Finding Abigail

by Christina Smith

  He glanced up from his plate, his expression turning from confusion to something that resembled disgust. It vanished quickly, but I had seen it. I retracted my arm and took the bite, feeling embarrassed. After I swallowed, I said, “Sorry, I’m just use to eating with Debbie and Brenda. We always trade.”

  “No, it’s fine. I just had my mouth full.” His smile was sincere. Maybe I had imagined the look of revulsion. It didn’t matter though; my food was too good to share.

  Nick finished his meal while I stared longingly down at my plate, wishing I could stuff just one more scrumptious morsel into my mouth. It wasn’t possible though; my stomach was full to capacity. I pushed my plate away just as Marco strolled over carrying a chocolate mousse. “I hear you called this in this morning, Nick,” he said, nodding to his friend. “You’re lucky you ordered ahead of time, or you’d be out of luck.”

  “I remember from the last time I asked, and was denied.” His voice held a hint of annoyance.

  Marco’s brow furrowed before a smirk appeared. “That was your date with what’s her name?” Shaking his head he added, “She wouldn’t have eaten it anyway. All she had was a small salad. You can’t trust a girl that eats like a bird.” I laughed, thinking of my lunch with Debbie. I’d have to tell her Marco’s theory. He turned to me, his hand leaning on the back of my chair. “Did you enjoy your meal, Abby?”

  “I did, and I’m stuffed. Like I told Nick earlier, you have the best pasta in town.”

  Marco smiled, turning to Nick. “She said that?”

  “She did.”

  “Don’t let this one go. Now enjoy the mousse, it’s also the best in town.” He gave me a wink, and then walked away, heading for the kitchen. I cringed at the thought of eating dessert. I was so full, if I was wearing pants, I’d pop a button. But what could I do? He went to so much trouble by pre-ordering it, I had to have at least a small piece.

  Nick placed the knife on the mousse, tracing two lines on the creamy chocolate, raising his eyebrows at me in question.

  “Smaller please.” I watched as he cut a thin slice and placed it on a plate for me, taking a larger one for himself.

  Taking a bite of the velvety, smooth chocolate, I was pleasantly surprised by the flavor. “Mmm, that is fabulous. I’ve never had chocolate mousse before. God, I’ve been missing out.”

  “Well, I have, and Marc’s right, this is the best.”

  I took another bite and savored it, wishing I could have more, but knowing if I did I might vomit on my date, which probably would ensure that there would not be a second one. “So who was the girl you brought here last time?” Setting my spoon onto the table, I leaned back in my chair, hoping a breather would help my bursting stomach.

  He winced, lifting up his wine glass, holding it midair. “I was hoping you’d forget you heard that. He’s not very smart talking about another woman while I’m out with someone as beautiful as you.”

  My cheeks heated as I stared down at my half gone dessert, feeling uncomfortable with his words to describe my appearance. “Oh, come on, I know you’ve dated before.”

  “Well, my brother set me up, and it didn’t go very well. She was a bit of an airhead, had the personality of a tree.” I laughed. “Anyway, he doesn’t do that anymore.”

  “I’ve had a few setups myself. And after the last one, I’d rather eat glass.”

  His lips turned upwards as he lifted his wine glass. “To horrible blind dates and never having them again.”

  I touched my glass to his with a clink, the white liquid sloshing inside, before taking a tiny sip.

  I absently lifted my locket, rubbing the lace on the front; the metal was cool against my skin.

  “That’s a nice locket. Is there a picture in it?” he asked, pointing with his fork.

  “Yes, of my mother and father. My dad gave it to me when I was eight. I lost it a year after he died. I was heartbroken. My mother found it last week. Now I’m never taking it off. That way I’ll never lose it again.” Just the feel of it around my neck gave me comfort.

  “When did your father die?”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat that usually accompanied that question. My father’s death was still a vivid memory in my thoughts after all this time. “When I was twelve.”

  Placing his hand over mine, he said softly, “I’m sorry.” The gesture was sweet, and I appreciated it.

  The waiter came and cleared our plates, interrupting before the tears started.

  As we sat in his pine-scented SUV outside my apartment, with Aerosmith playing through the speakers, he laid his large hand on my thigh. His body heat seeped through the material of my dress. “I had a great time with you tonight, Abby. I hope we can do this again sometime.”

  Meeting his gaze, I replied, “Me too, and thanks again for a great dinner.” My hand clasped onto the handle, preparing to open the door slowly. I wasn’t really sure what to do, when he reached out to stop me. I turned to see him leaning toward me. His fingers gently brushed my cheek, and then his lips touched mine softly. Leaning into him, I returned the kiss. It didn’t last long, but it sent sparks flying. “Goodnight,” I whispered, opening the door and stepping out.

  I watched him pull away through the glass front doors of the building, and then with a sigh I headed upstairs.

  A little later, as I lay in bed under my warm duvet with a book leaning open on my chest, too preoccupied to read, I thought of the evening. As dates went, I had to admit it was pretty good. He was sexy, sweet, charming, and a good listener, and he seemed to care about what I said, unlike some other dates I’d had in the past. Their eyes would glaze over as I spoke, waiting for the moment when they could bring the conversation back to themselves.

  He kept up his longtime friendship with Marco and it sounded like he was close to his family, all signs that he cared about his relationships. Picking up my book, I tried to read again, hoping to take my mind off the man who had suddenly moved into my thoughts, suitcases and all.

  Just as I was getting into a hot sexy love scene, the shrill sound of the phone interrupted me. Reaching for my cell on the nightstand, I managed a soft, “Hello?”

  “Just wanted to make sure you made it up to your apartment safely and to tell you again how much I enjoyed your company.” Nick’s voice was low on the other end.

  I smiled, leaning back against my pillow. “I’m home safe. And I had a good time too.”

  “Good. I’ll take you out on Wednesday. I’m usually off at three unless something comes up. We can go to a baseball game.”

  “Who’s playing?”

  He made a raspy deep sound that sounded like a chuckle. “The Monkeys. The best Little League team in the city.”

  “Your nephew?” I asked, laying my paperback down on the pillow next to me.

  “Niece. She found out I had the night off and has been bugging me to come and watch her. I hear they’ll have no problem beating the Warriors.”

  I laughed. “Sure, sounds fun.” I could hear music in the background and a car horn; I realized he was still driving. I couldn’t decide how I felt about the fact that he called before he even made it home, but I felt a tingle of something similar to giddiness in the pit of my stomach.

  “I’ll pick you up at six. I’ll even buy you a hot dog.” His voice on the phone was deep and sultry.

  Fingering the edge of the mattress, I replied, “Well, I definitely can’t say no now.”

  Another raspy chuckle. “Sweet dreams, Abby.”

  “Goodnight, Nick.”

  I hung up, grabbed my book, and read until my eyelids started to droop. When I finally closed them, all I could see was the image of us kissing in his car, and realized I couldn’t wait to see him, so we could do it again.

  I dreamed I was inside the story of one of my novels, but instead of Petunia the little witch, lost inside the creaky bone forest, it was me, walking along the muddy path. And I was being pelted with monkey feces, which was strange, considering in the actual tale, Petunia was hi
t with Tootsie Rolls.

  A booming voice echoed through the trees, soaring with the wind. “Abby, it’s me.” For a moment I thought it was God, but since the voice was female, that idea was highly unlikely. I tried to ignore the loud intrusive words as I teetered on a rickety old bridge made of what looked like femur bones tied together with dental floss. I had just about reached the safe, solid ground when the loud voice started up again. “Abby!” the person bellowed, making the bones and the forest disappear.

  I awoke slowly, hearing Debbie’s voice on the answering machine, yelling for me to pick up. I reached over to my nightstand searching for the phone. Once I felt the hard plastic handset, I pushed the talk button. “Hello,” I groaned groggily.

  “You sound perky. Why didn’t you answer the phone? How did your date go? Why are you still asleep?” Debbie’s voice was loud, and full of questions.

  My head throbbed just trying to process and answer each of her inane queries. Rubbing my fingers onto my temples I breathed in deeply. “Debbie, why are you calling so early?” My voice was muffled as I spoke into my fluffy silk pillow.

  “It’s nine. You’re usually up by now. What time did you get home?”

  “Ten, but I read until two.”

  “Figures. So, how did it go? I need details.”

  As I brushed the hair out of my eyes, I turned over, staring up at the white stippled ceiling, concentrating on a small crack near the low-hanging light fixture. “There’s not much to tell,” I said. “He took me to Marco’s, who by the way is Nick’s friend. We ate dinner and talked, and then he gave me a goodnight kiss.”

  “How was it?”

  “Fine.”

  “Just fine?”

  I closed my eyes, remembering my time in his car, almost smelling the pine scent of the air freshener hanging from his rearview mirror, hoping to prolong the kiss next time. “Firm lips,” I finally answered.

  She sighed dreamily. “Hmm, I like those.”

  “And he’s taking me to his niece’s Little League game on Wednesday.”

  “Meeting the family? He must be smitten.” The sound of tapping came from her end of the phone, which meant she was drumming her pen on her desk. An irritating habit she’d had since we were roommates in college. “Hopefully he can get you out of your apartment more than once a month.”

  I grinned; her constant nagging was a strange comfort. Something I could always count on. Although she didn’t have to know I felt that way. “I choose to ignore that comment because I’m in a good mood. Now if there’s something you wanted besides your usual insults on my personal life, I should get up and get to work.” I lay still on my bed, with no intention of getting out of it—yet.

  “My daily insults are what keep me going.” She laughed. “By the way, how is the book coming?” Her voice changed to professional mode.

  “Great, I’ll probably finish the first draft today and the rest by the end of the week.”

  “Good. Okay, I got to go. See you later.”

  I hung up, wrapped my blanket tightly around my neck, and fell back to sleep, where I stayed for another hour until my growling stomach woke me.

  After my shower, I wolfed down a bowl of cereal while standing at the counter. Now that I was finally finished procrastinating, I sat down to write the final few pages. Suzie’s return journey home on the bus. She saw many different types of people and watched closely as a mother shushed her baby. A blind man with his hand on a seeing-eye dog. A little boy crying, because he dropped his ice cream cone. Suzie’s day was full of adventure and she couldn’t wait for the next one.

  I scrolled back to the first page and began my rewrite.

  The rest of the morning flew by. I enjoyed editing; that was my opportunity to breathe life into the story, now that the basic plot was laid out. I often compared it to painting ceramics. My mother forced me to take a class with her when I was younger, where I painted a puppy. Once the base coat was applied, I learned to dry brush with a lighter color, making the fur appear almost lifelike. I still have the little pug, sitting on my dresser.

  When I finished half, I took a break. The book itself wasn’t long, so I’d be finished by tomorrow, and then I’d start on the illustrations. Drawing wasn’t my strong point, so I sometimes hired an illustrator. But when the story didn’t call for detailed pictures, I usually tried to do them myself and this was an easy book. All that was needed was a house, Suzie, of course, the bus, and the mall. I had taken a few art classes, but drawing was not my passion, not like writing anyway, especially for children. When I was in college I dreamed of writing the great American novel. I longed to be the next Jane Austen or Charlotte Brontë, but after my niece and nephew were born, I changed my mind. Watching their faces come alive as I read a story to them made me rethink my goals. I had a few beginnings of novels stashed away for the future, but right now this was where I wanted to be in my career.

  My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since the cereal this morning. I glanced at the clock and saw that I had missed lunch. Pushing away from my desk, I dashed into the kitchen to make a sandwich.

  My mind was on Suzie, contemplating her next adventure, while I poured juice into a glass. As an idea formed in my crowded brain, Suzie in a pink bodysuit and tutu, twirling around a ballet studio, I felt something liquid splash my bare toes. I absently glanced down to see that red fruit juice had formed a puddle around my foot. Damn it! My cup had overflowed, and I was too preoccupied to notice. I wiped the mess up and took out some bread, ham, and cheese.

  I assembled the sandwich, popping some cheese in my mouth as I prepared it. Then I grabbed a Coke out of the fridge and retreated to the living room to watch some TV while I ate.

  It took me the rest of the day, but I finished the written part. Tomorrow I would start on the illustrations. Debbie called later to tell me about her date with Brian. He took her to his favorite pizza place and then the batting cages. She had a ball—no pun intended.

  Chapter Seven

  The Monkeys

  I was distracted as I did the drawings the next day. With thoughts of my upcoming date with Nick, I couldn’t fully concentrate. By two o’clock, I gave up and went for a jog down at the waterfront to clear my head. Since it was a weekday, it felt like I had the trail to myself, with only a few other people out for a run. This was my favorite spot to go; the scents and sounds from the lake were exactly what I needed to settle down. I stopped for a fruit smoothie at one of the vendors, sitting down at a bench to watch the boats come into the marina. The sounds of the squawking gulls, diving for fish in the water, and the purr of the boats motors soothed me.

  I glanced at my watch as I slurped the last of my drink, and cringed at coldness of the ice. It was five o’clock. I only had an hour before my date, and I still had to get home. Throwing my cup into the garbage, I started back to my apartment. With only a half hour left, I headed straight for the shower.

  The blow dryer was blaring so loud, I barely heard the knock. I turned it off and rushed for the door, yanking it open in time to see Nick turn and walk away. “Sorry, I had the blow dryer going,” I called out to him, my voice echoed in the long corridor. “I lost track of time when I went for a run. Come in, I won’t be long.”

  He stopped when I opened the door, turned around, and made his way toward me. I wasn’t sure, but from this distance he looked irritated. But as he got closer, I saw him smile—I must have imagined it.

  Once he stood in front of me, he pulled me close, covering my mouth with his. When he drew away he grinned. “I’ve been waiting two days to do that.”

  “Was it worth the wait?” I asked, closing the door after he walked in.

  “Oh, yeah. But it just makes me want to do it again, so you better go get ready or we’ll miss the game.”

  I rushed back to my room, yelling, “Help yourself to a drink in the fridge if you want.”

  In my bedroom, I threw off my robe, dressed in a coral-colored T-shirt and faded blue jeans, and appl
ied eyeliner and lip gloss. When I was satisfied with my appearance, I slipped back out to the living room where Nick was standing looking at the papers I had pinned to the wall. They were the illustrations for my book.

  “Don’t you have a second room for an office?” His gaze never left the papers on the wall as he spoke.

  “Yeah, but the window is bigger out here, and I can listen to or watch TV as I work. It’s only me here so my work area doesn’t bother anyone.”

  He pointed to the page where Suzie sat on the bus looking at the seeing-eye dog. “Are these going to be the pictures for the book you’re doing?”

  “Yeah, it’s about a little girl and her big adventure to the mall.”

  “Cool.” He turned around and looked at me, taking in my appearance. “Are you ready?”

  I picked up my purse and pulled out my keys. “Let’s go.”

  He took my hand and led me to the door, and after I locked it, we headed to the elevator.

  When the doors slid open, Sylvia stood inside, flipping through envelopes, and didn’t look up right away. She almost walked into me, the scent of spearmint hovering in the air. I reached out to stop her. “Hey, Sylvia. Looking for something?”

  She glanced up absently, and then noticed that I had company. She grinned, lighting up the gray of her eyes. “Hi, Abby, where you off to?”

  “To a Little League game, his niece is playing. Nick, this is my neighbor, Sylvia. Sylvia, this is Nick.”

  Her grinned widened. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  He smiled back at her, his brow furrowed slightly, looking a little confused by her expression. “You too, Sylvia.”

  When the elevator door started to close, we slipped inside, waving at her as it shut.

  “What was that about?” Nick asked while he pushed the button for the lobby.

  What was I supposed to tell him? “Oh, don’t mind her. She’s just shocked to see me with someone from the opposite sex. And in the year I’ve known her, this was the first time with someone other than a male friend, and that was only once.” No way was I going to tell him how pathetic I was. “Who knows? Sylvia’s old and senile,” I replied, feeling guilty instantly. The truth was, she was the healthiest seventy-five-year-old woman I knew, albeit maybe the only seventy-five-year-old woman I knew.