by John Rector
I didn’t understand.
I knew that Abby had a long history with Patricia and that the hatred between them was deep and ran both ways, but still, something about her reaction seemed wrong, and I couldn’t quite see it.
“What did her assistant say to you?” I asked.
Abby was staring out the window.
“Who?”
“Big guy, short dark hair.”
“Oh, Travis.” She shrugged. “Just personal stuff.”
“Really?”
“We talk sometimes,” she said. “He’s not a bad person, not like her.”
“He didn’t look happy to see me.”
Abby laughed to herself. “He’s got a thing for me, and he probably sees you as a threat. Nothing to worry about.”
I wasn’t worried, and I almost told her so, but I decided to let it go. We didn’t say anything else, and for a long time we drove in silence.
The giddy energy coming off Abby never faded.
I didn’t mind. It was nice to see her happy.
“How did Daniel and your mother meet again?”
“She was a waitress,” Abby said. “Why?”
“Patricia mentioned her,” I said. “She said I should ask you about her.”
“About my mother?”
I nodded.
Abby turned away, and all at once the air in the car seemed to grow thick. I could tell I’d made a mistake bringing it up.
“What did she tell you?”
“Nothing really.”
“You’re lying.”
“I got the impression she didn’t like your mother very much, but that’s probably because of Daniel.”
“That bitch hardly knew my mother, and she has no business talking to you about her.” Abby stopped, took a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was strained but calm. “Whatever she told you, it was a lie.”
I thought about how Patricia had said the same thing about her, but I kept that to myself. Lillian Pierce was obviously a sensitive subject, and even though I wanted to know more, it wasn’t the time to pry. Abby was in a good mood, and after all she’d been through over the past couple days, that was enough for me.
Still, it made me wonder.
I drove across town to Jefferson Park and pulled up in front of Abby’s house. In the daylight the neighborhood was alive with activity. People were working outside in their yards while kids rode bright-colored bikes along wide sidewalks shaded by towering oak trees.
“Are you going to be okay for a while?”
Abby paused. “You’re not coming in?”
“I need to head home.”
“But you’re coming back?” she asked. “They’re going to be here at midnight unless we call. I can’t do this without—”
I stopped her, smiled. “I’m coming back.”
“You promise?”
“You have my word.”
Abby stayed in the car for another minute, watching me. Then she opened her door and said, “I can’t thank you enough, Nick—for everything.”
“I didn’t do any—”
She leaned in, kissed me. Her lips tasted sweet and fresh.
When she pulled away, she took a deep breath, held it, and said, “You saved me.”
I felt my throat catch and the back of my neck get hot, but before I could say anything she was out of the car and walking up the path toward her house.
For the first time I allowed myself to notice her.
I watched her wave to one of her neighbors, then take a set of keys from her pocket and unlock the front door. She stopped in the doorway and looked back.
She lifted one hand, then stepped inside and closed the door.
Once she was gone I took my phone from my pocket and dialed Charlie’s number. He answered right away.
“About damn time,” he said. “Where the hell have you been? How’d it go?”
“I’ll fill you in later,” I said. “Right now I need another favor. Can you check another name for me?”
“This is pushing it, Nick. I’ve only got so much goodwill built up down there. Pretty soon someone is going to notice what we’re doing and start asking questions.”
“Last one,” I said. “It’s important.”
Charlie coughed, said, “What’s the name?”
“Lillian Pierce,” I said. “Abby’s biological mother.”
“You’re kidding.”
“She might’ve worked for Holloway labs at one time. You could start there.”
Charlie grunted, and I heard the sound of a pencil scratching over paper. “And how does she fit in with all of this?”
I glanced out the window toward Abby’s house and the closed red door. “That’s what I’d like to find out.”
23
I stopped at Argo’s Liquors on my way home and picked up a fifth of Johnnie Walker and a six-pack. My plan was to lock myself in my apartment and not leave again until I had to go back to Abby’s. I needed time alone to clear my head and make sense of everything that’d happened over the past few days.
A couple drinks seemed like a good place to start.
By the time I got back to my apartment, the sun was setting orange behind the mountains, and the air had turned cold. I went in through the lobby and rode the elevator to the third floor, then walked down the hall to my apartment.
I stopped outside my door and adjusted the bag in my arms as I flipped through my keys. My neighbor’s television was on, and I could hear the lonely sound of a studio laugh track through the thin walls.
I tried not to think about it.
Once inside I took the bottle of Johnnie Walker from the bag and put the six-pack in the fridge. Abby had done all the dishes that morning, and for the first time in a long time my kitchen was spotless.
I grabbed one of the cups from the dish drainer, then walked out to the living room and sat on the couch. I uncapped the bottle and poured, letting my mind drift.
Of course, it stopped on Kara.
We’d never talked about having kids, at least not seriously, and it was hard to get my head around the idea that she was pregnant, especially when it wasn’t mine.
Thinking about her with someone else sat heavy inside me, and I could feel a tight sickness build in the pit of my stomach. I did my best to ignore it, but it was a struggle. Instead, I tried to focus on how happy she’d sounded that morning and the look of joy on her face when she’d told me the news.
In a way it helped.
I reached for my laptop beside the couch and set it on the coffee table. I opened the lid and pulled up a browser and did a quick search for divorce attorneys.
Kara had moved on, and she was happy. It wasn’t the way I’d wanted things to turn out, but after all we’d been through together and all she’d put up with from me, I wasn’t about to stand in her way now.
After several minutes of looking at legal websites, I felt a small stab of pain form behind my eyes, and the more photos of attorneys I saw, the more the pain grew.
Eventually, I turned away from the screen, refreshed my drink, and then got up and stood in front of the window and stared out at the city lights. I thought about Abby standing in the same spot the night before and saying she’d live here just for the view. At the time I assumed she was trying to make me feel better, but after spending the last twenty-four hours with her I wasn’t so sure.
After all she’d been through, she could still find the beauty in the things around her. And while I’d seen enough of the world to know that it wouldn’t last, I couldn’t help but hope that I was wrong.
I stayed at the window for a while, sipping my drink and going over everything that’d happened over the last couple days. I thought about what Patricia told me about Abby’s mother and how there had been some kind of local scandal after she was fired. I
’d have to wait until I heard back from Charlie for anything official, but I did have the next best thing. If there had been a scandal, it would’ve made the news, and if it made the news, I could find it on the Internet.
I finished the last of my drink, then went back to the couch and sat down in front of the laptop. I did a new search—this one for Lillian Pierce, Holloway Industries.
At first I didn’t find anything, but then I saw a link to an old report from the Tribune. I clicked on it, and it opened an archive page. I scrolled down until I found the headline.
LAB FIRE UNDER INVESTIGATION
Below that, another headline, this one only one word.
ARSON
I pulled up the report and read:
Metro—Dr. Lillian Pierce, a lead researcher at Holloway Industries, is wanted for questioning regarding her possible role in starting a fire that destroyed a large section of the company’s research facility.
“Stunned,” said Vicky Marshal, the head of Holloway Industries’ public relations department. “We are all devastated, not only by the loss of our research, but upon learning that the fire was started by one of our own. I can’t begin to express our sadness.”
Police say security cameras on the property caught Dr. Pierce entering the building after-hours and dousing a section of the lab in gasoline before starting the blaze. No one was injured in the fire, and Dr. Pierce’s location is currently unknown.
“We have issued a warrant for the arrest of Dr. Lillian Pierce,” said Detective Caroline Timmel of the Denver Police Department. “She was last seen leaving her home early on the morning of October 5.”
According to coworkers, Dr. Pierce became distraught over her future with Holloway Industries and made several threats toward the company. “She said it was her duty to burn it all down,” Andrew Lee, a Holloway Industries research assistant, said. “I thought she was joking, but I was wrong.”
If you, or anyone you know, have information regarding the location of Dr. Lillian Pierce, please contact the Metro Police Department at . . .
I reached for the bottle and refilled my glass, then leaned back into the cushions. A part of me had thought Patricia lied when she told me about Abby’s mother working with Daniel, but the article seemed to back up her story.
I ran through a few more links, all of them reporting the same arson story. I read each of them, hoping for some new insight into why Lillian Pierce did what she did.
Then my phone rang. I answered it as I read.
“Nick?” It was Abby. Her voice was warm and relaxed. “Are you still coming over?”
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” She let the word hang in the air, then said, “Things are quiet. I found a bottle of wine in an old box, along with some other stuff.”
“Anything interesting?”
“That depends,” she said. “Come over and help me finish this bottle of wine.”
“Now?” I looked at the clock. “We still have—”
“I don’t want to be alone,” she said. “Please, Nick.”
There was a soft note in her voice that I hadn’t heard from a woman in a very long time, and even though I didn’t want to leave my apartment, I could see the upside.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I—”
“I found something I’d like to show you.”
“What is it?”
“You have to come over to find out.”
I frowned.
“Come on, Nick. Don’t say no.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll come over.”
“Good.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
We hung up, but I stayed on the couch for a while longer, sipping my drink. I wondered what it was Abby wanted to show me. I had a few ideas, some more appealing than others, and there was only one way to find out.
I finished my drink, then got up and grabbed my jacket and my keys. Before I left, I stopped at the door and looked back at my apartment one last time. Then I walked out into the hall toward whatever came next.
24
I parked in front of Abby’s house and walked up the path to her front door. I paused for a second before knocking, then stepped back and waited.
Abby answered the door wearing jeans and a white button-up shirt. Her hair was tied back in a braid, and she had a drink in her hand. When she motioned for me to come inside, the ice clinked delicately against the glass.
“I thought you were drinking wine,” I said.
“It didn’t last.” Abby closed the door behind me, then stepped closer and wrapped her arms around my neck and held me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I could smell the alcohol on her, but I didn’t mind. She was warm and small, and she felt good in my arms.
After a while I broke the hug.
“What would you like to drink?” Abby asked. “I’m pretty well stocked here, so name it.”
“Surprise me.”
“I can do that.”
I watched her turn the corner into the kitchen. Then I walked into the living room. It looked the same as the night before, and as I stood in the doorway, everything that’d happened came back to me, and I understood why Abby didn’t want to be alone.
“I’m happy you’re here.” Abby’s voice sounded thin from the kitchen. “Just so you know, I tried calling the number they gave us last night to tell them what happened.”
“You did what?”
“I didn’t talk to anyone,” Abby said. “I know someone answered because I could hear them breathing, but they didn’t say anything.”
I walked to the window and looked out through the blinds. The street was quiet, but I stayed at the window for a while longer just to make sure.
“Did you say anything?”
“I told them we needed another day,” Abby said. “They just hung up. After that I got scared. That was when I called you.”
I closed my eyes, didn’t speak.
“Did I screw up?”
“We’ll find out at midnight.”
“Oh God, I’m sorry.”
I told her not to worry, that everything was okay. Then I turned away from the window and looked up at the large painting on the wall, solid black with a vibrant red rectangle stretching across the bottom. It was interesting but also unsettling.
I moved closer.
There was a small card with a handwritten note mounted on the wall next to the painting. I leaned in and read the inscription.
An original for the original.
With joy,
Daniel
“What do you think of it?”
I looked back as Abby came into the living room. She was carrying two glasses and a half-full bottle of scotch. She handed me one of the glasses, filled it, then motioned to the painting.
“Do you like Rothko?”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “But I’m not sure why.”
Abby laughed. “That’s about right.” She tilted her head to the side and stared at the painting as if seeing it for the first time. “It’s creepy, but it matches the couch.”
“Daniel gave it to you?”
“A housewarming gift,” she said. “From his private collection.”
I looked from the painting to her and then back, convinced I hadn’t heard her right. “This is an original?”
“Apparently.”
I stepped closer to the painting and read the inscription one more time. “That explains the note. An original painting for his firstborn.”
Abby looked down at her glass, took a drink. “Something like that. Daniel can be cryptic.”
“Have you had it appraised?”
“I’m never going to sell it.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Not in the least.”
I wat
ched her as she backed away and sat on the couch. It was obvious she wasn’t interested in discussing the painting, so I decided to let it go.
“Come, sit.” She touched the cushion next to her with one finger. “You’re making me nervous.”
I took one last look at the painting, then crossed the room to the couch and sat next to her. She stared at me for a moment, then reached out and touched my arm.
Her skin was warm and soft on mine.
“Thank you for coming back.”
I nodded, took a drink, and tried to settle the bad thoughts pulsing through my head.
“I’ve been thinking about you since you dropped me off,” she said. “I can’t stop.”
“What have you been thinking?”
Abby looked away. When she spoke again, her voice was loose. “I’ve been thinking that I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For lying to you. I’m not sure why I didn’t tell you the truth. I’ve made such a habit of it that it just came out, and I’m sorry.”
“Lied to me about what?”
“My mother.”
“What about her?”
Abby held up one finger, then lifted her glass and finished her drink. “Hold on, I’ll show you.” She set her empty glass on the coffee table, then stood up, bracing herself on the arm of the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
“Do you need help?”
She ignored me and disappeared down the hall. When she came back, she was carrying a long white envelope. She held it up for me to see, then handed it to me.
“It’s all right there.”
I flipped the envelope over. There was no writing on the front, but the return address was for the Department of Corrections.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Open it.”
I hesitated, then opened the flap. There was a single sheet of paper inside, folded in thirds, and I recognized what it was right away.
“A death certificate?”
“My mother’s.” Abby reached for the bottle and refilled her glass. She spilled a little on the coffee table, but she didn’t seem to notice. “From the prison where she died. Notarized and everything.”
