Melina sidled into the room like a spy. She closed the door. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and that cowboy?”
“I already did.”
“The whole story,” Melina persisted.
I found him then I let him go. End of story.
After her steamy confrontation with Tom, Abby did something her grandmother called “mustering your chickens.” She sealed up those painful aspects of her life and focused entirely on the one thing that had given her so much joy over the years—her work. She’d bustled into the office the following Monday morning with a box of jelly doughnuts and a big smile and set about mending fences and building new relationships with the crew that she’d pretty much overlooked for three weeks.
By the end of the day, Abby feared her effort was too little, too late. Melina, naturally, supported her without hesitation, but the other original advocates seemed dazzled by Daniel’s promises to streamline operations. The new people were loyal to Daniel, whose restructuring plan seemed intent on downsizing Abby’s role in VOCAP.
When she approached Daniel about her concerns, he’d ripped into her. “You used to be the best. Dedicated. Focused. But you lost it, Abby. I don’t know if it had to do with that cowboy and his kids or if it’s just plain burnout, but you’re not the same person anymore, Abby. I don’t know where that person is.”
Abby had tried to muster a defense, but her heart wasn’t in it. Maybe her heart had vacated the premises along with the person Daniel thought he knew.
“I’ll get it out of you someday,” Melina said, brushing back a lock of thick, ebony bangs. “Anyway, Tom Butler’s the least of your problems. Daniel may have a new girlfriend, but his feelings were hurt when you brushed him off. Forget women scorned. He’s as dangerous as a wounded moose.”
Abby couldn’t help but smile.
“This isn’t funny,” Melina scolded. “He can’t take your head but he’d probably settle for your job.”
After Melina left, Abby rocked back in the chair she’d occupied for almost seven years. Melina’s perceptions were sound. Things were changing. Did she care? Not as much as she should, she thought with a sigh. Maybe it was burnout. Maybe it was something deeper, a dissatisfaction with her choices in general. She knew what Donna called it.
Abby’s midweek inquiry about sleeping pills had prompted a three-hour session over pizza and beer. “You’re losing it here, pal,” Donna had said. “Zonk-city.”
“Show me that term in a psychology textbook.”
“That’s my word. The preferred terminology is fucked-up. Now, stop playing the martyr and tell me what’s going on.”
Abby swallowed her pride and admitted her feelings for Tom. She even went into some detail about their encounter outside the barn. To her surprise, Donna grinned and said, “Max would be so jealous. He’s always had this fantasy about doing it in a hayloft.”
Abby slugged her. “We didn’t do anything. Well, we kissed, and he told me he loved me, but that was it.”
“That sounds like a pretty big it, girlfriend. I know people who lived together for several years and never used the L-word.” Abby caught the reference to her relationship to Landon and stuck out her tongue. Donna laughed. “Abby, decide. Do you love him? Yes or no.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“The girls…”
“Crapola,” Donna said with such force a piece of pepperoni flew off her pizza. “It’s not about Heather and Angel. It’s about you forgiving yourself. It’s always been about that.”
Abby recognized the truth in her friend’s words, but knowing with your head and knowing with your gut were two different things.
“Angel came to session alone yesterday,” Donna told her. “Heather had a sore throat, and—”
“Anything serious?” Abby interrupted.
“Not your concern. You opted out of that role, remember?”
A pain shot through Abby’s chest. “Go on.”
“She spent the whole time talking about you and her father. She said you called her the next day, after she cussed you out.”
“She didn’t cuss me out. She was upset. I didn’t realize how upset until Tom called—”
Donna interrupted. “He called you? The woman who turned him down? Brave man.”
“He is brave and kind and a wonderful caring father who has so much to share, and I’m a sniveling coward.”
Donna nodded. “Agreed.”
“I can’t do it, Donna. I can’t tell him what I did.”
Donna sighed. She wiped her greasy fingers on a paper napkin then laid a plump hand on Abby’s arm. “We talked this out years ago, Abby. You didn’t have a choice.”
“We always have choices, Donna. That’s what life is—one big choice. I blew it, and I don’t deserve anyone as wonderful as Tom.”
Donna gave Abby a hug. “You’re pretty wonderful yourself, my friend, and I think seven years with VOCAP constitutes penance. Why don’t you give yourself time to let all this soak in then reevaluate? You’ve only known the man for four months. You can both use the time. If he asks my opinion I’ll tell him not to give up, just give you time.”
Abby glanced at the clock on her a desk: eleven-fifty. She didn’t have time to stew about her problems today—she was going shopping for school clothes with her two favorite girls.
“WHAT ABOUT this sweater, Abby? Do you think it makes me look fat?”
Abby eyed the model—willowy as a young sapling with fledgling breasts giving definition to the hideous, olive-green turtleneck. They’d already filled a shopping bag with underclothes, including two new training bras. Abby hoped Tom didn’t have a coronary when he saw them.
“I like the striped one better. That color clashes with the pants.” The drab brown polyester hip huggers reminded Abby of a cross between something she would have worn as a teen and something the old men at the rest home wore. “What do you think, Heather?”
“It’s ugly.”
Angel stuck out her tongue. All three of her reflections in the mirror did the same, making Heather laugh.
“Maybe I’ll try the orange top. Mom always said orange was my color.”
Abby smiled. “Honey, with those cheekbones and skin tone, any color is your color.”
She was rewarded by a happy smile. Their conversation on the way to Modesto seemed to have eased any remaining ambivalence Angel had about what had happened between Abby and her father. Abby had started by admitting she hadn’t been honest with Angel. “I didn’t treat you fairly, Angel. You’re a very perceptive person, and I wasn’t prepared to answer questions about my relationship with your father. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“I’m not five, you know,” she said softly, although Heather, in the back seat, seemed engrossed with a talking book Val had sent her. “I knew something was going on between you two.”
“We have feelings for each other, but we’re trying to do the right thing. The adult thing.”
“Why can’t you two just be together? I don’t get it.” Abby struggled with her answer, finally telling her, “It’s a matter of timing. Mine sucks.”
Angel snickered at Abby’s colloquialism.
“You and your sister are your dad’s first priority. It has to be that way. It isn’t fair to any of you to have me in the picture right now. I care about him, Angel. I care a great deal, and I think he feels the same about me, but our relationship is secondary to making sure you and Heather get back on track.”
“If it weren’t for us—”
Abby didn’t let her finish the thought. “If it weren’t for you, I’d never even have met your dad. Sweetie, think about it. Next week you start at a new school. That’s a big deal. New teachers. New friends. You’re going to need your dad’s help, and he wants to be there for you. Being a single parent is a tough job. He’ll need to stay focused. Doesn’t that make sense?”
“I guess,” she conceded. “But you could still date.”<
br />
Abby’s heart squeezed at the hopeful sound in her voice. “We’ll still see each other because I’ll still see you guys. It’s just that relationships take time and energy. Didn’t you tell me things had changed between you and your friend in Riverside when you went down to visit?”
“Yeah, Caitlin was totally weird. She acted like I’d been living on another planet.”
“Well, this is the Valley,” Abby said, drawing a chuckle. “I don’t know what will happen between your dad and me,” she added honestly. “But I hope you and I can be friends, no matter what, okay?”
“Okay.”
Now, waiting for Angel to change, Abby shifted the shopping bag to her left hand and reached out to stroke the satiny curls of the blond head at her side. “Do you like your new outfits, Heather?”
Heather nodded and yawned simultaneously. When they’d arrived at the mall, their first stop had been McDonald’s for lunch then they’d headed right to the largest department store because its children’s section carried variations of all elementary-school uniforms. Today’s choices were less strict than Abby remembered from her parochial-school days. According to the list Heather’s school had provided, children could choose from a mix-and-match selection of slacks and skirts in several colors.
“All these clothes aren’t my birthday presents, are they?” she asked, apprehensively eyeing the bulging bag.
“Of course not. These are school things. What do you want for your birthday?” Abby knew Heather was turning six in eight days. She wondered if Tom had a birthday party planned.
“A pony. Like Blaze’s baby. Only he’s a boy, and Daddy says boy ponies aren’t as nice as girl ponies. Like, duh.”
Abby laughed. This vibrant little person had come a long way since that first day when Tom carried her into VOCAP. Grace was thoroughly charmed by Heather, and apparently the feeling was mutual since the first thing Heather asked when she saw Abby was, “Did you bring my fairy grandmother with you?”
“What else do you want?” Abby asked.
“A potty Barbie.”
Abby’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“She comes with a little toilet and real toilet paper.”
Abby couldn’t believe such a thing existed, but Heather seemed certain of it. Abby’s gift, a set of Kipling stories, included Riki Tiki Tavi—one of her favorites from childhood. Probably a geeky gift, Abby thought, but she could picture herself reading it to her. Then, like an arrow in the heart, reality struck.
Tom hadn’t even stuck around to see her today. He’d left an envelope with twelve twenty-dollar bills on the table and a scribbled note that read, “Abby, Thanks for doing this, Tom.” How could she blame him for not wanting to see her? He’d offered her his love and she’d turned him down cold. She didn’t deserve any better.
“This is way cooler, huh?” Angel asked, spinning in a little circle. The bright color made her olive skin tone glow. Such a beauty on the verge of womanhood. Abby remembered what a painful, awkward time that was in her life without having a woman in whom she could confide. Could she help Angel through these years or had she blown that, too?
Abby blinked away unwanted tears. “Very nice.”
“What about it, Squirt? Do you like it? Heather? Where’s Heather?”
Abby glanced around. “She was right here a second ago.” Dropping to one knee, she peered under the clothing racks. “Heather? Come out, come out, wherever you are.” No small feet in brand-new burgundy Mary Janes.
Straightening up, she put her hands on her hips and let out a sigh of frustration. “Not again,” she said, remembering the petting-zoo incident. Fear and panic bubbled on a back burner, but she ignored them. “She can’t have gone far.”
Angel looked furious. “Why does she do this? Dad gave her a huge lecture about scaring you when she ran off at the picnic.”
“Well, let’s not panic. You change, and I’ll start looking. You don’t suppose they have any ducks around here, do they?”
Abby spotted her first, just moments later. A tiny tow-head at the perfume counter is not easy to miss. Abby slowed her pace and walked toward Heather, framing in her mind the appropriate scolding. It wasn’t easy disciplining someone who looked so adorable standing on her tiptoes looking at little winged sculptures masquerading as perfume bottles. Abby was no more than two steps away from Heather when Angel flew into her line of sight, a scowl the size of Milwaukee on her face.
Abby reached out for Heather the same instant Heather reached out to touch the fragile-looking bottle closest to her.
“You little twit,” Angel barked. “It’s my turn to try on clothes. You already had your turn.”
Heather, who seemed almost transfixed by the perfume bottle, jumped, her hand accidentally knocking over one of the little glass vials. The fragile glass orb did a roly-poly dance then toppled over the edge of the table, shattering on the black-and-white marble floor.
Before anyone could react, Heather opened her mouth and let out a cry of such anguish Abby and Angel both froze in their tracks. Abby saw two attendants in pink smocks rushing toward them. Other shoppers turned in horror.
Abby dashed forward, dropping to one knee. “Heather, honey, are you cut?” she cried, pulling the shrieking child into her arms. “Heather, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Heather didn’t answer. The small container seemed to have disintegrated on impact, leaving behind only a cloying aroma and a hysterical child.
Abby rose. Heather’s little legs automatically locked around Abby’s waist. Using her free hand to dig in her purse, Abby tossed two twenties on the counter. “Sorry,” she said to the clerks, then shouldered her way through the assembling crowd.
Lugging their many bags of clothing, Angel raced ahead to hold the door open.
Abby looked at her over the sobbing child’s head. Angel’s bottom lip quivered, too. “That was our mother’s perfume. It was the only kind she wore.”
TOM LEANED OVER and placed a gentle kiss on Heather’s forehead. Asleep at last. He’d been sitting beside her for the past twenty minutes, holding her hand, waiting for the sedative Donna gave her to take effect.
“You’d better get to sleep, too, Angel-babe,” he whispered toward the other twin bed where Angel was reading.
Angel snapped off her bedside lamp. The ever-present glow from the night-light in their adjoining bathroom cast a comforting glow in the room. Tom never ceased to marvel at how lovely their bedroom addition had turned out. The pale green bedspreads and subtle purple touches were both warm and whimsical.
“I love you, Dad. Tell Abby we’re sorry.”
She’d told him the whole story of their afternoon shopping adventure and Heather’s calamity. Poor Abby. This experience would have been ten times worse than the one at the picnic.
Tom kissed Angel on the cheek. “I will. Sleep well.”
He closed the bedroom door and walked down the hall, drawn to the low murmur of voices. The new hall runner, an “addition-warming” gift from Al Carroll, absorbed the sound of his boot steps.
Two women sat at the kitchen table. One he’d come to respect and admire; the other he loved more than he thought possible. Donna’s back was to him. Abby was talking in low, hoarse tones. The telltale red around her nose and puffiness beneath her eyes told him how much she cared.
“Heather’s asleep,” he told them. “And Angel soon will be.”
Donna turned in her seat to look at him. Abby dropped her head to her hands as if her neck was too weak to support the weight.
“I need a drink. How ’bout you two?”
“I’ll pass,” Donna said. “But make Abby’s a double.”
Abby shook her head. “I need to drive home.”
Donna took her hand and said in a slow, deliberate cadence, as if giving instructions to a child, “No, you don’t. You need to stay here in case Heather wakes up. She’ll need to see you and be sure you’re all right. That was an extremely turbulent event and you two
need to comfort each other to get past it.”
Tom poured two juice glasses a quarter full of brandy. Where the bottle came from he hadn’t a clue.
“I could come back first thing…” Abby started.
Donna shook her head. “No. I’ve given Heather a light sedative to help calm her, but Angel was just as traumatized—she just hides it better. Like you.”
Tom set the glass in front of Abby and took the chair to her right. “Drink. You need this.”
She wouldn’t look at him. He knew she blamed herself, even though Angel’s version of the event proved no one was to blame. He breathed a little easier when she lifted the liquor to her lips and swallowed, grimacing at the harsh flavor.
Donna signaled him with her eyes. Tom looked toward the door. Abby’s purse was on the floor, along with four department-store bags. Apparently they’d accomplished quite a bit of shopping before Heather’s mishap. Tom rose and collected the whole assortment and carried it to the far corner of his bedroom. She couldn’t leave without her keys and her keys were in her purse, he’d stake his life on it.
When he came out, Donna was talking in a low, serious voice. “I want you to stay here, Abby. I don’t want you to be alone. Tom will make sure you’re okay.”
The look of anguish in her green eyes nearly broke his heart. “Don’t make him do that, Donna. He must hate me.”
Tom strode to her side in two giant steps. He squatted beside her and waited until she looked at him. “Don’t ever say that again. No matter what happens between us, I know how much you love those kids, and I know you want what’s best for them.”
Donna gently scolded her friend. “You know how I feel about fault and blame, Abby. The bottom line is—both girls are safe.
“In a way, this might even have been the key we needed to reach deeper into Heather’s subconscious. Abby said Heather cried herself to sleep in the car, sobbing for her mother,” Donna told Tom. “Do you realize she hasn’t once brought up the subject of her mother in session? The Rainbows counselors said the same thing. Outwardly, she’s adjusting well, but she ignores any effort to bring out her feelings about her mother’s death.”
That Cowboy's Kids Page 21