich golden sunlight washes through the small square window near the top of the door to the outside, and I'm glad for the unseasonably warm weather. It was still chilly beyond the heated interior of the school, but it wasn't cold enough to deter the children from going out to the playground to enjoy the Halloween party we planned for them. Games are set up across the blacktop, interspersed with treat stations offering food and candy. Spooky music drifts through the area, softened by the laughter of the children already absorbed in the activities.