Tristan's Redemption

by Blackburn, Candace

  Julie smiled and clasped her hands together. “It’s important to have a good support system in place to help you through. How long has it been since your wife died?”

  “Less than a year.” People started commenting about how long it had been for them. When it was Abby’s turn, she cleared her throat.

  “I lost David last December, a few days before Christmas.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “The day I found out I was pregnant.”

  Tristan reached over and squeezed her hand but then released it and listened intently while everyone else shared their stories. She looked down at her hand, bewildered by her acceptance of his touch. Minutes before, she was tempted to run before that woman could touch her belly. And she was fine with Tristan holding her hand?

  Weird.

  At the conclusion of the meeting, instead of staying afterward for coffee or cookies, Tristan excused himself and left. Abby watched him walk out the door and felt a surge of warmth when he looked over his shoulder and smiled. She waved goodbye and wondered if he would be back next week.

  Abby and Julie talked a bit and were the last to leave. If David were still alive, he would have read her the riot act for walking out to her car, at night, without him there. She could practically hear his exasperated, “Abigail Marie, what would I do if something happened to you?” Maybe he was looking down on her and could see that at least Julie was with her. She smiled at that.

  On the way out to the car, she felt someone watching her, but when she turned around, the lot was empty except for Julie’s car.

  That was odd.

  It almost felt like David was there.

  Chapter Four

  Abby knew that if she told her parents she wanted to paint the nursery, they would insist on doing it. Just as they had insisted on doing everything since David died. So instead, she found a flyer for Gilded Wing Painters—motto: we reach places you can’t—and called them. They set up an appointment for a guy named Aaron to do the painting.

  She spent the next two days looking over paint samples. She was double checking her final selections again when the doorbell rang.

  “Just a sec!” When she opened the door, there was a man’s chest right in front of her. Abby looked up with widened eyes until she got to his face. He was beautiful, almost unnaturally so, and he appeared to be fighting laughter over her reaction to his height.

  “Abby Daniels?”

  “That’s me. You must be Aaron.”

  The guy pointed to the name sewn on the shirt. “Ehron.” He held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You too. Come on in and let me show you the nursery.”

  Ehron had to duck as he walked through the door. “You said you were six months?”

  “Twenty-six weeks. If everything goes according to schedule, I’ve got fourteen weeks to go. But if he’s anything like his daddy, the baby’s going to be early.”

  “Mmm hmm. So you and Dad have picked the color out?”

  Abby shook her head, taking a deep breath. “My husband passed away, so it’s just me. But yes, I have the color picked out. Two actually. I would like an accent wall. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

  “Not at all. My condolences for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Abby got the paint samples off the counter and handed them to Ehron. “So, is there any way I can talk you into putting up a border when you’re done painting?”

  Ehron smiled. “Why don’t you show me the nursery and I’ll see what I can do.”

  ~

  Tristan paced the apartment like a caged animal. He could have gone for his usual three miles or taken a hot shower, but he was too pumped up to do anything other than pace and wait for Ehron.

  “You need to relax.”

  Tristan turned and found the angel sitting on his couch. He exhaled and walked forward. “Finally, it took you long enough. How is she doing?”

  Ehron frowned. “Well, I suppose. Abby is lonely.”

  “Are her parents coming around?”

  “Too much, if her thoughts are any indication. They’re out of town visiting her mother’s sister right now, though. Abby waited until they were gone before she arranged the painting.”

  “I can see that. Her dad would want to do this for her.”

  “Yes and Abby wants them to see she can do things for herself.”

  Tristan nodded and kept on pacing. “Is she eating well?”

  “Yes. She’s a little on the thin side, but she did have hyperemesis gravidarum and—”

  “What?” Tristan took out his phone and Googled the term. Hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) is a complication of pregnancy characterized by intractable nausea, vomiting, and dehydration.

  The blood drained from his face. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. It’s just taken a little while for her to recover from months of constant vomiting.”

  Tristan popped his knuckles, pacing harder. “I want to help her. She should not be doing this alone.” He looked up as he paced. “Why can’t I tell her? I know she’s angry at the situation, but she would let me help—”

  “Stop right there.” Ehron crossed his arms over his chest, his eyebrows narrowed. “Telling Abby anything is against the rules. Not. Permitted. And you’ve got bigger problems than your guilt.”

  Tristan stopped and turned toward Ehron. “Like what?”

  “Your girl is very much in love with David Daniels. She has to fall in love with Tristan Ramirez.”

  “I’m the same person.”

  “Did you see David Daniels when you looked in the mirror this morning?” Tristan shook his head. “Neither will Abby. And if you try to make an argument to that effect on her, she’s going to write you off as a grief-stricken widower who perhaps needs some inpatient hospitalization. Besides,” Ehron said with a shrug, “even though she is in love with David Daniels, she might not have wanted to be with him anymore if he were here.”

  Tristan blinked. “You think she would fall out of love with me...I mean David?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Who knows? You have to realize that would be a possibility.” Ehron cocked his head to the side. “What happened when David last saw Abby?”

  Tristan flinched as he remembered her tears. “She saw me...David...having sex with his secretary.”

  Nodding, the angel crossed his arms over his chest. “Right. Tell me, Tristan, how many men had Abby been with before David?”

  Were all conversations with angels this damned painful? “I...David was her first.”

  “Uh huh. And David cheated on her, despite having made constant proclamations of love over the years.”

  His frustration grew, both with himself for hurting Abby and Ehron for dredging up the memories. “I know this.”

  “Sure you do. But do you also know that David killed something in Abby with that single act of indiscretion.”

  Tristan clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. “No.”

  “Her belief in a love so powerful that it would transcend death died on David’s desk that afternoon.”

  His head was splitting. “Stop it.”

  “Abby needs restoration, and healing.”

  “I know.”

  “Give her a reason to believe again.”

  Tristan’s eyes blurred with tears.

  “Abby needs someone to have the same faith and love in her that she held for David for eight years.”

  Tristan sunk back on the couch, the tears falling freely. Knowing that Abby hurt because of him...David was more painful than dying.

  “She needs what you can give. You can fix what David broke.”

  “How?”

  “Love her.” Ehron’s voice softened. “Look, things are going to be tough. You’re trying to convince a woman who is still broken that love is possible. If you want the happily ever after with Abby, you’re going to have to stick with this fight and not crawl on top of your secretary the first time things get difficult.”

  Tristan shook his head, knowing tha
t wasn’t going to happen. Technically, it shouldn’t have happened with David, so maybe the angel had a point. “I don’t deserve her.”

  “That’s up to you to determine, Tristan. Abby is a very special young lady, stronger than a lot of people think. The man who deserves her will hold her hand as she heals, even when she cries over another man. You have to stay the course and be by her side as she recovers. Can you do this?”

  Tristan wiped his eyes and nodded.

  “Good. Then you should probably change into some jeans. I planted the suggestion that she wants Hawaiian pizza.”

  Tristan smiled, knowing just the place. “Thank you.”

  “Thank me by being quick.” Ehron opened his hand to reveal Tristan’s car keys. “Go. You don’t want to miss her.”

  ~

  “Little boy, I hope you like this. Given our track record with pineapple, this may fail with flying colors...literally.”

  The woman at the table next to Abby chuckled. “How much longer do you have?”

  “Fourteen weeks.” Abby looked up for the waiter. How long could one pizza take?

  “That’s not long at all.” The stranger leaned in and lowered her voice. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but did pineapple make you sick earlier in the pregnancy?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Among other things, but there was no need to discuss the hyperemesis gravidarum here. They were in the middle of a restaurant, after all. “It was one of my favorite foods before pregnancy and I’m hoping I can tolerate it now, since I’m craving it.”

  Someone cleared their throat behind her. “Abby?”

  Smiling, she turned. “Hey, Tristan.”

  “Hey, yourself.” He motioned to the empty seat. “Mind if I sit? Or are you saving this for someone?”

  “Go right ahead.” Abby craned her neck around in an attempt to spot the waiter. No such luck. She turned back to Tristan and watched as he sat. He was probably a businessman, had worn a suit and what appeared to be hand-sewn loafers to the meeting, but tonight he was in a pair of jeans, a dark grey shirt and black boots. Regardless of what he wore, the man’s sex appeal could register on the Richter scale.

  He tapped his fingers on the red and white checked tablecloth, which made the candle flicker slightly. “How long have you been waiting?”

  Abby checked her phone. “Twenty minutes. Really, not long at all, but this craving is kicking my butt. I am tempted to walk back there and offer to help.”

  Tristan stood. “I’ll go see what I can do.”

  “No, you really don’t have to... Shoot.” Tristan walked off, not paying attention to Abby’s attempts to get him to stop. She watched him go and drummed her fingers on the table. Tristan definitely had the conquering hero thing going for him.

  “Here you go, ma’am.” Abby jumped with her hand clutched to her chest. She hadn’t heard the waiter walk up. “One Hawaiian pizza with my apologies for taking so long...and for scaring you.”

  The teenaged waiter looked repentant and Abby thought that could be her kid standing there one day. “That’s okay,” she answered as she put a piece of steaming hot pizza on her plate. “Thank you.”

  Tristan sat and looked heavily amused as he watched the process.

  “Do you want a piece?”

  He shook his head vigorously and waved a hand in denial. “No thank you. I’m not hungry enough to take food away from a pregnant woman.”

  Did he really think she was going to eat the whole thing? She smirked. “It’s an extra-large. I can spare a few slices.”

  He smiled and inclined his head toward the kitchen. “It’s fine, Abby. Thanks anyway. They’re bringing me tiramisu.”

  “Oh. Well thank you for this.” She pointed down at her plate.

  “My pleasure. It’s quite pleasant watching someone enjoy their food.”

  Abby paused between bites, being sure to chew well enough that she could swallow without choking. “I can’t imagine not enjoying food.”

  “I’m glad.” Tristan took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. He met her gaze and she could see the pain. “My wife was bulimic. Meal time with her was an exercise in torture.”

  Abby frowned. “How terrible.”

  “It was. She was so intent on maintaining a reed-thin figure that she ate what amounted to a toddler’s portion at meals then purged.”

  “I can’t imagine. I mean, I could have probably stood, in my pre-pregnant state, to skip a few meals, but my grandma gave me the starving children speech when I was growing up.”

  Tristan cocked his head to the side. “Starving children?”

  Abby stuck her finger out and waved it from side to side as she spoke. “Abigail, don’t you dare look down your nose at that plate. There are children starving all over the world who would looooove to have those garden peas.”

  Tristan chuckled, and Abby continued her story. “My grandparents have a huge garden. Acres of produce every summer. My grandma would can an entire outbuilding full of green beans, stewed tomatoes and soup base every year. Not to mention the three deep-chest freezers she had slam-packed full of other vegetables. It was a family effort, and we reaped the rewards all winter long. But I hated garden peas. Grandma gave me the speech every time she served them.”

  Tristan nodded and thanked the waiter who brought over a cup of coffee. He talked as he added cream and sugar. “You were raised understanding the work that goes into growing food.”

  “Yes.” Abby added another piece to her plate and liberally applied parmesan cheese. She plucked a piece of pineapple off the pizza and ate it.

  “Does your family still garden?”

  “Oh yes. My parents, uncles and aunts do. The children that live nearby help. This year, I won’t be allowed to.”

  “Ah, concern for the baby.”

  “Exactly. I’ve been informed by the familial powers that be that if I put one foot on the farm with the intention of working, someone will sit me down, put a glass of tea in my hand and watch me until I can be safely delivered back home.”

  Tristan took a sip of coffee. “They are watching out for you. That’s natural.”

  Abby huffed. “I’m pregnant, not helpless.”

  “No, you’re definitely not helpless. Anyone can see how strong you are. But, by the same token, you’re doing the most important job you can, which is nurturing your child. I don’t think taking a summer off from harvesting is too much for a woman in your situation.”

  She frowned, not happy with the direction this was going. “But the baby and I are going to eat. I should pitch in.”

  “You are, Abby. This Thanksgiving, when everyone is gathered around for your holiday celebrations, don’t you think the family will rejoice in seeing you and your baby safe and healthy?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  Tristan held up a finger and spoke in a nurturing tone. “And don’t you think they will all be happy to see your child’s face when he sees the Christmas decorations?”

  Abby nodded in agreement. “Of course they will.”

  “Then allow them to do this for you.”

  “You have a point. Even though I don’t like the thought of sitting back.”

  “So do something else. Can you bake?”

  Abby chewed on her lip and thought. “My coworkers love it when I bring blueberry muffins in.”

  “Then on the days when your family is working, why don’t you bring them muffins? That can be your contribution.”

  “Tristan,” Abby smiled, happy with the idea, “you are brilliant. Thank you.”

  “You are most certainly welcome, Abby.” Tristan looked embarrassed by the praise, which was oddly endearing. Such a beautiful man had to be used to compliments from women. When she looked down at her phone, she frowned at the time. She stood as the waiter packed her leftover pizza. “Sorry for cutting out of here like this, but I’ve got some crafts to assemble.” At his questioning glance, Abby explained. “My mom is running crafts at her church’s Bible school and I’m helping her out.
>
  Tristan rose. “I understand. I’ve got some things I need to do as well.”

  They made their way to the door. “You don’t need to leave on my account. I’m sure you wanted to finish your tiramisu.”

  “I did.” Tristan pointed at the table and the empty plate.

  “Oh—” He took advantage of Abby’s turned head and took her bill out of her hand. “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “Paying for your dinner. If you hadn’t been in here, I would have eaten alone at the bar. You made my last minute attempt to satisfy my sweet tooth well worth it.”

  Abby wasn’t going to win this argument, but she had to try. “I can pay for my own dinner.”

  “So,” Tristan said with a wink and a grin, “can I.” He paid and led Abby to the door. “Besides, I’ve been told that I need to get out from behind my desk more, something about tiramisu being therapeutic.” He shrugged with a wry grin.

  “Fine, but I’m paying next time.” Abby’s eyes widened, and she wished she could take back the words as they left her mouth.

  Tristan smiled like a kid in a candy store. “Deal. I’ll see you in group later this week.”

  “Yeah, see you.”

  Abby walked to her car deep in thought. It had taken David two weeks to talk her into dinner—she hadn’t wanted to seem too enthusiastic, even though she’d been nursing a serious crush on him for months. So how had Tristan, a virtual stranger, managed to pay for her meal and make tentative plans for a future date—if you could call it that—so easily?

  Abby stowed her pizza on the passenger seat and started the car. As she put it in gear, a car slowed beside her. It was Tristan. She waved and mouthed the words good night. He did the same and pulled off. Abby’s chest tightened when she realized that Tristan was doing the same thing David used to do.

  Oh, David.

  He had never stopped ensuring her safety. The last thing she ever saw him doing was watching her drive away, even after he had sex with another woman.

  Wiping tears from her eyes, Abby hit the gas and headed home.

  Chapter Five

  “Abby, do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  Julie, the group counselor, looked at her with matronly concern, which was amusing, considering that Julie was five years younger than Abby. She lost her husband in Bengazi after his convoy struck a roadside bomb. Julie, like Abby, was pregnant when her husband died. David, like Julie’s husband, would never hold his only child.