A Thread So Thin

by Marie Bostwick

  “It’s got your name on it, Abbie, and for good reason. You practically built that place single-handedly! Scarcely a year ago, you were all about blueprints and program plans. People in town were terrified to meet you on the street, knowing you were going to shake them down for another contribution toward the building campaign. And now, after all your hard work and effort, the new Stanton Center is finally open. Sixteen families of women who found the courage to escape from their abusive relationships are living in safety and comfort, thanks to your efforts. And also thanks to you, forging new careers and new lives for themselves and their children just got a lot easier. The New Beginnings program is finally up and running, offering career guidance to the women and enrichment programs for them and their families.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Virginia’s Mommy and Me quilting class at New Beginnings is completely full. Seven moms and seven kids signed up, including Ivy and little Bethany.”

  “How is Bethany?” Abigail asked, her expression softening. “I haven’t seen her in such a long time.”

  Abigail had met Bethany when she was taking a tour through one of the apartments in the old Stanton Center. Bethany grabbed Abigail’s hand and showed her around the tiny apartment that, to a little girl who had recently spent nights sleeping in a car, seemed like a palace. The minute that little hand had latched on to her big one, Abigail’s formerly icy heart melted. The first quilt Abigail had ever made, and the only reason she’d accepted my invitation to become part of our newly forming quilt circle, was a present for Bethany.

  “Bethany’s fine,” I said. “Bobby too. I can’t believe how quickly they’re growing up. Ivy brought Bethany to the shop the other day. They were picking out fabric for their class project and she asked about you. Seems you promised to take her and Bobby to the circus when it was in New Haven—but it never happened.”

  Abigail clutched at her throat with her hand as she recalled her forgotten promise and realized it was too late to do anything about it now. The circus had already left town, and even the wealth and influence of Abigail Burgess Wynne Spaulding could not convince it to return before next year.

  “I can’t believe I forgot,” Abigail said weakly. “Was she terribly disappointed?”

  “Well, yes,” I said honestly. “She’s never been to a circus. But I think she was more concerned about you than disappointed. She knows it’s not like you to forget a promise.”

  Abigail let out a small sigh and bit her lip. “I can’t believe I let Bethany down like that. I just…I’ve been so…so preoccupied….” Her voice trailed off as if she was finally beginning to realize what an understatement that was.

  Abigail was abject. Angry as I’d been with her over the last weeks, I took no pleasure in her misery. Part of me just wanted to pat her hand and tell her everything would be okay. If this had just been a case of a friend having been a little self-centered and needing to be straightened out, I would have. But it wasn’t that simple. We really needed to get to the bottom of this. Abigail needed to get to the bottom of this.

  To get her to open up and talk would require a serious dose of tough love. I knew that. So did Franklin.

  “Abbie, it isn’t just Bethany you’ve let down,” he said gravely. “You’ve let down all those women at the Stanton Center too. With the New Beginnings internship program just getting off the ground, this is the time to be getting a positive buzz going about the program, generating publicity and community goodwill.

  “The Grill, the quilt shop, and my law office are still the only companies in town who’ve agreed to participate in the program. A lot of the business owners are nervous about having victims of domestic violence working for them. They think they might be unstable, or unreliable—”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Abigail snapped, her spine stiffening with outrage. “These women will make outstanding employees. Outstanding! Each of them is carefully screened and evaluated before even being considered for an internship. Donna Walsh wouldn’t let a woman take on an internship unless she was sure she was ready for it. Yes, at first they might require a bit more patience and sensitivity than some employees, but they’re bright, dedicated, mature women, every one of them. And grateful for the opportunity to be given a chance!”

  Abigail stabbed her index finger into her husband’s chest. “Mark my words, Franklin! In five years’ time the reputation of the women who come through our New Beginnings internships will be so stellar that we’ll have business owners lined up around the block, begging us to let their companies be involved. Someone should explain that to them, Franklin!”

  “I agree, darling. And I think that someone should be you. Except for Donna Walsh, no one is more passionate about this program than you are. And as a lifetime resident of New Bern with an unparalleled standing in the community, you are the ideal spokesperson. Donna thinks so too.” Abigail was quiet, the flush in her cheeks fading as Franklin spoke, knowing what he was about to say.

  “But when she called you last month and asked if you’d give an interview to the Hartford Courant about the program, and speeches at the Rotary Club and the Chamber of Commerce, you told her you were too busy with the wedding.” Franklin paused a moment, letting this sink in.

  “You let them down, Abbie. All those women who’ve come to the Stanton Center for help, many who’ve risked their lives in the hopes of making a fresh start, learning a skill, and finding a job that will enable them to support their families. They need you, Abigail, wedding or no. And they need you now.”

  Abigail lifted her chin and swallowed hard, the veins in her neck tightening as she struggled to keep her emotions in check.

  “And you did lie,” Franklin said quietly. Abigail turned her head away, avoiding his gaze. “You told Charlie that Evelyn wanted all those expensive hors d’oeuvres for the bridal shower, and she didn’t. That was a lie and you knew it, Abbie.”

  Abigail shrank in her seat, shamefaced. “I just wanted the shower to be perfect. To be everything Liza could possibly want. I wanted it to be special.”

  “But it already was.” Margot frowned, but her tone was more questioning than accusing. “Liza was very excited about the shower—the flowers, the balloons, the cupcakes. It was everything she wanted, but it wasn’t everything you wanted.

  “And what was it you wanted?” she asked. “Do you even know? Even after you waltzed in with your army of manicurists and masseuses and food we didn’t need that cost—I don’t know how much, but a lot—it wasn’t enough for you, was it? You were nervous the whole time, fussing with the flowers and the table settings. What would have satisfied you? When would it have been enough?”

  If anyone else had delivered this speech, laying out the case against her so starkly, asking such pointed questions, I suspect Abigail would have become combative, but Margot could get away with it. Margot never has a hidden agenda.

  Margot is probably one of the only truly good people I’ve ever met. She’d argue with that, I’m sure. But not only does she never do anyone harm, I don’t think she even thinks anyone harm. She is the genuine article. I know it and so does anyone who knows her, including Abigail, which is why she sat quietly under Margot’s indictment, sinking lower and lower as Margot went on, wilting under the weight of her shame.

  “It wasn’t my intention to hurt anyone. Not you or Liza,” Abigail whispered. “Truly. I am so sorry.”

  This was huge. Abigail is not the sort of woman who tosses off apologies lightly or frequently. “Never complain, never explain.” That’s Abigail’s motto.

  Her face still sober, Margot nodded. “Apology accepted. But that’s not why we’re here, Abigail. We’re worried about you. Since Liza and Garrett announced their engagement, you’ve gone from being an everyday, run-of-the-mill overbearing mother-of-the-bride to someone we barely recognize.”

  Franklin smiled. “And I, for one, have been particularly distressed because I loved you the way you were.”

  Abigail emitted a derisive little laugh. “You m
ean stubborn, self-centered, intolerant, and pushy?”

  Franklin reached up to run his hand over her perfectly smooth hair. “And stubborn.”

  “I already said that!”

  “Yes, but in your case it bears repeating,” he teased.

  Abigail bumped him with her elbow.

  “But, Abbie, you also have other qualities, good ones. You’re intelligent, generous, energetic, especially on behalf of the many good causes you champion, beautiful—”

  “Oh, what do you know? Isn’t your vision about twenty/two hundred?”

  “And, of course, witty. If not for you, New Bern parties would be incredibly dull. But, Abbie, this wedding has become an obsession with you. It’s not about Liza anymore, if it ever was. So,” he said quietly, “what is it about?”

  “I don’t know.” Abigail paused for a moment. “Or I didn’t. Not until today.”

  Abigail looked away from Franklin again, past Margot and me, and focused on Tina’s fuzzy face, directing her confession to the tolerant gaze of those understanding brown eyes.

  “This morning, at Byron’s office in Manhattan, we were trying to choose accessories for Liza’s gown. The jeweler sent over a selection of diamond necklaces and chokers for her to try on. I decided, as a surprise, that rather than just rent the jewelry, I’d buy it for Liza. A sort of pre-wedding present.

  “But Liza said she didn’t want it. She wants to wear some necklace that Garrett likes, one she made herself that she was wearing the night he proposed. Garrett asked her especially, but I…I’d made up my mind that she should wear diamonds. We argued. Heatedly. Liza accused me of doing this all for myself, of trying to engineer the wedding I wished I’d had but didn’t. It isn’t true. None of this has been for my own benefit, but…I’ve finally realized it wasn’t for Liza’s, either.”

  Abigail turned her gaze from Tina and looked into her husband’s eyes, her composure crumpling like crushed tissue paper. “Franklin, I…I called her Susan. I called Liza Susan.”

  Franklin’s face fell.

  “Oh, Abbie. Abbie, come here.” He gathered her in his arms.

  Abigail collapsed on his shoulder and wept.

  “Abbie, darling, Susan is gone. You can’t…”

  “I know,” Abigail sobbed. “I know. She’s gone. Nothing can change how I treated her when she was alive. The man I loved, loved her more than me. That’s all. It wasn’t Susan’s fault. But I was so jealous, insanely jealous!

  “She was my baby sister and she was alone in the world, broke, suffering, and Liza along with her. I could have helped her, but I didn’t,” Abigail cried. “I could have forgiven her, but I didn’t. Not even when I learned she was dying. Not until it was too late to matter. I am a horrible, hateful person!”

  Franklin shook his head. “Abbie, that’s not true. You may not have been able to forgive Susan until after her death, but you did forgive her eventually. Some people are never able to do that. And your forgiveness has mattered, so much. Where would Liza be without you? She was angry, bitter, and heading down a dangerous path before you came into her life.”

  Abigail raised her head from Franklin’s shoulder. Her eyes were red and there was a telling smear of mascara under her lashes. “Yes, and now she’s angry and bitter again. I’ve made her that way. She hates me, Franklin. She hates me!”

  Abigail’s voice dropped almost to a whisper as she tried to stem her tears. “And I don’t blame her. I didn’t…it didn’t start out like this. I love Liza as if she were my own. I love her the way I’ve never loved anyone, except Susan back when we were girls and she was as dear to me as my own heart. I took on this wedding out of a genuine desire to make Liza happy, but somewhere along the line, without realizing it, I forgot that. I started to confuse Liza and Susan, thinking that somehow, if I could just do enough or spend enough, I could make it up to Susan, to everyone. But the more I did, the more I felt the need to do more. It’s not possible, is it, Franklin? There isn’t penance enough in the world to expunge my sins.”

  “Abbie, don’t. You’ve forgiven Susan. And God has forgiven you, long ago.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “I believe that. But I can’t forgive myself, Franklin. God is great, but I’m not. I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”

  “Abbie.” Franklin’s voice was hoarse and full of grief, feeling Abigail’s pain as if it were his own. It was a sad scene but at the same time, beautiful.

  And the two shall become one flesh. That’s the way it’s supposed to work. Two separate and wholly imperfect beings take a chance, make a pledge, and become one in body and in spirit, rejoicing in each other’s successes, mourning each other’s losses. That’s what we all desire, someone who is so much ourselves and we them that the two halves become one, undistinguishable whole. We long to be known—physically, intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually—and to know another in return.

  That is the bond every repetition of the marriage vow is supposed to create. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t. I’m guessing that among those who know her, not many would have given odds on Abigail finding true love and making a successful marriage. There were times when I’d have been among them.

  But looking at her now, weeping and in despair but doing so openly, enfolded in the embrace of a man who loved her beyond logic and in spite of her flaws, it was clear that Abigail and Franklin had found what I’d almost ceased to believe existed: true and lasting love, the kind that time could not tarnish and the cares and trials of life could not dissolve.

  I was happy for them but, at the same time, I was also pierced with a stab of jealousy. That surprised me. And shamed me. I’ve never begrudged Abigail anything, not her popularity, or celebrity, or wealth. But that day, for a moment, I begrudged her the love that I longed for but no longer believed was possible, not for me.

  As Abigail wept in her husband’s arms and he wept with her, it was that jealousy and shame as much as the sudden sense that Margot and I were intruding on a moment of the deepest intimacy that caused me to tap Margot lightly on the knee and tip my head toward the open door.

  Margot left. I followed her, closing the door softly behind me so as not to disturb Abigail and Franklin, though by that point I think they were beyond noticing.

  Margot was misty-eyed as we headed toward the stairs.

  “That was so beautiful. They’re so in love. I only wish…” Margot sniffled and used the back of her hand to wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Evelyn. I know you’ll think I’m awful but, just now, I was jealous of Abigail. Isn’t that terrible?”

  “No. Why wouldn’t you want what Abigail has? I do. We all do.”

  “Do you think we’ll ever get it, a love like that?”

  “Sure, you will,” I said, excluding myself from the response. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Margot smiled gratefully and hooked her arm through mine. We descended the stairs, intent on letting ourselves out, but met Hilda, Abigail’s housekeeper, hurrying upstairs with a frightened look in her eyes.

  “Oh, Ms. Dixon! Miss Matthews! Have you seen Mr. and Mrs. Spaulding?”

  “Yes. They’re upstairs, in the library, but I don’t think they want to be disturbed. Is something wrong?”

  Hilda bobbed her head. “Mr. Dixon is on the phone, Mr. Garrett. He’s calling from a hospital in New York, from the emergency room. It’s Liza. She collapsed on the street and was taken away by ambulance.”

  32

  Liza Burgess

  I had my hand on the doorknob, inches from a clean getaway, but Abigail, who swears she’s getting hard of hearing but only seems to suffer from it at convenient intervals, heard my footsteps in the entryway and popped her head out of her office where she’d been poring over a seating chart for the wedding.

  “Liza? Where are you off to, darling? It’s nearly time for lunch.”

  “It’s all right. I’m not hungry.” Abigail
looked concerned so I backtracked. “I’m not hungry right now. I had two waffles at breakfast. The weather is so nice that I thought I’d go for a walk. I’ll have a sandwich when I get back.”

  She looked doubtful. I rolled my eyes. “Will you quit looking at me like that? I’m just not hungry right this second, all right? I’m sure I will be later, after my walk.”

  Her heels tapped on the wooden floorboards as she crossed the entryway and looked into my eyes to see if I was telling the truth, which made me feel terrible because I wasn’t.

  “Well…if you’re sure nothing is wrong,” she said. “If there is, you must tell me. Hold nothing back. I mean it, Liza. I’m always ready to talk. Always. Communication is so important in families….”

  I groaned.

  Since I was released from the hospital—a stay that lasted barely twenty-four hours and probably would have been about twenty hours shorter if Abigail hadn’t insisted that they keep me in for observation—and Abigail began seeing both Reverend Tucker to help deal with her guilt and spiritual issues and Camille Renfrew, a local therapist, to help her deal with…well, everything else, Abigail has been driving me crazy.

  I’m glad all this is helping her, really I am. But just because Abigail is feeling the need to “get in touch with her feelings” doesn’t mean everybody needs to go around talking about every single thought and emotion they have every moment of every day. But you can’t tell that to Abigail.

  Now that she’s personally invented interpersonal communication, she’s on a mission to win everyone on the planet, particularly me, over to her side. Personally, I prefer the old, caustic, pushy Abigail to this new sincere, sensitive, and touchy-feely Abigail. I told Franklin that, but he just laughed.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it, Liza. Your aunt is a woman of extremes, always has been. She’s learning some new things about herself and how to relate to others, and that’s good. But she’ll settle down before long. Some of this newfound sensitivity will stick with her, I’m sure of it, but at the end of the day, Abigail is still Abigail. No amount of counseling is going to change that.