Abby managed to avoid thinking about anything substantial for most of the week. She got up early, drove the blessedly short distance to the museum, worked hard, and came home—if her house-sit qualified as “home”—in the dark, tired. She poked around the house a bit, but she still felt like an intruder, wearing a limited path between her two-rooms-with-bath downstairs—which came equipped with a more than respectable television—and the kitchen above. The house, buffered by its deep front lawn, was quiet, as was the entire neighborhood—few vehicles traveled the road in front at night. In spite of the elaborate alarm system, Abby was not yet entirely comfortable being alone in such a large place. It was going to take time to familiarize herself with it and achieve some sort of psychological possession of it.
It was several days before Brad called her cell phone one evening. Abby stared for a moment at the familiar number on the phone before answering.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.” Brad paused. “You took all your stuff.”
“Yes.” She wasn’t about to make this easy for him.
“Hey, shouldn’t we at least talk about this?”
Abby considered, then said slowly, “I don’t think so.”
“Why not? So I screwed up. But how can you just walk out like that? Don’t I mean anything to you?”
Once you did, Brad. And then you started taking me for granted. And then you slept with Shanna. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want it to be over. Abby felt achingly old and wise compared to Brad, who really didn’t see that he’d done anything wrong. And there was no point in trying to explain it to him, because he would never get it.
“Yes, Brad, you did. But when I found out about Shanna, I guess a lot of things fell into place. You’re better off with someone like her anyway. She’s more your type that I ever was.” And why did it take me so long to see that?
Brad seemed bewildered by her response. Had he expected her to plead, to apologize, to beg to come back? Abby was happily surprised that she didn’t want to do any of those things.
“So that’s it, then? Well, it’s your life, I guess.” Brad sounded like a spoiled little boy.
“Yes, it is. Oh, if there’s any mail for me, can you forward it? I’ll put in a change of address card, but I haven’t had time yet.”
“Yeah, sure.” A long pause. “Well, bye, Abby.” Another pause. “Sorry.” He hung up before she could respond.
So that was that? The end of two-plus years of her life? What was that line, “not with a bang but with a whimper”? Although that line could be interpreted in more than one way . . . Maybe it had been a bang—for Shanna. Abby smiled. Her heart couldn’t be too badly broken if she could see that as funny.
By the weekend she was feeling braver, and she needed to stock up on some more things. She added some other errands to her list. All her cold-weather clothes had been sitting in boxes for a couple of months, so she needed to take them to the cleaners. She needed to find the liquor store, the post office, a hardware store. And then she wanted to treat herself to a stroll around town, maybe ending up at the bookstore. She sighed with pleasure at the day before her.
Her reverie was broken by the sound of her cell phone. Where had she left it? In her purse? But where was her purse? This house was far bigger than the apartment, and she kept putting things down and losing them. She followed the sound, but by the time she located her purse the phone had stopped ringing. She checked for her messages and missed calls, expecting to see Brad’s number appear. But it was Ned’s.
Did she want to talk to Ned? Why wouldn’t she want to talk to Ned? Well, for starters, she would have to explain that she wasn’t living in Waltham anymore, and why. But she couldn’t blame Ned for that, even if his last innocent phone call had precipitated this whole mess. Which was turning out surprisingly well. For which she ought to thank him. Before her thinking got any more convoluted, she hit the recall button. He picked up on the second ring.
“Abby?”
“Uh, yes, it’s me. Listen, I—” “I understand . . .” They were talking over each other.
“Ned? Let me go first. I guess you figured out that I’m not in Waltham anymore.”
“Yes. I called your place, talked to Brad, and he said you’d moved out.” He stopped, and Abby wondered if he was going to ask anything more.
“Well, yes. It all happened kind of quickly. I found out he was involved with someone else, so I split. And Leslie found me this incredible house-sit, so I’m all set.”
“Abby, are you all right? I mean, this is just one more thing, on top of everything else . . .”
She was touched that he even thought to ask. She said gently, “Yes, really, I think I am. Anyway, it feels right. Maybe all those people I keep seeing are watching out for me.” She smiled at the idea, even though he wouldn’t see it.
“Well, if you’re sure.” He didn’t sound convinced. “I just wondered if you’d found out anything else, about your relatives, or about the Reeds.”
“I haven’t had a lot of time to work on it since last weekend. Oh, that’s right—I never filled you in on that. I think I’ve narrowed down when William Flagg was married, and I think it might have been in Ware, so I sent a request to see if they had a marriage record. I can’t exactly run out there while I’m working, and the clerk’s office is closed weekends. I really need to find out Elizabeth’s maiden name. I couldn’t find anything online.”
“And no other, uh . . .”
“Visions? No, not since the last one. Not that I’ve been looking—Leslie keeps me pretty busy.”
They both fell silent for a moment.
“Uh, Abby—would you like to do something tonight? I mean, maybe get dinner, or just talk?”
“I’d like that. I’d volunteer to cook, but I’m still not sure how all the gadgets in this kitchen work. Maybe we could meet somewhere?”
“Listen, have you ever been to the Wayside Inn, in Sudbury? Longfellow wrote about it. The food’s not spectacular, but there’s lots of ambience, and it’s a nice drive. Want to try that?”
“Sure, sounds nice. You want to come by here and pick me up?”
“All right. I’ll make reservations and pick you up around, say, six thirty?”
“Fine. Let me tell you where to find me.” She gave him instructions, which were not difficult, since “her” house lay on the main road between Concord and Carlisle. “See you later.”
After she ended the call, Abby sat at the kitchen table, staring into space. And, she had to admit, thinking about Ned. Brad had thought there was something going on between them, which was ridiculous. She would never even have contemplated such a thing while she and Brad were together—it would have been wrong. At least, to her; Brad hadn’t been troubled by any such reservations. But now they weren’t together, and Abby had a feeling that was final. Which meant she was back in the market again.
But—Ned? She shook her head. She couldn’t see it. Her feelings were still too jumbled, and this was definitely not a good time to think about jumping into something new. Right now, she’d much rather have him as a friend. She needed him to help her sort out these weird appearances, or visions, or visitations—she really should decide what to call them. As she had told Ned, they had not recurred in the last week, although she didn’t believe that they were over. After all, she’d spent the week cooped up at the museum or in this newish house—no ghosts in either. Maybe her ghosts were just giving her a little breathing room, but for some reason she was sure they’d be back. They weren’t finished with her, or did she mean she wasn’t finished with them?
She shook herself and stood up. This was no way to spend a sunny Saturday, and she had errands to run.
When she came back she took a leisurely shower and then contemplated her wardrobe. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been to a real restaurant, rather than the ethnic bistro-type places and casual pubs that Brad favored. Not that she didn’t enjoy that kind of place, but they weren’t the same as plac
es that had tablecloths and linen napkins and candles. Or maybe she was jumping to conclusions, and this Wayside Inn place was just a fast-food joint with a fancy name. She sighed and pulled on a turtleneck and wool pants—her everyday outfit. She was brushing her hair when the doorbell rang. She found her way to the front door, which she hadn’t used, and hoped that the alarm system was disarmed. She peered through the peephole to make sure it was Ned, and luckily when she opened the door, no alarms went off.
Ned, standing on her doorstep, looked reassuringly normal. He smiled. “This must be the right place. You ready?”
“Unless you want the grand tour.”
“That can wait. We’ve got a little drive ahead of us.”
“Let me get a jacket.” Abby collected her purse and a wool blazer, then stood in front of the alarm panel by the door, pressing what she hoped were the right buttons. “All right, we now have one minute to exit the premises before sirens go off. I think. I’d rather not find out.”
Ned laughed. “Then let’s go.”
If Abby had worried about what to say about Brad and her current situation, Ned carefully skirted the issue, talking about the places they were passing through, the restaurant they were going to—all and any safe subjects. Abby found herself relaxing and talking easily. The restaurant, when they arrived, looked for all the world like a warm and welcoming colonial home—although she discovered inside that it rambled back quite a ways, the better to accommodate the dinner crowd, which was large. They were shown to a table—with tablecloth and candles—and presented with large menus.
“The food tries hard to be Yankee colonial, but it’s not bad,” Ned commented.
“It smells good, anyway. I never got around to lunch today,” Abby countered.
After they had ordered, their conversation faltered for a moment. Abby decided that she might as well get over the next hurdle. “You know, you’ve been very discreet. Aren’t you even curious about why I’m suddenly camping out in Concord?”
“I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to. You don’t have to, you know. It’s really none of my business. Unless you’d rather talk about it?”
So he had left it up to her. It seemed a little weird to think of dumping her personal problems on someone she didn’t know very well. On the other hand, there really wasn’t anyone else to tell. Did she want to talk about it at all? She wasn’t sure. But Ned already knew the bare bones, so she figured she owed him something.
“I found out by accident that Brad was involved with this woman in Boston—her name’s Shanna. I don’t know when it started, but I’ve met her, so I can see why—she’s tall, blonde, and smart.” Everything I’m not. “She was supposed to be the girlfriend of one of Brad’s coworkers—I talked to her at a party a few weeks ago, and she even offered to help me find a job. Well, anyway, Brad’s been out on weekends a lot lately, playing golf or catching up on something at work or watching football with the guys. At least, that’s what he told me.” Poor silly trusting me. “I wonder now how much of that was true.
“So last Saturday, I was at the library in Concord, and I gather you called and left a message. And I got home and Brad jumped all over me, asking me who you were and why you were calling me. That caught me by surprise—I’d told him about you, and he’d even met you, right? And then he stormed out and didn’t come back ’til late.”
Their salads appeared, and Abby poked around at the colorful lettuce. “Then on Sunday, he said he was going to watch football with the guys again. But Bill—the one who was supposed to have this terrific gigantic television—called up looking for him, to ask him if he wanted to come over and watch the game. And I called Brad on his cell, and I could hear a woman in the background, and I sort of put two and two together.”
“What did you do?”
“When he finally got back, I asked if he’d been with Shanna. He didn’t try to deny it. I just said I’d move out, as soon as I could find a place. Which I did the next day, thanks to Leslie.”
Ned was studying her face, as if trying to assess her true feelings. “I’m sorry. You’ve got a lot on your plate at the moment—new job, new place, your boyfriend dumps you.”
“Excuse me, I dumped him.” A small point, but it was important to her. “And don’t forget the ghosts.”
Ned looked at her curiously. “Is that what you want to call them?”
“What should I be calling them?” Abby asked. “They were real people, and they’re dead, and I’m seeing them. Not that the term feels quite right. In a way, I’m seeing events, not people.”
“You’ll find something that fits.” Ned waited while the waitress removed their salad plates and distributed their entrees. “You want to go on exploring your visions, or do you want to put it on the shelf for now? I would certainly understand why you might want to do that.”
Abby began cutting up the duck she’d ordered. She took a bite—it was delicious. She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten a real meal, or at least one without tension, and couldn’t. “Mmm, this is great. No, I want to figure this out. In a strange way, I think there’s some sort of cosmic connection—why I’m here at all, why we picked Waltham to live in, why you brought me to Concord. If there are unseen forces managing my life, I’d really like to know about them.” She took another bite of meat and chewed slowly, swallowed. “I’ve never been a religious person, and I’ve never paid much attention to mysticism, but for the last month or two I’ve really had the feeling that there are things just below the surface, things I’m not seeing, but they’re still very real. Does that make sense?”
Ned swallowed his mouthful, taking his time. “Yes, I think so. Look, I’m a scientist, and we scientists like proof—we like things we can demonstrate, quantify, replicate. Whatever you’ve been seeing, or feeling, doesn’t fit any of those criteria. But I believe what you say, when you see them. So I’m curious. I can be the voice of reason that throws cold water on all your half-baked theories. If you want.”
Abby smiled. “Yes, I do, and thanks. I hope that two heads are better than one. But I wish I had any theories—right now I don’t. The only thing I’ve figured out so far is that I seem to be seeing my great-grandmother, and her grandparents. That doesn’t explain the Reeds, or that house in Weston.”
“Nothing else lately?”
“No, no new appearances, but as I said, I haven’t been anywhere new. So, what now, coach?”
“Keep digging, I guess. How’s the family tree going?”
And they were off, on nice safe matters of genealogy, which carried them through dinner and dessert and coffee. Abby found she was enjoying the meal—and enjoying the unfamiliar situation where someone was actually interested in what she had to say. It was nice, she decided.
While they were driving back to Concord, Ned ventured, “You know, you don’t seem intimidated by any of this stuff. Does it scare you?”
“It doesn’t,” Abby responded cheerfully. “Don’t ask me why. Usually I’m very cautious about trying new things. But this? I guess it’s just that it doesn’t feel threatening. I just seem to be stumbling onto people from another era, because for some unknown reason I happen to be on that wavelength.”
“That’s an interesting way to put it.” He pulled into her long driveway and drove up close to the house, but made no move to get out of the car. “I’ll wait until you’re safe inside, okay?”
Abby gathered up her things. “Sure. And thanks again—dinner was great. I’ll let you know if I find anything else interesting—or if somebody new shows up.” Keys in hand, she got out of the car and made her way to the door. She managed to get in and disable the alarm quickly, and turned to wave as Ned backed out the drive. He returned her wave and pulled back out onto the road.
22
Abby’s life fell into a pleasant, predictable pattern, which was fine with her. She got up early, made breakfast and watched the deer, or turkeys, or pheasants; drove the short distance to the museum; worked hard entertaining diverse tou
r groups and filled the time between tours with crafting and polishing her talks, or just wandering the galleries, familiarizing herself with the collections. Then home to a simple dinner and a book or a couple of hours of television. She didn’t hear from Brad. She didn’t hear from Ned. She went out a couple of times with people from work, but most of them had busy family lives, which left her the odd person out. One weekend she explored—historic sites, malls, bookstores—whatever caught her fancy. She started knitting a sweater.
A few weeks after she’d left, Brad forwarded an envelope full of mail that had come for her, including a couple of overdue bills. Among the letters was a response from the town clerk in Ware: there was no marriage of William Flagg recorded there, even though Abby knew he had been living there before the Civil War in 1860, and again in 1870—with his wife. Where should she look, then? One day, while she was doing something entirely unrelated, she realized that she knew when Elizabeth had died—surely she could find a death record for 1929, which would include Elizabeth’s parents’ names and Elizabeth’s place of birth. A Google search told her that the Massachusetts Department of Public Health kept records from 1906 onward, but they should also be available from the Waltham town clerk. The Waltham option was a whole lot cheaper, and might be faster—Abby wasn’t sure—so she filled out another request and sent it off, and prepared to wait. As long as her ghosts stayed dormant, she wasn’t about to obsess about them.
Relatively Dead Page 17