Maybe that's an awful lot of maybes, Abrams.
Freaking hell. He scowled at the desktop. Could there not be any easy answers in his life? Did everything need to be this damned complicated all the time? His gaze drifted down and came to rest on the bottom drawer, where Abby had put that binder she'd been looking at earlier. He hesitated, then pulled the drawer open and stared at the binder’s bright blue cover. Its block title, hand lettered by Abby, made a corner of his mouth lift: The All-You-Need-to-Know Abrams Household Guide. He lifted the binder from the drawer's confines, set it on the desk, and flipped it open to a table of contents, color coded to match the index tabs running down the side and listing everything from medical and school information for each child to appliance warranties and paint colors—by room, no less. Everything Eve had known about and taken care of; everything Abby had found and sorted into one place; everything Mitch had never even thought to track or handle.
Even the dog had his own section, with vaccine and sterilization certificates pre-dating his arrival. Heidi Leduc must have sent them, and Abby had looked after that, too. Seamlessly, effortlessly. The way she took care of a thousand other daily details that never disturbed his own life.
It was a lot.
An awful lot.
He flipped through the last pages to the end of the binder. Just inside the back cover, he found the university calendar he'd brought home for her. It had been folded back to the page for an undergraduate Bachelor of Science degree in psychology, with half the first-year compulsory courses circled. In the back of his mind, he heard again Abby's offer to stay longer—and her telling silence when he'd asked if she was sure it was what she wanted to do.
In the doorway, Abby cleared her throat. Mitch replaced the course calendar and closed the binder. Then, steeling himself, he raised his gaze to hers.
“I can't stay,” she said.
“I know,” he replied.
She hovered in the doorway for a few seconds, her face pale but set, and then ventured into the room and sat opposite him in a chair he'd forgotten he owned, because it had been buried for so long beneath months' worth of stuff. He still couldn't get over how much she'd done to get them—him—organized in the few weeks she'd been here. And he still didn't want to think about how he would manage when she was gone.
But the time for that discussion had come.
Abby sat ramrod straight on the edge of the chair, linked her fingers in her lap, and lifted her gaze to meet his. “I know I said I'd be here for Christmas, but I'm going to ask Gwyn if I can stay with her and Gareth,” she said. “This Christmas is important for you and the girls as a family, and I don't belong here.”
Mitch clamped his teeth together to keep from objecting. Whatever her reasons for coming to that conclusion, it mattered only that she had, and that her decision to leave meshed with the one he had made. He leaned back in his chair. “Will you be coming back?” he asked.
The hands in her lap twisted together. “If you need me to, I will. But it would be better for the girls if I didn't.”
So that was it. “Kia?” he hazarded.
Abby's gaze slid away for a second. Her effort to make it return to him was visible. “She's young,” she said. “And I'm not sure she understands the meaning of temporary. After the concert tonight, she said—” Abby’s voice wobbled. “She said we were all family now.”
Silently, Mitch extended a hand across the desk to her, palm up. She shook her head.
“Don't,” she whispered. “I don't think I can handle sympathy right now.” Her hands became fists, pressing into her thighs, and she took a deep breath. “I'm afraid that the longer I'm here, the more attached she'll become. And I can't stay.”
“I know,” he said again, withdrawing his hand. “When...?”
“Tomorrow after the party, if it's all right with Gwyn and Gareth.”
He took a deep breath of his own, tucking away the emptiness invoked by her words. Reminding himself that this was what he had wanted. Well, maybe not wanted. But Abby was right. It was best. He curled his own hands into fists beneath the desk, out of view.
“We can cancel the party. People will understand.”
“I thought about it,” she admitted, “but the girls have talked about it nonstop all week. It would crush them.”
Not nearly as much as losing Abby would, he thought, but he nodded his agreement. “I'll tell the girls in the morning before I leave,” he said. “But if it's all right, I won't say that you're not coming back. Not until Christmas is past.”
“Of course. And you can tell them that I can still come and visit.”
“Of course.”
“And at least they have Hope to look after now. He'll be good for them.”
“He will.”
“And you have the binder.” She nodded at his desk. “I put everything in there that I could think of, but you can call me if you have questions. And the schedule of optometrist and dentist appointments is in the front.”
“I saw.” And with a mysterious silent partner behind the company, he'd be able to hire the staff he needed to let him keep those appointments, too. Funny how things had worked out so well after all those months of chaos. Well, most things.
They sat in silence for moment, and then Abby stood and smoothed down the creases on the front of her pant legs. “Well,” she said. “I should get to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
Mitch watched her walk to the door. He knew he should say something, but the words that piled up on his tongue had nothing to do with thank you and goodnight, and everything to do with stay. So he pressed his lips together, swiveled the chair around, and stared out the window into the darkness. Not until he heard the tread of her feet going up the stairs did he remember the reason tomorrow would be particularly long for her.
Olivia.
Damn.
Chapter 45
Abby woke the next morning with thoughts of Olivia heavy on her mind, but the girls were electric with excitement from the moment they hit the floor, providing a distraction for which she could not have been more grateful. As promised, Mitch had spoken to them before he headed out the door to meet a client and hand off the keys for the house his team had just finished, but after a moment of disappointment, the girls had recovered and thrown themselves into party preparation. Abby was grateful for that, too.
No amount of gratitude or distraction could entirely make up for the loss that lay beneath the excitement, however, and all day long, through all of the supervising and the party preparations, the words from her conversation with Mitch the night before followed her around like a pall, tangling with the pain of others already contained in the date.
“I have to go... I know... I'm sorry, ma'am, but your husband and daughter have been in an accident. There were no survivors... I have to go...”
“I finished dusting.” Britt's voice wrenched her back to the present and to the party just around the corner. “And Rachel is cleaning the bathroom, and it's almost three o'clock, and people will be here in an hour. Now can we set the table?”
Abby forced a smile. “How about you get yourself all fancied up first? That way, you'll be clean before you set out the dishes, and if anyone gets here early, you'll be ready.”
As anxious as Britt was to get the “fun stuff” underway, she was equally thrilled about getting dressed up. Mitch had taken all three girls shopping the Sunday before, and each had a new outfit for the occasion: dresses for Rachel and Kiana, and a tuxedo-like affair for Britt—complete with sparkly white shirt and a red bow tie. Abby's suggestion, therefore, met with a whoop of joy, and Britt galloped down the hall and up the stairs to tell her sisters it was time to change. Abby took a moment to center herself, then went back to laying out a charcuterie board, the family's contribution to the potluck, under the watchful eye of Hope, who had apparently decided the kitchen needed his supervision more than Kia did for the moment.
The rumble of the garage door heralded Mitch's arrival as she unwrapped
the brie and set it into an empty space on the charcuterie board. Her heart gave an unwelcome sideways skitter as Hope trotted away to the mudroom, leaving a nerve-wracked Abby to clear a space in the fridge for her creation.
“I have to go... I know...”
The door from the garage to the laundry room slammed, Mitch's deep voice greeted Hope, and then his footsteps came toward the kitchen. Abby closed the fridge to find him in the doorway, one hand scratching the dog's head, the other in his pocket, his expression as carefully neutral as she was trying to keep hers.
“Sorry I'm so late,” he said. “The walk-through took longer than I expected. How are things coming along?”
Casual conversation for one more day, Abby. You can do it.
“We're just about ready. The girls are getting dressed, and then they'll put out napkins and dishes, and that's the last of it.”
“And the other?” he asked. “You okay?”
The air left Abby's lungs in a little whoosh. Which other? she wondered. Because they're both killing me...Olivia...leaving you and the girls...
“I'm fine,” she managed to say. His eyes told her he knew otherwise, but as the girls' feet thundered down the stairs, he nodded acceptance of her lie—yet one more thing for which to be grateful—and gave Hope a final pat on the head before going to admire his daughters and follow their instructions to hurry up and change.
Then Britt and Kia bounded into the kitchen in all their party finery, and Abby dug deep for the strength that would let her pretend everything was normal.
She'd survived losing her entire family once, she reminded herself.
Somehow, she would find a way to survive losing another.
***
Gwyn and Gareth were first to arrive, with four kids in tow and apologies from Gareth's daughter Amy for not joining them. Rachel and Britt hung coats and placed boots in the closet Abby had cleared out, Gareth solemnly shook hands with a giggling Kiana-Fred, and Abby made introductions between Mitch and her sister and brother-in-law. They hadn't even cleared the front entry when the doorbell announced the arrival of Derek and his husband, closely followed by Mitch's next-door neighbors. Before Abby knew it, the gathering was in full swing.
She smiled and chatted her way through the first hour before her sister cornered her in the kitchen, as Abby was refilling the charcuterie board with more sausage and crackers.
“Hey,” Gwyn said, her voice soft and her blue eyes sympathetic. Abby's own eyes promptly filled with tears.
Gwyn pulled a tissue from the box on the island and handed it to her. “Would a hug make it better or worse?”
“Worse,” Abby whispered. “Definitely worse.” She dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose, and gritted her teeth behind a tight smile.
“I didn't put two and two together when you told me the date of the party. Christmas is a bit of a blur around our—” Gwyn broke off with a grimace, seeming to realize the insensitivity of her words. She waved an encompassing hand. “Why...?”
“Why this and why today? It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Abby said, trying for a light tone, but her forced smile wavered. She had to pause to shore it up before she shrugged and said, “It's the girls' first Christmas without their mom, and I wanted to give them some good memories to replace the other ones.”
Good memories like having their nanny desert them? her inner voice wanted to know. Abby told it to shut up.
“And what about you?” Gwyn asked. “What about your memories?”
Abby's mouth twisted. “All very much still intact, trust me.”
A shadow passed over Gwyn's face. “Oh, Abby.”
Oh-Abby flapped her hands at her eyes and blinked rapidly, willing back more tears. She scowled at her sister. “Sympathy is not helping, f.y.i.”
“I'm sorry, but seeing you like this—”
“Mom! Nicholas is eating all the shrimp!” the voice of Abby’s niece preceded her into the kitchen.
Her nephew followed in full denial. “Am not! I only had six!”
“You wrapped the other tails in a napkin,” Katie accused. “I saw you, and Mom said—”
“Out.” Gwyn pointed at the door through which they'd come. “Mom said out. And Nicholas, no more shrimp.”
Still bickering, Katie and Nicholas departed, and Gwyn heaved a sigh. “We're not going to have a chance to talk today, are we?”
Abby gave a small laugh. “Not likely, no.”
“But soon? Can we maybe even set a date? We could meet for coffee or—”
“How's tonight?” Abby interrupted. “After I clean up here.”
“Well, sure,” Gwyn said, blinking a little at the suggestion, “but won't that be a bit late for going out? You'll be tired, and—”
“I could stay over at your place.”
“You—I—” Gwyn stared at her, a furrow between her brows. “Abby? What's going on?”
“I—Mitch and I—the girls—” Abby bit her lip, not knowing how to explain. She shook her head. “I need somewhere to stay, Gwyn. It will only be for a few days, until I get my own place. If it's a problem, I can stay in a hotel instead.”
“It's Christmas. You're not staying in a hotel.”
Abby nodded acceptance of the statement. Then she warned, “But I can't answer questions. Not about this.”
Gwyn came around the island and wrapped her in a brief, fierce hug. “Then I won't ask any,” she promised. She released her hold and turned to pick up the refilled charcuterie board. “You take your time and catch your breath. I'll put this back on the table and try to keep everyone clear of here for a few minutes.” She stopped in the doorway to look back. “Will you need a ride?”
Abby hadn't thought that far ahead. She'd gotten used to having the SUV at her disposal, but she'd be leaving that behind, and she supposed she'd need to buy a vehicle now, too. At some point. But for now...
“I'll take a cab,” she said.
Chapter 46
“Penny for them,” Derek offered, handing Mitch a glass of amber liquid. “Oh, wait, I can afford more now that I've been bought out. How does a whole dollar sound?”
He chuckled at his own joke, and Mitch shook his head. “I'll miss your sense of humor,” he said. “You were a good partner.”
“I was,” Derek agreed. “The best you had. Except when it came to bookkeeping.”
“You were the only partner I had, and don't remind me. I think I died a thousand deaths when I realized how bad things were.”
Derek shrugged beefy shoulders. “Meh. All's well that ends well, my friend. And you”—he raised his glass to Mitch—“are ending well indeed. New partner, Trevor back in charge of the office, no debts—I'd say that things are looking way up, and I couldn't be happier for you.”
“Speaking of new partner, can you tell me anything about this investor?”
“I wish I could, but the lawyer's mouth was sewn up as tight as—” Derek looked around, seeming to remember he was in polite company. “Well, let's just say he wasn't talking.”
Mitch scowled into the glass Derek had given him. “Who does that?” he muttered. “What kind of investor pays better than market value for shares in a company that's up to its ass in alligators, clears its debts, and gives it a load of cash to top it off?”
“I told you—the guardian angel kind.” Derek frowned at him, his bushy white brows meeting in the middle of his forehead. “Seriously, Mitch, stop knocking this. You've been given a gift. Accept it. Enjoy it. Make the most out of it. If not for yourself, then for those three little girls of yours. Hell, even if whoever's behind this turns around and sells the shares again, no one can move on you because you're still the majority shareholder. The company is yours, and it's safe.”
“I suppose.” Mitch sighed, met Derek's glower, and held up a hand to ward off more argument. “Fine,” he said. “No more lectures. I'll relax.”
“That's better.” Derek held his glass aloft. “Here's to new challenges and adventures for both of us.”
> Mitch tipped his glass to clink against his former partner's and took a sip of the whisky, frowning as the round fullness of his best Scotch settled over his tongue. He shot a sharp look at Derek, who had turned and wandered off, sending him a sly grin over his shoulder.
“You should have known better than to show me where you keep the good stuff, Abrams,” he called back with a chuckle. “And you need a new bottle, by the way.”
Wonderful, Mitch thought. Just wonderful.
***
The rest of the party slid past in a haze for Abby. The guest count swelled to at least thirty, including kids, and she stayed busy fetching and carrying, keeping an eye on Hope's predilection for snagging snacks off plates whose owners were distracted, smiling and laughing in all the right places, and chatting with everyone—including Jessica Perkins, who popped up at Abby’s shoulder shortly after her arrival.
“You look like you could use this.” Perky held out a glass of red wine to her.
Abby took the glass from her. She wasn’t drinking today—alcohol and melancholy were a bad combination for her—but it seemed easier not to explain. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Perky studied her for a moment. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Umm...”
“Why am I not picking up Rachel and Britt for school anymore?”
Maybe a little wine wouldn’t hurt after all. Abby took a sip, let the wine swirl over her tongue while she debated a response, and then swallowed. “Why did you tell them women like me take jobs as nannies so that we can get married?”
“What?” Perky blinked at her, stepping to one side as a child hurtled by in pursuit of another—Abby had lost track of names, there were so many at the party. Perky stepped back again. “Who on earth told you—oh, God.” She put one hand, fingernails painted the same bright red as her sequined camisole, to her mouth. “Is that—hell, no wonder—I—” She stopped, took Abby’s arm, and towed her from the crowded living room to the slightly quieter front hallway.
Abigail Always Page 23