Reconciled for Easter (3 page)

“Oh,” Lydia said. “That would be perfect! We’re in desperate need of new blood there. I’d love if you can come. Do you think you can join?”

For some reason, Abigail was intensely conscious of Thomas’s eyes on her profile as she replied, “I don’t know. I said I’d think about it.”

“I really hope you do. I know you have to take care of Mia, but she could probably come over and stay with Ellie, if Thomas was busy, or—”

Lydia broke off when Gabe nudged her gently with his foot. “Maybe give her some breathing space,” he murmured.

“I am,” Lydia looked surprised and then apologetic. “I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be pushy or anything. I just think it’s a great idea. Gabe’s always telling me that not everyone wants me to organize their life for them.”

“And then she tells me that organizing mine is a full-time job,” Gabe added. He had a very attractive aura of laidback confidence, and it wasn’t hard to see that he adored his wife.

Abigail smiled again, hiding a little twinge of jealousy. It would have been so nice to have the kind of marriage that Lydia and Gabe evidently had—where they helped each other and supported each other at the same time, where they didn’t seem to have to struggle for every step forward they took.

She’d always wanted that. She still did.

She turned back to Thomas, who’d been listening to the conversation and who was the only one of the four not smiling.

“Everything all right?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face.

“Yeah. Just a hair appointment that ran over and then I got stuck by a slow-moving train. How’s Mia?”

“She’s fine. She is a little nervous about messing up, I think.”

Abigail nodded and lowered her voice as the lights began to dim. “Yeah. She’s been nervous all week. Not that she’ll admit it.” She slanted Thomas a wry look. She knew exactly from whom their daughter had gotten the sometimes frustrating unwillingness to admit anxiety.

Thomas turned to focus on the stage as the performances began, but he was visibly hiding a smile that filled her with warmth and flushed her cheeks.

Mia had a small part in the big number that began the recital, so Abigail watched as her daughter—pretty in pink taffeta and infinitely grave—lined up with the other small girls to perform a few simple steps and some arm gestures as background to the older dancers at the center of the stage.

“She didn’t mess up at all,” Abigail whispered, leaning over toward Thomas and speaking into his ear so as not to disturb anyone else. “Most of the other girls did. Did you see?”

The corner of Thomas’s mouth quirked up. “I saw.” He didn’t make as much of an effort to keep his voice down as she had.

Leaning over, she whispered, “Her hair looks really good. Who did it?”

Mia’s hair had been braided up and twisted prettily around her head, a much more sophisticated hairdo than anything Abigail ever had time for.

Thomas shook his head and mouthed out, “Shh.” Then he acted like he was absorbed in the middle-school-aged girls dancing a routine as a flock of birds.

“Who did her hair?” Abigail repeated in a hushed voice. She was leaning over toward Thomas and was suddenly conscious of his clean, masculine scent and the way his shirt draped smoothly over his broad shoulders. “Was it your mom?”

Thomas murmured an incoherent response that she took for an affirmation. He was close to his parents, which Abigail had always been happy about, since it was good for him and good for Mia too. She was particularly glad about this fact because the Morgans were currently the only set of active grandparents Mia had.

The recital went on forever. Mia’s main routine was in the middle of the recital. It was the one her class had been working on for months. When her daughter appeared on stage, Abigail leaned forward, holding her breath eagerly as she waited for the music to begin.

Mia went through the steps flawlessly, with all the conscientious precision and dedication with which she approached every challenge. The expression on her face was sober and cautious, and she didn’t miss a single turn of her toes or wave of her hand.

She also didn’t exhibit any real sense of grace or artistry. And, as proud as Abigail was, it was more than evident that Mia wasn’t cut out to be a dancer.

When the little girls filed off the stage, Abigail turned to Thomas with a grin. But she blinked when she saw he was frowning.

“What?” she asked.

With thoughtful eyes still resting on the empty stage, Thomas murmured, “She doesn’t like it.”

“What?” With effort, Abigail kept her voice low, since a new troupe of dancers was lining up to begin the next number.

“She doesn’t like to dance. She did everything perfectly, but she’s not having any fun.”

“She might not be naturally inclined in that direction, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like it.”

Thomas’s frown deepened as he met her eyes. “You saw her face just now. She’s not having fun. Why did you enroll her in the class?”

Now that she understood the direction of Thomas’s concerns, Abigail experienced a rise of defensiveness. “If she really doesn’t like it, she doesn’t have to take another class.” Her glare was cool, although her cheeks were burning the way they always did when she felt like she’d done something wrong. “But I like to give her as many kinds of experience as possible, so she can branch out from always reading and see what else she’s good at.”

“Nothing’s wrong with reading.”

“I know that. I’m happy she’s such a great reader. But she reads all the time. And she doesn’t have very many friends. And she’s really, really shy with kids her own age. I want to make sure she has a lot of social experience so she feels more comfortable. So I enrolled her in the dance class. I thought it would help. I’m sorry if you think I’m torturing the poor thing by making her take a class she doesn’t like.”

Abigail said far more than she intended. She usually didn’t lose control around Thomas anymore—she’d been doing better since they’d given themselves the break—and her emotional response worried her. She really didn’t want to get insecure like this again. She really didn’t want them to start fighting again.

She pulled away from him and stared blindly at the back of the woman's head in front of her, almost shaking with emotion. She was still anxious about parenting, and sometimes she felt overwhelmed with the pressure of having to do so much of it on her own. She loved Mia so much and thought she was so special.

But sometimes she thought toward the future with an ache of dread. And she imagined her smart, shy little bookworm in middle school and high school. During her own school-aged years, Abigail had always felt isolated and mocked because of her old-fashioned clothes and strict upbringing. She didn’t want Mia to experience anything like that.

Thomas adjusted beside her, draping his arm over the back of her seat. He wasn’t putting his arm around her. In fact, he was probably just bracing himself so he could lean over and talk into her ear. But he suddenly felt close to her. His arm brushed against her shoulders.

A year ago, she would have jerked away from his touch.

“Abigail,” Thomas murmured, his voice a little thicker than usual and his breath blowing against her ear. “You’re doing a great job with Mia. I never meant to imply anything else.”

“I know,” she said with a hard swallow. “I just worry sometimes.”

Thomas hadn’t pulled back. He was still very much invading her personal space. “I don’t think you need to worry about this. Not everyone has to be popular in school. That’s pretty minor in the big picture. We make sure she’s happy and secure about the important things, and let everything else fall where it does.”

Abigail had no idea how he’d read her mind so precisely. With a little hitch in her breath, she turned to gaze up at him. Their faces were only inches apart, and the look in his eyes was intimate. Certain. Strangely reassuring.

It had been a long time since she’d felt that kind of support from Thomas, and the resulting emotion caused her vision to blur, smudging the lines of his handsome features. “Yeah,” she breathed.

Even she wasn’t sure if the word was an agreement or a question.

“Yeah,” Thomas said, his face momentarily drifting even closer to hers.

The deep expression in his eyes took her off-guard, and she jerked her head away to focus back on the stage, her breathing a little faster than usual.

There might still be hope for their marriage. But even if there wasn’t, they could still work together as parents for Mia. He loved their daughter just as much as she did.

The idea made Abigail feel so much better—like she wasn't entirely alone.

Thomas smoothly retrieved his arm from the back of her seat and pulled out his phone again. Wanting to make sure he knew she appreciated his support, she reached over and put a hand on his knee.

When his eyes darted over to her questioningly, she murmured, “Thank you.”

He twitched his eyebrows in ironic response.

Abigail managed to make it through the rest of the recital without falling asleep, and Mia had a small part in one more routine near the end.

When it was over, she and Thomas went to find Mia. The girl ran toward them as soon as she spotted them, and Abigail sank down to give her a big hug, raving about how wonderfully she’d done.

Mia beamed and squirmed appreciatively and then turned a little hesitantly toward Thomas, like she wasn’t sure what his reaction would be.

“Absolutely perfect,” he said, with impressive gravity. When Mia giggled and threw herself at him, he leaned over and picked her up into an affectionate hug.

Abigail watched as her husband embraced their daughter, holding her tightly, with naked tenderness, as if the girl was precious. She felt deeply touched and a little confused.

Only recently had Thomas had started hugging Mia like that. He rarely had when they were together. He’d always been too busy and distracted with work, and even his physical affection had been minimal.

But, sometime during the last year, that had clearly changed.

Still held in her father’s arms, Mia turned back to look at Abigail. “We’re going out for pizza!”

Abigail grinned. “Sounds yummy. I hope you have a really good time.” Thomas’s weekend with Mia didn’t end until the next day, so Mia’s supper plans were his decision.

Mia’s beaming smile faltered as Thomas put her back on the ground. “You’re going to come with us, aren’t you?”

“Oh,” Abigail said, with a pang of anxiety. She hated to crush her daughter’s bright mood. “It’s your time with your daddy tonight.”

Her worried gaze alternating between Thomas and Abigail, Mia said, “But Daddy said you could come with us.”

“Only if Mommy doesn’t have other plans,” Thomas put in softly.

Abigail’s eyes flashed questioningly to Thomas, seeking affirmation that the invitation to join them was genuine. When he nodded in answer to her silent question, she smiled at Mia. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than have pizza with you.”

"Do you see how pretty my hair is?" Mia said, twirling around so Abigail could admire her hairstyle.

"It's gorgeous."

"Daddy did it for me. It took him
ages
to get it right!"

Abigail gasped in shock at this piece of information and cut her eyes back to Thomas.

But he was pretending he'd gotten a call.

Abigail was wiping her kitchen counter on Sunday when she noticed that it was almost nine o’clock.

She dried off her hands and walked down the hall to glance into Mia’s room. The girl was already in bed, under the covers and holding a book up as she read.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Abigail asked, coming into the room and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Yes.” Mia was usually good about going to bed on time because that meant she got to read without interruption.

“Are you going to say goodnight to me, or should I slink off, despairing that my Mia wouldn’t give me a kiss?”

The girl snorted and laid down her book open on the bed beside her. “Don’t be silly, Mommy.”

Abigail chuckled and leaned down to pull Mia into a hug, exhaling with affection as the little arms wrapped around her neck tightly.

“So you had a good weekend with Daddy?” Abigail asked as she straightened up.

“Yes. We had fun. He told me next time we could go to a big bookstore in Dalton and pick out books.”

“That will be a lot of fun. There’s a great big one there. So this weekend, you went to see Ellie, and then had your ballet recital, and then went out to dinner with me and Daddy. What else did you do this weekend?

“He made pancakes,” Mia said, her sober face starting to glow as she remembered. “They were great big, and he made faces on them. One of them looked like Baxter!” She held up her favorite stuffed dog to emphasize her point.

“He did?” Abigail couldn’t help but smile at her daughter’s obvious delight at the memory. “Did he use chocolate chips and whipped cream to make the faces?” For a moment, she wanted so much to be part of the pancake-making episode that her chest ached with the feeling. Thomas was usually a very serious man, so the times he relaxed and had fun had always meant so much to her. She could picture his smile even now, and she felt a pull of longing so strong it took her breathe away.

She was convinced the break they were taking was a good thing for both of them. She was starting to feel refreshed, like she might have the energy to tackle their relationship again.

But she hadn’t seen him much lately because of it, and she missed him.

Mia hadn’t noticed her distraction and was answering the question happily. “No. I wanted whipped cream, but he said it would mess up the faces. He used blueberries and strawberries and dried cranberries and raisins and pieces of this orange fruit.” Her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t remember what it was called. He said it grew in tropics.”

Abigail hazarded a guess. “Mangoes?”

Mia gave a satisfied nod, her glasses slipping down her nose. “Yes. Mangoes.” She giggled. “They were funny faces. He made one that looked like you.”

“He did? Did it have a big nose and funny hair?”

“No,” Mia said, frowning disapprovingly. “It was pretty. We both thought so.”

Abigail felt another emotional tug at the idea that Thomas still thought she was pretty—even her representation on a pancake. “What else did you do besides eating pancakes?”

“We read a lot. We read two whole books. Long ones!”

“What do you mean 'we'? He read them too?”

Mia huffed like her mother was being dense and slow. “Yes, he read them. We read them together. He reads and then I read.”

Abigail blinked, vaguely baffled by the incongruous picture her daughter’s words evoked. “You mean you read them out loud?”

“Yes. That’s how we read.”

Swallowing, Abigail tried to process what she’d heard. She was so overwhelmed by the knowledge that Thomas had starting sitting with his daughter and reading for hours that her vision blurred over briefly.

He hadn’t come home until after bedtime on Mia’s third birthday, causing the girl to cry herself to sleep. Sometimes, when they’d been together, days had gone by when he hadn’t seen his daughter at all because of his long hours at the hospital. He hadn’t wanted to take his current position, even though his work schedule would be much less stressful and he’d have a lot more time for family, because it wasn’t as impressive a step in his career.

He’d ended up taking it anyway, but that was after their marriage had already crashed and burned. And he’d made it very clear that he was taking it begrudgingly and resented Abigail for making him do it.

The knowledge that he’d changed—that he was trying so hard and keeping it private so she wouldn’t even know—meant so much to her that she literally started to shake.

“Are you okay, Mommy?” Mia asked.

Abigail quickly pulled herself together, not wanting Mia to get concerned. “Yes, I’m okay.”

Mia had obviously been doing some thinking of her own. “Do you think Daddy loves me more now than when I was little?”

Abigail tensed up and focused again on Mia, who was frowning thoughtfully. “What? Why do you ask that, sweetie?”

“Because he seems to love me more now.”

Evidently, Mia’s thoughts had gone down the same paths as Abigail’s, but the girl was even less equipped to understand the transformation than Abigail was.

With a catch in her throat, Abigail gathered her daughter into a tight hug. “No, baby. He’s always loved you. Daddy has always loved you so much.”

“But he didn’t used to hang out with me.” Mia snuggled against her, not trying to pull out of the embrace like she sometimes did.

Abigail took a minute to control her emotions. She tried so hard to make sure her baby was perfectly safe, perfectly happy, perfectly loved, but there was so much she couldn’t control. Turning that control over to God where her daughter was concerned had always been a struggle for her, and it didn’t get any easier as Mia got older.

“Daddy has a very hard job” Abigail said, making her voice as gentle as she could, praying she was handling it right. “Sometimes it takes all of his time. He always wants to hang out with you as much as he can. But, even when he can't, he still loves you. He always loves you, sweetie. And, if sometimes, he can’t spend as much time with you, he still loves you.”

“I don’t think he will.”

Abigail actually gasped. “You don’t think he will love you?”

“No.” The girl looked at her like she was being silly again. “I don’t think later on he’ll stop hanging out with me.”

Abigail tried to answer but couldn’t, suddenly wishing Thomas was here too. He always seemed to know what to do in tricky situations like this. He was smarter than anyone she’d ever known.

“Daddy likes to hang out with me,” Mia added, as if her earlier point needed more explanation. “And he’s not as sad as he used to be.”

“What do you mean? When was he sad?”

“Before,” Mia explained, waving her hand as if that was plenty of explanation. “But he’s not like that anymore.”

Abigail’s head was spinning with so many questions and feelings she had no way of sorting them out. Afraid that, if she spoke, she would say something stupid, something she couldn’t take back, she decided to let the subject go until she’d thought through the best way to handle it.

She leaned down to give Mia a kiss on the forehead. “Daddy loves you so much. Just like me. I’m glad you had a good time with Daddy.”

Mia sighed happily. “Me too.”

They said their regular nighttime prayers together, and then Abigail stood up. “Turn the light off at nine-thirty. I’ll come to check.”

When Mia held up Baxter, Abigail gave the stuffed dog a kiss. “Goodnight, Baxter.” Then she leaned down to kiss the little mouth Mia was pursing up expectantly. “Goodnight, Mia.”

“Night night, Mommy.”

Abigail left the room, her feelings in an uproar. She had no idea what to think about so much of the discussion she’d just had with her daughter.

She almost called up Thomas right then—since she wanted so much to hear his voice—but she stopped herself. They were obviously both really trying to work on their personal issues during their break, and she didn’t want to mess things up by moving too quickly.

There were so many lingering difficulties between them, and if their marriage and their history had taught them anything, it was that simply trying wasn’t always enough to mend what was broken.

***

“Mommy! Daddy’s here!” Mia’s shout from the living room carried through the house to Abigail’s bedroom, where she was staring into her closet.

“I’m coming,” Abigail called back. “Don’t open the door unless you know for sure it’s him.”

“I heard his voice. He told me through the door.”

“All right. You can let him in. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Abigail dug through the clothes that were stuffed into the not-large-enough closet. There had to be something she could wear for her function tonight that would make her look respectable.

Her bed was piled with outfits she’d already tried on and discarded. She’d gained about ten pounds since she’d split up with Thomas—mostly because she was too busy to work out or to always prepare healthy foods—but she hadn’t fully restocked her wardrobe. She had decent clothes for work and casual, but these dinners with potential donors that were happening more often now were a stretch of her resources.

She had another one tonight, with the same donors they’d had dinner with over the weekend—and Thomas had suggested he come stay with Mia instead of a babysitter, since he wasn’t on call.

Pulling out a flattering gray top with a lowish neckline and a sleek black skirt, she decided they would have to do and she left them draped on the bed, ready to put on later. Then she headed toward the living room to make sure Mia and Thomas were all right.

She found them on the couch together with a book between them. It was an endearing sight. Thomas wore a black crew-neck shirt and beat-up tan trousers, while Mia was already dressed in her pink PJ’s and bunny slippers. Abigail felt a familiar clench in her heart as she saw them.

Mia was leaning against his side, and one of his arms was around her as he held the book out for both of them to see. He appeared to be trying to find the page they’d left off on.

The size of the book made Abigail blink. “What are you reading?”

“
Little Women
,” Mia said happily. “We started last weekend, and we're already on chapter four!”

Abigail’s eyes widened. While fairly tame,
Little Women
was definitely not written for six-year-old girls, and it included a somewhat traumatic death scene.

Thomas met her eyes blandly, raising his brows in what was almost a challenge.

She’d said he could try to find something better than the fairy school books, and he’d taken her up on it.

Abigail asked, “Are you enjoying the book, Mia?”

“Yes. It’s good. Sometimes it’s confusing but Daddy explains. He says that writers today are lazy, and that people used to be able to write better.”

Abigail couldn’t help but chuckle, but she was genuinely concerned about how Mia would handle the much more adult second half of the book.

Mia prattled on happily. “He says that it is two books put into one and that we only get to read the first book now. I have to wait until I’m bigger to read the second book. Do you think that’s right, Mommy?”

Letting out a gust of relieved laughter, Abigail said, “Yes, Daddy is right about that. You won’t like the second book yet. I’m sure he’ll find you something else good when you finish the first book.”

She was smiling as she met Thomas’s eyes, and his held clever amusement that had always been characteristic of him. Warmth filled her chest and her belly as they kept smiling at each other—completely in sync, completely understanding one another.

The feeling was so deep that Abigail actually took a step toward him, wanting to reach out and touch him.

“Oh. Okay,” Mia said, blissfully ignorant of the feeling sparking in the air between her parents. She turned to peer up at Thomas’s face. “Mommy’s going to the symphony with Mr. Foster.”

Thomas broke their shared gaze, and his eyebrows arched dramatically. “I thought it was a work function.”

Abigail felt off-stride by how close she’d felt to Thomas just now and then the sudden interruption. “It is a work function. We’re just going with the potential donors to dinner and the symphony. Mia, Mr. Foster is there because he’s my boss, but the dinner is about work. You know that.”

“Okay.”

Abigail wished she’d followed up on her concerns over the weekend and talked to Mia about Mr. Foster this week.

“Have you ever been to the symphony, Daddy?”

“I have.”

“Did you ever take Mommy to the symphony?”

“I did.” His green eyes shifted over to Abigail, and they took on a certain expression she’d almost forgotten.

Abigail sucked in her breath, feeling a flash of response to the memory he’d evoked with his look. Once again, deep feeling rushed through her, but this time it was of a different variety.

She and Thomas had gone to the symphony more than once in the years they were together, but she vividly remembered one particular time. Knew that evening was on his mind too.

Flustered and flushed, Abigail murmured, “I’m going to get ready now. Have fun reading.”