Abby nodded. “At least I’ve got a start. They seem to have announced their marriage here, but only the wife lived here, and her parents didn’t.”
“Sorry to kick you out, but we’re closing soon.”
Abby looked at her watch. “Good heavens, I had no idea it was that late. Sorry.”
“No problem. You can come back again—we’re open a couple of nights a week.”
Abby made a mental note of that information and gathered up her papers. As she climbed the stairs and went out into the bracing autumn air, she reflected that this kind of research was sort of like hunting. You had to believe your target was out there somewhere, but sometimes you got only the occasional tantalizing glimpse of it. Still, it was enough to keep you coming back for more. Abby knew she wasn’t anywhere near finished.
The evening began quietly enough. Brad was actually home when Abby returned from Concord.
“Hey, sweetie, you’re here!” Abby greeted him.
Brad grumbled something unintelligible, apparently absorbed in reading. Abby shrugged, hung up her coat, and went into the kitchen to look for something to make for dinner. She was still staring into the open refrigerator when Brad came in and reached around her for a beer, and then backed away to lean against the countertop, watching her. Idly Abby reflected that in the past he would have wrapped an arm around her, beer or no. When had that changed?
She pulled an unopened package of chicken parts out of the refrigerator and closed the door. Brad hadn’t moved.
“What do you feel like eating tonight?” Abby asked, laying the chicken on the counter and opening a cabinet. “Chinese, Indian, Mexican?”
He didn’t answer, absorbed in peeling the label off his bottle with a thumbnail.
“Brad?”
He looked up at her then. “What’s with this guy Ned?”
Abby looked at him quizzically. “Ned? I told you, I met him on the house tour a few weeks ago. You met him, remember? He’s been helping me with some research.”
“Uh-huh. He left you a message on the machine this afternoon, wondered how the job was working out. Why does he know about that?”
Abby eyed him. He looked belligerent, and she wondered just how long ago he’d started on the beer. She reached past him, peeled the wrapping off the chicken, and moved to the sink to wash it. “Brad, I told you all this, remember? My boss is a friend of his, and she told him she needed someone, fast. He told me, I called her and got the job. End of story.”
She began chopping onions. If Brad didn’t have an opinion about dinner, she would make what she felt like. Brad hadn’t moved, and she could feel his eyes on her.
“How many other times have you seen this Ned guy?”
Abby stopped chopping to stare at Brad. Was that what this was about? He was jealous? That was laughable, although she supposed she should be flattered that Brad thought she would be attractive to other men. But she assumed he was just being territorial: he didn’t want any men sniffing around “his woman”—even a man he had branded as a possibly gay wimp. Brad was still waiting for her to say something.
“A couple of times. Why? You were out doing something, so Ned’s been showing me around. That’s all.”
“I don’t like it. I don’t like the way he sounds on the message.”
You mean, like he cared? “Well, Brad, what do you want him to do? Grunt? Use words of no more than one syllable?”
“That’s not what I mean. You’re a good-looking woman, and you don’t have a lot of friends around here, so you’re, I dunno, hungry for attention? I don’t want him to take advantage of you.”
“Brad, listen to yourself. You sound like something out of a Victorian novel. What on earth do you mean, ‘take advantage of me’?” Some small part of her was warmed that at least Brad still thought she was attractive.
“I just think that his message sounded like more than just a casual ‘hey, how’ya doin’ sort of thing.”
Abby leaned against the counter at a right angle to Brad, and she looked at him. His expression combined sheepishness and anger, but now he wasn’t meeting her eye.
Was this the time to tell him about what had been happening to her? Would it help her to explain why she had been spending time with Ned? Or would it only make things worse?
She knew that the longer she went without telling him, the more difficult it would be to explain. He deserved to know, if he cared about her. Before speaking, Abby found a wineglass and poured herself a glass of wine. She took a sip, then began.
“Brad, there’s something we need to talk about.”
She was not prepared for the explosion that followed.
“Damn it—I knew it! You’ve been sneaking around behind my back, seeing this guy. What, I’m not good enough for you? You’ve been mooching around, living off my dime, and you’re cheating on me?”
Abby was stunned at Brad’s outburst and couldn’t even figure out what to answer first. “Brad! It’s nothing like that. Why on earth would you even think that?” And if he did think that, he didn’t know her very well—she prided herself on her honesty, and she would never, never think of betraying Brad. And “mooching”? She had never counted on him to support her—she’d had a job in Philadelphia, she’d been carrying her own weight. It was only since they’d moved to Massachusetts that she’d been unemployed—and she’d been busy making his life easier for him while he went to his high-powered job in the city. Didn’t that count for something?
“Then why haven’t you talked about him?” he shot back.
Because I knew you’d react like this. “Because I didn’t think you’d be interested in my research project, that’s all. Look, can we go into the living room, sit down, talk about this more calmly?”
He glared at her, then turned and stomped out of the room, throwing himself into his easy chair with an aggrieved sigh. Abby followed more slowly, trying to marshal her thoughts. She sat on the couch, facing him.
“You wanted to talk. So, talk,” he challenged.
“All right. I told you I met Ned on that house tour I went on, right? Well, it was a little more complicated than that.” She took another sip of wine, stalling, trying to decide where to start. “He was the guide, or docent, or whatever, for the last house I visited—you know, the big one on the school grounds, that you can see from the road? Anyway, I got there late, the end of the day, and there was nobody else around. When I walked into this one room, the dining room . . . I got kind of dizzy, almost passed out.”
Brad stared. Abby watched a series of expressions flit across his face. “Why? Were you sick? Or . . . pregnant?”
Which scares you more? Abby wondered. “No, nothing like that. It was just that . . . I had something like a hallucination about one particular room, like I was seeing it in the past.”
“So what’re you saying—you had some sort of déjà vu thing?”
“Not exactly.” She couldn’t think of any way to explain it that would make sense to him. “Anyway, Ned noticed I looked kind of shaky and made me a cup of tea, and then we started talking about the people who had lived there. And that’s when I started doing research—at the National Archives here, and at the library in town.”
Brad looked skeptical. “Why?”
Abby shook her head. “I don’t know—I just thought I needed to find out who those people were. And I did. I found an obituary for the man who lived in the house around 1895, and there was a picture. It was the man I had seen in that room.”
There. She’d laid it out on the table. She watched Brad curiously, waiting for his response. Several seconds ticked away.
Finally he spoke. “Abby, that is the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard from you. You’re telling me that suddenly you’ve gone all psychic and you’re seeing dead people? Come on.”
“Brad, I haven’t decided what this all means. I just know what I saw, and I wanted to find out why.”
“Bull. You were bored because you didn’t have a job, didn’t have enough to kee
p you busy, and you met this guy, and he was nice to you, or whatever, so you’ve been seeing him ever since, and you cooked up this little psychic fantasy to keep him interested. Right?”
The surge of anger she felt surprised her. “Brad! It wasn’t anything like that!” Between her indignation and her need to explain, Abby was having trouble getting any words out. “You know I’ve been busy since we moved, and you know I was going to look for a job. And I have one now. That wasn’t the point. This other thing just sort of happened.” Abby stopped, all too aware that her last statement could be interpreted in more than one way.
“And you’re going to try to tell me that you haven’t seen him since?”
“No, I didn’t say that. I’ve seen him, but as a friend. He’s been helping me with research—what to look for, where to find it.” Abby wondered if it was wise to tell him about the subsequent episodes and decided that she’d better get everything out in the open now, get things cleared up between them. “And . . . I’ve seen things—people—a couple of times since, in different places.”
Abby couldn’t read Brad’s gaze, but she knew he didn’t look happy. Finally he said, “And you waited until now to tell me anything about this? Were you ever going to, if I hadn’t stumbled on the message from your pal Ned?”
“Brad,” Abby began, hating the note of desperation that crept into her voice, “I just wanted to understand what was happening before I tried to explain it to you.”
“Yeah, right. And handy Ned just happened to be able to help you with all this ‘research.’”
Brad stood up abruptly, and Abby shrank into herself. “You know what I think?” he said. “Either you’re sneaking around on me with this guy or you’re going crazy. I’m not sure which idea I like better.” He grabbed his jacket from where he’d tossed it on the table by the door. “I’m going out.”
“Brad?” Abby called out, but he was already gone. She sat numbly in the chair as the echoes of the slammed door faded. You wondered why I didn’t tell you, Brad? Because I knew you’d say exactly what you did. It was so unfair, she thought. Ned was a friend, nothing more. And the visions? Maybe she was losing her mind—but she wasn’t going to concede that until she’d exhausted all other possibilities. She didn’t feel crazy, just confused.
And a small part of her wondered, Why couldn’t you have just believed me, Brad? Why couldn’t you have seen how hard this is for me? Given me a little comfort, support? I didn’t ask for this, but it happened. And now all I want to do is figure it out and go on with my life. Our life.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but it was dark when she finally dragged herself out of the chair and went back to the kitchen to put the chicken away. She wasn’t hungry anymore.
Brad had not returned when she went to bed, close to midnight.
19
She hadn’t heard him come in, but Abby found Brad asleep on the couch when she wandered into the living room Sunday morning. He was dead to the world, smelling faintly of stale beer again, and Abby studied him for a moment while he slept on. What was it she loved about him? His energy, his boyish charm, his determination? And, she reminded herself, the fact that he said he loved you. That hadn’t happened very often in her life.
But now she wondered about him. It wasn’t much fun when Brad funneled all that energy into his work and didn’t save any of it for her. His determination gave him a sort of tunnel vision—and she wasn’t in the tunnel. And the charm? It was a tool that he could turn on and off: he used it when it suited him. He’d won her, and he’d flipped the switch to “off.” Face it, Abby, the small voice in her said, he’s an overgrown kid, impatient, and insensitive to anyone else around him. He was the center of his own universe, and everything, everyone else was supposed to be an orbiting planet, basking in his warm glow. She should know—she’d been there. So where was she now?
Somewhere outside Brad’s solar system. It was a lot colder out there, but the view was very clear. She didn’t like what she saw.
In a pensive mood, she went into the kitchen to make coffee. While she was in the kitchen, she heard Brad’s cell phone ring—it sounded muffled, so it must have been in his pocket. He roused himself enough to answer it, and said, “Yeah, sure. See you there.” A few moments later, Abby heard him lurch toward the bathroom, followed by the sound of running water.
When he came into the kitchen, his hair wet, his chin clean-shaven, his eyes were wary. Abby wondered how he was going to play this. After all, he’d been the one hurling accusations at her; he’d been the one who stormed out and stayed out for hours. She was not going to start out by being defensive, so she waited for him to speak.
“Uh, looks, Abs. Maybe I was a little out of line last night. And maybe part of this is my fault—I’ve been so busy lately, with work and all.”
Which doesn’t explain why you run off to play with your friends on weekends when you don’t have to work, instead of spending the time with me, Abby added mentally. Still she said nothing.
“But I really think you need to take a look at what you’re doing. I mean, this ‘seeing things’ business just sounds nuts. Maybe you should find a shrink or something.”
Fine—now I’m broken, and I have to find somebody to fix me. She’d seen this coming. “Brad, I’m not sure that would solve anything. I’m willing to try, but I’m not about to say that because I’m seeing things I must be unbalanced. That’s not what this feels like.”
“Then what is happening?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand it, but I want to. And I wish you’d have a little faith in me.” She wasn’t sure whether she was referring to Ned or to her “visions” but either one would do. “Although I guess I should be flattered that you’re jealous.”
Brad still looked doubtful. “Ah, hell, I don’t really see you with that Ned guy—he’s kind of a nerd. Maybe I’m just overreacting—there’s been a lot going on at work, a lot of stress. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
Abby softened. “Can I help?”
Brad shook his head. “Nah, it’s just business stuff—in-house politics, that kind of thing. Not a whole lot you can do about it.” He stood up straighter and stretched his neck. “That damn couch is useless for sleeping. What’s happening for breakfast?”
And I’m supposed to be making it for you, as usual, Abby thought. “How about waffles?”
“Fine. Oh—I’m meeting the guys later for football. Will you be around?”
Was that a challenge? “Yes. I’ve got some work to do.” She didn’t elaborate.
He left not long after breakfast. Abby wondered if she should return Ned’s call. She wondered if she would tell Brad if she did. Should she tell Ned not to call her at home? That didn’t seem right either—he was a friend. Didn’t she have the right to have friends? Sure, he was a man, but he didn’t seem interested in her as a woman—just as a weird phenomenon who saw things that weren’t really there. And she wasn’t interested in him as a man. Or at least, she hadn’t thought about it. After all, she loved Brad, she was living with him. How could she be thinking about other men? Ned was certainly very different from Brad—quiet, curious, unassuming. At least he listened to her, without criticizing. That was nice.
She decided to let sleeping dogs lie. If he called, fine; if he didn’t, that was fine too. She was startled when the phone rang at about twelve thirty. She answered tentatively.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice—not Ned, not Brad. “Hi, uh, Abby, is it? Is Brad there? I tried his cell but it went straight to voice mail.”
“He’s not here at the moment—he’s somewhere watching the Patriots game with some people from work. ”
There was an awkward silence. “Oh. Maybe I got it messed up—I was just going to ask him if he wanted to get together to watch.”
Abby took a wild guess. “Is this Bill? He left here over an hour ago—I’m sure he’ll show up soon. Must be fun to watch the game on a big screen.”
<
br /> “Huh? What do you mean?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have gotten confused. I thought you had one of those giant TVs.”
“I wish. Well, I won’t keep you—I’m sure he’ll be here any minute. Nice talking with you.” Bill hung up very quickly.
Abby sat back and digested that short conversation. Brad had lied about Bill’s TV. Brad had also apparently lied about his plans for the day. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered how many other weekend plans he had lied about. And if he wasn’t hanging out with Bill and the guys, where was he?
She stared at the phone, and then slowly hit the speed-dial button for Brad’s cell phone, to leave him a message. To her surprise, after three rings he answered. “Abby?” He sounded incredulous.
“Hi, sweetie. Bill just called wondering if you’d like to watch the game with him.”
Silence. And then Abby could hear a throaty laugh in the background—definitely female—and a muffled curse as Brad apparently put his hand over the phone and said something. He wasn’t with Bill and the guys, he was with a woman. Abby waited for the stab of dismay to shoot through her. It didn’t. Why was she not surprised? Because maybe her intuition had gone into overdrive, and she’d already picked up the signs, without realizing it? So that was why Brad had picked that fight with her last night—had tried to turn the tables on her, accusing her of carrying on with Ned, because he was carrying on with another woman. And with a flash of insight she knew who it was.
“Well, Brad, maybe you should give Bill a call and straighten him out. Oh, and say hi to Shanna.”
Abby hung up. She stared at the phone, waiting. As she expected, Brad called back immediately, but she ignored the call. She really didn’t want to talk to him. He tried again, then a third time, before giving up. She sat in the chair, still staring at the handset of her phone, thinking furiously. Brad and Shanna. How long had that been going on? And how often?
And how did she really feel about it? Hurt. Insulted. Angry. And—if she was honest with herself—relieved. At least now she knew why things had seemed “off” between them for a while—and it wasn’t her fault, or at least not entirely. She’d thought it was the stress of moving, new job, change—but in fact there had been a wild card in the hand that she hadn’t even seen. What was worse, she could see that Brad and Shanna made a good couple. They were both sharks. They were certainly better matched than she and Brad were.
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