What's Left Behind

by Lorrie Thomson

  Abby laughed. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she licked the salt from her lips. “Sex was never our problem.”

  “I’ve got an idea. There’s something I want to show you, something in the woods you’re going to love.”

  “I’ve heard that line before, sir, and I’m not buying it.”

  “I promise I’m not trying to seduce you, Abby.” Charlie held up his pinkie.

  Charlie only pinkie swore with Luke.And despite all of the ways Charlie had managed to squirrel out of commitments to her, he’d never ever broken a promise to his son.

  Abby wrapped her pinkie around Charlie’s, and Charlie clamped her hand in his. “Get ready for a trip down memory lane. Close your eyes.”

  “I’m not closing my eyes!”

  “C’mon, Abby. Where’s the fun girl I used to know? Where’s my playground buddy?”

  “I don’t play much,” Abby said. As though responding to Charlie’s taunt, her tone turned petulant, and her bottom lip jutted out. Where had that come from? Nobody forced her to run a B&B. No one set her schedule. If she didn’t make time for fun in her life, she’d no one to blame but herself.

  Charlie, on the other hand, had never veered from the adage of work hard, play harder. Wasn’t that the reason all his students gravitated to him? Wasn’t that the reason she had?

  “Okay.” Abby brushed herself off, stood, and squeezed her eyes shut. The sun’s light pulsed red beneath her lids.

  Charlie wove his fingers through hers. “Relax. This won’t hurt a bit.”

  “I’ve heard that line before, too,” Abby said.

  Charlie turned her around, put her back to the surf, her face toward the woods. The toe of Abby’s boot hit a rock and she stumbled. Charlie caught her around the waist. “Don’t open your eyes.” His hands went to her shoulders, guiding her forward. Light dimmed. The temperature dropped. The green fragrance of pine and birch mingled with the musky scent of decaying leaves and hardwoods.The sun’s filtered light warmed her face.

  And then, all at once, brightness kissed her eyelids.

  “Open your eyes,” Charlie said.

  They stood in a small clearing of ferns, moss-covered slate, and a downed maple trunk with its center point balanced on a slab of marble.

  Damn you, Charlie.

  He’d accomplished the impossible. He’d brought them back to the beginning. Back to the time she’d taken her turn on the seesaw with a cute boy she’d noticed but had never spoken to. Back to Abby and Charlie pushing off from the blacktop, hair flying, whoops of joy caught in their throats. Back to the game of chicken, where the winner jumped off and the loser hit bottom, reverberations echoing through the torso.

  From the distance of adulthood, the thrill of youth came with the comfort of knowing how easy you’d had it. “I still can’t believe you dumped me. What a bully, Charlie Connors! I was half your size. I bumped two feet in the air. You’re lucky I didn’t face plant on the concrete.”

  “The way I remember it, Abby Stone, you dumped me. Rattled my brains so hard I couldn’t think straight for a whole year.”

  Had that been the reason why, after they’d played on the seesaw, she’d needed to let him win their race around the tire obstacle course? Had that been the reason why, midcourse, he’d tripped and fallen?

  No, she couldn’t have . . . Had she?

  Charlie straddled one end of the tree-trunk seesaw. With a big grin on his face, he hardly looked older than ten. Even then, he’d rattled her. He’d rattled her badly. “How about a rematch?” Charlie said. “I promise to play nice this time. I promise not to hurt you. I prom—”

  Abby jumped onto the far end of the tree trunk, pushed off and rose from the ground. Anything to hush Charlie’s slew of promises. She’d heard them all before. The fact they’d never intended to hurt each other never stopped them from doing so. Even when they were in high school, they’d argued. Under the magnifying glass of raging hormones, slights real and imagined combusted. She’d be the first to admit, if only to Celeste, that she’d once lived for their high-intensity manufactured conflict. Now, melodrama exhausted her.

  Real life provided more than enough traumas.

  Abby floated to the ground, pushed skyward. Charlie bent his knees and soared higher. “What do you say? You and me and baby make three. We can get it right this time.”

  Was Tessa so unstable she’d dare give Luke’s baby to strangers instead of Abby? Or was Tessa’s demand some childish ploy to get her way? After months of staying mum about her pregnancy, Tessa had shown up on her doorstep with nothing but the clothes on her back. On Wednesday, Abby had asked Tessa whether she liked avocadoes. She’d waited so long to answer, Abby had half-expected her to open her mouth and say, “I don’t know. Do I?” Instead, she’d merely shrugged.

  Tessa’s self-imposed mandate to give her baby to a married Abby and Charlie could wane like the moon.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Charlie whooped and pumped a fist in the air. “Girl of my dreams is going to think about it!” His voice boomed, but the delivery fell short.

  She didn’t need to overthink the fact she loved Charlie. But years of squabbling had banished him from being the man of her dreams.Years of breaking up and getting back together had worn out Charlie’s welcome. These days, when her mind wandered into the hazy-sweet land of daydreams, she pictured a down-to-earth man who, unlike Charlie, couldn’t tell the difference between a Cartier and a Rolex, but could name every rose at North Creek Farm, and tell you how best to nurture its growth. A man whose emotional maturity made him even sexier. These days, her mind wandered to Rob and lingered on the man who had no interest in a long-term relationship with a new mom.

  If she married Charlie, what did she have to lose?

  Truth was, if she didn’t marry Charlie, they could both lose their grandchild. Was that a blow either of them could weather? Abby didn’t want to find out.

  Charlie stopped the seesaw motion, got off, and held on to the tree trunk to let Abby down easy. He came over to her side of the trunk, his tone end-of-day phone call serious. “Got room for a friend?”

  “Always.” Abby scooted forward on the trunk, and Charlie slid behind her, reminiscent of schoolyard days when they’d double up. At an angle, she slipped back into his arms, got an instant case of the giggles. “I’m squashing you.” She started to stand, and he held fast around her waist, pulled her back down. “No worries, buddy. This is cozy. A cozy train,” Charlie said.

  The image of Abby, Charlie, and Luke snuggling in a seated line along a beach towel filled her until she could feel the heat of Luke’s small body before her. She breathed hardwood and pine, and then banished the scent for the memory of Luke’s just-showered preschool hair. The lemony-sharp scent of No More Tears burned her nose.

  When you lost a child on the brink of manhood, you mourned every stage of his life. The past. The present. And the future denied to him.

  “I remember,” she said. “I remember everything. Those years without you were hard.When you came back to us, I was afraid, afraid to hope.”

  Charlie held tighter. “When I was at school, I thought about Luke all the time. Wondered how big he’d grown, whether he liked to play catch or dig in the sand.”

  “I sent pictures!”

  “I know, but it wasn’t the same. I regret every single second I missed. I know being around for Luke’s child doesn’t make up for the time I missed with him. But, I don’t know, maybe it would help . . .” Charlie’s breath tickled her ear. He rested his cheek on Abby’s shoulder, rubbed her arms with his fingertips.

  Goose bumps raised along her flesh. Like a partner in a long-standing relationship, Abby provided the tail for Charlie’s open-ended statement. Maybe their marriage would help Charlie. He wasn’t looking for a second chance to do right by her or to honor Luke’s memory; he was seeking a means to assuage his guilt. She didn’t doubt Charlie loved her. She didn’t need to overthink the many shades of love. But, aside from Luke’
s baby, what would she gain from their marriage?

  Even if she adopted Luke’s baby without marrying Charlie, she’d lose Rob.

  Rob, who’d seen her grief and urged her to channel it into a physical monument to her son. Rob, who couldn’t walk into Sugarcoated without Elijah gravitating to his side and Phoebe jumping into his arms. Rob, who couldn’t make it through the day without seeing or talking to his daughter.

  Abby didn’t need a baby daddy. But Rob would make a great second-time dad, a loving and supportive stepdad.

  A loving and supportive husband.

  Last night, standing in the doorway to Rob’s bedroom completely faced, she’d accused Rob of not knowing what he wanted, and he hadn’t responded. Because he hadn’t wanted to argue with her or because he didn’t have an argument?

  If Rob didn’t know what he wanted, there was a chance he wanted her.

  “Remember the junior prom?” Charlie’s hands roamed down Abby’s arms and stilled on her hands.

  “No,” she said, but she took hold of Charlie’s hands and gave them a squeeze. They’d made it as far as the Peddler’s parking lot, when Charlie said he needed a kiss. Half an hour later, they tumbled out of his Corvette and stumbled onto the dance floor, red-faced even before their first dance.

  “Be my Abigail Pearl again,” Charlie said, “for Luke.”

  Somewhere along the line, Luke had adopted Abby’s dream of marrying Charlie, and the idea had blossomed in his heart. Meanwhile, inside Abby’s heart, the dream had withered.

  “It’s about time I made good on my promise to you. Isn’t it about time we got married?”

  Wasn’t it about time she felt better? That she stopped living half a life? Scratch her surface and she bled grief for her son, same as the day he’d died.

  Behind her, Charlie struggled with his breath, and she squeezed his hand. “We’re okay,” she told him. Same lie as their nighttime telephone check-ins. Reminiscing about Luke made both of them sad.

  Abby didn’t want to be sad anymore.

  Past the obstacle course of leaves and branches, past the beach, a bright red triangle bobbed in the waves, the Sunfish headed toward shore. Its red sail bobbed in the waves, like an erratic heartbeat. No doubt, she and Charlie knew how to make each other happy. No doubt, they knew how to make each other miserable, too.

  As a teenager, she’d thought the twin fires of passion meant true love. Sometimes when she was with Charlie, their banter and flirtations, their squabbles and fights, made her feel like a teenager again. Full of angst and fury. Full of passion and uncertainty.

  She was hardly a teenager.

  The Sunfish turned its bow into the wind and changed course, tacking back to sea. The wind filled its red sail, and the small craft soared.

  Thirty-eight wasn’t that old, but maybe it was time for her to finally grow up.

  CHAPTER 14

  What would it be like to live with family again?

  Sundown at Briar Rose meant Abby’s time to unwind on the porch. To kick off her shoes, lean back, and enjoy the satisfaction of a job well done. To give herself the proverbial pat on the back. Because, hey, if you didn’t appreciate your hard work, who would?

  A slight breeze came off the ocean, carrying a hint of lavender bloom. A chorus of cicadas chirped, the hum competing with the roll of the surf, and the Charlie statement she kept rewinding.

  You and me and baby make three.

  Three sounded so much nicer than one. Abby had a sudden pang for Lily Beth, living alone for the past sixteen years. Sure, her mother spent her days entertaining the public at Heart Stone, invited friends over for dinners on the beach, impromptu nature walks. But visits ended. Friends went home to their own families, their own lives. And nights stretched, long as the late-day shadows.

  Briar Rose buzzed with activity. Footfalls of guests, male and female voices, water running in the pipes. The commotion comforted Abby, to a point. She and her guests traded life stories. They bonded over trouble talk. Abby provided lighthearted complaints that skirted real issues. Guests offered earnest divulging. But even strangers who became friends were just passing through her life. Abby had no expectations otherwise. Form a relationship, see you next year. Easy come, easy go.

  She scrolled through her cell’s missed calls, reviewed the history she’d already reviewed. Rob had called while she was out with Charlie, wanting to know how she was feeling. He’d asked her to phone back. But how could she return Rob’s call before she had an answer for Charlie? How seriously should she take Tessa’s threat? Fuzzy darkness swallowed the Briar Rose parking lot, night casting a blanket, and no sign of Tessa. To hell with impulse control.

  Abby flipped through her list of contacts and hit send.

  Tessa’s father picked up on the first ring. “Professor Lombardi.”

  “Hi, this is Abby, Abby Stone.” Silence. “Luke’s mom?” Abby savored the sweetness of the words on her tongue, like a widow who worried her wedding band.

  “How are you, Ms. Stone?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for asking. And please call me Abby.” She waited for the professor to ask her to call him Noah. “Um, Professor Lombardi . . . I’m calling to let you know Tessa is doing well. She’s actually been a big help to me.”

  Professor Lombardi harrumphed, a throat clearing with attitude.

  Disbelief? Disgust? Disdain? Tessa had phoned to let her father know her whereabouts. But wasn’t he worried about her? “It’s just,” Abby continued. “Well, frankly, she seems a little confused . . .” The word lost belatedly popped into Abby’s head. Tessa was on a mission, searching. But for what?

  “About?”

  “About the baby.” Abby flipped a curl back and forth between forefinger and ring finger. Back-forth, back-forth, back-forth. Preschool Luke had loved to play with her hair, thumb planted in his mouth, index finger hooked around his nose. When he’d outgrown thumb sucking, he still liked to come up behind her and flip a curl, a just-between-them gesture that stood in for embarrassing hugs and kisses. When was the last time he’d done that?

  The thing about last times? You never knew when they were happening.

  A creak from Professor Lombardi’s end of the phone, as though he were rising from an office chair, even though she’d called him at home. Then the hollow tap of footfall and a slow release of air. Either disappointed or defeated. “I apologize for my daughter. I told Tessa she should leave well enough alone. No good would come from contacting you and bothering you with her problem. The child doesn’t listen, she—”

  Abby’s brain hummed, as though the cicadas’ song had lit all her neural connections. She jumped to standing. “You told Tessa not to contact me?”

  “You’ve so recently lost your son.”

  “I’m aware of that fact.”

  “Tessa obsesses. The child can’t let go of anything. I told her, clean breaks are best.”

  “In what universe?” Abby’s voice sounded hushed. Tinnitus pin-pricked her left eardrum and then trailed to nothing.

  Did Professor Lombardi imagine giving Luke’s child to a stranger would somehow spare Tessa’s feelings? Or was Tessa’s father suggesting Tessa break off her relationship with Luke?

  Instead, Tessa had immersed herself in Luke’s life. Sleeping in his childhood bed. Becoming involved with Luke’s parents. Taking up the train of Luke’s childhood dream that his not-together parents get it together.

  Another huff of air. Through the nostrils, Abby decided. Professor Lombardi was exhaling through his nostrils, like a bull. A stubborn, wrong-minded bull.

  “You advised Tessa not to tell me about my grandchild? To . . . to . . . to . . .” His nonsense-talk paralyzed her tongue. The phone shook in Abby’s hand, a violent wave of tremors.

  The screen door cracked open. Abby’s guest, Bart Trombly, poked his bald head out to the porch. The retired high-school principal and his wife liked to hang glide and paint watercolor sceneries. Bart met Abby’s gaze and retreated inside the foyer, pul
ling the door shut behind him.

  Dial it back, Abby. Dial it back.

  Professor Lombardi deepened the timbre of his voice, as if he were speaking from behind a lectern. “I advised my child to do what I thought was best for her.”

  Abby could’ve gone through her entire life not knowing a part of Luke was alive in the world. Bad enough Tessa was threatening to give the baby away. What her father had suggested would’ve been so much worse.

  How was wronging another person best for anyone?

  Abby’s hand slid down the porch railing. She tried swallowing down her anger, but, damn it, she wanted to jump on the bullheaded professor’s back. Ride that beast until he realized the error of his ways.

  Abby knew the type. The know-it-all truck salesman who’d tried to lure her with payments that fit her budget, conveniently leaving out the fact she’d be paying interest alone. Did he think she was easy prey because she didn’t have a husband to handle the blue jobs? A guest who’d used another B&B’s coupon and tried to short her on the bill. A plumber who’d called her first cute and then crazy, when she’d dissembled the under-sink pipes herself and discovered his business cards clogging the trap.

  Abby had talked the salesman down to size. She’d charmed the guest into paying his bill, plus a huge guilt-alleviating tip. She’d reported the plumber and earned a credit toward a new sink.

  “What options did you and Tessa discuss?”

  “By the time Tessa told me about the pregnancy, her options were somewhat limited.”

  Translation: Tessa had been too far along for her father to talk her into an abortion.

  Years ago, when Charlie had suggested an abortion, for a split second Abby had let herself consider it. She’d imagined herself and Charlie following through with their life plan. Graduate from college, get married, and, a few years later, start their white-picket-fence life, replete with a golden retriever and 2.4 kids. But how could she have looked their 2.4 kids in the eye, knowing she’d stopped their sibling’s beating heart because the timing had been inconvenient?

  Seemed Tessa had shared that line of thinking.