So, Abby, what are you going to do about it? She contemplated that for a while. Did she want to try to work things out with Brad. No. Well, did she want to go back to Philadelphia, where at least she had a network of friends and some professional contacts? She was mildly surprised that her first response to that idea was also “no.” She liked this part of Massachusetts. She liked her job, and she liked Leslie. And she certainly had some unfinished business with all these dead people popping up all over. She couldn’t just walk away from all that, at least not until she understood it. But she did have to get out of this apartment. The lease was in Brad’s name, since he had been the one with the income, but she didn’t like the place anyway. She could find something of her own—although, she realized with a moment of panic, she wasn’t sure just how far her salary would go if she had to rent her own place. It would be nice to be closer to work, and Concord looked like a lovely place to live, but she was sure the rents were astronomical.
She looked around the room. With the single exception of her great-grandmother’s chair, there was little here that was hers, and not much that she’d miss. Maybe she should be looking for a furnished attic somewhere. Maybe she’d turn into a typical old maid with a cat. Maybe now she could get a cat. My, there was a lot to think about.
She wondered when Brad would show his face again, now that he knew that she knew. And Shanna knew that she knew. Would he hurry back to Waltham, try to explain himself, to make things right? And what would right be? Abby had no idea. Or would he stall as long as possible, then slink in after dark?
And what was her role in this silly charade? Was she supposed to disintegrate into a heap of soggy tissues and misery? She almost laughed out loud at that image. Was she supposed to be angry—rant and rave, throw things at Brad, tear her hair, or threaten to tear out Shanna’s (obviously fake) blonde hair? Abby tried to visualize that and failed entirely. She was surprised to find that she wasn’t anywhere near that angry—despite the fact that Brad had lied to her systematically. Had dragged her across several states and dumped her in an entirely unfamiliar place, and expected her to make things nice for him. And had had the nerve to accuse her of cheating. That really was ridiculous.
Brad opted for option two and came skulking in after six. Abby had managed to spend the afternoon on odds and ends, and more than once had found herself walking around the few rooms of the apartment, mentally ticking off which pieces she considered hers and how many additional boxes she might want for books. There wasn’t much, which made her sad. After all, she and Brad had spent over a year together, and there was precious little to show for it.
He let himself in and closed the door quietly behind him. Abby had been in the kitchen and came to stand in the doorway. They watched each other across the dark divide of the living room. Brad finally spoke first.
“I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”
“Oh, were you planning to tell me?” Abby’s tone was quiet but biting.
Brad had the decency to look away from her then. “Well, you must have known things weren’t going well with us. Look, obviously you haven’t been happy for a while.”
Abby regarded him as though he were a bug under a microscope. “And when did you notice that? Before or after we left Philadelphia? Before or after you met Shanna? Before or after you slept with her?”
“Abby!” Brad sounded genuinely hurt. “I didn’t do this on purpose. I never planned to hurt you.”
“Oh, no. You just sort of tripped one day and fell onto Shanna? And by the way, wasn’t she involved with a friend of yours?”
“Look, what’s the point of talking about it? It happened. I’m sorry.”
“And what do you want to do about it?” Abby was honestly curious to see what his response would be.
“I don’t know,” he said miserably. “I mean, I feel awful about what this must be doing to you.”
Abby gave a short laugh. “Well, that’s a first. Let me ask you one thing: do you love Shanna?”
Brad stared at his hands in his lap. “Well, I don’t know, maybe—I think so. It’s not like it was with you. I mean, you were so soft and sweet, I just wanted to take care of you. Shanna challenges me. She makes me want to do big things. She’s exciting—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Abby cut him off abruptly. “I get it. You used to love me, maybe, but now you don’t. You may or may not love Shanna, but she’s a heck of a lot more fun to be with. All right, I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll move out.”
Abby’s words hung in the air like bubbles. She wondered where her gumption had come from, why she wasn’t fighting to keep him, or at least fighting to buy time. But, she realized, she didn’t want time. She wanted it to be over. She wanted a clean break. She could visualize what their effort to reconcile would look like: both of them tiptoeing around, being extra polite and considerate, going through the motions. And they would end up in the same place anyway. Why not just get it over with?
Brad was looking at her as though she was a stranger. “That’s it? You don’t want to fight about it?”
Abby regarded him wearily. “Why bother? You’re a big boy, and you know what you want. I may not know what I want, but I’m pretty sure it’s more than this. And I won’t fall apart just because you aren’t around. I’ll move out as soon as I can find a place I can afford.”
Sheepishly, Brad said, “I can help you out, if you need money.”
“Forget it. I’ll manage. But for the moment, I think you can stay on the couch. Now, what do you want for dinner?”
The last thing out of her mouth surprised even Abby, but she realized she actually was hungry—ravenous, in fact—and it seemed silly to cook for just herself. She could be generous in victory. And she did feel that she had won, even though she was walking away from this with no more than a few boxes of stuff in a battered car. And a chair, she reminded herself. And my self-respect. That brought her up short. Suddenly she felt a new kinship for her unknown great-grandmother, who had had to make a new life for herself when her husband walked out, leaving her in the middle of the Depression with a young child to care for. I don’t know who’s channeling who here, Ruth, but thanks. Abby sure hoped that heredity worked.
20
Abby felt far less confident in the cold clear light of Monday morning. As she drove toward Concord, she made mental lists: find local paper with rental listings. Apartment agency? Ask around at work, see if anybody knew of anyplace small and cheap. Figure out what to do about furniture, starting with a bed. Utilities. Change of address forms, again; she wasn’t even sure if the first ones had gone through. Tell her parents—ouch. They were certainly going to be surprised. The drive went very quickly as her mind raced.
She parked in the lot and made her way up to her office. She’d left the apartment early, mainly to avoid having to talk to Brad, and there were few people around. In her office chair, she sat and surveyed her little domain, which was still cluttered with someone else’s stuff. Well, she had some time, so she decided to dig in and sort out the mess.
Half an hour later she was trying to stuff just one more folder into the overflowing wastebasket when Leslie stuck her head in the door. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.” Mystified, Abby followed Leslie back to her office. Leslie handed her a hot coffee.
“Here. This is my nominal staff relations follow-up conversation—the nonexistent manager’s handbook says I should have one with all new hires. Congratulations on surviving your first full week. How’s it going?”
Abby sipped the coffee, trying to decide how honest to be. She opted for the most direct route. “I love it. I feel like I’ve found some piece of me that’s been missing for a while.” She was struck with a bolt of self-doubt. “You aren’t going to tell me I’m doing a lousy job and fire me, are you?”
Leslie laughed. “Like hell. I watched a couple of your tours last week—you’re doing fine. You jumped right in like a pro. You have a real rapport with the kids, and you make
history come alive to them. I’ve got no complaints. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling overwhelmed, or were going to make a dash for the nearest exit.”
“No way. But—” Abby hesitated. “I may need to take a little personal time—I think I’m going to have to find a new place to live.”
Leslie regarded her with sympathy. “Trouble in paradise, huh? I’ve been there. What’re you looking for?”
Abby shrugged. “I don’t think I can afford to be choosy—you know how much I make. Just something quiet and simple, and not too far away from here, if that’s possible.” Abby noted that Leslie had a distant look in her eye. “Uh, hello?”
Leslie focused on her again. “Sorry—I just had a brainstorm. Let me make a couple of calls before I say anything, okay? And sorry about you and . . . what’s his name. Guess I won’t need to learn his name now, huh?”
Abby grinned at her. “Nope—I think he’s history.”
“You okay with that? I mean, you’re not about to have a nervous breakdown or anything?”
Not about Brad. “No, I’m fine. In fact, I feel better than I thought I would—it’s like I had to spend a lot of energy trying to figure out what would make him happy, and now I only have to worry about making me happy. And I’m very glad I’ve got this job. Which I’d better get back to—there’s a tour due at ten.”
Abby was grateful for the demands of the busload of children, which kept her mind off her own woes. She kept telling herself that she felt fine, but she wondered if she was kidding herself—that in reality, somewhere underneath there was a festering swamp of pain and resentment and sadness that was going to erupt at a very inconvenient moment. If she felt so little now, had Brad meant so little to her? But she survived the first tour of the day without falling to pieces and retreated to her office to consider lunch options.
Leslie’s head appeared again. “Yeah, I know, twice in one day. Listen, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
Abby looked at her expectantly. “I’m all ears.”
“Well, I’ve got this college classmate, owns a house about two miles from here. Also owns a house in Arizona, which is where she and her husband spend their winters—can’t take this New England snow, I guess. Anyway, generally she finds some sort of house sitter for the place here, just to have someone to keep an eye on it, make sure the pipes don’t freeze, that kind of thing. This year she had somebody lined up but his plans changed at the last minute, and she didn’t have time to find anyone else before she left town. I gave her a call and asked if you could fill in. You interested?”
Abby gaped. “You mean, a whole house? For how long?”
“Until May. Don’t get the wrong idea—it’s not a mansion. But it’s plenty big for you. And it’s a real nice property—the land behind it is protected, so you feel like you’re out in the country. What do you think?”
“It sounds perfect.” And another thought struck her. “And it’s furnished?”
“Yep, completely. My friend keeps a full set of everything at each end—saves all that messy packing and stuff. All you have to do is pay the utilities.”
“Wow.” My karma must really have changed, Abby thought. “Well, unless I’m allergic to the place, it sounds wonderful. What do I have to do?”
“I’ll give the caretaker a call, tell him to meet you after work, and he can show you around—you know, the heating system, the alarm system, stuff like that—and give you the keys.”
“It’s a deal! And, Leslie? Thank you again, for everything.”
At seven o’clock that evening, Abby found herself standing in the foyer of the house she had just promised to care for over the next six months. She hadn’t even seen it by daylight. The handyman-cum-gardener-cum-security specialist had handed her a key ring with a bewildering array of keys, and three pages of typed instructions about how to turn things on and off. The list ended with some twenty emergency contact numbers. She felt positively giddy with—something. Joy? Relief? Triumph? Or some happy combination of all of those. Yesterday she had split up with her boyfriend of over two years, without any sort of plan; today she had a great new place to stay, with no strings attached. She could map out the next step in her life while living in the lap of luxury—well, compared to what she was coming from, anyway. And she could fit everything she wanted to bring in her car. She needed to call Brad to tell him she was going to stop by.
She dialed the number at the apartment. No answer. She called his cell, but it went immediately to voice mail. Oh, well, she didn’t exactly need his permission to collect her clothes and books. And the computer—surely he wouldn’t begrudge her the old laptop? And if he did, she could afford to buy a new one of her own. She set off for Waltham in high spirits.
Two hours later, she had loaded the car, including the laptop. The swan chair she had wrapped in blankets and settled carefully in the backseat. She made one last trip upstairs, and looked around the living room. In spite of all her hopeful efforts, it had never ceased to be impersonal and cold, and removing her few possessions had made little difference. Brad, it’s all yours. Dutifully she left a note with the details of her new address sitting on top of a small stack of the most recent bills. Let Brad worry about those.
She made her way slowly down the stairs, out to her car, and drove back toward Concord. Even in the dark she was beginning to recognize local landmarks. She went past the museum, past the small town green, and turned right in front of the Colonial Inn. She followed the road past the statue of the minuteman and over the Concord River. A mile or so farther on, she arrived at “her” house. It was set well back from the road, and she was pleased to see that outside lights came on when she pulled around the side to the garage. It was a reassuring touch. And she now had a garage door opener, so she could pull in and unload her stuff easily. Maybe it was for all the wrong reasons, but Abby felt like she was moving up in the world.
The house sat on the slope of a hill, with the garage at the lower level. Her handyman-guide had said that usually the house sitter stayed in the guest suite on the lower level, and she had no complaints about that. To take over the master suite upstairs seemed presumptuous. She opened the door, disabled the alarm, and began to carry her possessions in, starting with the swan chair, which she carefully set in the place of honor in the guest bedroom. It took only a few trips to bring in the suitcases and boxes. Abby made sure that the garage door was closed, then locked the entry door behind her.
She turned to contemplate her new home. Her battered packing boxes looked pitifully shabby in the well-appointed guest room—and pathetically few. Was this really all she had brought with her to start a new life? She walked slowly to the center of the room, listening to the silence. The windows overlooking the back showed no lights, only blackness, but Abby pulled the blinds anyway, shutting out the night.
Unexpectedly, standing in the middle of the unfamiliar room, in a strange house, a rush of emotion overwhelmed her, and she sank to her knees on the carpet in the middle of the room and started to cry. What had happened? What had gone wrong? She and Brad had started out for Massachusetts with such high hopes. Brad had been so charged up about his new job, and she had been honestly happy for him. And it had all fallen apart so quickly. When had the trouble started? Should she have seen it coming? Had she missed something? She couldn’t hold back the tears. She felt more alone than she could ever remember, and her life was spinning out of control around her.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, tears running down her cheeks, mourning her lost hopes and plans, but gradually the storm subsided. And then a curious thought forced its way into her head: she was the one who was moving on. That was something she never expected. If anyone had asked her, even a week ago, she would have said that she would fight to save their tattered relationship—probably far longer than was good for either of them. But here she was, on her own, after a quick clean break. Good for you, Abby! She sat up straighter and wiped the tears off her face impatiently. All right, she woul
d permit herself this moment of regret, for the last two years of her life, for the lost hopes, and for everything that might have been—and then let it go. Good-bye, Brad, she said to herself. I wish you a good life. Just not with me.
21
Abby woke up abruptly the next morning, momentarily unsure of where she was. She had slept badly, startled by unfamiliar noises—mostly the intermittent rumbles of the furnace and the water heater, but also strange cracks and pops as the house cooled during the night. She crawled out of the ample queen-sized bed and crossed to the window, pulling up the blinds. Then she stared, transfixed. She had not seen this place by daylight, and she hadn’t realized just how impressive the view was—what looked like wetlands at the bottom of the slope behind the house, and wooded hills beyond. The house had been placed to take maximum advantage of the topography. From this room at the back of the house, she couldn’t see any neighbors, or any houses at all. What she could see were three deer grazing on the lawn below her, no more than twenty feet away. She wondered if there was any way she could set up her computer work space to take advantage of this scene—or if she did, if she’d get any work done with this view to stare at.
Pulling herself reluctantly away from the misty morning spread out before her, she searched for clothes. She’d been too exhausted the night before to think about unpacking, and everything was jammed into a box or suitcase. Oh, well, the kids would just have to live with rumpled Abby for a day or two.
Showered and dressed, she ambled upstairs to the kitchen and put on a kettle for coffee. While she waited, she surveyed the kitchen. As Leslie had said, the house was not large, but everything she could see was top-of-the-line. This was a nice way to live. Abby wasn’t sure she could aspire to it as a long-term goal, but she was going to be sure to enjoy it while she could. The kettle whistled and she made a pot of coffee. Seated at the breakfast table in the kitchen, she started jotting down items for her shopping list, stopping to check in cupboards and closets as she went. The larder was surprisingly well stocked, but she found her tastes differed slightly from those of the absent owners and there were some other things she wanted.
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