“That’s all I know, Syd. Gran never told me and I never asked Virginia.”
“How long ago was that?”
Abby thought for a moment. “Probably about ten years ago. Your grandfather had passed away just about a year prior to that.”
Abby watched the different expressions pass over Syd’s face, and could almost imagine the wheels turning in her brain. She was curious as to what Syd was thinking but didn’t feel comfortable delving into her personal business.
“I must have been about twenty-six then,” Syd said.
“I’m not sure what exactly happened, but your grandmother seemed pretty broken up about it.”
The harsh bark of laughter that came from Syd, and the even harsher, “Yeah, right,” startled Abby.
“Why do you say that?”
Syd waved her hand as if to say never mind, and Abby had a feeling that was the end of that conversation. She couldn’t help notice the fire in Syd’s eyes, like she was angry, and she could see her jaw muscles contract and relax, and her lips were pursed. She wanted to ask Syd why her family hadn’t come around, what had happened between her grandparents and her mother, but she felt that if Syd wanted to talk about it, she would. Abby was curious by nature, and for some unexplained reason, she felt a connection with Syd and she had a need to help her. If she knew what had happened to keep Syd from her grandparents, maybe she could offer some comfort or answers. For now, she would mind her own business and move on to less personal conversation.
“Would you like me to show you around the house?”
“Sure.”
Abby felt the best place to start would be the informal living room. She led Syd into the room that Virginia spent much of her time in. This was the room she entertained her friends in, where she would often knit, where she would look out the window overlooking the pond and watch the sun set.
“So, this is the living room Virginia spent most of her time in.” Abby indicated to Syd. Abby watched Syd as she moved throughout the room, looking at the books, photos, and knick-knacks on the built-in shelves. Syd spent a good amount of time studying each photo as if she were trying to memorize them. She picked up one and showed it to Abby.
“This is my mama. She looks like she’s about ten years old in this picture. They looked so happy then.”
Abby looked at the picture of Syd’s mother standing between Virginia and Harold, Virginia’s husband, with their arms around each other. The smiles on their faces were beaming, but the look on Syd’s face was wistful.
“You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”
Syd looked up at Abby. “Talk about what?”
Abby placed her hand on Syd’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Why you look so sad.”
Syd placed the photo back on the shelf. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. Okay, what’s next?”
Abby showed Syd the other living room and the half bath on the first floor before leading Syd upstairs. She opened the first door on the left of the hallway at the top of the stairs. “This is Virginia’s sewing room. She was an expert seamstress and made most of her own clothes.” The room had a sewing machine in front of the window and a female mannequin in the corner. There were more shelves with fabrics and patterns stacked neatly. Syd touched just about everything in the room as if she could tactilely receive the answers she was searching for.
Abby pointed out the linen closet across the hall, and farther down on the left was the guest room. Abby had spent the night here occasionally if they had been up late playing cards or talking. She and her grandmother would share the queen-sized bed, and they would have breakfast together in the morning before Abby would help Virginia with her chores. Whereas Syd appeared to be angry and sad to be in this house, it held nothing but happy memories for Abby. She hoped she would eventually be able to help Syd have happy memories here too.
“This is the guest room. You can sleep in here or in Virginia’s room, whichever you feel more comfortable in.”
Syd walked in and sat on the bed. She looked around the room at the simple but tasteful décor. “No, this room will be fine. I think it would feel like I was intruding to sleep in her room.”
“Well, I’ve slept here and this bed is really comfortable so you should sleep well.”
Syd looked down and nodded, and Abby wondered again what was going through Syd’s mind. She had an overwhelming urge to walk across the room, sit next to Syd on the bed, and take her in her arms. Instead, she shoved her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels, waiting for Syd to say or do something. Moments passed with Syd continuing to look down and fidget with her hands.
“The only other room I have to show you is Virginia’s room. Would you like to go see it?”
“Actually, would you mind if we didn’t? I’m feeling a little overwhelmed right now and I think I need to be alone. I’m sorry, Abby.”
“No, please. I completely understand. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”
Syd surprised Abby by hugging her and holding on like she was a lifeline. Abby relaxed into the hug and reciprocated, enjoying the feeling of having Syd in her arms. She smelled like cocoa butter and lavender, and Abby slowly inhaled the scent, hoping to memorize it. “No. I really appreciate all you’ve done around here and for me. So, you’ll help me with the chickens tomorrow?”
Abby laughed, mostly at the apprehensive look on Syd’s face. “Of course. I’ll be by around seven if that’s not too early.”
“That’s fine. I’ll make us breakfast, so come hungry.”
Abby handed Syd a slip of paper with her phone number on it. “If you need me, I’m only a call away. Good night, Syd.”
* * *
Abby sat in her office and opened up her email that she used specifically for her publisher, editor, and publicist. The first email she opened was from her editor acknowledging she received the page proofs and her newest release would go to print in just a few weeks. Abby still considered herself a fairly new author, even though her sixth book was about to be published, but with each book, her readership grew, as did the number of positive reviews. Her sixth book, Open to Love, was already getting advanced praise, and her editor told her it was her best story yet.
She loved writing stories, starting at an early age. After her parents were killed in a car accident, she would write letters to them, telling them about school, about living with Grandma and Grandpa on the farm, and telling them how much she missed them and loved them. When she got a little older, she began writing stories of what life would’ve been like if her parents were still alive. Of course, it was fiction, but it made her be more creative, and it made them seem to her like they were just on a long trip.
She had entered short story contests in high school, and she actually won three of them. It was a no-brainer what she would study in college, and she got her undergraduate degree in creative writing. She read books, attended seminars, and took classes that would hone her craft. When her first submitted manuscript wasn’t accepted, she paid a professional editor to take a look and give her advice. She reworked the story, submitted it again, and it was accepted. That was the beginning of her professional writing career. To her grandma and her friends, she was Abigail Price, Iowa farm girl. But to her many fans, she was Leah Griffin, published author of romance novels. Her pen name was very meaningful to her. Her parents’ names were Leah and Griffin, and this was a small way Abby felt she could honor them.
Abby logged out of that email address and logged into Leah’s. She scanned through the list and deleted the spam. Companies offering to move her books to the top of best-seller lists for a price. Why would she pay someone to do that when her publisher did it for her as part of her contract? She took her time reading through her fan mail, appreciating how readers took the time to write to her to tell her how much they loved her books. The least she could do was answer their emails herself. Once she was finished with her responses, she pulled up her manuscript and reread the last page
to see where she left off. She tried to think of what to write next, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Sydney.
Abby noticed more than once that Syd looked sad, maybe a little overwhelmed, but she wasn’t open yet to telling Abby why. All Abby could do was let Syd know that she could talk to her if she felt comfortable. Abby started to wonder what Syd’s story was. As a writer, whenever she came across interesting looking people, she loved to try to figure out who they were. What kind of background did they come from? What was their family life like? What did they do for a living? There were times when Abby would go into town, grab lunch from her favorite deli, and go sit in a park and people-watch. She sometimes got ideas for characters by doing just that. She tended to write stories that were character-driven, and once she had her character profiles complete, they would tell their story. She’d never admit to hearing the characters’ voices in her head though. She didn’t want people thinking she was crazy or anything. Abby chuckled to herself and looked to her white board hanging above her desk.
The board contained her story arc, the characters’ physical and emotional traits, some interesting tidbits about them, and pictures of what she imagined they looked like. If ideas popped into her head about things she could work into the story, she’d write those down too so she wouldn’t forget. This was as close to an outline that she’d do. She was never any good at outlining, and as long as she knew the beginning, middle, end, and the “black moment”—the part of the story where the couple was torn apart—the rest of the story she wrote by the seat of her pants.
It seemed tonight, though, her characters didn’t feel like talking to her. She knew better than to try to force the words that weren’t there. She exited the program and powered down her laptop before taking a long, hot shower that always helped her relax before bedtime. Once she was in bed, she drifted off to sleep in no time at all.
Chapter Five
Syd woke as the sun was starting to shine in the window. She wasn’t used to being up this early since she usually didn’t start work until late morning. She was exhausted from the traveling and she was emotionally drained after talking with Abby about her grandmother, and she had gone to sleep earlier than her normal bedtime. It took most of her energy to carry up her clothes and fall into bed after Abby left.
Syd thought about Abby, and she could feel the tug of a grin. She liked Abby and felt an attraction to her, and she had a feeling she would like her a lot, especially when she got to know her better. Abby didn’t look like the women Syd usually hooked up with or found attractive, but there was something about her that drew Syd to her. Maybe it was her hospitality. Maybe it was her adorable smile and dimples. Maybe it was the solidly built body she imagined to be under her baggy overalls. Whatever it was, Syd was looking forward to getting to know Abby better, even if she planned on leaving in a couple of weeks.
Syd stretched out in bed and took in the guest room’s décor. It was what she expected a farmhouse bedroom to look like. Most of the room was white with a few splashes of color here and there. And while it wasn’t a style she preferred for her downtown Chicago condo, it was cute in a farmhouse-in-Iowa way. She turned on her side to face the window that had a bench seat beneath it. The leaves on the trees just outside the window were still, and she could hear the birds chirping away. Her suitcase and bags of new clothes sat on the floor in front of the closet.
After she showered, she pulled out a pair of jeans and T-shirt and put them on, as well as her new boots she bought yesterday. She decided that she would put away her clothes later after Abby left. She would be arriving soon, and Syd needed to get started on breakfast. She wanted it to satisfy Abby. For some reason, satisfying Abby was high on Syd’s list of priorities. Going through her grandmother’s room would have to wait, but that was fine by Syd.
She felt trepidation at what she might find out about Virginia, how she really felt about Syd’s parents. The biggest question she wanted answered was why. Why did Virginia disown her own daughter because of who she fell in love with? Syd wasn’t sure if that question would ever be answered by going through Virginia’s personal effects. Perhaps Abby’s grandmother would be a better source of information. Abby did say they were best friends, after all. But would she give Syd what she was looking for without feeling like she was betraying her friend?
Syd rummaged through the cabinets looking for the items she needed. She was amused to find the kitchen organized as she would have done it, which made everything easy to find. She knew kitchen organization wasn’t a genetic trait, but she couldn’t help but think some of her maternal grandmother’s traits trickled their way down the family tree to reach Syd. Her parents’ kitchen wasn’t organized this way or like Syd’s, and she speculated if that was on purpose, that her mama didn’t want anything that reminded her of her mama. She was just pulling the bacon out of the warmer when Abby appeared at the back door holding a basket.
“I stopped by the coop and picked up some eggs in case you wanted them.”
Syd was amazed and relieved at the thought of just having to walk out back to get eggs. She realized as she was looking in the refrigerator before she started cooking that she forgot to buy eggs and she wouldn’t have time to drive forty-five minutes into town. She had mentally kicked herself while she had been cooking the rest of breakfast that she could have forgotten something that she used in so many recipes. But now, at least for the next couple of weeks, running out of eggs wasn’t something she would have to worry about.
“Thanks, Abby. I’ll cook those right up. How do you like them?”
“Over easy, please. It smells great in here.”
“Thanks. I just made some bacon and oatmeal. I don’t think there’s a better smell than fried bacon. Well, maybe freshly brewed coffee, but bacon is definitely in the top two. Go ahead and pour us some juice and I’ll have everything ready in a few minutes.” Syd shut her eyes and mentally chastised herself for rambling.
Syd flipped the eggs over for just a moment before she put them on their plates along with the bacon. Abby brought over the bowls of oatmeal and they sat down to eat.
“So, how did you sleep last night?” Abby asked around a bite of eggs.
“Like a baby. I don’t remember closing my eyes.”
“Must be the fresh farm air.”
Yes, the fresh farm air that smelled like musty barns, dirt, straw, and chicken poop. Who wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly after inhaling those scents? Syd laughed when Abby smiled and winked. “Yes, that must be it. What’s on the agenda today besides feeding the chickens?”
“Well, I thought I’d give you a tour of the land. How do you feel about ATVs?”
Syd looked up mid-bite of her oatmeal. “ATVs? I’m not sure I know what that means.”
“It stands for all-terrain vehicle. I rode mine over this morning, and I thought you could ride with me to look at Virginia’s land.”
Syd felt her eyebrows scrunch together, and she rubbed her forehead. She had the faint throbbing of a headache coming on. “Um, Abby? Exactly how much land are we talking?”
“Oh, about thirteen acres.”
“Thirteen acres? Jesus! I had no idea how big this was.”
Abby laughed. “That’s not big at all. Some of the folks around here have over a hundred acres.”
Syd looked down and dragged her spoon through her oatmeal. For what seemed like the thousandth time, she wondered what she had gotten herself into. She also pondered what else could be on this land. Would she find livestock? Corn stalks? Small wild animals roaming around? The possibilities were endless and a little frightening. After the dishes were rinsed, Syd and Abby went to the barn to get the feed.
“What exactly do chickens eat?”
Abby scooped some feed into the bucket and motioned for Syd to follow her to the coop. “They eat poultry pellets mostly. I ground some dried eggshell into a powder and add that to the feed. Sometimes they’ll eat fresh fruit and vegetables, rolled oats, cooked pasta, bread. That’s basicall
y it.” Abby tossed the feed into some bins. “We’ll stand here to make sure there’s no dominance when the chickens eat. The chickens should have clean water readily available, but I took care of that when I got the eggs this morning.”
Syd watched Abby out of the corner of her eye as she fed the chickens. The smell of the feed, the pinging sound of the pellets hitting the bins, the clucking coming from the chickens, the fluid motion of Abby moving about the coop made Syd yearn for a simpler life. Yearn? Is that what she’d call it? This feeling was still foreign to her. When she worked as an investment banker, she rarely had time to relax, take in the sounds, smells, and motions that occurred in her everyday life.
It was just something she took for granted that was always there. She was always focused on her clients and sealing the deal. Syd couldn’t remember any other way of life. She started to slow down when she started working at the center because she wanted to be present with the children and not rush through her time with them. Slowing down had been a hard habit to learn.
Yet how was she able to imagine living this kind of life after just one day? A slower, quieter, simpler kind of life. One where she’d feed chickens and ride a John Deere mower to cut the expansive lawn and have the pond stocked again so she could learn how to fish and sit at the dinner table with Abby every night.
Wait. What? Where and how did Abby pop into that picture?
Sure, Syd found Abby adorable and sweet and attractive. Extremely attractive, to be honest. But having dinner together every night? Like a couple? Syd lived in a high-rise condo in downtown Chicago, the city she’d spent her entire life in. She was used to noise, lights, people, tall buildings, concrete. What could she possibly have in common with a white farm girl who lived with her grandmother? She didn’t even know what Abby did for work, where her parents were, where she went to college. Did she even go to college? She knew nothing about Abby, and yet she envisioned having dinner with her every night? What the hell was happening to her? And the farm? Sure, it would be a nice place to get away for a few days from the noisy city. But actually live there? On a farm? Maybe all that fresh air was getting to her and causing a mini hallucination. What other explanation could there be?
A Call Away Page 4