“You told her?”
“No, but you haven’t answered her calls,” he says.
I bury my head in my hands. This nightmare is worse than the ones I’ve been having lately. At least those come to an end. This one’s just beginning.
“What do I do?”
Sterling crosses his arms, sighing. “It’s been almost a year, Weston. You have to pick up the pieces and pull yourself together.”
I stare at his shoes through the gap between my hands. “I have no fucking idea how she’s doing.”
“Abby is doing well. If you’d open her letter and write to her … but you chose to ignore her.”
“What do I say? I fucked up her life.”
“You’re a broken record. A drunk broken record who needs to fuck off from my office. I tried everything, but I’m done with you.”
I look up finally, staring at him in disbelief. “What?” His words don’t register.
“I’m done looking after you. If you want to continue screwing up your life, do it somewhere else,” he says.
Two burly men dressed in black suits enter my office.
“Gentlemen, take him away,” Sterling orders them.
“You can’t do this,” I say. This has to be a dream.
“Watch me, asshole,” he says sternly.
May 2nd
Happy Birthday!
It’s been so long since your last letter, weeks. It left me worried and drained. I hope you’re doing a lot better and that your days are filled with spring sunshine. Sorry for not sending you anything before today. I’ve written a lot, but I don’t think I’ll ever send them to you. Know that I’m thinking of you every day, and I wish we could spend this day together. Soon, maybe?
Yours,
Wes
May 5th
Wes,
Thank you for all the presents. You spoil me, and I’m grateful for your thoughtfulness. I also hope that we can be together soon. Therapy has been harder these past few days. Every thought lingers around the circumstances of my childhood. It’s about myself, my mother, the abuse I suffered at the hands of so many. It’s hard to relive the memories in order to get over them.
I feel raw and vulnerable. Writing about it isn’t easy, but maybe someday I’ll be able to share it with you.
Love,
Abby
July 8th
Wes,
It’s been more than a year since the last time I saw you. I’ll leave the center in about a month. Can you believe it? I’m about to start a new life. I don’t know what I want to do or where I want to live. Our paths continue to diverge, and I’m afraid that we’ll never see each other again. That the connection we once shared is gone—forever. My heart can pinpoint the moment our bond ruptured. It was when I told you what really happened to me when I was younger. We tried to hold on to the few remaining threads, but maybe there’s nothing left.
You’ll always be special to me, and I hope that if we see one another again, we can catch up and be happy for each other.
Love,
Abby
August 9th
Abby,
I hope this reaches you before you leave or that they forward it to your new address. You worded perfectly what I haven’t been able to express over these past few months. Without meaning to, we lost our link. It fucking hurts so much. One day though, I’m going to find you because I know in my heart that we’re destined to be part of each other’s lives. Not sure as to what or how.
I'm in love with our memories, with the possibility of falling back in love with you.
If nothing, I’m a man of my word, and I promise this isn’t the last goodbye. Just a long pause.
Yours,
Wes
Eight
Abby
One year later
I never believed in love at first sight, but I’m head over heels in love, and it hasn’t been more than five minutes since we met.
“What do you think?” Sterling smiles.
Sterling and I got closer after I moved into Esperanza’s Home. We wrote to each other often and he visited me a couple of times at the Center. He’s been keeping tabs on me since I left. Out of the family, he’s the only one who still talks to me.
“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?”
I roll my eyes and ignore his cocky smirk.
“Who wouldn’t? He’s adorable!” I pick up the pup and stare at him. “Best present ever.”
“It’s my you’ve been out of the hole for a year present,” Sterling says.
“Thank you for the present, but I wouldn’t call the rehab center a hole. It was a very nice place where I made friends and learned how to cope.” I place the dog on my lap and scratch him behind the ears.
I hid myself away for an entire year, safely cocooned from the real world while I healed my wounds.
“There’s still a lot I have to work through, but you could say I’m better.”
“That’s where this little guy comes in,” he says. “I read that Labradors and Golden Retrievers are great therapy dogs.”
Sterling is right, and though I played with the idea of getting a dog six months ago, I soon realized that a dog in a tiny studio in Brooklyn wouldn’t be comfortable. Even now, I’m not sure if accepting this gorgeous present is smart.
“He’s going to get big though,” I say with a heavy sigh. “This isn’t the best place for such a handsome boy.”
“You should come home; back to Colorado,” he suggests.
“Slugger,” I say, opening my eyes wide. “That’s a loaded suggestion. You can’t possibly be saying that.”
“It’s been a couple of years, and you love to be surrounded by tall trees.”
Frowning, I try to find the words to explain how I feel.
“If not Denver,” he continues, “you can always move to Tahoe.”
Why is he asking these questions? Questions that feel like arms tightly constricting my chest. He waits for an answer, and I don’t have much to say, “Tahoe isn’t cheap.”
There’s laughter inside my head. It’s such a lame excuse.
“You already own a house there,” he snorts, “and New York is freaking expensive too.”
He’s so frustrating. I don’t tell him that the house isn’t mine because that’ll open up a can of worms. If anything, I try to avoid talking about Wes around Sterling. The old pain shimmers deep inside, knifing its way through when I think too much about him—leaving me breathless and bleeding with fury.
“Well, my job is here,” I sneer, masking the pain.
“You can work anywhere.”
The exchange reminds me of a few we had when I was in college. Linda, his mother, used to call us out as if we were two rambunctious children fighting over the same toy. When Sterling gets an idea in his head, he becomes obsessed, like his brother. It’s a family trait.
“You went from Washington state to New York, it’s like you’re avoiding the middle of the country.”
“This is where I’ve been living and working for the past year,” I remind him. “It’s a choice, a change of scenery from the West Coast.”
I work as an accountant at Beasley Enterprises, a job I landed thanks to Esperanza’s Home. They not only helped me while I was inside, but they continued supporting me afterwards. New York is perfect. I’m close to places I love to visit, like Washington D.C. or even the beach. Some weekends I drive to Niagara Falls. It’s easy to travel to different states and discover something new.
“What do you do in your spare time? Shop?”
I roll my eyes at him. He’s ridiculous. “There are other things to do around here. I travel up and down the coast. If I want to hike, I go to Vermont.”
He clenches his jaw and speaks through his teeth. “Have you renewed your lease?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. I still have a couple of months to decide and six to move out. With this little guy, I’ll have to search for something bigger.”
“We can find anything you want. T
here’s a house downtown that you might like,” he offers dragging my attention toward him.
“In Manhattan?” I look at him in disbelief. If there’s a house in the middle of the Big Apple, it must be super expensive.
“No, Denver.”
“You’re so maddening,” I sigh. “My job is here.”
“You can come back to work for me. I need a new agent. An accountant, an assistant.” He stops right in front of me and gives me a narrow stare. “I need you.”
I perk up because Sterling needing me feels good. Although, I wish his brother was the one needing me. He’s never reached out to me, even though he said he would. Some nights I fantasize about Wes coming to find me. It’s been so long since we spoke. I don’t understand what I did wrong that made him decide we were finished—even as friends. As much as I talk to my therapist about my feelings, the only thing I can come up with is that he never loved me, and felt he couldn’t be with someone who had done so many repulsive things.
“Please, come back!” He gives me a puppy pout that’s hard to resist.
“You can be so dramatic. I’m still wondering why you chose sculpture over acting.” I dust all the puppy hair the little guy sheds from my skirt. “Can I think about it?”
“Of course. It’s just an option I wanted to throw your way. Please, don’t feel obligated to accept my offer, but know it’ll always be there.”
The tightness in my chest loosens once his posture relaxes. He can be a little demanding, and I’m not up to moving to Denver and lose what I’ve worked so hard to build here.
“You’re sticking around, right?”
“Yes, I’m taking a month off,” he smiles. “I’ll be here for about a week, then I’m flying across the Atlantic. Join me in Paris for a weekend. I’ll pay.”
“You’re on vacation?” I roll my eyes. “It’s not like you’ve been busy.”
“You have no idea, little Abigail.” His smile falls away. “My life for the past couple of years has been hellish.”
I frown because that’s the same amount of time I’ve been gone. “Is everyone okay at home?”
“Everyone is well,” he says with disdain. “Someone took a leave of absence from the company. I had to step up and be the man in charge.”
I’m more intrigued about Wes. What happened to him? Sterling hates the company and having to deal with anything that isn’t art. I want to ask him, but I’d rather have Wes tell me about it, whenever he’s ready.
“Did you wear suits?” I smirk while trying to lighten the atmosphere.
“Hey, I sacrificed my time, not my dignity.”
We laugh, and I stop asking for more. Though my heart wants to know why Weston left the company. Did he get married and go on a long honeymoon? Who is Wes with now, and how can I get over him?
Nine
Abby
When I moved to Brooklyn, Esperanza’s Home gave me a list of therapists in the area who could help me. It took me time to find someone I clicked with. Karen isn’t just amazing, when I feel like I need an extra session during the week, she’ll accommodate me without hesitation. She’s a great listener and helps me work through my thoughts and come up with solutions to whatever is making me anxious or stressing me out.
“Sterling is in town, and he asked me to move back to Colorado,” I drop the bomb before I even greet Karen. “He offered me a job and reminded me that I love to live among trees and not buildings. That’s a valid point, but he can’t just show up at my house with a dog and drop the news that he’s overseen Ahern Inc. for the past couple of years because Wes took a leave of absence.
“Why would he do that?” I slump on the couch. “Asking Sterling questions about Wes felt like opening the door to the forbidden garden.”
“How’s that?” Karen takes a seat.
“Well, I don’t know what’s in there. The only person who knows is Sterling. If I open the door, I have to be brave enough to deal with what’s on the other side.”
I sigh. “What if Wes got married and he took a year off to travel with his new wife?” My heart shrinks.
“A wife?” Karen narrows her gaze. “Why do you assume he’s with someone.”
“Because I can’t stand to think that he left because he was sick and I wasn’t there by his side.” I swallow the tears closing up my throat.
“I take it you’re not ready to confront Wes?”
I shake my head in response. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about today.”
“You already had a subject in mind,” she asks, watching me.
Honestly, I obsess in between sessions thinking about what I want to tackle during my two-hour time slot. When I arrive, I have a long list of topics: from my mother abandoning me at a young age, to the fact that once she confessed to being abused by a drunken father. I just can’t seem to accept the idea of my grandfather being abusive like her when Grandma described him as the best man in the world.
I’ll never know what happened while Mom was growing up. It’s a subject that has been taking up a lot of my thoughts. It shouldn’t matter, but maybe I’m trying to find a way to excuse my mother’s abuse. She’s dead. Shaun told me that once his father discovered that the house was under my name, Corbin didn’t need Mom anymore. They poisoned her slowly, so she’d suffer. I wish I knew how they got around the autopsy, but it makes sense that they cremated her instead of burying her with Grandma and Grandpa.
Other days, I talk about men in general. How uncomfortable I feel when a man asks me out on a date. I don’t feel like accepting and then explaining what happened to my hands or my body. It’s hard to be accepted as Abigail Lyons, the woman with a dark past. My social fears haven’t disappeared yet. I can make friends. I find people who share my same interests and who I can spend a few hours with chatting about a show, knitting, or discussing the latest book that I grabbed at the bookstore.
I just can’t date. So far, I haven’t damaged my new beginning, but I feel like a relationship with a man would destroy everything I’ve built with a single kiss.
“Of course I had a topic in mind. A guy from the office asked me out, but how can I go?” I show her my hands.
“What’s stopping you?”
“If I start something, I’m eventually going to have to tell him what happened to me. We know how that went last time.”
Wes became cold and put distance between us. I don’t think I can fall for a guy and survive being rejected again. Not that I’d love someone the way I loved Weston Ahern.
“Why bother if they’re just going to reject me?”
“You’re already writing them off without giving them a chance to show you who they are. What if you try one date?”
“I might not be sticking around,” I say, trying to avoid her brilliant answer.
Or facing the devastating truth. Giving someone a chance is accepting that Wes and I are completely over. We are, aren’t we?
You’re so over.
“Are you considering going home?”
The question sucker punches me right in the gut. Am I even considering it? It’d be easier to accept the invitation of a stranger than jump in my car and drive almost two thousand miles to a place that holds bitter memories along with the man who can’t even write me a letter because of my ugly past.
Would they recognize me if I went back? The local news aired Corbin’s story. Many of his victims were buried under my house, in the basement. Some families were able to find closure. With all the evidence, they didn’t even need me to testify. But do people know about me?
I fit in here—in a big city where I can easily go unnoticed. There, I was one of those women who did shameful things. No one would want to be associated with me. It’s an obsession that has been keeping me up at night since Sterling offered to take me home.
Thankfully, I’m at a point where I don’t feel like it was my fault. Nothing that happened to me was because of something I did. I wanted to help Ava, but then they brained washed me to the point that I obeyed. E
ven when I fought, I was trained to stay with them.
“What if someone recognizes me?” I ask her.
“From?”
I shrug. “The internet, the news …”
“If anyone recognized you from the internet, shame on them. You should report them.”
She’s right. If anyone is looking at naked pictures of an underage child, they should be in jail. I won’t be afraid of those men.
“What if this time around I break down too, just like the last time?”
Since the day I arrived at the Aherns, I tried to act as if nothing bad had happened to me, but the nightmares made it impossible. They treated me amazingly well, but they had no idea of the extent of my trauma. Once I went to college, I tried to reinvent myself.
Get over it, Abby, I kept telling myself. As if it were possible. For five years I tricked myself into thinking that I was doing fine. I ignored the shattered pieces of my past for years. I should’ve reached out for help, but that Abigail never accepted what had happened to her. I was miserable, and I hurt myself in different ways.
Never once did I verbalized it, but I wanted to die. I didn’t want to be anywhere else because I didn’t believe I’d fit in anywhere. I had no fucking idea what I was doing, and to avoid what my mind screamed at me, I numbed myself with a life I didn’t enjoy. I was too ashamed to face myself. When Wes asked me to move back, I should’ve said no.
I wanted to please him, to keep him. But he wasn’t mine. He belonged to the happy, free, and joyful Abby. It’s like I was two different people. Not that I had a split personality, though some days it felt like it.
If I were to go back to Colorado, would I see Wes or his mother? After everything that’s happened, I’m only in touch with Sterling. Linda called to check on me; the nurses gave me the message. I sent her a letter to apologize because back then, I felt like I’d lied to her. I used her and Will. Since then, we’ve exchanged holiday and birthday cards. Losing both her and Wes hurt.
Back to You Page 6