Summer Shadows (12 page)

Abby nodded. “I feel so foolish that I can’t separate the two.”

“Was it a hit-and-run like Karlee?”

“No, a man ran a stop sign because he was trying to dial on his cell phone and wasn’t paying attention. He hit us going full speed.”

Celia shivered at the image. “Were you driving?”

Abby shook her head. “My husband. He was killed too.”

“Oh, Abby!” Celia couldn’t imagine losing both husband and child at the same time. At least Eddie went years ago. She had only one tragedy to cope with today.

Abby shrugged. “It was three years ago. You’d think I’d be over it by now, wouldn’t you?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” This was territory Celia was familiar with, and she could speak with authority here. “My husband left me three years ago. While I’m over it now, I know it takes a long, long time to come to terms with such deep hurts. Besides, I don’t know that you ever get over the death of a child.”

Celia watched Abby as tension sluiced away and her whole body relaxed. She turned to Celia with a grateful look. “Thank you. That’s the second time you’ve said exactly the right thing.”

Celia tucked a leg beneath her as she snuggled more deeply into her chair. “People have been giving you the old get-over-it line?”

“All the time. Especially my parents. It’s not that they’re insensitive.
They just want me to get on with my life.”

“Would that it were that easy.”

The women looked at each other with perfect understanding.

Celia rested her head on the back of her chair. It was her turn to study the crack in the ceiling. “When Eddie left us, he looked right at me. ‘Let me be honest here, Celia,’ he said. ‘I don’t love you. I don’t think I ever did. I don’t even like you, and I don’t care what happens to you. If you can find me, you can try to make them make me pay child support, but I don’t think you’ll find me.’ And he walked out the door.” She glanced at Abby to deliver the kicker. “It was Christmas Eve.”

Abby looked properly, satisfyingly aghast. “So what did you do?”

“Cried all night.”

“Just one night?”

“Well, the next day being Christmas, I had to act excited for Jess. Karlee was too little to know what was going on. After Christmas, then I cried a bunch more. Not over Eddie, you understand. It was almost a relief that he had gone, even though his farewell speech devastated me. I would have stayed in our marriage because I believe that’s what the Bible asks of us, but it would have been strictly obedience to God that kept me there, not love for my husband. He had long ago killed any affection I felt. I cried because I was terrified.”

“I don’t blame you, alone with two little girls to support. When Sam died, at least I had insurance money.”

Insurance money. The luxury of it made Celia’s mouth water. “I married right out of high school with hormones calling the shots. I thought Eddie was wonderful.” She snorted. “I had the brains of a nit.”

“Come on. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Celia smiled. This Abby was a nice person. She was a good listener too. Celia found herself saying things she’d never said to anyone. It must be a combination of late night, the darkened room, and relief that today hadn’t ended in tragedy.

“Once we were married, Eddie decided he didn’t want the responsibility or the constraint of a wife.”

“A little late to come to that conclusion,” Abby said dryly.

“Tell me about it. Jess came along within the first year, and he hated having a kid. He went out every night with the guys, partying,
drinking, living it up like he was single. When Karlee was born, it was too much for him. By then he’d disappear for weeks at a time, and I knew it wasn’t the guys keeping him company anymore. Then he disappeared period.”

“You don’t know where he is?”

“I have no idea.”
And I don’t want to
.

Abby looked at the sleeping girls, then back at Celia. “How have you managed?”

“The year after he left, I waitressed nights. The lady next door baby-sat. By that I mean she let the girls sleep in her spare room, charging me an exorbitant amount for the convenience.” She shrugged. “At least I was home when they were awake.”

“When did you sleep?”

“I didn’t. That’s why I came to the conclusion that something had to give.”

“I had a point like that, too.”

“When you couldn’t sleep?”

“When I knew something had to give.”

Celia waited for clarification, but none came. “What’d you do?”

“Nothing, at least not right away.” Abby looked uncomfortable, embarrassed. “I used to be a terrible wimp.”

Celia laughed. She couldn’t help it. That this classy looking lady with the slim crossed legs and elegantly expensive boiled wool jacket had ever been anything but aware and in charge was hard to imagine.

Abby gave a sad smile. “It’s true. I allowed myself to be manipulated for years, and I didn’t even realize it.”

So, Celia conceded, maybe looks could be deceiving. Hadn’t she once thought Eddie the handsomest thing on earth? “So what happened?”

Abby took a deep breath, almost like she was getting the courage to confess to something horrendous. “I’m an only child, and I was the good girl, the kind all parents want. I enjoyed being good, pleasing my parents. I loved them. I still do.”

“But?” Celia prompted.

Abby grimaced. “It’s embarrassing.”

“And my story’s not? Hormones calling life’s most important choice except Jesus? Wandering husband? Brains seriously lacking?”

Abby shifted, rubbing her right thigh. “I commuted to college,
never leaving my pink-and-white bedroom. I worked for my father’s firm in the summers. I rode to work with him. At college I met Sam, a handsome, very assured guy who seemed to be fascinated with me. I learned too late that it wasn’t me; it was my pliable nature. He loved to control me. When I started to develop a mind of my own at about twenty-four, he didn’t like it one bit.” She looked disgusted at herself. “Twenty-four. Talk about a late bloomer.”

“What in the world did you do that upset him?” Somehow Celia couldn’t see this sweet woman doing anything rebellious.

“I decided I wanted to go back to college for a master’s in library science.”

Celia waited for more, but Abby seemed finished. “That’s it?”

Abby nodded. “That’s it. That’s the whole dirty truth. I wanted to go back to school.”

Celia couldn’t help it. She laughed again. “Oh, you rebel, you.”

“After sweet little Abby for all those years, it must have seemed that way to Sam. He was undoubtedly waiting for me to come out dressed all in black with piercings all over my body and hair a different color every day.”

“Why didn’t he want you to get your degree?”

“He wouldn’t be there on campus this time, guiding my every step, my every thought. I’d be all by myself, thinking by myself.”

“Dangerous, dangerous.”

“Apparently he thought so. I, on the other hand, found it painful. When you realize your husband loves you conditionally, it hurts.”

Celia snorted. “Try when he doesn’t love you at all.”

Abby shifted again, tucking her left leg under her. “So what did you do? If you didn’t feel you could keep on waitressing, what?”

“I saw an ad on TV for a school for massage therapy.”

Abby sat up straight, all attention. “You’re a massage therapist?”

“Yeah. Why?”
Don’t tell me you’re one of those who think we all work in seedy massage parlors with clients who come in with bags over their heads to prevent recognition
.

“I need to find one.”

Relief rolled through Celia. Abby wasn’t like Aunt Bernice.

“I’m new in town, so I need to locate a massage therapist to keep my hip and leg from getting too tight. If they cramp, then my back acts up, then my neck. You know the drill, I’m sure.” Abby rubbed her hand up and down her right hip and thigh.

“I’d love to help you. What’s wrong with your hip? Congenital problem?”

“From the accident. Our car was pushed into the tractor-trailer waiting at the stop sign on the other side of the street. I was sitting in the passenger side and got pinned against the truck. My hip was crushed.”

Now that she thought about it, Celia realized that Abby had limped when she walked across the room. “Call Pinky at Seaside Spa tomorrow, and we’ll set you up with an appointment.”

Abby nodded. “I’ll ask for you.”

Celia grinned. “What if I’m no good?”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“I am good. I graduated at the top of my class.” She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice.

“How did you manage to keep working, care for the girls, and go to school all at once?”

Celia rubbed her forehead. Even thinking about the past year could give her a migraine. “We moved in with Great-aunt Bernice.”

“From your reaction, I take it we’re talking last resort?”

“Aunt Bernice is—difficult, to put it kindly. She didn’t want us with her, though Poor Uncle Walter didn’t seem to mind.”

“Poor
Uncle Walter?”

Celia brushed a piece of blanket fluff off her shirt. “Everyone puts the
poor
in front of his name. It’s Poor Walter like it’s Mary Lou or Billy Bob. After all, he’s lived with Aunt Bernice for almost forty years.” Celia sighed. “They’re just about the only relatives I have and are definitely the only ones with money. I didn’t know where else to turn. I was scared to death when I asked if we could live there for a year while I went to school. ‘Well, girl,’ Aunt Bernice said to me, ‘I don’t know about helping a woman who chased away her husband.’ ”

Abby looked horrified. “She didn’t actually say that!”

“Oh, yes she did. ‘I’m a good, God-fearing Christian, and I’m not sure I want you and those little girls in my house.’ ” Celia
raised an eyebrow. “It was always
my
house, never
ours
, though Poor Uncle Walter paid all the bills.”

“What did he do for a living?”

“He was a mailman, the kind who walks his territory every day with a huge pack of mail hanging from his shoulder. But at night he played the stocks and securities markets on the Internet. He might be a Milquetoast, but he’s a whiz at investing.”

“So Poor Uncle Walter isn’t so poor after all.”

Celia gave a puff of frustrated laughter. “Big house. Beautiful furniture and clothes, but it wasn’t until I said that I’d work weekends and give her all I earned that she said we could stay. All I wanted to do was learn a way to care for my girls without hovering at poverty level for the rest of my life.” She mimicked Aunt Bernice right down to the toss of her head. “ ‘And massaging people’s naked bodies is the way to do that?’ ”

Abby appeared fascinated with her story, so Celia continued. “I told her I didn’t want handouts. I wanted to be responsible the way God wants me to be. Responsible. That was the word that did the trick. Or maybe it was mentioning God. For nine interminable months, the girls and I lived in Aunt Bernice and Poor Uncle Walter’s museum, taking care not to touch anything or to express an independent idea. Aunt Bernice never ceased complaining about the great ‘upsetment’ they were to her. Leaving Aunt Bernice’s forever was almost as sweet as graduating at the top of my class and proving to Eddie in absentia that I was smart and capable.”

Celia giggled suddenly. “Poor Uncle Walter took advantage of graduation to prove he wasn’t quite the Milquetoast I thought he was. He slipped me an envelope graduation night. ‘Hardship pay,’ he called it. The envelope contained a cashier’s check for five thousand dollars.”

Abby laughed. “I think I like Poor Uncle Walter.”

“Everybody does, though they pity him more.”

Both women fell silent for a minute, a comfortable silence that signified an ease with each other. Celia was filled with hope. Maybe Abby would be the friend she was longing for.

Abby rose and limped to the bed. She straightened the already straight sheet and blanket covering the girls. Celia had to smile at her care of the girls, almost like they were hers.

“So,” Abby asked as she took her seat, “do you like massage therapy? Was it worth the terrible year?”

“I can’t believe how much I love it. I’m helping people, making them feel better. Pinky—that’s my boss at Seaside Spa—she’s great too.”

“How long have you been there?”

“Two months. I just hope she understands about tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“I can’t let the girls go back to the same baby-sitter, not after today. So I’ll have to stay with them.” She smiled at her daughters’ sleeping forms. “Besides, I’ll probably have to take Karlee home.”

“Is there any reason why I can’t watch the girls?” Abby asked.

“What?” Celia looked at the woman she’d met less than an hour ago.

“I’d like to watch them. I like kids. I’m a children’s librarian.”

Lord, is she an answer to my prayer, or would I be foolish to trust her? I know I like her, and I appreciate her coming to check on Karlee. But let her have the girls for the day?
“I don’t know.”

“You’d be doing me a favor.” Abby pressed her argument. “It would help relieve my guilt, and it would be like having Maddie back for a day.”

A knock on the door saved Celia from having to give an answer before she had time to think. “Come in.” She jumped to her feet as a man in a white jacket with a stethoscope sticking out of one pocket walked in. The doctor had arrived.

“Hello, Ms. Fitzmeyer. How are you this evening—or should I say tonight?”

Celia stepped forward, hand extended. “Dr. Schofield. I’m so glad to see you.” When had doctors gotten to be so handsome? Her pediatrician when she was a kid was a wizened old man who looked like the trolls in the books at school and who had hair growing out of his nose and ears. He was nice enough, a very good doctor, but handsome? Never. Sean Schofield belonged on the cover of
GQ
.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so late in getting to speak with you.” His smile was charming. “It’s been a long day.”

“Tell me about it.” Celia smiled back.

Dr. Schofield moved to the bed and looked at the sleeping girls. He glanced up, flashing his killer grin at Celia again. “You have beautiful daughters.”

He couldn’t have said anything to please her more, and she was certain he knew it. Still it was wonderful to hear. She watched as he quickly and efficiently checked Karlee without waking her, though the little girl made a terrible face when he checked her eyes with his little flashlight.