Abby Road (21 page)

I hobbled to the corner of the room with the red punching bag. “Probably sounds naïve, but I didn’t think anything from the
Losin’ Myself
photo shoot would end up somewhere.” I dropped my water bottle and took one hard punch at the bag. “That outfit I had to wear.” I wound up for another swing. “I was completely
mortified
by it.” My voice was getting higher and more labored. “My
grandparents
saw those pictures, and I looked like a
prostitute
!”

I attacked the bag for a while, swimming in adrenaline. “That album cover?” I panted. “Just so you know, major doctoring went into making me look like that. I was practically a cartoon.” I stopped to breathe, shaking my hands in pain. “Whose thighs are that taut? Whose complexion is that flawless? Reality, please!”

“I hate to remind you, Abby,” Todd’s voice seemed distant, “but I think you’re rather adorable right now; even yesterday, soaking wet with seaweed in your hair. You weren’t wearing makeup
then
, were you?”

The point seemed irrelevant, so I took another hard swing at the red bag. Pain on the heels of pain, I was suddenly thinking of something else, something worse than a few retouched pictures. No matter how hard I pushed it down, the vilest of memories always broke surface last, like a screaming, breeching torpedo. Even though I tried to stop them, I felt the words coming up.

“And then my
b
-
brother
.” My strained voice cracked on the last word. Pulling in my chin, I beat on that bag—one-two, one-two, one-two—until my arms ached. Gasping for air, I stopped and hugged it, hung off it, burying my face in its leather. I knew a fresh tidal wave of mental pain was heading my way. Instead of paddling for shore, I let it crash over me, flailing in the chaos of the memory.

“It was so awful,” I said weakly, limping toward the French doors. “Shugger wasn’t at my house that night. I can’t remember why. So Christian went out to the deli alone.” I reached up, touching the window with one finger. “There was one other customer there during the holdup, a pregnant woman. Christian tried to help her, but those four—” I cut off, swallowed, then stared through the glass, focusing on a single gray cloud. “There were four of them and just one of him. Four against one.” My voice broke as I turned around. “One of them pulled a gun. How fair is that?”

Todd slowly rose to his feet. He looked confused at first, but then something seemed to occur to him. “This was a year ago?” he asked, taking a few cautious steps forward.

I felt myself nodding, my stomach in a bundle of knots.

He shook his head and exhaled, an anguished expression in his eyes. “I . . . forgot about that. I read it; the story was all over the Internet back then, but I didn’t make the connection.” He was standing right in front of me now. “Your brother was—”

The loud, screechy, unintelligible sound that ripped from my throat silenced him before he could say the name aloud.

“Oh, Abby.” His expression broke as he reached out to me. But I recoiled.

“I can’t.” I backed away. “I can’t talk about it anymore, okay?”

“Okay.”

My eyes suddenly flooded with tears that I couldn’t blink away; I hadn’t cried about Christian since the day I found out he died. I whipped around, my blurry gaze searching for a way out of the room. I didn’t feel my torn-up toe anymore. I didn’t feel anything as I headed for the sliding glass door. If I could block out the memory, push the monster back down, I’d be okay. I’d survive. I just needed to hold on until I was safely out the door, and then I’d be alone to—

“Hey.” Todd’s voice came from over my shoulder.

I turned around.

Looking almost indifferent, he was leaning against the arm of the couch. “If you want . . .” With one finger, he gestured to his chest. “You can tell me about it.” His voice was practically a whisper. “Abby, you can talk to me.”

I felt tears flowing down my quivering chin, but I could not do what he suggested.

“I’m no expert, but it might help.”

I took a breath, held it, and then blew it out. I did it again and again. Minutes ticked by.

Todd’s expression was impassive as he circled the couch and sat down. “I’ll be hanging out over here if you need anything,” he said.

Lindsey and Molly and the shrink I’d been guilted into seeing back in L.A. had all requested the same thing of me.
To
talk
. But never once had I felt it was okay to speak of Christian and what happened that night.

So why, then, was my jaw voluntarily unclenching now? For the first time in a year.

“I . . . I shouldn’t have sent him out that night!” I practically screamed, knowing that this confession had been building up for months. “It was late, and he was so tired, but I didn’t care, ’cause I was hungry, and . . . I knew he’d go if I whined enough. He was just so great that way.” The nerves behind my eyes throbbed and my dry throat ached. But I pushed on.

“While he was at the deli, I fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t mean to—I swear. And . . . I didn’t know . . . it . . .
happened
. He was only a few miles from home, right down the road. There were sirens, ambulances.” I shuddered, feeling like I was about to be sick. “I didn’t hear them.”

While blankly staring at pictures on the wall, I rambled on, speaking of how my team had flown to London early the next morning. “When Max told me what had happened, it was too late; we couldn’t leave. The fog, the stupid London fog. We were stuck there for days. I couldn’t get to my family, get back to Christian in time.” My watery voice broke. “I know it’s my fault he’s gone. It tore my family apart, and I can’t forgive myself.”

With every labored inhale, my heart throbbed painfully inside my ribcage, like it was about to detonate. But I’d finally said it, purged those secret feelings and fears . . . to a stranger, a stranger I happened to be irresistibly drawn to. “What in the world would he think of me now?”

Nervously, I looked at him.

To my horror, Todd’s face was white, drawn tight, like he was in actual physical pain.

I turned my head and slammed my eyes shut, feeling a brand new stab of regret. I knew nothing would be the same between us now that he knew the truth. Not that I blamed him. I should have left his house right then, before I contaminated anything.

When I opened my eyes again, I was surprised to find Todd directly in front of me, blocking my way to the door. His expression was still pained as we stared at each other. After a long moment, he took a step toward me and unfolded his arms, wide open.

Almost in a faint, I fell forward, not taking the time to figure out how he knew this was what I needed. Not space, not psychotherapy, not a triple cocktail. Just this.

His strong arms wrapped around me, holding me up while my hands were pinned in front of my chest, fingernails digging into my palms. The tears really came then, fresh and hot. He rocked us back and forth. The louder my sobs, the tighter he squeezed.

This guy, this
man
I’d known for two short days, who named his dog after a member of the Rat Pack, whose sisters nicknamed him Pockets, who’d been lost in the Andes for eighteen hours, who loved Frank Sinatra, Dr Pepper, and the Marines, he was the only person who allowed me to unload one suitcase of personal baggage, one corner of repressed feelings—all with no judgment and no blame. Nothing but his calming presence.

For some reason, it was enough.

After a while, Todd’s grip around me relaxed, forcing me to make a conscious effort to stand on my own.

“I miss him,” I choked out. “So much. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I can’t stop. It never stops!”

Before I got the chance to break down again, Todd pulled us to the couch, offering Kleenex and sitting in patient silence beside me until I composed myself.

Then I talked—probably pretty incoherently—about my parents, my brother, my job. Molly, Hal, Max. Todd didn’t say much; mostly he just offered somber nods and dry tissues, and the occasional wisecrack that made me laugh.

Out the window, the afternoon sun hung low, suspended between high noon and twilight, a deep yellow yo-yo on a blue canvas.

“Can I ask you something?” Todd said.

I sniveled, wiping my eyes.

“Do you really think your parents blame you?”

My throat constricted—that strangling snake.

“Yes,” I replied. But then I heard Lindsey’s voice again. “Well, maybe not
blame
.” Even as I said it, though, I knew it wasn’t completely true. “Doesn’t matter—I blame myself, and I feel too guilty to be around them. It’s been a year.” I looked at Todd through my wet lashes, a Kleenexed hand covering my mouth. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

One side of his mouth pulled back compassionately. “Of course not. We all have reasons for what we do and how we react. No one is allowed to tell us how to feel.”

Another sob vibrated from my core. “Thank you,” I managed to whisper.

We sat side by side in companionable silence, only the sounds of birds and waves and wind through the open windows. Another hour later found us in his kitchen. Todd built a sandwich while I balanced on a barstool. I was force-fed half the sandwich and a glass of milk, explaining that I was looking rather half starved and homeless.

While I chewed, I took the time to compartmentalize my feelings again, to pick them apart, tuck them back into their corners, dealing with grief the best way I knew how. I’d mastered that trick from years of practice. It may have been a false calm, but by the time I finished eating, I felt much better.

When we returned to the living room, that yellow yo-yo in the sky hung lower. I nestled onto the couch while Todd sat on the coffee table across from me. He held my sore foot on his lap, picking at the gauze contemplatively.

“I’m sorry I ruined our day,” I offered. “Not what you signed up for, right?”

Todd exhaled a chuckle inside his throat and gently squeezed my foot before setting it on the coffee table. Wordlessly he moved to the spot next to me. Despite the earlier drama, the moment our shoulders touched, warmth gushed into my chest. It was almost like I was lounging in a dentist’s chair, inhaling that wonderful, deadening gas, dulling my senses, calming frayed nerves.

Todd pulled my focus when he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. I could hear him breathing, see his back muscles expanding and contracting. I breathed along with him, which relaxed me further, and I settled against the couch.

“I know I’ve been stuck in my head the last hour,” I said to the short hairs on the back of his neck, “but what have
you
been thinking about?”

He exhaled before sitting back. “Nothing much.” He sat back. “I’ll tell you some other time.” There was a quick flash of a smile before he turned away.

My heart wrenched as I studied his profile. He seemed to be frowning—that brooding, pensive frown . . . with those lips. And I was lost in my own mind, thinking of our kiss on the beach, our kiss last night. How I loved the way I felt when he was near, when he smiled at me, looked at me, laughed with me, talked with me. Could he make me feel that way every day, I wondered?

A buzzing from Todd’s pocket interrupted my pleasant reflections. He pulled out his cell, inspected the number, silenced it, and tossed it on the coffee table. “Anyhoo,” he said blankly. “Where was I?”

“We weren’t talking.”

From across the room, his house phone rang. “We’ll let voice mail pick up,” he suggested. “It’ll be my mother.”

Really . . .

“
Ciao, mio caro
,” came the smooth tones of a sophisticated Italian accent.

“She’ll be reminding me to call my sister. It’s her birthday.”

“I’m just phoning, dah-ling,” the accent continued, “to remind you to wish little Nichola
buon compleanno.
”

“I called Nikki this morning,” Todd commentated over his mother, “and sent a Strip-o-Gram to her law office.”

“Such a good brother.” I dabbed at the moist parts of my face with a new tissue.

“Give us a call when you can.”

“We spoke last night,” Todd said, shrugging.

“I’ll give your love to
Papà.
Oh, and let us know how it goes with that new girl you mentioned last night. Did you see her today?”

Todd chuckled tensely
.

“I hope you cleaned your house, and that you didn’t wear that awful shirt with the—”

Todd flew off the couch, swearing as he lunged for the phone. “
Sta zitta,
” he hissed, attempting to drown out the voice mail.

{chapter 15}

“ALL TOGETHER NOW”

“
P
ronto, Ma.
” His voice was stressed as he spoke into the receiver. “
Come stai
?”