Summer Shadows (26 page)

All he was certain of was that Abby didn’t suspect him, and that was what mattered in the long run.

As he pulled into his garage, he wished there were some way he could be present to see her face at his preemptive strike. It probably said terrible things about his character—or lack of character—but he wanted to know that she was suffering at least as much as he was.

Tomorrow the destruction of Abigail Patterson would begin.

A
BBY ROSE FROM
her desk in the back corner of the library where the children’s collection was housed, absently rubbing the ache in her hip. She’d been sitting too long. There was just time, late in the afternoon of her second full day at her new job, to check out her little kingdom before she left for home.

The children’s section of the library had been the recipient of a large grant last year, and not only had the book collection been expanded significantly but also wonderful peripherals had been added—extra computers, educational software and games, books on tape, and a small but fine collection of children’s art, all reproductions of course. New furniture in bold primary colors made the area attractive and inviting.

She wandered around her domain, reveling in the fact that she was the one in charge. She had achieved this goal against the odds even if she hadn’t yet gained her larger goal of independence. Not that she’d given up that struggle. No, sirree, Bob. In fact, she had just begun to fight.

She came to a computer screen stalled halfway through a learning game. Undoubtedly some mother’s patience had run out at this point. Abby hit choice
B
with a touch of the mouse, and the computer said, “You are so smart! Congratulations.” Applause rang
behind the words. She grinned and set the game back at the beginning for the next little user. She stopped to straighten a toppling pile of videos sitting on the floor beside a little girl with her nose in
Ramona the Brave
. The child never noticed her, a fact that delighted Abby.

I want to turn little girls like her into modern day Megg Ropers, well-educated women who, though they might not learn Greek, Latin, and philosophy as Megg did, love books and learning
.

Tomorrow would be her first opportunity in a group setting with StoryTime at ten. She had her book picked out, her props ready. She couldn’t wait for all the little eager faces to grow fascinated by the story, to watch the children edge closer and closer to her as they forgot the real world and lived the adventure.

With the summer season about to explode, next week StoryTime would move to twice weekly on Tuesdays and Fridays. She sighed happily.

She stopped by the children’s audio collection to straighten and re-alphabetize it. She was working on the third shelf when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find her boss, head librarian Nan Fulsom.

“Have you got a minute, Abby?”

Nan looked so serious that she made Abby nervous. She nodded. “Of course.”

“Come to my office, will you please?” Though phrased as a question, it was an order.

Nan turned and walked toward the front of the building without waiting to see if Abby followed. With a frown of concern, she did. When they entered the office and Nan closed the door behind her, Abby’s mouth went dry.

She was in trouble; she knew it. She just didn’t know why. She ran through the last two days in her mind. As far as she could tell, nothing had happened to precipitate Nan’s abrupt attitude.

Nan took her seat behind her desk, indicating a red faux leather chair for Abby. She sat and watched Nan lean forward to finger a piece of notebook paper that sat in the middle of her amazingly neat desktop. Nan’s computer sat on a lower desk that formed an
L
with the main desk. A screen saver picture of Nan with some people Abby assumed were her family flashed, only to
slowly diminish in size and bounce around the screen before popping back to full size again.

“I received an unsettling letter today,” Nan announced, drawing Abby’s eyes back to her. “I’m not certain what to make of it.”

Abby nodded even as she wondered what this could possibly have to do with her.

Nan was silent for a minute, studying the paper in front of her. Then she held it out to Abby. “I think you need to read this.”

With a strong feeling of premonition making her stomach flip, Abby took the proffered paper and began to read. She was mindful of Nan’s eyes on her. Watching for her reaction?

Abby felt like a fist had been thrust into her gut. She stared at the accusatory words. Someone thought she was a danger to the children? She, Abby Patterson? But that was ridiculous! She loved children, absolutely loved them.

“Who?” she managed to get out between her dry lips. She scanned the letter. “There’s no signature.” She looked at Nan.

“I know.” Nan reached for the paper. “That fact makes me very uncomfortable. Something isn’t right here, but I still feel that I must ask about the contents.” She held her hands out, palms up. “I’m accountable for this library and all who work and visit here. I have to check.”

Abby swallowed hard. “You mean you want to know whether I was under a psychiatrist’s care?”

Nan nodded.

“Is that legal?” Abby asked. “Your asking, I mean. Certainly there’s nothing illegal or wrong in someone seeing a psychiatrist.”

Nan again nodded. “I just need to know, Abby. I don’t want to
know what you saw one about, if you did, and I don’t plan to tell anyone. I just want to know.”

“Are you aware that I’m a widow?”

“I didn’t know.” Nan glanced at her screen saver and the tall, thin man with glasses who stood with his arm about her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

Abby shrugged. “It was three years ago. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.” She shivered.
Maddie. Sam
. “An automobile accident killed my husband and our two-year-old daughter Madeleine.” This time it was Abby who glanced at the screen saver and the three daughters ranged around Nan and her husband. Three living, vibrant daughters.

Nan studied her daughters too. “How did you stand it?”

“I didn’t have a choice.” They were both silent for a moment. “Yes, I did see a psychologist for a time for grief counseling. I saw him weekly for six months, then once a month for six months. He was a very wise man, a Christian. He helped me a lot. Time has helped too.” Abby smiled without humor. “Though I have to admit, seeing your three daughters still stabs me in the heart.”

Nan looked away, staring out her window at the parking lot half full of cars.

“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Abby said quickly. “I’m not going to fall apart because your girls are alive and mine isn’t. I would never wish for you that pain. It’s that I’ll never know what Maddie might have been at the ages of your girls.”

Nan turned back to her computer picture, nodding. “I understand.”

She didn’t, Abby knew. No one did unless she’d been there, but Abby appreciated Nan’s attempt at empathy.

Her boss studied the letter lying on her desk, her lip curled in distaste. “Do you have any idea why someone would write something like this? Do you have any enemies? Any personal troubles that would cause someone to attack you?”

“No one, at least no one I know of. Certainly no one from home. I only moved here on Friday. I haven’t had time to develop enemies yet. Not that I’m planning to.” A thought struck her. “But I did witness a hit-and-run Friday. Maybe this note is related to that, though I don’t see how.”

Nan considered the possibility for a moment. “I don’t see how either, but even if it were, how would someone know such personal information?”

Abby shivered. It was creepy to think of someone delving into the most private parts of her life. “That’s a very good question. To my knowledge, no one in Seaside is privy to that part of my life. It’s not the kind of thing you tell people. Hello, I’m Abby and I was in counseling for a year.”

Nan gave a small laugh at the comment.

Abby continued, “It’s the Internet, I imagine. Someone who knows how to get around can find out almost anything he wants about anyone.”

“What I really don’t like,” Nan said, “is the fact that the letter’s anonymous. Someone’s a coward, willing to throw dirt but unwilling to face the accused.”

Abby felt sick at the thought of someone purposely writing a nasty letter about her. What possible motive was there to attack her? She was such a Goody Two-shoes that no one had ever accused her of doing anything wrong in her whole life. Except Marsh, of course. She smiled. He thought she was an idiot whose sole purpose in life was to make him miserable.

For some reason, thinking of him made her feel better. It also made her want to discuss the letter with him. He had such a practical mind. “May I have a copy of the letter?”

Nan nodded. “I’m sorry about this, Abby. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t want you to worry. I’ve had at least three people seek me out today to tell me how much they like the new children’s librarian.”

Abby left Nan’s office feeling somewhat better, but there was a definite prickling of unease every time she glanced at her copy of the hateful letter.

Who?

And why?

Lord, what’s going on here? I feel like Anne Boleyn, accused over something that was way beyond her control. She had the audacity to birth a girl to Henry VIII and I to mourn over my family and seek help coping with the soul-deep pain
. She gave a wry smile.
At least I’m not about to be beheaded
.

When she reached her desk, she unlocked the bottom drawer,
pulling out her purse. She folded the letter carefully and slid it into the inside zipper pouch. She glanced at her watch. 5:20. Time to start for home.

Home. Her stomach cramped again. She knew her attitude was silly, maybe even sinful. Still, she felt that her mother had taken over her home. The apartment was such an overwhelming symbol to her of her need to stand by herself, to establish her own life based on her own desires and the leading of the Lord, not on her parents’ wishes, not on Sam’s. Homeless, that’s what she was, figuratively if not literally.

At this moment Abby didn’t much like her mother.

Marching side by side with the resentment was guilt. Abby knew better than anyone—except maybe her father—all that her mother had done for her since the accident. She had held her when Abby cried, had cried with her, had sat with her hour after hour both in the hospital and at home, reading to her, talking to her, encouraging her, had transported her to appointment after appointment week after week, month after month. That Abby should feel so angry at that person revealed the true nastiness of her heart.

How was it possible to love and resent the same person with equal intensity? If things kept going like this, maybe she’d end up at that psychiatrist’s office yet!

Stop stalling, girl. Go home
.

The trouble was that tonight she wouldn’t have Celia and the girls as buffers. It’d be just her and Mom, who would undoubtedly want to talk “girl talk” for hours. It was more than she could deal with, especially with that letter burning a hole in her purse. With her nose for trouble both real and imagined, Mom would ferret out the letter in no time. The last thing Abby wanted was for her to have additional ammunition in the fight against Seaside.

With a sigh, Abby left the library and climbed into her car. Instead of turning toward home, however, she drove downtown. The new Kmart was just what she needed to distance herself for another hour or so. It could also give her a project to fill the night.

In the bath department Abby found exactly what she wanted, a wicker wall unit of two shelves. The only trouble was that it came only in white, and she wanted forest green. So she’d paint it. She smiled. Something else to fill the evening.

As she climbed back into her car with the wicker shelves, the green paint, and all the accompanying paraphernalia, guilt again seized her. She sat for a minute with her eyes closed, praying.

Lord, I don’t know how to handle this. Most people rebel in their teens, and their outlook at that time is so self-centered that they think little of the parents they may be hurting. Leave it to me to wait until almost thirty
. She sighed at her own folly.
All I keep thinking is how I’d feel if Maddie had grown up and turned against me. Not that I’ve actually turned against Mom
.

Oh, no?
seemed to thunder from on high.
“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”

She sighed again. All those verses memorized as a kid to earn free weeks at camp leaped to her mind at the most inopportune moments. How pointed they often were. How they could pierce her heart.

Okay, Lord, I get it
. She reached in her purse for her cell phone.
She may be wrong, but that’s no reason for me to be nasty in return
. Abby punched in the apartment number.
I just don’t know a nice way to separate myself from her interference
. She listened to the ringing at the other end.
I mean, if I’m kind, won’t she think that’s an invitation to be more controlling? Won’t she think I’m giving in again?

“Mom, it’s me,” she said when the receiver was picked up. “I had to run an errand. I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

“Where are you, Abby? Did something happen? Did you fall? I’ve been so worried! You’re late.”

Abby closed her eyes as she listened to the concern and the reprimands. The unhealthy combination made her skin crawl. She glanced at her watch. “It’s not that late, Mom. It isn’t even six-fifteen yet.”

“You finish work at five. Your drive takes less than five minutes. You’re late.”

Abby leaned her head against the rest, aware that her back hurt, her hip ached, and she had a killer headache. “Is there anything I can pick up at the grocery store for us?” She forced her voice to sound neutral.