by A. L. Parks
The restaurant had a large outdoor cantina that was already brimming with people. Rob and Becca saved a table, and were ready to order a second round of margaritas by the time Abby and Bryce showed up. Abby hugged Rob, who leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. Tall, dark, and handsome with his 6'4" black frame, black eyes, and bald head, he could have graced the pages of GQ or Jet. Abby had always thought it a shame he spent most of his day at a desk going through financial statements.
“Rob, Bryce,” Abby introduced the men, as they shook hands. Becca gave Abby a hug, and then turned to Bryce. If there had ever been a couple that were in direct contrast to each other – it was Rob and Becca. A full foot shorter than her husband, Becca had blond hair, lily white skin, and was always bubbly and the life of the party. Abby had decided a long time ago that they were not really opposites, but a balance. It worked for them, and gave Abby hope.
“You must be Becca,” Bryce said, and put his hand towards her.
“And you must be Bryce,” she responded, and moved in for a hug. “Abby obviously neglected to tell you that I am a hugger, and a serious invader of personal space.”
Bryce laughed, and returned her embrace. “Works for me.”
The foursome spent the next few hours drinking, eating, laughing, and drinking some more. At closing time, the waiters began clearing tables, and encouraging people to leave by blowing out the centerpiece candles, and no longer asking if they “needed anything.”
The four friends made their way to the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Becca hugged Abby, as Bryce and Rob exchanged cell phone numbers. The two men had hit it off right away. When Bryce had explained his position as curator at a large museum a few blocks away, Rob stated that he had clients in the area that he visited at least once a month. They decided to meet for lunch the next time Rob was there, which set them off on another discussion of their favorite restaurants close to the museum.
Becca leaned into Abby, and drunkenly whispered, “You should reconsider your position on the whole friendship thing with Bryce, Sweetie. He’s a keeper.” Before Abby could object, Becca pulled away from her, and fell into Bryce, hugging him. “You, Mr. Bryce,” she slurred. “You are now officially part of our annual Cincho de Mucko…day…” Bryce looked at Rob, who rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Bryce snorted as Rob removed his wife from Bryce’s supportive arms. Bryce put his arm around Abby’s shoulder, while she grasped the back of his shirt for support. Rob and Becca climbed into the waiting cab, and waved goodbye. Bryce helped Abby into the backseat of the cab that had pulled up to the curb. He gave the driver Abby’s address, and they reminisced about the night, laughing at Becca’s corny jokes.
Abby got out of the cab in front of her building, and wobbled as the sidewalk shifted below her feet. Bryce stood next to her, and held onto her before she toppled over. “Okay, it’s not looking like you can make it up the stairs on your own,” Bryce said. He turned back to the cab, and paid the driver.
Abby bent over, and looked into the cab, “Thanks for the ride home, Bob.” Her voice was a higher pitch than usual, and she giggled at the sound of it in her ears.
“Thanks for not throwing up in my cab, little lady,” Bob replied.
“I know, right!” Abby laughed, and nearly toppled over again. Bryce caught her arm, and they made their way slowly up to Abby’s apartment.
Abby half-staggered into the bedroom, changed into pajamas, grabbed a pillow and blanket from the chest at the end of her bed, and returned to the living room. Bryce was sitting on the couch, drinking from a bottle of water he took from the fridge. Abby dropped the pillow and blanket on the end of the couch, and slumped down next to him. He handed her a bottle of water, and placed a couple of aspirins in her hand.
“Okay, so tequila is off-limits until next year,” Abby said through a yawn. “You sure you’re good here on the couch?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he answered. “Off to bed, Missy.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and walked into her bedroom. She crawled into bed, and lay there, listening. Bryce’s soft snores could barely be heard, but somehow, they comforted Abby. She had felt alone for so long. She snuggled into her bed, and soon drifted off to sleep.
Light flooded the room. Abby recognized the anguished screams as her own.
“Trevor,” she called out, as the vision of him slowly slipping away faded. Tears flowed down Abby’s face, and fell onto the sheet that covered her legs.
“Shh, Abby. It’s okay.” Bryce was next to her, and pulled her into his chest. She fisted her fingers into his t-shirt, and sobbed. Bryce rocked her slowly, as the tears subsided, and her head began to clear. She loosened her grip on his shirt, and laid her hand flat against his chest.
“I’m sorry, Bryce,” she whispered. She hadn’t had a nightmare in a few weeks, and was unsure what had brought this one on. Of course, there was never any rhyme or reason to the nightmares; but they never failed to rock Abby emotionally every single time.
Bryce sat quietly, and held her, until she pulled back and looked into his face. He brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks, and smiled. “Better?” he asked. She nodded, and offered a weak smile. But the nightmare had left Abby shaken and afraid – afraid to go back to sleep and find herself in the throes of another horrific scene from that day.
“Can you stay with me until I fall asleep,” she asked meekly. Bryce kissed her forehead, and laid her down in the bed.
“Sure,” he answered, turned off the light, and lay down next to her. She felt his arm across her shoulder, and his fingers
lace into hers. And Abby was astonished that it felt so normal and right, having Bryce next to her. She drifted off to sleep, while Bryce kept the nightmares at bay.
***
The cab pulled up in front of the museum. Abby paid the driver, and climbed the steps to the entry. She was greeted by the daytime security guard, Tad; and Mrs. Jenkins, who worked the information desk. Tad was a young guy, mid-twenties, who looked as though he would be handsome if he could get his severe acne under control. He was quiet and shy, but Bryce said he was a hardass when he needed to be.
“Hello, Abby. How are you, dear?” Mrs. Jenkins asked as Abby approached the desk. She was in her sixties, and had worked at the museum since she was in her twenties. Bryce said she knew more about the museum than he did, and he often ate lunch with her just to hear stories about past curators, benefactors, and artists that she had dealt with over her lifetime.
“I’m good, Mrs. Jenkins. How are you? Did your grandson get that job in California?” The white-haired woman just beamed at Abby, and Abby knew she had scored points remembering the woman telling her about her grandson who had just graduated from college.
“He did; he’s all settled in out there now. He seems to be enjoying all the sun and beaches. Are you here for Mr. Holden?”
“I am,” Abby responded. “We’re just going to grab some lunch.”
The woman nodded, picked up the phone and was soon informing Bryce that she was waiting for him in the lobby. The two women spent the next few minutes talking more about her grandson, until Bryce showed up. Abby said her goodbyes to Mrs. Jenkins, and she and Bryce left. They walked two blocks over, and
found an open table at Bryce’s favorite deli.
“I’ll order, if you save the table. What do you want?” Bryce asked.
“Ham and swiss on rye. Make sure you ask for extra mustard,” Abby answered, taking a seat at the small round table.
Bryce handed her a thick file. “Here are the Foundation financial reports we talked about.”
“Oh, good,” Abby responded, flipping the file open. She made a cursory investigation while Bryce ordered their lunches. When he returned, she closed the file, and placed it on the empty seat next to her. “I’ll go through them tonight, and see what’s going on.”
Bryce nodded, and the conversation turned to the latest exhibit at the museum. When lunch was over, Bryce hailed a cab for Ab
by, and she made her way back to her office. She had wanted to look through the file Bryce had given her, curious about the foundation named after his late wife, but had been called into meeting after meeting until she finally put the file into her briefcase, and left for the day.
Her phone rang as she sat at her kitchen bar eating dinner, and going through the Foundation reports.
“Hey, what are you up to?” Bryce asked after her greeting.
“Just going through the reports you gave me,” Abby answered.
“Find anything interesting?”
“I have a couple of questions, but I am hoping they will be answered the more I dig into it. Nothing worth talking about right now; it’s just speculation until I get a thorough view of everything,” she tried to sound positive. But the more she dug into the reports, the more she had serious reservations regarding the woman who was running the charity. Abby needed more time to go through everything before she made any allegations.
“Did you get your ticket for North Carolina?”
Bryce’s annual trip to the beach where he spent the last remaining days of Emily’s life was fast approaching. Abby had watched him slowly slip into a quieter, more depressed state over the last couple of weeks, and feared it was only going to get worse the closer the time came to leave. Bryce rented the same beach house where he and Emily lived during her final days, and would sit for hours on the beach where he had thrown her ashes into the sea. Abby had envied him the warmth of the sun during his day of remembrance, when hers were usually spent in the cold of winter. But then, she knew that no amount of sun would warm him. That type of loss carried a chill all its own, and was difficult to shake even under a warm summer sun.
As she was getting ready for bed that night, an idea floated through her head. The perfect theme for Emily’s benefit night. She hit the speed dial on her phone without looking at the time. A sleepy Bryce answered.
“Oh, shit,” she said quickly, and glanced at the clock that read one a.m. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I’m up. What’s wrong?” Bryce asked through a yawn.
“Nothing, I promise. Seriously, go back to sleep and we can talk about later.”
“Abby, I’m already awake now. Just tell me – I’ll never get back to sleep unless you do.”
Abby gave him a synopsis of her idea. It was an interactive,
James Bond-esque spy night. Guests would be given a secret identity when they arrived, along with a clue to help solve the crime. A story could be concocted about an international art heist. At a specified time, the lights would dim. A security guard would announce that one of the valuable art pieces in the museum had been stolen, and the building was on lockdown. The attendees would be spies, gathering information in order to nab the thieves. A select few would be part of the crime ring. At midnight, the thieves would be revealed, and the person who came closest to choosing all the criminals correctly would win a prize. The police would come in, and arrest the thieves, and the art would be restored to its proper place.
“How on earth did you come up with this?” Bryce asked.
“I was watching Skyfall,” she answered.
Bryce chuckled. “You and your Daniel Craig obsession.”
“Appreciation not obsession,” Abby corrected.
“Whatever,” Bryce responded. “You better be careful, Abby. Looks like you have tapped into the creative side of your brain.”
“Don’t be rude. Numbers and spreadsheets are my life. This is probably born from the leftover meatloaf I had for dinner.”
Bryce laughed, apologized and they spent the next two hours talking about her idea. By the time they finally hung up, Abby was able to get about three hours of sleep, but woke amazingly refreshed. Hearing the relief in Bryce’s voice when they were saying goodnight had warmed her. She felt, in some small way, she was contributing to something near and dear to Bryce’s heart. Taking some of the stress away was something Abby had been trying to do for weeks. Perhaps giving him something else to focus on, besides re-living his wife’s death in the upcoming weeks, was exactly what he needed.
Chapter Three
On July 16th, Abby drove Bryce to the airport bright and early in the morning to catch his annual flight to the beaches of North Carolina. Parked along the curb at departures, Abby pulled the lever to pop the trunk, as Bryce got out. He pulled his small rolling suitcase and the leather messenger bag from the trunk, while Abby walked around to the back end of the car. He turned to her, and let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Okay, I'm off." His voice was low and soft.
Abby put her arms around his neck, and gave him a warm embrace that she hoped would last him through the upcoming visit. Emily had been gone for five years, and Abby's heart ached for Bryce as he checked his inside coat pocket for the hundredth time since leaving his apartment that morning. The small velvet pouch that contained the intricately carved oak hearts was still safe and secure – an anniversary gift for Emily that Bryce planned to place in the wreath of Calla Lilies, that he would cast out to sea in her memory.
"Call when you get in. Let me know you made it safely," Abby reminded him, sounding a bit too much like her mother for her comfort. "I’ll pick you up on Friday. Call if you need anything." Bryce nodded absentmindedly at her, but Abby waited for him to look up again. Once his eyes met hers, she added an emphatic, "Anything," and held his gaze.
"Got it," he smiled, but his eyes were sad, and Abby's heart clenched. She had learned so much about Emily over the past few months, and grieved for a woman she never had the chance to be friends with, who was taken away too soon. Abby had been mesmerized by the stories of Emily's courage and strength during her treatments; how she had worn her head scarves with pride after her hair had all fallen out – the brighter and more outrageous the pattern, the better. And how Emily had held Bryce on so many occasions, let him weep in her arms, defeated and depressed by his inability to control her treatments or protect her from the beast that dwelled inside her. She had told him, in those last days that she was happy – that she had been able to spend the best years of her life with him. And she told him good-bye, adding that she would be waiting for him to join her, but only when he was very old, and had lived life for both of them.
On Thursday night, Abby’s cell phone rang as she poured herself a glass of wine. The caller ID showed Becca calling. Abby contemplated letting it go to voicemail, afraid Bryce would call while she was talking to her friend. Abby had been busy going through the financial reports for Bryce, and had not returned any of Becca’s calls recently. So Abby pressed the talk button instead.
“Hey, stranger,” Becca stated when Abby said hello. A pang of guilt hit Abby, and she inadvertently winced.
“Hey, B. What’s up?” she asked, hoping to avoid a discussion on the number of missed calls.
“Just calling to check on you. Rob had lunch with Bryce the other day, so I know he is in North Carolina. Have you heard from him? How’s he doing?” Abby’s heart swelled. It made her happy that Becca and Rob had included Bryce in their circle of friends.
“I haven’t heard from him yet today,” Abby confessed. “I’m hoping he’ll call soon, though.” He should have returned from the beach to the rental house, after spending the day with Emily, as her essence of spirit drifted amongst the warm summer waves.
“You doing okay, Sweetie?” Becca asked.
“Yeah, I’m good. It’s just weird. I mean, Bryce and I don’t spend time together very often during the week, but we are usually texting or talking. It’s strange not to hear from him.”
“Sure. You miss him. That’s to be expected. You guys are…close,” she drew out, but Abby knew the hidden meaning behind the words. Becca had been hinting for weeks that there was more to Abby and Bryce’s relationship than friendship.
“Don’t go there, B. Bryce and I are friends.” Abby replied exasperated.
“Yeah, right. I got it. Just friends. Giv
e Bryce our love when you talk to him.” Abby agreed, and the two talked for a few more minutes and then hung up. Abby checked the text log, in case somehow a message had slipped by her without her notice. After she confirmed nothing had, she texted Bryce.
**Thinking about you. Here if you need me**
Abby waited for a minute to see if he would text back. Nothing. She laid the phone on the counter, and opened the fridge, grabbing the bowl of pasta salad Bryce had made before he left. Taking the whole bowl with her, she grabbed a fork, her wine, and the cell phone, and plopped down on the couch. Just as she shoveled a rather large amount of the pasta into her mouth, her phone beeped.
**Thanks**
Abby just stared at the single word on the screen, and her heart dropped. He was hundreds of miles away, by himself on the fifth anniversary of his wife's death. A rush of cold ran through her, and she felt the overwhelming need to jump on a plane, fly south, and hold the hand of someone she considered her best friend. A lump formed in her throat, and she wondered why she had not considered accompanying him, offering support, her shoulder to cry on, or a tight embrace. The phone beeped again.
**Can I call you?**
Abby wasted no time hitting the speed dial for Bryce's phone. He picked up after the first ring.
"How about I call you?" she said softly.
She could hear the deep breath Bryce was holding, escape from his lungs, as he offered a low, "Hi."