Protecting Abigail

by R. R. Banks

  I heard from the police today. The case has been shifted over to another investigator. His name is Officer Murray, and although he was perfectly pleasant when we talked on the phone, I didn't get the impression that he was very optimistic about the progress they've been making. He seemed almost as frustrated as I am that they haven't been able to find any trace of Trevor. He mentioned several instances of them seeing him, but not being able to get ahold of him. It's like he's taunting them as much as he tortured me. I know I'm fortunate they are still looking for him. I've had so much experience with being ignored and dismissed that knowing they take me seriously now is reassuring. At the same time, I know this situation isn't their top priority. He broke into my apartment, and he threatened me, but he hasn't had any physical contact with me since he left the hotel in a rage a few years ago. I know there are plenty of other members of the police force who continue to refuse to take me seriously. They see everything Trevor's done as little more than glorified pranks and think I'm being far too sensitive. Of course, they refuse to listen when I tell them about the day I ran from the house. To them, that was too long ago to even consider it, and because I didn't report it then, it has no weight to their current investigation.

  I wonder where he is. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about him. But I can't avoid it. As long as I'm waiting to know he can't get to me anymore, I'm going to wonder where that asshole is. Officer Murray wouldn't tell me where they've seen him, but he did reassure me he wasn't close by. I wonder if that means he was close to Evan’s house, or maybe still focused on my Primrose apartment. He must know by now that I don't live there anymore, but something about that only makes me more nervous. If he knows I'm not there, and yet continues to linger, that means at least some of his attention has turned to the women there, likely Lisa. I don't want to think about anyone else getting involved in all this, and I have to convince myself he's left the city because he knows the police are after him.

  As I finish writing, I realize I haven't heard from Evan today. He was supposed to call me tonight when he got home from a short business trip he took. I reach for my phone and realize it isn't in my pocket. Feeling around, I can’t find it anywhere. It occurs to me I don't have it because I took it out of my pocket while playing with Anna earlier in the day. It kept slipping out and falling when we were taking her dolls on a walk through the apartment and mysteriously kept encountering death-defying obstacles such as the dark caves she convinced me existed just beneath the dining room chairs. Not wanting it to get in the way of our narrow escape to the enchanted meadow beyond the caverns, I took my phone out of my pocket and left it on the table.

  I cringe, internally scolding myself for being so forgetful. I have to choose between leaving it there overnight and not having access to it until tomorrow afternoon or face the awkwardness of heading upstairs and going back into the apartment to find it. I don't particularly like either idea, but since I haven’t heard from Evan, and my phone is the only alarm clock I have, I trudge up the stairs to Xavier’s apartment. I hesitate outside his door when I get there. The key is sitting in my pocket, but since I'm not coming into work and he’s home, I'm not sure if I should use it or not. I start to knock, but then think of the time and wonder if Anna might be in bed asleep already. I wouldn't want to wake her by knocking too loudly.

  Finally, I reach into my pocket and pull out the key. If I'm quiet and fast enough, nobody will even notice I was in there. I unlock the door and pause, leaning carefully to try to listen and see if I hear anyone coming. When the apartment stays quiet on the other side of the door, I open it and quickly slip inside. I make my way further into the apartment, and into the dining room but notice my phone is not on the table. I hesitate, thinking back to make sure this is where I put my phone. I remember it distinctly and know this is where I withdrew my phone from my pocket, and I slipped it up onto the table over my head. I wonder if Anna might have grabbed it and brought it into her room so she can give it to me tomorrow. Not knowing what else to do, I make my way down the hallway toward her room. I've made my way down most of the hall when I hear a voice. It's strange and unfamiliar, and I stop in my tracks. A few seconds later I hear another voice. It sounds different than the first, yet somewhat similar, and I realize it's familiar. I take a few more steps toward the bedroom, listening intently as the voice continues, and I realize it belongs to Xavier. He's changing his voice as he speaks, and after a few seconds more I notice he is telling a bedtime story.

  "...and Mama Bear looked into her bowl of porridge and said, 'Somebody's been eating my porridge.' And Baby Bear looked into his bowl of porridge and said, 'Somebody's been eating my porridge and ate it all up.' He started to cry. ‘Boo-hoo-hoo.’ The little brown bug walked up to his miniature table sitting beside Baby Bear's bowl, and looked into his own tiny bowl of porridge and said, 'didn't touch mine.' and the little brown bug sat down on his miniature chair at his miniature table and enjoyed his bowl of porridge."

  I put my hand over my mouth to muffle my giggle at the range of voices Xavier is using to embody each of the characters in his story. The little brown bug strikes me as completely odd, but it also threatens a giggle enough that when Xavier makes the fake crying noises in a baby bear falsetto, I have to take a few steps back down the hallway, so he won't hear me snort with laughter. When I’ve regained control of myself again, I walk closer to Anna's room and continue to listen.

  "And Papa Bear looked at his chair and growled, 'Somebody's been sitting in my chair.' And Mama Bear looked at her chair and said, 'Somebody's been sitting in my chair.' And Baby Bear looked at his chair and said, 'Somebody's been sitting in my chair, and broke it all to pieces!' The little brown bug walked up to his miniature chair sitting on the table beside Baby Bear's chair. He looked at his own tiny chair and said, 'didn't touch mine.' and the little brown bug settled into his tiny chair, and kicked up his tiny feet."

  As the Bears and their inexplicable housemate make their way upstairs to check on their beds, I hazard stepping up closer to the door and peeking around the doorframe into the bedroom. Anna's bedroom is mostly dark. The main light has been turned off, and the only source of illumination is a night light shining its pink glow throughout the room. I can see the shape of Anna lying in her canopy bed, her blankets draped over her and tucked firmly at her feet. Xavier perches on the edge of the bed beside her, and I can see one large hand softly stroking up and down her back as he continues the familiar story.

  "And Papa Bear looked at his bed and growled, 'Somebody's been sleeping in my bed.' And Mama Bear looked at her bed and said, 'Somebody's been sleeping in my bed.' And Baby Bear looked at his bed and cried out, 'Somebody's been sleeping in my bed, and there she is!' And Goldilocks jumped up out of Baby Bear's bed, so terrified to see a family of bears she couldn't even speak. She ran out of the house and down the path, through the woods, and under the fence until she was back in her own backyard. She never told her mother what she had done, and never broke the rules by going into the forest without permission ever again. Back at the Bears house, the little brown bug walked across the nightstand. He looked at his own tiny bed and said, 'didn't touch mine.' and the little brown bug climbed into his tiny bed, pulled the blankets up around him, and took a nap. The end." Xavier leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Anna's head. "I love you. Good night, sweetheart."

  My heart swells, and I feel new emotions stinging in the corner of my eyes. This is something I never would have expected from Xavier. I could imagine him saying goodnight to his daughter, and even tucking her in. Listening to him tell her a story he's obviously recited countless times before, using the wild and ridiculous voices for each of the Bears and for the little brown bug, goes well beyond anything I would have thought he would do for his daughter. It was sweet and loving, and I feel the initial intimidation I felt around Xavier falling away. I watch Xavier stand up slowly, and notice Anna's little hand is still holding his. He sets it down gently on the mattress and leans down for
another kiss.

  I slip away from the bedroom and hurry back toward the living room. Before I make it all the way down the hallway, though, I hear Anna's door close and Xavier's voice behind me.

  "Abigail?"

  Chapter Nine

  Xavier

  Abigail pauses in the middle of the hallway but doesn't turn around. I walk up behind her as she turns and glances over her shoulder at me.

  "Hey," she mutters softly.

  "Hello," I say. "What’s going on?"

  She cringes slightly.

  "I'm so sorry, Xavier," she says. "I left my phone here during work. I didn't realize it until a little bit ago, and I had to come and get it. I haven't heard from Evan today, and I'm worried about him. I’m pretty sure I left it here when Anna and I were playing, so I thought I’d slip in and grab it. I didn't want to disturb either of you. I'm sorry. I should have knocked."

  She's winding herself up and sounds almost panicked.

  "It's fine," I say. "Did you find it?"

  Even in the partial light of the hallway, I can see the relief on her face. Abigail shakes her head.

  "No," she says. "I left it on the table, but I checked and it's not there."

  "Let me look in my office," I say. "If Ruth saw it, she might have assumed it was mine and put it in there."

  Abigail nods as I step past her in the direction of my office. She walks along beside me, and I notice her looking at me out of the corner of her eye a few times.

  "I hope I didn't wake Anna.”

  "No, not at all. You must have really played hard today because she fell asleep pretty quickly." I walk into the office, turn on the small desk light, and immediately see her phone sitting on my desk. Picking it up, I hold it out to her. "I'm guessing you heard the bedtime story," I say.

  Her cheeks flush, making her look even prettier in the dim light.

  "I like your voices," she says.

  "Anna insists on them," I say. "She says it doesn't sound as good if she can't tell the difference between each character."

  Abigail laughs softly.

  "Clever girl," she says. "I think it's wonderful you take the time to tell her bedtime stories at night. Not enough parents do that."

  She starts out of my office, then turns back around, a quizzical expression on her face.

  "The little brown bug?" I ask.

  She nods, halfway laughing.

  "What's that all about?" she asks. "Am I just not up on the bedtime stories kids these days listen to?"

  I shake my head.

  "No, that's not a new trend. That's all Anna. I've been telling her the story that way since she was really little."

  "Why?" Abigail asks.

  "Because one day when she was about two, she came inside from playing and had brought a friend in with her."

  "Bug?" Abigail asks.

  "Exactly," I say. "Only, I didn't know she had it until a couple of hours later when she let it out of the box she had shoved it in as soon as we came inside. So, as you can imagine, that started as a whole chase issue around the entire apartment. When I finally found it, she cried, and told me I couldn't kill the bug, and she wanted to keep it as a pet. The only way I could get her to calm down was to tell her I wasn't going to kill it, and that I was going to put it outside, so he could go back to its family. When she asked me about its family, she wanted to know if there were more bugs. I could just see her little brain working, and knew she was trying to figure out just how many of these bugs she could shove into the various boxes and toys she had around her room. So, I told her this bug in particular had a family of bears who loved it, and would want to have it home. At bedtime that night, I told her the story of the Three Bears and the little brown bug, and it's stuck."

  Abigail grins at me.

  "I love it," she says.

  Our eyes meet, and we look at each other for a few seconds. I feel my chest tighten, and a slight pink tinge returns to Abigail's cheeks. Her gaze drops away from me, and she shoves the phone into her pocket.

  "You know, I have a very demanding day at work tomorrow," she teases. "I should probably go home and get to sleep."

  I can’t help but smile and nod in agreement before walking her to the front door. I watch until she’s made her way to the stairway, then shut the door and lock it before heading off to my own bed.

  I'm still thinking about my latest encounter with Abigail the next morning. Anna looks surprised when she comes into the dining room and sees me sitting at the table, waiting for her.

  "Hi, Daddy!”

  "Good morning, honey. I thought we'd have breakfast together today."

  She nods enthusiastically and climbs onto her usual chair. A few moments later, Ruth comes into the room and sets plates down in front of us before disappearing back into the kitchen. Moments later, she returns with a platter in each hand. They are laden with eggs, bacon, and biscuits, along with fruit, and when she settles them on the table between us, it's obviously more than enough food for two people. She must be happy I'm actually eating breakfast before heading out for the day instead of my usual two cups of black coffee. I reach for the first platter and spoon a small amount of each food onto Anna's plate, then my own. Her little hands grab the platter of fruit and she carefully serves each of us a matching assortment.

  "What are you planning to do at school today?" I ask.

  "I have a math test," she says.

  "Are you nervous about it?"

  I take a bite of bacon and watch as she thoughtfully constructs a sandwich with her eggs, bacon, and biscuit. She shakes her head.

  "No. I get it. Abigail helped me."

  My ears perk up.

  "She did?"

  Anna nods again as she takes a happy bite of her sandwich, then peers into it as if she's surprised it tastes good.

  "I didn't understand it and was upset. But she showed me how to do it. It makes sense now."

  I wait a few seconds before asking the next question.

  "Do you like Abigail?"

  Anna looks up at me with wide eyes, and nods again, even more enthusiastically.

  "Yes," she says. "She's nice. And she's fun. We play, and she lets me come up with the games."

  "So, you're glad she’s your nanny?" I ask.

  "Yes," she says.

  "I'm glad to hear that," I tell her.

  She smiles and continues making her way through her sandwich. I tuck back to my breakfast, thinking about what Anna said. I linger in the apartment until her first tutor arrives, then head to the office. A day of meetings may be waiting for me but my mind is focused elsewhere. Something is distracting me, but I refuse to acknowledge it. It’s too early to tell.

  ********

  Three weeks later…

  I can hear peals of laughter as soon as I open the door. After such a long, tense day, it's a welcome sound, even though I don't know what's causing it. I take my jacket off and drape it across the back of a chair as I make my way toward the source of the giggles. I finally find myself in the kitchen and see Abigail and Anna standing at the large butcher block table set in the center of the room. Flour completely coats the surface of the wood as well as their hands and faces. Both wear frilly pink aprons over their clothes, and they've pulled their hair back. I pause at the doorway to the room to watch them before they notice I'm there.

  Anna bursts into an even brighter giggle as Abigail gathers up a large pinch of flour in her fingers and tosses it at her. There's a warm, sweet smell in the room, and I watch as Anna takes hold of a rolling pin, as Abigail helps her roll out a fluffy ball of dough into a long rectangle. She then takes a bowl and smears a thick paste over the dough. Their hands work together to roll the rectangle into a log, and Abigail takes a knife to cut the log into circles. When Anna glances up and sees me, her eyes light up instantly.

  "Hi, Daddy! We're baking!"

  She rushes over to me and throws her arms around my waist. I can only imagine her floury hands are leaving little white prints all over my suit –
not that I care.

  "I see that," I say. "It smells delicious."

  "Cinnamon rolls," she says, still clinging to my waist as she gazes up at me.

  "My favorite," I say just as the timer on the oven goes off.

  Abigail puts on mitts before pulling a tray out of the oven and settling it onto the metal cooling rack positioned on the counter. The combined smells of sugar, butter, and cinnamon waft toward me, and my stomach growls. It's technically early spring, but the still-chilly weather makes the warm, comforting smell even more welcome.

  "Anna told me,” she says. "That's why she chose them."

  "Oh, really?" I ask.

  Anna steps back from me.

  "Abigail said we could bake anything I wanted to so I wanted to make you cinnamon rolls.”

  She rushes toward Abigail, who holds her hand out to stop Anna from getting too close.

  "Don't touch the pan yet, Anna," she says gently. "They're still too hot."

  It's a natural, nurturing gesture that deeply touches me. I've been watching Abigail more over the last several weeks, as her demeanor relaxes and changes the closer she becomes to Anna. More of the true Abigail that I knew was in there beyond the fear is starting to be revealed, and the attraction I feel toward her grows stronger every day.

  "Can we make the icing now?" Anna asks.

  "Why don't we get the next batch into the oven first?"

  Anna agrees, and I watch as she helps Abigail put the rounds of dough they just made into another baking pan. Abigail takes it from Anna and carefully slips it into the oven. She sets the timer, then walks over to the refrigerator and pulls a few items out. She moves around the space naturally and comfortably, as if she's completely at home in the kitchen I am barely allowed to use. Taking a bowl out of one of the cabinets, she gestures for Anna to join her. In a soft, guiding voice, Abigail instructs Anna how to put the ingredients into the bowl and blend them together until they create a thick icing. When it's done, she carefully takes the fresh, hot cinnamon rolls out of the pan and places them on a platter before offering Anna a spoon. My daughter's face is tight with concentration as she drizzles the icing over the rolls, then spreads it out to cover every bit of the top surface of each sweet treat.