Back to You

by Claudia Burgoa

  They must hate me for the things I did. People like the Aherns don’t associate with women like me. Do they judge me for what they know? I rub my hands. They hurt a little with the cold. The air-conditioning is a bit high today. I can’t wait to end this session and go outside. My hands prefer the almost one-hundred-degree weather over cold any day.

  I wish the physical scars were the only ones Shaun left. He can’t do any anything to me. He’s gone. His father is in jail. I’m not that girl anymore.

  “Abby, what are you thinking?” Karen calls out to me.

  “It’s like the opportunity landed on my lap. A little treasure was given to me, and I shouldn’t waste it.” I close my eyes and continue speaking. “I intended to leave New York. It’s expensive, and eventually I want to open up a center like Esperanza’s Home. Maybe in the south or … even Denver could be a good city. It’s in the middle of the country.”

  “Seems like you want to say yes.”

  “What if I break down the same way I did before?”

  “You have to remember that you’re not the same person you were before.”

  “The new Abby might be afraid of Denver too,” I contest. “I don’t know if it’s a wise choice. Yet, I can see a center like that in a place like Parker or maybe west, in Golden or Evergreen.”

  Karen sets her pen and pad on top of the coffee table and stares at me. “Seems to me like you have an idea of what you want. Your dream. Why wouldn’t you just go for it? What’s holding you back?”

  “Well, it’s not set in stone. What do I do?” I exhale, exasperated. “It’s like I can’t see any other option.”

  “Abby, the possibilities are endless.” She stretches both hands in opposite directions and smiles. “The world is your playground, and you can go anywhere. First commit to a visit and see what happens.”

  “I can always move to Kansas or Utah.”

  “See you’re already finding new places.” She taps her temple.

  “Think before you decide,” I remember the words that I read once. “Stop looking for black or white, there are many gray tones to choose from. The opportunities are endless.”

  “Exactly.” She nods with a glint of satisfaction on her face.

  “I’m ready to move somewhere else. I just need to find the right place for Chester and me.”

  “Who’s Chester?”

  “He’s a gorgeous Golden Retriever that Sterling gifted me. He hopes the puppy will help me with the anxiety. They’re pretty good at soothing people with PTSD.”

  “What about medication?”

  Karen sent me to a psychiatrist who tried several meds to help with my anxiety. None of the ones he’s prescribed me so far have worked. I’m allergic to a few, and others make me feel more anxious than I already am. To help with my condition, I drink a nice mix of chamomile and lavender tea in the morning and at night. I run a mile and go to the gym for an hour. Plus, I take a few supplements like valerian and primrose evening oil. I count because that’s never going to go away. It’s always helped me.

  “I’d rather continue with what I’m doing. It’s working for me,” I answer. I’m sure of myself and what I’m currently doing to fight the tightness in my chest, my throat closing, and the trembling hands when I’m losing my footing.

  “You should be proud of yourself,” she says, scribbling on her pad. “You’re aware of what your body wants, and you’re following what you feel is best for you.”

  I smile; she’s right. “What will happen to us if I move?”

  Suddenly, I’m panicking because she’s a big part of my week. Thanks to our talks, I can continue working on my past and forging my future.

  “Well, if you move I can find you a good counselor.”

  “Or we can Skype,” I offer.

  “Only until you find a good fit. You have to learn to trust others, Abby.”

  I count slowly, taking deep breaths. What am I going to do without her? “We’ll see, Karen. I might just stay here for the rest of my life.”

  “Oh, Abby, you’re doing so well. Trust that you’ll be able to find a fit.”

  — — —

  Luna’s husband opened a homeless shelter for teenagers a few years back. When I moved to New York, they mentioned they’re always in need of volunteers. Once I adjusted to my new job in Beesley Enterprises, I began tutoring math there every Wednesday. One Friday a month, I join the other volunteers and we take them in groups to different activities, venues, and even sporting events.

  The third Saturday of the month is my favorite, though. We take a trip to Peregrine Senior Living Center, and we read to the elderly. It's not only a teaching moment for them, but a chance to visit with Molly. She’s one of my favorite residents from that place. She’s a first generation Italian American, and when she’s upset with the nurses, she cusses at them in Italian.

  Instead of reading her a book, I bring her gossip magazines. They’re her guilty pleasure. She’s memorized the lives of many of her favorite celebrities. I’m supposed to read her some old book she has right by her night stand, but we never do that. When we’re done going through the magazines, and if we still have time, she talks about her late husband, Lucio.

  “There you are, Abigail,” she says when I enter her room. She doesn’t mention the small puppy following behind.

  “How are you today?”

  “Glad to see you.” She takes a book from her nightstand. “Nurse Bertha brought me a new book for today. I’m hoping you’ll have something juicier for me.”

  I take the magazines out of my bag and a toy for Chester.

  “He’s new,” she says spreading the magazines. “When did you get the dog?”

  “A couple of days ago. He’s a therapy dog.”

  She glances at him, then at me. “You don’t need therapy, dear. You need a man. Lucio was all I needed to be happy.”

  I smile at her. “My anxiety is under control—mostly. He’s supposed to help me while I sleep. I still have a nightmare or two.”

  “You kids with your new age ideas and therapists. Back in my day, we didn’t need any of that. We only needed Frank Sinatra, a bottle of wine, and a good movie.”

  She points her head toward the door. “Those kids should learn that now. Bring them over.”

  “They’re busy, Molly. Why don’t you tell me how the visit with your daughter was?”

  “She wants me to move with her to Alabama,” she says with a slight tone of sadness. “This is my home. My parents and I came to New York seventy years ago. I’ve lived here all my life.”

  I take her hands between mine. “Wouldn’t you like to be closer to your family?”

  “Do you think I’ll be better there? My friends live here.”

  “It all depends on what you need the most. You can stay for as long as you want. But going to Alabama would mean seeing her your daughter more than twice a year,” I say, wondering what I’d choose if I was in her shoes.

  “Why do you live here instead of Colorado?”

  I gape, startled by her question.

  “Would you move back there if your family asked you?”

  Molly has no idea about my conversation with Sterling, but she has that special power to bring up subjects into our conversation that make me think about my own life.

  “Probably,” I say tentatively. “I might actually be considering it.”

  “Well, if you do, make sure to come and visit me,” she requests.

  “Where?”

  “If you’re brave enough to go back home, maybe I should do the same and move in with my daughter. You’ll be missed, though,” she continues. “The kids love you, and we do too. Not everyone comes by bringing presents and cookies for us.”

  I smile brightly at her. “I’ll make sure to send you treats wherever you decide to live.”

  Ten

  Abby

  One year later

  “Why did I agree to this?” I look around the gallery making sure that everything is in place.

&nb
sp; All the paintings are mounted on the walls. The ones we’re selling have a price next to the description. Every sculpture is secured. Hopefully, we won’t have a tipsy visitor stumbling over any of them. I fan under my armpits and wipe my hands on my skirt. Not very ladylike, but I’m sweating like a pig. We open the doors in less than ten minutes.

  “Because you love me.” A little cocky smirk appears on his face.

  “That must be it,” I sigh heavily.

  Thankfully, he hasn’t asked me how I’m doing or if I’m feeling okay. That’s a loaded question. We’ve been planning the opening of his gallery for six months. Nothing has been easy since we began this journey together. He said it was time to settle down and focus on his career. Something happened to him within the past year that shifted the way he’s been living. During his month off, he planned, sculpted, and painted as if they were the last days he’d be able to create a piece of art.

  With all that he’d produced, I approached a gallery in New York and offered a few of his pieces. They agreed to display them immediately because not many galleries can boast an Ahern original, as he sells the bulk of his work over the internet. That’s when I came up with the idea of opening a gallery. Sterling loved it. It would mean he could show his work right after finishing each piece while simultaneously supporting other artists.

  I regret planting the seed because here I am, organizing the opening of this baby. He convinced me to become his business partner. William, his father, might not have approved that I used some of the money he left me to support his son’s art. I don’t care though, because it’s one of the best things I’ve done with that money.

  “As my friend, accountant, business manager, and agent, you’re obligated to be here,” he says. “This is your business too, so you have to tend to it.”

  “Lucky me.” I sneer, pretending to be annoyed, but I’m sure he knows I’m just as giddy and excited about tonight as he is. “Don’t forget that I’m leaving early. You get to close. I’ll pay the caterer before I leave. The cleaning crew will be here at seven.”

  He growls.

  “I’ll be back early in the morning to receive them,” I announce, knowing that he won’t be able to wake up that early.

  “Thank fuck. See? We work like a well-oiled machine.”

  I arch an eyebrow and huff. “Or so you say.”

  “So what if we had some hiccups?”

  “Some?” I glare at him.

  He makes it sound like nothing. I dealt with a crazy landlord who canceled our contract just a month ago, after we’d paid for the renovations and were about to move in. Thankfully, I found a beautiful place in the heart of Cherry Creek North. We own this land. If anything goes wrong, we won’t lose much money. We can lease this baby.

  “Easy for you to say, you didn’t have to deal with that woman’s insanity,” I remind him. “Next time, please don’t fuck someone just because you have an itch.”

  “She was hot and technically—we dated. I just wasn’t planning on settling down with her.”

  He never plans on settling down with anyone. Sterling should come with a warning. A tramp stamp, not for sale, samples only.

  “Are you ready, Abster?”

  No. I’m jittery and waiting for the other shoe to drop if something goes wrong tonight. My stomach is queasy, and I’m avoiding the loaded question. Is your brother coming? Wes and I haven’t spoken in three long years. I corresponded with him during the time I lived in the center. Once I moved out, we parted ways.

  My pulse increases each time I imagine him walking across the threshold with his beautiful girlfriend perched on his arm. Or is it his fiancée? Maybe a wife? Sterling and I have never discussed his brother. Wes is part of a long list of things we don’t talk about. Like my abduction or the scars on my hands.

  Is there even a woman in his life? How can there not be when he’s never been single? He doesn’t know how to be alone. The guy always found the flavor of the month or the week. Then, later, he had me around. Now, I just hope that no matter who he’s with—he’s happy.

  Thank God his mother won’t be here. She’s traveling around the world with her new boyfriend.

  “Picture time,” he announces.

  I fix my hair and regret not reapplying lip gloss after dinner.

  He grabs his phone and puts his arm around me. “Say, Sterling is the best.”

  “You wish,” I smile at the camera.

  He captions it, hashtags it, and posts it. “You should have an account.”

  “No, thank you,” I walk to the office. “I’m a behind-the-scenes kind of person. Showing two or three pictures of myself a year through your account is more than enough.”

  “Where are you going?” he asks exasperatedly. “We’re about to open.”

  “To my office.”

  It’s the only place I have to myself. Everything else is Sterling’s domain. The back of this building houses a warehouse that he converted into a studio. He sold his old place and is now living in a penthouse close by.

  “I need to touch up my makeup. I don’t want to be the washed-out partner.”

  “If you want us to be partners, you just have to ask, babe.” He drops that cocky smile that works on so many women.

  “Ugh, stop.” I raise my hands in surrender. I should get used to his harmless flirting. “If you’re practicing your lines, delete that one. Try something like: Kiss me now if you think I got it all wrong. But vampires exist, right?”

  “Where the fuck did you get that line? It makes no sense. No wonder you’re still single.” Sterling laughs.

  Then, he sobers up and arches an eyebrow. “Did someone use it on you?”

  I shrug, remembering the guy from last night. James. A lawyer who’d just made partner at his firm. He was handsome in a Liam Hemsworth kind-of-way, just a little shorter and leaner.

  “Yeah, last night. I thought it was original though.”

  “Did you kiss him?”

  “Nah, I’m not ready to date.” I scrunch my face, as I grab my makeup bag.

  “It’s been three years. You should move on, Abby.”

  I freeze. Is he talking about Wes? Did he move on? My heart cracks a little, but I remember what he just said. It’s been three years since we broke up. I’m happy, and I hope he’s happy too.

  “What’s the point?” I stare at myself in the mirror, liking who I’m looking at. A confident woman from the inside out. “A kiss might lead to something else, and then how am I supposed to explain the scars on my body?”

  “Car accident,” he suggests hesitantly.

  “I refuse to start a relationship with a lie, and before you suggest I just sleep around, don’t, because I’m not doing that. If I choose to be with someone, it’s because I trust him enough to tell him who I really am.”

  He rubs the back of his neck. “If I waited to fall in love before sex, I’d never have it.”

  “For being such a caring guy, you’re heartless.” I search for my lip gloss through my messy bag.

  “That I am,” he says with pride, but his eyes have dimmed.

  “Who broke your heart, Sluggy?”

  “No one,” he mumbles sighing, but I can see the battle brewing inside him. “She was nobody.”

  His eyes are lost, and after a big sigh, he shakes his head and dusts his washed out jeans. I want to meet whoever broke this sweet boy and rip her heart out.

  “Ready? It’s time to cut the ribbon,” he announces excitedly.

  When we open the doors, I’m excited to see the crowd. The bronze sculptures in the front attract the attention of every visitor. Getting them to move toward the back of the space is hard. Gently, I tell everyone to continue through the exhibit, that most of the pieces are available for sale, and we offer delivery.

  As we planned, Sterling moves to the middle of the second room where he can have enough space to have an audience gather. Once the flow at the entrance is normal, I make my way around the place to answer questions and make sure no one is
touching the pieces.

  “Excuse me, miss, is the delivery included in the price?”

  I turn around and find a woman in her mid-thirties with a crisp long bob cut and a dark blue tunic I want to steal.

  “No, that’s extra.” I smile at her, withholding the big question, where did you buy that outfit?

  “What if I ask my neighbor to help me pick up my purchase tomorrow?” She rolls her eyes. “I rode with my girlfriends, and we won’t all fit if I bring it along.”

  “Sure, we can hold it for you. What piece are you thinking of buying?”

  She takes off, and I follow behind. “The sunset at the end of this hallway,” she answers.

  I come to a complete stop when I see the piece she’s talking about. All the air gets knocked out of me. There’s a tall, black-haired man right in front of the painting, his broad shoulders almost blocking the entire piece.

  Wes, I murmur under my breath. My heart thuds recklessly against my ribs. He’s here.

  “This one. It calls to me. The rose stripes, the orange tones, and the girl watching it, hopeful for a better tomorrow.”

  “Because no matter how bad the day was, the beauty of the sunset would erase the awful taste,” Wes repeats.

  He remembers. My heart skips a beat. That’s what Grandma used to say, and I told him that once—in Tahoe.

  Do you remember us?

  Eleven

  Wes

  Sunsets are beautiful. They brighten my day even if they only last a few minutes. They are simple and unique. When I watch them, I feel free.

  And I feel her right beside me.

  Abby.

  There’s a certain peace that emanates from a sunset that relaxes me while I admire them. I wish life were just as simple. That problems could be solved quickly and easily. Finding both my freedom and my footing has been a long and complicated journey.

  It began when I hit rock bottom. Sterling kicked me out of the company. The board supported him. A bad choice since they were dismissed the very next day. After I lost Abby, I lost myself. The guilt for not being there to protect her fucked me up. I threw myself into other projects and numbed my memories of Abby with alcohol.