Chapter 23
Two months later.
The space has walls painted an off-white and a large window facing the street, but it's too noisy and the window faces north, and Abigail has spent ten minutes staring at the ceiling without being entirely convinced.
The real estate agent talks and Abigail nods.
Eleanor stands by the window with her arms crossed, watching her out of the corner of her eye, and knows exactly what's happening.
When they step outside and the agent tells them to take their time, no rush, Abigail shakes his hand with a professional smile and Eleanor does the same. Then the two of them walk toward Abigail's car without saying anything until the doors close.
"What did you think?" Eleanor asks.
Abigail puts on her sunglasses and starts the engine.
"It's fine," she says, and leaves it at that.
"But?"
"The last one had more natural light." Abigail pulls out of the lot and onto the main street. "And it's closer to home."
The home she's referring to isn't Richard and Carol's. It's the one they bought barely three weeks ago, ten minutes by car from her parents' place, with a small backyard and the big kitchen Eleanor fell in love with on the first visit, though it took her three days to admit it.
"So do we rent that one, or do you want to see more?" Eleanor asks, scrolling through the flagged listings on her phone.
"I think five is enough. I'll call to work it out later."
Eleanor sighs with relief.
"I'll call now," she decides, already searching for the agent's name in her contacts.
Abigail glances at her.
"Now?"
"I'd hate to have to see more places because someone beat you to it." She's already dialing, phone to her ear.
Abigail drives with a grin she doesn't bother to hide.
The call lasts a couple of minutes, and when Eleanor hangs up she tucks the phone into her bag and looks out the window like she hasn't done a thing.
"Tomorrow at ten," she says, blinking as the sun hits her face.
"Thank you," Abigail says.
"You're welcome."
Almost two months ago, in Greenwood, with snow outside, the fireplace going, and two weeks ahead of them with no journalists, no party, no FBI, they decided this.
Not in a single conversation or a single moment, but the way two people decide things after twenty years of learning each other — slowly, over morning coffee, walks through town, and long nights spent talking about everything they'd never had time to say.
Pittsburgh was Abigail's idea. Or more precisely, Pittsburgh was the logical answer to several questions they'd both been asking themselves for a long time without connecting them.
Close to Richard and Carol, who aren't as young as they used to be, and neither of them had been near enough if something came up.
A city that isn't Chicago or Washington, that doesn't carry the ghosts of either of them.
A place to start the life they'd always wanted and never lived out of fear.
They park in front of Richard and Carol's, and Abigail takes the keys out of the ignition.
Eleanor has already opened her door, but she waits on the sidewalk for Abigail to come around the car, and when she does, she takes her hand with that easy, natural gesture they have now, the one that's become part of how they exist together, as if they're trying to make up for all the time they lost.
A month ago, when they came back from Greenwood and stayed at her parents' house while they looked for their own, Carol gathered them in the kitchen one morning while Richard was at work.
"I told Richard something," Carol said. "Little by little, like I said. And he took it well."
Both of them went very still.
"How much is something?" Abigail asked.
"Enough," Carol said. "The rest you'll tell him yourselves when you're ready."
They felt ready that same afternoon. They waited for Richard to shower after work and sat down with him on the couch, side by side.
"Dad," Abigail said, her back stiff and one hand clenched tight around a throw pillow.
Eleanor sat still, but her eyes moved between Richard and Abigail and back again.
"What's going on?" he asked, turning toward them.
Abigail said nothing, because even though she could convince a jury that a rat could talk, she ran out of words under her father's gaze.
He looked at them both, puzzled. He noticed how close together they were sitting and the unusual nervousness that had taken hold of his daughter, and he waved a hand like he was brushing something off.
"Oh, is this about what Carol told me? About you two?"
Abigail blinked, then raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, exactly that. I just wanted to know what you think."
Richard looked at them and smiled.
"I think you've wasted a lot of time, but you've got plenty left to make up for it."
Abigail's sigh of relief made Eleanor laugh. Then Richard stood up, pulled them both into a hug at once, and when he sat back down he turned on the TV and put the game on.
And since then, since that afternoon in the Pittsburgh house, they've walked in holding hands every time they've come for lunch, for dinner, or just to visit.
He's the one who opens the door when Eleanor rings the bell, because even though they both have keys, they'd rather announce themselves whenever they come.
"My girls," Richard says, opening his arms as if it's been months since he last saw them.
Abigail laughs, goes in first, and hugs him. Then she does the same with Eleanor and closes the door.
"Did you find something?" he asks, still by the door.
"Abigail picked a space," Eleanor says.
"And Eleanor rented it," Abigail adds.
Richard looks at them both with the expression of a man who's learned to keep up with them.
"The important thing is it's done," he says, and heads for the kitchen to let Carol know.
Dinner is a roasted chicken with a sauce Carol makes from time to time that Eleanor is absolutely wild about. Just the four of them, the way it's been every chance they've had since the girls decided to move to Pittsburgh, much to their parents' delight.
"What are your plans for next week?" Carol asks as she passes the salad to Richard.
Eleanor picks up her glass.
"I figure we'll start getting the space ready, right?" she says, turning to Abigail.
The lawyer raises an eyebrow.
"You're forgetting we have to get our own house in order first," she reminds her. "I can't stand those curtains, I want to paint at least two rooms, and there are a few other things. Then we deal with the space."
"The curtains are functional," Eleanor says.
"Functional and hideous," Abigail replies, "and you know I'm right."
Eleanor smiles sideways and spears a little salad. She doesn't really care about the curtains or the color of the walls, because the only thing she wants is what they have right now — a home for the two of them and a life to build in it.
"Fine, we change the curtains and paint. Anything else?"
Abigail grins and shakes her head. Their parents smile too and exchange a glance, feeling like they couldn't ask for more now that their daughters are finally happy.
"I can take care of the painting," Richard offers.
"And I can help with the curtains and whatever else you need," Carol adds. "I have a good eye for decorating."
"I appreciate that, Mom," Eleanor says, "but if you come, you'll end up picking the colors, then Abigail will want to change them, and all I want is to get it done as fast as possible so we can have a few days where we do absolutely nothing."
Her parents laugh, but Abigail just smiles and reaches across the table to find Eleanor's hand.
They look at each other for a moment and it's enough for Eleanor to know that Abigail is behind her, all the way.
She's decided to take a couple of months off before doing anything, because she needs time to process everything that happened and let the journalists forget about her in the meantime.
She told Abigail during their trip and she was on board.
Then they decided she'd spend that time helping the lawyer get her practice up and running, and once everything was set, Abigail would help her put together her own business as an outside consultant and speaker.
"Ready to go?" Abigail asks when they finish clearing the plates and loading the dishwasher.
Eleanor nods, they say goodbye to her parents, and get in the car for the ten-minute drive home.
When they arrive, Abigail hits the garage remote, they pull in, and walk through the door that connects the garage to the house.
Eleanor turns on the light and pauses at the foot of the stairs, looking at the new couch they bought for the living room and the table in the corner between the two windows.
Abigail comes up behind her and wraps her hands around her waist, resting her chin on her shoulder.
"You're right," Eleanor says. "The curtains are awful."
Abigail breaks into a smile, pulls her a little closer, and presses a kiss to her neck.
"Ready for bed?" she whispers, and Eleanor closes her eyes for a second, nods, and turns with one hand lifted, waiting for Abigail to take it so they can start up the stairs.