Abigail Always

by Linda Poitevin

  Husband in hospital.

  Ledgers on desk.

  Mitch has key.

  Questions when I'm back.

  D.

  Abby peeled the note from the glass and read it again, pondering her options. She hated to bother Mitch for the key right now. Maybe she could have him swing by to pick up the box on his way home, and then she could get a start on everything tomorrow.

  The thud of booted feet on thin carpet made her turn. Mitch strode down the corridor toward her, looking apologetic—and pulse-rocketingly pleased to see her. He wore a battered, padded canvas coat, unzipped to reveal his standard garb of blue jeans and plaid work shirt—this one red and black, and unbuttoned far enough to make Abby's gaze drift down from the white flash of his smile. She wrenched her attention back to where it belonged.

  “I just got Derek's text a few minutes ago,” he said when he reached her. “I tried to call to tell you I'd bring the ledgers home after work tonight, but you must have been on the way already.”

  “You still could have called instead of coming over here. It would have been easier for me to turn around than for you to take time to meet me. You're busy, and I wouldn't have minded waiting until tonight for the books.”

  “It's all good. I didn't want you making the trip for nothing, and I'm on a job site not far from here, so it wasn't any trouble.” Mitch reached past her and slid a key into the deadbolt. He gave it a twist, the door swung inward, and he held a hand out in invitation. “After you.”

  The premises of Abrams Construction consisted of three small offices off a front reception area, and a meeting room that Abby estimated would hold ten comfortably. She looked at Mitch in surprise. “I didn't realize your company was this big.”

  Mitch's mouth twisted. “It isn't. Not anymore. We had to downsize quite a bit when Eve got sick. Derek doesn't have the stamina to drive around to job sites, and I didn't have the time, so we didn't take on a lot of new jobs. We let more than half our guys go, including Trevor, our office assistant, and we're just waiting for the lease to run out on this place in March so we can find something smaller and tighten our belts another notch. At least, that was the plan.” He sighed and ran a hand over his head in a familiar gesture of frustration. “Now I don't know what I'm doing.”

  “You're letting me have the ledgers so I can help—unless you'd rather I work here?”

  “No.” He waved a hand. “You'll be more comfortable at ho—the house. It's warmer there, too. Derek keeps this place like an icebox. Come on, his office is this one.”

  Abby followed him through the door to the left. Derek Simmons's office was the antithesis of Mitch's at home—and yes, despite Mitch catching back the word himself just now, that was how she thought of it. Home. At least for now.

  Her gaze traveled the room. Not a single thing looked out of place. All the objects were placed perpendicularly to the walls and each other, four pictures hung in an exact line across one wall and three on another, one plant stood centered on the filing cabinet, and the desktop contained a stapler and pen—both perfectly aligned with one another—and a box marked with “Abigail Jamieson” in precise lettering.

  “Derek is a little... particular,” Mitch said, following her gaze around the room.

  “Thank heavens,” Abby murmured, then smiled at his surprise. “If the books are half as precisely kept as this office, this just became the world's easiest job.”

  “I sincerely hope so. Derek took them over when we laid Trevor off, and I haven't looked at them myself since then. I'd hate for it to be any more trouble than it already is.” Mitch swung the box under one arm. “I'll carry it down to the vehicle for you. You parked at the side?”

  Much to Abby's relief, they took the stairs rather than the elevator. Mitch had been wonderfully brisk and professional since she'd cried all over him on Sunday, but a new level of awareness had opened up between them, and she hadn't quite decided what to do with it—especially when he'd greeted her with a broad smile and his shirt half unbuttoned. She would prefer neither of them acted on it, so she was grateful when he seemed to be of like mind.

  Well, mostly grateful.

  But perhaps a little bit wistful, too. It had been a long time since a man had held her close enough that she could hear his heart beating. A longer time since she'd felt that safe in someone's arms. And an even longer time since—

  Abby stumbled on a stair and tightened her grip on the railing, flushing hot at the direction her mind had taken. Compassion, she reminded herself. That's all it was. That's all you want it to be for now, because you both have a lot to work through this Christmas and—

  “You okay?” Mitch asked over his shoulder as she stumbled again.

  “Fine,” she said. “I'm fine.”

  Or she would be, once she figured out what to do with the spark that had flared inside her at the “for now” part of her thoughts.

  Chapter 39

  Dog's owner called on Wednesday.

  Abby was immersed in a morass of debits and credits for the third day in a row, having discovered that Derek's penchant for extreme order in his office did not, after all, apply to his bookkeeping. The ledgers were a mess—to put it kindly—and so were the company’s finances, if the emerging picture was right, so her heart was already heavy with dread when she dug for the cell phone ringing somewhere beneath the tsunami of papers on the desk. She found it on the fifth ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Abigail Jamieson, please,” said a woman's voice.

  “Speaking.”

  “My name is Heidi Leduc, and I got your name from the humane society. I think you may have my dog.”

  Abby's heart plummeted to her toes. Closing her eyes, she rested an elbow on the desk and cradled her forehead in her hand. “I—uh—we did find a dog, yes. Last Friday.”

  “Ours has been missing since the end of October. A big black Bouvier des Flandres, neutered, no chip.”

  Abby's hand found its way to her mouth, covering it, and she looked across the office to where Dog snoozed by the door, waiting for his girls to come home from school. His girls... except they weren't.

  “Ms. Jamieson?”

  “Hi. Yes. Yes, that sounds like Dog.”

  “Dog?”

  “That's what the girls have been calling him until we knew for sure whether we could—” Abby stopped and took a deep breath. “You'll want to come and see for yourself if it's him.”

  “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  “No! No, it will have to be later. After dinner, so that the girls have a chance to say goodbye, and their dad is home. Please.”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I ask—how did you lose him?”

  “We were moving from Kemptville to a property in the Eastern Townships. He was traveling in the truck with us, and he slipped out when we stopped for gas in Rigaud, just outside of Montreal. My guess is that he was heading for home. We never dreamed he'd make it as far as Ottawa. I'm in town for the day and made a call to the humane society on impulse.”

  That would explain the worn pads on his feet and the weight loss.

  “You must miss him.”

  “With all my heart.”

  Abby's own heart squeezed tight. Devastated, she thought. They'll be devastated. For a second, she considered just hanging up on Heidi Leduc, but decency and common sense prevailed—because of course the humane society had Mitch's address, and wouldn't that be a scene? Instead, she gave Heidi directions.

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Jamieson. I'm so excited to see him—his name is Henry, by the way.”

  “Henry,” Abby repeated, and she could have cried when Dog lifted his head at the sound of the name. She did cry when she ended the call and went to bury her face in the rough, shaggy hair, forgetting all about the strings of figures that had painted a less-than-rosy picture of Mitch's company's future.

  ***

  Dinner was a somber affair that night. Kiana refused to eat and lay in a corner of the kitchen
with her arms around Dog's neck and her head resting on his shoulder, and Rachel and Britt joined her there after just a few bites. Abby was next to give up, carrying her own untouched plate to the counter and putting the contents into a container for lunch the next day on the off chance she ever ate again. Mitch came over to the island as she put the container in the fridge.

  “I knew it would be rough,” he said, his voice a low, raw rumble, “but I didn't think it would be this bad.”

  “Our hopes were up,” Abby replied, crossing her arms and leaning a hip against the cabinet to watch the three girls. “It's been almost a week.”

  Mitch braced both hands on the counter and leaned his weight onto his arms, his shoulders hunched. “Damn it to hell,” he muttered. “This Christmas is rough enough without them losing someone else.”

  “I thought about hanging up on her,” Abby admitted.

  “You should have,” he said, but she knew he didn't mean it.

  Impulsively, she put a hand over one of his. “We'll get through it,” she said. “I promise.”

  “I know.” He sighed. “I just wish—”

  The doorbell rang, and all heads turned toward the hallway. For once, Dog remained quiet, staying with the girls instead of raising his usual ruckus. Mitch's mouth pulled tight.

  “It's almost as if he knows,” he said. He turned his hand over beneath Abby's and gave her fingers a brief squeeze, then released her and strode down the hallway.

  A moment later, Abby heard the door open, then Mitch's greeting, followed by the voice of the woman she'd spoken to earlier. Footsteps came toward the kitchen, and she braced herself and willed the girls to do the same. And then Dog was up and hurling himself at a slight, middle-aged woman with long black braids streaked with grey, and clear, bright eyes the same dark brown as his. Heidi Leduc dropped to her knees, laughing as her face received a thorough washing in between doggy wriggles of pure joy.

  Abby bit her lip and looked at the girls, knowing even before she saw their devastation that they would understand what they saw: the reunification of a dog named Henry with his beloved owner. There was no doubt. Gritting her teeth, she blinked back tears as Rachel slid her arm around Kia's shoulders. In the doorway, the woman rose to her feet, fending off Dog's continued adoration, the fringes on her sheepskin-lined jacket swinging wildly in time with his attempts to climb into her arms.

  “Well,” she said, humor rich in her voice, “I think we can safely say we recognize one another. I can't tell you how glad I am that you found him and took him in, and I don't even know how to start thanking you for taking such good care of him. We were offering a reward. Can I—”

  “No,” Mitch said. “Thank you, but we were happy to look after him.”

  “Are you sure? I know how much he eats, and—”

  “Really.” He cast a speaking look at the huddle of girls by the sliding glass doors. “I think it's best if we get this over with as quickly as possible.”

  “Oh.” Heidi followed his gaze, and her smile faded. She looked genuinely sorry, adding, “Of course. I see what you mean, and yes, we should get going. Thank you again for everything.” She walked down the hallway toward the front door, snapping her fingers, and Dog padded obediently after her.

  From the corner of her eye, Abby saw Kia shrug off Rachel's arm, shaking her head. Her hands flapped at her sides, and she jiggled from foot to foot. As if sensing her distress, Dog stopped a few feet outside the kitchen and looked back over his shoulder.

  “Henry, come,” the woman ordered.

  Dog turned his head toward her, then looked back again at Kia. A low grumble sounded in his chest. Then he sat.

  Out in the hallway, Heidi retraced her steps, coming to stand in front of him. “My goodness,” she said. “I've never seen him do that before.” She peered at the girls, and Abby watched her gaze settle on Kia and soften. “Autism?” she murmured.

  “Among other issues,” Mitch said. “Dog—Henry—seemed to know.”

  “I trained him as a support animal,” Heidi explained. “We visit nursing homes and hospitals. He likes the children's hospital best, and he's particularly good with kids who are on the spectrum.” She fell silent, staring down at the dog, who stared back at her, and Abby could have sworn an entire unspoken conversation passed between them.

  At last, Heidi raised an eyebrow at the creature. “You sure that's what you want?” she asked, and Dog's tail stub wiggled. She shrugged. “All right, my friend. It's your decision.”

  She shifted her attention to Mitch. “It looks like I've wasted your time, Mr. Abrams.” Her tone was brisk. “I don't think this is him after all.”

  Mitch gaped at her. “But you—he—”

  Heidi turned a critical eye on Dog. “Nope. Definitely not. My dog is wider between the eyes. And taller. And he's never this clean, even after I give him a bath. I'm sorry, but he's not my Henry.” Her voice caught a little on the name, and she cleared her throat. “I guess you'll have to keep him.”

  “You—you're—” Abby exchanged looks with Mitch, who appeared as astounded by the turn of events as she was.

  “Ms. Leduc,” he began.

  The woman held up a hand to stop him. “This dog has made his choice, Mr. Abrams. Even if he were mine, I would have to respect that.”

  “At least let me—”

  “The dog has chosen you, Mr. Abrams. That is a gift, not something you pay for.”

  Mitch stared at her, his jaw tight. “You have no idea how much this will mean to them,” he said finally.

  “Oh, I think I do.” Her eyes shiny with unshed tears, Heidi glanced back to Abby. “You'll need to change his name. He needs a name from this family now, to mark his belonging.”

  “Hope,” Abigail said without hesitation. “His name is Hope.” She'd been thinking about it ever since Mitch had told her the girls wanted her to name the animal, because that was what he had brought into this family, and what she herself hoped his continued presence here would remind them of when—as the girls had said—Abby was gone.

  “I like it,” Heidi said. “It fits him.” She went down on one knee and gazed at the dog at eye level. “Do good work here, my friend,” she whispered. “I'll miss you.”

  Dog—now Hope—lifted a giant paw and placed it gently on her bent knee, then leaned forward and swiped her cheek with his tongue, just once. Heidi stood again, wiping her eyes. “Look after him,” she said to Mitch, and then, long braids hanging down a ramrod straight back and hands curled into fists at the ends of fringed sleeves, she left.

  Chapter 40

  Abby handed Mitch a mug of tea as he came back into the kitchen after tucking in the girls—and Hope. She still couldn't quite believe the evening's turn of events, and judging by Mitch's bemused expression, he felt the same.

  “Well,” he said, meeting her gaze.

  “Well,” she echoed. She raised her cup to clink against his. “Here's to miracles?”

  “That's kind of what that was, wasn't it?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I still can't believe she just gave him to us like that.”

  “I think she saw it more as him choosing to stay.”

  Mitch grunted. “It did look that way when he sat down like that, didn't it? He's quite the animal. And the girls like the name you gave him, by the way. So do I. Heidi was right. It fits him—and us.”

  “I'm glad.” Abby hesitated. After all that had happened, it didn't seem right to put a damper on things tonight, but neither did she want to sit on the information she needed to share with Mitch.

  “Something on your mind?”

  She sighed. The sooner he knew...

  “I've been going over the books.”

  Mitch paused mid-sip, regarding her over the rim of the mug. He swallowed his tea. “I'm not hearing good news in your tone.”

  “No. You're not,” she said bluntly, because there was no gentle way to tell him. “Derek's office wasn't an indicator of his bookkeeping skills after all, Mitch. The ledgers are
a mess. Half the entries are in the wrong place, and several months' worth of invoices weren't entered at all.”

  Mitch gaped at her.

  “And that's not the worst of it,” she forged on. “You've maxed out the company credit line and you're two months behind on payments, and your tax returns weren't filed last year.”

  Shocked disbelief stared back at her from the green eyes. “You're kidding me.”

  “I wish I were. But the good news is that you have enough funds in the checking account to make up the missing payments and cover about three months more, and I'm finding a lot of unpaid receivables as well. I'm just not sure it will be enough to keep you afloat long term.”

  “Hell,” he said. “Freaking, goddamn, bloody hell.” He set his mug on the counter and turned away to pace the kitchen, hands on hips, coming to a halt by the sliding doors.

  His reflection in the glass was too dark for Abby to see his expression, but there was no mistaking the weary droop of his head or the sag of his shoulders—a far cry from the buoyant air he'd worn when he'd joined her a few minutes ago. Abby set her own cup on the counter beside his and waited, because she had no words to offer.

  “How long do you think I can keep going?” he asked at last.

  “Four to six months would be my guess. But you're going to need an accountant to do your taxes before you know for sure.”

  He blew out a long, slow breath. “When Derek said he was overwhelmed, I guess he wasn't kidding. But I had no idea know how bad it was.”

  “I'm guessing you did the books before?”

  He snorted. “Hardly. I don't exactly get along with columns of numbers. Trevor took care of them for us, before we had to let him go six months ago.”

  That date dovetailed with the sudden decline in ledger-keeping that Abby had seen. She bit her bottom lip, watching Mitch's broad back. One last thing niggled at her.

  “Mitch, you said you have to buy out your partner, but even if you manage to keep the company going for now, I don't think you have enough funds for that.”