by Sherry Lewis
“Yes, of course. The children both have parts in the pageant—”
“Wonderful. I’m so glad they’re involved. I wonder whether you and your family might like to spend the day with our family. We always have a big group, and I know how close your boy and Brody are. And I would like to spend a little time with you—get to know you better. In fact, if you don’t mind…”
Abby held back a sigh. “What is it?”
“No, never mind. It would be too much to ask.”
“Don’t be silly, Zelda. What can I do for you?” Abby felt a headache coming on.
“Well, I was going to ask if you’d mind helping me get over to the square, but I’m sure it would be an imposition.”
“I’d be glad to help, and we’d love to spend the day with you.”
“Oh, thank you, dear. You ought to come by early and park in the drive, or you’ll never find a place. You’re just as sweet as you can be. I know you’re busy, so I’ll let you go and I’ll see you at seven in the morning.” With a click, Zelda severed the connection.
Abby leaned her forehead against the wall and moaned. She’d been manipulated, and not even very cleverly. Zelda reminded Abby of her own grandmother—a master at the art of not-so-gentle persuasion.
She’d planned on going, of course; she wouldn’t let Erin and Michael down by not attending. But she had no desire to spend the entire day in Zelda’s company. Experience had taught her that elderly women with extra time on their hands asked questions. And time spent with Zelda might prove more dangerous than annoying. She’d have to be on guard every minute.
Before she could get out the door, the telephone rang again. This time she jerked the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Abby?”
“Yes.” She hesitated a second before demanding, “Who is it?”
“Ted.”
Abby’s heart leapt into her throat. With shaking knees, she lowered herself onto one of the kitchen chairs, trying not to anticipate disaster. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Rachel?”
“No, everything’s all right,” Ted hastened to reassure her. “I’m not calling about that. I debated for a week whether to call you at all, but we got word that the governor’s going to need a photographer for his new securities-fraud task force. Considering the state you were in when you left here, I thought you might be interested in the spot.”
Her mind whirled as she fought to comprehend his words. “So Rachel’s okay?”
“I haven’t heard a thing from her or your parents. Look, I’m sorry if I frightened you—”
“No, don’t worry. It’s all right.” And it would be, just as soon as she got her breath back.
“So do you want me to let them know you’re interested? Is there a copy of your résumé around here anywhere?”
“In my bottom-right desk drawer. I updated it about three months ago, so it’s current.”
“Should I submit it for you? The deadline’s next Friday.”
This could be the answer she’d been looking for. A new position without all the violence and ugliness she’d been forced to witness lately. There wasn’t one good reason to pass up this opportunity. So why did she feel hesitant?
“Abby?”
“How would I interview if they’re interested in me?”
“That’s no problem. Richard Schurtz is heading up the task force. He knows you well enough not to bother with the formalities. Besides, I already talked to him about you. So what do you think?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“Great. It’s as good as yours. Look, I gotta run. I’ll keep you posted. You won’t regret this, I promise.”
Abby replaced the receiver slowly. It was probably the answer to her dilemma. After all, she had to have something to go to after she gave the kids back to Rachel and left Kurt behind. But though the decision to apply for the job made wonderful logical sense, she couldn’t help feeling she was making a mistake.
KURT WET HIS FINGER and tested the iron before pressing it to the shirt he’d found in the back of his closet. He’d forgotten he owned this shirt until he’d started searching for something to wear to the Fourth of July celebration today—something that would make a good impression on Abby.
Whistling softly, he worked the iron around the row of buttons. He’d had a day and a half to think about Erin’s story—thirty-six hours to digest her parting words. And long enough to reach some decisions.
He admired the way Abby had gone to such lengths to protect Erin and Michael. Putting her own life aside, she’d traveled across the country and taken in her sister’s children. With no thought to the risks she was taking, she’d put herself in the middle of a dangerous situation to help her family.
Running the iron down a sleeve, he thought of the times he’d tried to pry information out of her. She’d protected those kids against everyone and everything, including him.
He wanted to keep Erin’s confidence, and though his respect for Abby had grown with his new knowledge, he saw no reason to upset her by admitting what he knew.
Giving the sleeves a final inspection, he slipped the shirt onto its hanger, unplugged the iron and glanced at his watch. Almost seven o’clock; time to head into town for breakfast in the square.
Abby would be there. Abby, with her hair like ripe grain and her eyes like the summer sky. Abby—who wasn’t married.
He heard a noise behind him and turned to find Brody in the doorway. “Come on, Dad. Aren’t you ready yet?”
One look at his son’s face forced Kurt to pull himself back sharply. Since last summer he’d promised himself to make this Fourth of July special for Brody. Before his mother left, Brody had loved the holiday. But last year Brody had been sullen and unresponsive through it all, and Kurt had no intention of letting history repeat itself.
“Just about. Have you seen my keys?”
Brody held up a hand, dangling the keys from one finger. Leaning against the doorframe, he met Kurt’s gaze with a challenge. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”
“I’ll be ready in a minute.” Kurt slipped into the warm shirt and buttoned it quickly, trying to shelve his thoughts of Abby. He’d diverted too much attention from Brody lately, and no matter how much Abby played on his mind, he needed to concentrate on his son today. He put a hand on Brody’s shoulder as they walked out the door. “This is our day, sport. Nothing’s going to interfere.”
Brody looked away. “Sure.”
Forcing a smile, Kurt snagged the keys from Brody’s hand and jogged toward the driveway.
Brody pushed past him, and by the time Kurt got behind the wheel, Brody had already fastened his seat belt. “We’re going to be late,” the boy repeated.
“We’ve got plenty of time.” Despite his assurances, Kurt pulled onto the highway and sped past Abby’s house. He forced himself not to look to see if her car was gone.
Once they reached town, traffic slowed. Every car in the county must have been pulling into Pine Cove. If Zelda hadn’t lived just across from the square, he wouldn’t have found a place to park within two miles.
Working the car through the traffic, Kurt breathed a sigh of relief when Zelda’s big board house loomed into view—until he saw Abby’s car in the driveway and Zelda coming down the front walk on Abby’s arm.
How could he hide his feelings from Abby if she spent the day as part of the family, which, given her appearance now with his aunt, seemed highly likely? How could he even hope to devote his attention to Brody when Abby’s mere presence commanded more than her share of it?
And how could he keep Erin’s secret if every time he saw Abby he longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her? Especially since he now had no good reason not to.
As he watched, the front door opened again and Theresa emerged. She carried Zelda’s huge wicker picnic basket filled with the homemade rolls and candy she brought every year to snack on.
Pulling into the drive, Kurt tried to look casual, waving to the women while Brody leapt fr
om the car and raced toward Michael and Erin. “Can we go over now—please?” he begged him. “I’ll show Michael and Erin where everything is.”
But Kurt wanted Brody to spend the day with him. He wanted to spend some quality time with him and strengthen their relationship. And more than anything, he wanted Brody to want to spend the day with him. But one look at the boy’s face convinced him Brody had other ideas. “If it’s all right with Abby.”
“Please?” Brody turned hopeful eyes toward her.
With a laugh, Abby nodded. “Go on. But just let me know where you’re going to be, okay?”
“Sure thing.” Darting away, Brody led Michael and Erin through the nearly stalled traffic.
Shaking her head, Theresa held out the hamper to Kurt. “Jack’s over there somewhere trying to tell everybody how to make hotcakes. Why don’t you divert him?” She took Zelda’s other arm and smiled at Abby. “Jack’s so obnoxious whenever there’s a party. He’s absolutely convinced he’s the only one in the world who can cook outdoors.”
When Abby laughed and her eyes sparkled, Kurt felt awed by her beauty. Now that he knew she was free, he wondered how long he’d be able to keep himself from kissing her. Every instinct had sharpened his attraction for her, even as reason had told him to ignore her.
Her smile was as bright as the sun, her eyes matched the sky, and her hair hung down her back in a thick plait that made his fingers itch to pull it from its restraints and spread it across her shoulders.
But instead, he took the basket and crossed the street in search of Jack. He’d see Abby again throughout the day, and he’d be far wiser to walk away now, before he let his imagination run any farther.
Already the square was abuzz with activity. Long tables filled one end, with a profusion of camping stoves set up nearby. As he’d known he would, Kurt found Jack coaching Doug Pierce, whose face betrayed his annoyance.
Looking up from his task, Doug spotted Kurt and grinned in relief. “It’s about time you showed up. Get this guy out of here, would ya? He’s driving me up the wall.”
Jack made a face at Doug’s back. “Wouldn’t know a decent hotcake if one bit him on the nose. Look at these—they’re all too small. Might as well feed them to the dogs.” He slapped Doug on the back and chortled as he came out around the table to join Kurt. “Where’s the camera?”
Kurt groaned. “In the Cherokee.”
“It’s not going to do any good in there. We need shots of the breakfast and the parade—”
“I can’t take a decent picture. You know that, and so does everybody else in town. And personally, I’m sick of hearing about it. Why don’t you get Abby Harris to do your dirty work—at least for today?”
“I’m sure she’d love it.”
Kurt pretended not to hear the note of sarcasm in Jack’s voice. “She might not mind.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ll think about it. In the meantime, get the camera.” Jack waved at someone he knew and moved a few steps away. Pausing, he turned and called back to Kurt, “If you honestly think she wouldn’t mind, go ahead and ask her. Otherwise, just take them—all right? I’m doing my best to work something else out.”
Resigned, Kurt started back across the street.
“Take Jack with you!” Doug shouted.
Kurt waved, but didn’t break his stride. He felt ridiculous with the camera around his neck. Everyone in Pine Cove already knew how poorly his pictures turned out, and they didn’t hesitate to let him know.
By the time he made it back to the square, the family had gathered at the far end of one long table. And Abby stood squarely in the middle of them.
“Kurt.” Michael waved his arms. “Over here.”
Joining the group, Kurt ruffled Brody’s hair, patted Erin’s shoulder and fielded an enthusiastic embrace from his niece Sara. Meeting Abby’s eyes, he gave her a smile, and as she returned it, his heart lurched in his chest.
“I didn’t know you were a photographer,” she said.
“I’m not. Jack’s torturing me.”
“Torture?”
“He lost his photographer at the beginning of the summer and he thinks that my being his brother automatically makes me part of the newspaper staff whenever he needs help.”
“He works for the paper?”
“He’s the editor—and his own most highly prized columnist. But he’s even worse at photography than I am.”
“So you’re the one who’s been taking the pictures for the Patriot? I’ve seen your work.”
“Don’t say it. I know I’m bad. Believe me, it’s not my idea.”
“Maybe you ought to look through some photography magazines or take a class.”
He laughed. “Not a chance. I don’t intend to be at it long enough for that. Jack’s going to have to work something else out.”
Theresa stepped between them. “Easier said than done, I’m afraid. Come on, Kurt. Brody’s saving a place for you.” Her words sounded light, but displeasure glinted in her eyes. Still believing Abby was married, she obviously intended to keep the two of them apart.
And since he couldn’t set her straight, Kurt allowed Theresa to lead him away. Better not to make waves. Besides, this was what he wanted—to be with his son.
Brody heaped hotcakes on his plate, covering them with syrup. “Can we show Michael the dunking booth after breakfast?”
“Jack wants me to get some pictures of the mayor before the parade starts. We can join Michael later.”
Brody’s face fell. “I don’t want to take pictures of the mayor.”
“It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Can Michael come with us?”
“If Abby says it’s okay.”
Brody abandoned his breakfast and raced to the other end of the table, but when he returned his face gave Kurt the answer. “She wants Michael to stay with her. But she said I could go with them.”
And Kurt had no doubt what Brody wanted to do. He nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Kurt sighed in frustration. He should be able to spend the day with his son instead of taking pictures for Jack’s newspaper. Jack should be the one who had to leave his children while he chased news stories.
Kurt had started out this summer with every intention of helping Brody complete the adjustment of his mother’s absence. But so far, he hadn’t done much. He’d wanted to make today different, but it looked like it’d be another day like all the rest. Brody would make adjustments, but without Kurt’s help.
KURT HUNKERED DOWN at the edge of the street, took aim at the trombone section of the marching band and pressed the shutter. Twelve. A dozen shots of the celebration so far, and most likely not one would be worth printing. Cursing Jack’s stubborn refusal to approach Abby, he focused on the Elks Lodge’s contribution to the parade and caught Erin in the frame.
Lowering the camera, he watched her move into the front row of spectators. A little behind her, Brody and Michael peered into a paper sack. Abby had to be somewhere close. Just a few more pictures, he promised himself, and he’d rejoin his son—and Abby.
The float rolled past and another came up behind it. Lifting the camera again, Kurt stepped backward as he tried to catch the entire float in the shot. Too big. Cursing, he took a second step back and bumped into someone.
He whirled around to apologize and came face-to-face with Abby. His heart jumped and his hands immediately grew clammy.
Abby’s lips curved into a smile. “Can I help?”
“What?”
“The pictures. Can I help?”
“Please.” He pulled the camera over his head and held it toward her. “I told you I don’t know what I’m doing.”
She grinned. “I know. I’ve seen your work.” She lifted the camera again and scanned the street. She took a shot of the crowd and advanced the film, turning to catch the next parade float.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” Kurt asked her.
“It’s a hobby.”
“S
ome hobby. Have you ever thought of doing something with it?”
Abby lowered the camera and replaced the lens cover. “Once or twice.”
“If Jack likes your work, maybe you could get your foot in the door by taking some pictures for him while you’re here.”
She didn’t respond to that and pushed the camera back into his hands. “That ought to give you one or two shots you can use. Just don’t shoot into the sun without a filter, and pay attention to your settings before you start shooting.”
She stood so close he could’ve reached out and touched her. He could have pulled her into his arms the way he’d imagined. But until he was free to tell her what he knew, he had to keep his distance.
Before he could say anything, someone tugged at his shirttail. Turning, he saw Michael holding out an envelope. “They want you to pass this to Mrs. Hobbs.”
As Kurt reached for the envelope and turned to look down the line of people for Mrs. Hobbs, an image flashed through his mind. Michael on the deck, handing him an envelope addressed to Rachel Harrison in Tempe, Arizona. And Abby saying, Erin looks just like my sister, Rachel. Like her sister—Rachel.
Faintly aware of his actions through the buzzing in his ears, Kurt took the envelope and passed it to Mrs. Hobbs. But his mind churned and the sick feeling grew as his mind kept repeating, my sister, Rachel.
He hadn’t known. He couldn’t have known what he was doing by mailing that letter. But there was no question in his mind now that he’d inadvertently put Abby and the kids at risk. Nausea welled in his throat as he remembered Erin’s very real, very tangible fear of her father.
Thinking quickly, he tried to calculate the number of days since he’d mailed the letter. It’d been the night of the potluck dinner: not quite two weeks. He tried to convince himself that enough time had passed to mean that nothing bad would happen. But in his heart, he didn’t believe it.
And he knew he’d have to tell Abby what he’d done and what he knew.
He looked at her, at her face lighted with delight as she watched the parade, at her lips curved in a gentle smile. He looked at the children with their eyes bright and faces relaxed. Not today. Let them enjoy today. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow would be soon enough to bring up the terror.