by Nicole Baart
Paige, Natalie, and the rest of her coworkers were nice, but she had to keep her wits about her.
For some reason, with her feet slapping the hard-packed earth in flawless rhythm, Abigail found she was able to think about things that she couldn’t contemplate when her body was still. Why was she here? What had brought her across the continent to some small town in the middle of nowhere, some inconsequential speck on a map?
Her obsession had started with a dozen little things. A used tube of men’s deodorant that stained her fingers with the scent of cloves and wood. A worn paperback novel, some spy thriller that was utterly absurd in Hailey’s apartment when Abigail knew that her sister didn’t read—and if she did deign to crack the spine of a book, it would not feature a pool of glossy blood on the cover. Then there was a men’s Fruit of the Loom T-shirt, size large, in the laundry hamper and athletic socks under the bed. He was everywhere, imprinting Hailey’s apartment, her life, with the outline of himself.
It drove Abigail crazy. When her relationship with Hailey was tenuous and interrupted, this man, a stranger, kept a case of Samuel Adams in Hailey’s refrigerator and slept beside her at night. Abigail’s contact with her sister was inconsistent and sprinkled with long days and weeks of separation when she didn’t know where Hailey was or with whom. But he lost socks under her bed and threw his laundry in with her size-four jeans. Did he watch her decline and do nothing about it? Had he caused her decline?
The unanswered questions stacked like evidence against the man Abigail couldn’t stop herself from hunting down. She wanted to slap the seductive grin right off his face. She wanted to wrap her fingers around his neck and squeeze the answers from him. She wanted to know why.
Abigail shuddered and picked up the pace, forcing herself to clear her mind and focus on her feet, her perfectly regular heartbeat. She could only see the next step in front of her. And murderous thoughts aside, she wasn’t stupid. Abigail had no intention of marching up to Tyler and doing something violent. Just skimming against such ideas made her feel faint; she stumbled on a clod of dirt and almost pitched headlong into a weedy ditch. First things first, she thought. One step at a time. It was time to take a step or two toward Tyler.
As far as Abigail could tell, there was only one way for her to get close to him.
†
Late Saturday night, Abigail picked her way across Eli’s lawn and knocked on the side door of his log cabin. All the lights were on, and Abigail could make out the iridescent shimmer of a television screen reflecting on the glass of his many windows. Tyler hadn’t come home all day and Abigail knew Eli was alone.
“The winery is closed on Sundays,” Eli informed Abigail when she asked him what hours she was scheduled for the following day. He scrutinized her with one eyebrow cocked, as if he couldn’t believe that she would even ask such a ridiculous question. “Church, girl. Don’t you go to church?”
“I grew up Catholic,” Abigail said, avoiding the present tense.
“I like Catholics.”
Abigail wasn’t surprised. Somehow the liturgy, the order, and the eloquence of high church seemed to fit Eli. His inflexible exterior and love for discipline seemed well suited for what she remembered of the religious experiences of her youth. Abigail could easily picture Eli on his knees with his back rigid and forehead pressed against the smooth wood of the pew in front of him. There had been many formidable men like Eli at St. Mary’s.
“So you grew up Catholic,” Eli repeated. “What about now?”
Abigail stalled, thinking of the handful of times that she had allowed a friend to coerce her into a theater-styled megachurch. Everyone carried a Bible and swayed to the beat of a rock band. She had been painfully uncomfortable. Then there was an Anglican church where she felt more at home but where memories of her childhood seemed frustratingly close to the surface. And once or twice she had attended a Presbyterian church. “Nondenominational,” she improvised.
“Me too. Come with me tomorrow.”
Flustered, Abigail struggled to come up with an appropriate response.
Eli let her off the hook by waving his hands in front of him and shooing her back to the trailer. “Didn’t expect you would. But I did have high hopes for you.”
Abigail didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved. Either way, she had no intention of accompanying Eli to church. She had the Gideon’s Bible waiting at the bottom of her bag, and she figured that was a big enough step for now.
Though she had expected to toss and turn all night long, Abigail slept hard and deep. She woke only once, and that was because she had left the windows open and a cool breeze was chilling the exposed skin on her neck and arms. As she slid the windows closed, Abigail was shocked to see Tyler’s pickup parked next to the house and glowing faintly in the moonlight; she hadn’t even heard him come home. It unsettled her to know that she was so oblivious to the world in her sleep. She double-checked that the trailer door was locked, but she wasn’t much comforted by the flimsy bolt on the rickety screen door.
Abigail was wide-awake well before 6 a.m., and she didn’t even try to fight back the day by staying in bed. Slipping into a pair of running shorts and a light sweatshirt, she threw her canvas bag over her shoulder and started off across the vineyard toward the service shed for a shower. Usually she started the day with a run, but boredom had forced her into her running shoes twice yesterday, and Abigail noticed that she was getting scrawny. A slight change in diet or an increase in her physical activity threatened Abigail with downright wiriness. If she hoped to attract Tyler’s attention, she knew that maintaining some semblance of a feminine figure would be helpful.
The vineyards were so quiet and peaceful on a Sunday morning that Abigail couldn’t stop herself from wandering the rows of grapevines and enjoying the gradually warming air. Since Abigail was short, the arbors reached just over her head, and all along the shady paths she stopped to admire the miniature fruit beginning to unfold beneath the generous grape leaves.
Each cluster of grapes was a tiny green preview of the impending harvest. It reminded Abigail of the full-color poster of the stages of pregnancy in her doctor’s office. The ten-week old fetus was shown actual size, and Abigail had touched her palm to the picture, closing the child in her hand and marveling that it had ten fingers, ten toes, and two exquisite little eyelids closed over sleeping eyes. A perfect replica of the finished product. Each little bunch of grapes was exactly the same: a precise foretaste of what was to come.
By the time she had finished meandering and showering, Eli’s car was missing from its parking spot between Tyler’s truck and the house. Early church service, Abigail mused. But then she remembered that it was exactly a week ago that she had met Eli for breakfast at the Husky. She could picture him sitting there with Nan now, and she wondered if he was alone or if he had found another lost soul he could help against her will. Though he was certainly rough around the edges and nowhere near easy to handle, Abigail felt an unexpected surge of tepid warmth toward him. He had reached out. Not many people were willing to do that.
Since she had no desire to dive back into the narrow confines of the old trailer, and since she was convinced that Tyler was the type of guy who ascribed to a motto of late to bed, late to rise, Abigail threw her bag on the hood of the Kia and climbed up beside it. Kicking off her flip-flops, she stretched out on the warm car and laid her head back against the windshield, closing her eyes and letting the breeze skim over her bare legs. The early morning air was nothing less than glorious. If she turned her face toward the sun and held herself very still, Abigail found that she could, moment by moment, clear her mind entirely and think of nothing but the light on her face.
The sound of the cabin door slamming startled Abigail. She bolted upright, crossing her legs at the ankles and shading her eyes from the sun. Watching Tyler stride across the lawn toward her forced an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu to prick at Abigail’s consciousness. Was he always accompanied by slamming doors?
“Eli says we gotta get rid of that car,” he said, skipping right over the regular niceties of hello or good morning.
Abigail’s brow creased in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“The Kia,” Tyler indicated, tipping one of the mugs toward her rental car. Abigail saw the steaming coffee inside nearly slosh out, and her mouth began to water.
“But I need a car,” Abigail said.
“According to my infinitely wise uncle, rentals are too expensive. Besides, he really only uses his car on Sundays. He says you can borrow his if you need to go anywhere, and when the summer is over, he’ll drive you back to Westphalia to get another rental.”
“When the summer’s over? I don’t know if I’m planning on sticking around that long.”
“Whatever you do, don’t tell my uncle that,” Tyler warned her.
Abigail was speechless. She stared at Tyler, trying to come up with a reason to keep her car. So what if the rental was expensive? Her annual salary was more than enough to cover a few weeks of renting the silly compact she was currently sitting on. But she couldn’t tell Tyler that. In my real life I’m an accountant. Don’t worry about me. Just the thought made a genuine smile tickle at the corners of her lips.
When Abigail smiled, something in Tyler’s demeanor changed. His face loosened somehow, and his gaze slid away from her face to take in the rest of her. She was suddenly and mortifyingly self-conscious. Her running shorts were almost covered by the thin sweatshirt she had tossed on before leaving the trailer, and her bare legs and feet seemed on display as she perched on the hood of the orange car. Tyler didn’t seem to mind. Though he wasn’t leering, Abigail could easily read the appreciative slant in his eyes.
Feeling exposed, she raised a timid hand to play with the damp curls at the nape of her neck and watched as Tyler’s gaze followed the arc of her arm. Abigail’s heart thudded. She was practically half-dressed and still damp from the shower. It was obvious that Tyler found her early morning look sexy.
But that was what she wanted! Abigail had to remind herself that if getting close to Tyler was the objective, this was the best possible way to do it. And while she imagined that because Tyler had loved Hailey, Abigail herself would be the farthest thing from his type, it seemed that she wasn’t going to have a problem securing his attraction. Working hard to stifle her feelings, Abigail pulled her legs beneath her and circled her fingers around her ankle. She bit her bottom lip and hoped she looked coy, not afraid.
“Okay,” she said finally. “I could . . . I could use the extra money.”
“Good.” Tyler seemed relieved that they were more or less getting along. He took a step toward the car and splashed hot coffee on his hand. Biting off a mumbled profanity, he grinned at Abigail and handed her the clean mug. “Look out—it’s scalding.”
“Thanks.” Abigail took the proffered coffee in both hands and inhaled the slightly bitter scent. “I’ve been craving a cup.”
Judging by the glint in his eye, this pleased Tyler immensely. “Enjoy it,” he told her, wiping his coffee-splattered hand on his jeans. “And be ready in half an hour—we’re taking that car to Westphalia this morning.”
“B-but,” Abigail stammered, trying to think of a way out, “I have to return it to the same rental car agency.”
“You will. There’s a depot there.”
“But how did . . . ?” Abigail didn’t even have to finish her question.
Tyler indicated a gaudy bumper sticker on the Kia’s fender that broadcast the company logo, then tapped his temple with two fingers. “Brains run in the family,” he joked.
Abigail was effectively stuck. She could see no apparent way out of this little road trip with Tyler. Eli was at church, the winery was closed, and she had no believable excuse. Taking a sip of coffee to buy a few extra seconds, Abigail realized that though she didn’t want to be alone with Tyler, maybe this scenario would prove to be advantageous. Providential, she thought, the word unexpectedly cut loose from some forgotten corner of her mind.
“How far is it to Westphalia?” she asked.
“About an hour straight north. I’ll drive my truck and you can follow me in the Kia.” Tyler winked in the infuriating, playful way that was beginning to drive her crazy. “Tell you what: I’ll even give you a lift back to Thompson Hills.”
“How gentlemanly of you.” Abigail rolled her eyes.
But Tyler wasn’t deterred in the least. Laughing, he watched her take another drink of coffee. “And just so you know, bringing the car back was Eli’s idea. But the coffee was mine.”
Abigail didn’t have a chance to acknowledge his apparent thoughtfulness or the allusion to her accusation of the day before. The second the words were out of his mouth, Tyler saluted her with his mug and took off, calling to her as he walked away, “Half an hour!”
Abigail changed clothes quickly, tangling herself in three different outfits before she settled on a pair of jean shorts and a simple cotton shirt. Her tiny closet contained only a handful of dressy outfits and even less that could be considered casual, so she didn’t have much to choose from. Something told Abigail that trying too hard would give Tyler the wrong impression, but she also didn’t want to slob out completely and kill any mild interest that he had in her. It was a delicate balance to walk, and Abigail fought to suppress the way her stomach churned when she thought about what she was doing. The only way to survive the coming weeks, she decided, was to put on her identity like a costume, to become a different woman—a woman who was strong and capable and smart. A woman much like the girl she used to be.
The road to Westphalia curved gently along the lake, but Abigail couldn’t enjoy it because she was so focused on the muddy tailgate of the Toyota Tacoma in front of her. Tyler drove fast, making the cab of his truck tip on the corners and causing dried chunks of dirt and grass to spin off his tires in unpredictable bursts that exploded on Abigail’s car. It annoyed her so much that she wondered if she’d be able to be polite and charming on the way home. If it wasn’t for her intention to get to know Tyler better, Abigail would have given him a piece of her mind the second she hopped out of the Kia and then paid a taxi to drive her home.
When they finally arrived in Westphalia after well over an hour of driving, Abigail followed Tyler down side streets and through the touristy district of the small city until he pulled up in front of a rental car depot. It was one large building with at least five different companies listed on the sign, including the agency Abigail had booked her car through. However, the windows of the office were dark and the parking lot seemed abandoned.
“Looks like they’re closed on Sundays!” Tyler yelled. His truck was still running, but he had opened the window to lean out and shrug innocently at Abigail.
Irritated, she ignored him and drove right up to the office, looking for a night box or instructions on how to return a car after hours. There was a metal mailbox near the front door with a narrow slot just big enough for a packet containing the rental agreement and a set of keys. Abigail had contracted the car for three weeks, so she found a pen in her purse and jotted a note explaining that she didn’t need it anymore. She included her contact information in Florida as well as her cell number, then drove to an empty parking spot right near the door. Writing the stall number in bold strokes across the front of the packet, Abigail stepped out of the car and locked it. She dropped everything in the box and made her way to where Tyler was waiting.
“You’re just gonna leave it?” he questioned her.
“What would you have me do?” Abigail climbed into the cab of his pickup, trying to hide her reluctance. “We drove all this way. Besides, people drop off rental cars after hours all the time.”
“
They might charge you for it.”
“They absolutely will.” Abigail stifled a sigh and stared stoically out of Tyler’s windshield. She didn’t care a bit about the money; it was Tyler who was making her weary.
But Tyler didn’t pull away from the curb once Abigail was settled inside the truck. She became aware that he was staring at her, and though she hesitated to do so, she turned toward him with what she hoped was a believable smile. “What?”
“Have you had breakfast?”
Abigail glanced at the digital clock on his dashboard. “It’s almost noon.”
“Well then, have you had lunch?”
He knew the answer to the question, and she knew exactly where this conversation was going. “No,” she said.
“Can you stomach hot dogs?”
Abigail wrinkled her nose in confusion.
“Not everyone likes hot dogs, but I’ll take that as a yes.” Tyler swung a wide U-turn in the middle of the empty street and headed east toward the lake. “A quick snack on the beach before we head back to Revell,” he explained.
Tyler turned his attention to the road, and the cab filled slowly with the sort of suffocating silence that made Abigail’s chest clench. It was too hard to sit with Tyler beside her and let the stillness conjure demons that she didn’t want to face. She was shocked to find that for some unfathomable reason, she wanted to talk about Hailey. Tyler knew her—this smug, self-satisfied man sitting beside her knew the beautiful girl who existed now only in Abigail’s already-fading memory. Abigail wanted to press him, to make him tell her things about her sister that she hadn’t taken the time to learn when she was alive. Her name was on the tip of Abigail’s tongue, but the taste was sharp as acid. It stung.
