Chapter 3
Watching Cleo carefully wash and dry the dirty dishes from their late breakfast probably shouldn’t be making Abigail feel anywhere near the level of emotion she was experiencing right then.
“What?” Cleo asked as she turned around and caught Abigail watching her.
“Nothing,” Abigail said quickly, “just… I’m really glad to have a friend like you.”
“Oh, shush,” Cleo said, waving a rubber-gloved hand. “I’m doing dishes, not curing cancer.”
Abigail rolled her eyes playfully at Cleo across the room. No matter how overconfident and intentionally bubbly Cleo acted, Abigail knew that her friend would brush off real compliments. She had not always done that. As a teenager, Cleo had been less than charming in her arrogance, but her heart of gold had always shone through.
“You’re sticking around and helping me out when you should probably be sleeping, getting ready for work, or working?”
Cleo shrugged. “I haven’t taken a personal day in three years… they can spare me.”
“You took the day off!? Cleo, no!” Abigail cried, burying her face in her hands, “Seriously…”
“Babes, you got your house broken into! You were already freaked out about being here on your own… you think that’s going to get better now?”
She looked out from between her fingers to see Cleo staring expectantly at her.
“Fine, no, probably not, but I also don’t think me screwing up your life at work is going to make me feel better either.”
“You’re not screwing anything up.”
This was the third or fourth time they had exchanged some version of these words since the previous day when the police had finally left. Abigail knew it wasn’t exactly logical for her to blame herself for literally everything that had gone off track, but it was a knee-jerk reaction—not a considered response. The fact that Cleo had stayed at all had touched Abigail, but the fact that she had stayed overnight and cooked her breakfast to boot, was just more evidence that her oldest friend was also one of her best. As the thought occurred to her, Abigail felt an odd sense of regret wash over her. She focused on the sensation and mentally prodded at it. What was she regretful about? A prickle of emotional discomfort spiked when she thought about how long it had been between the last time she had talked to Cleo and the woman knocking on her door a few months ago.
“I… I’m sorry we lost touch,” Abigail said as she realized, “I don’t really know why we did.”
Cleo shrugged again, but this time, she looked sad, “Life happens… we got busy… you had twins, for Pete’s sake!”
“True, but I just feel like I should have tried harder…”
“Not to mention the whole ‘terrible life-changing event intrinsically linked with me and our history here’ thing,” Cleo interrupted, “it made me sad, obviously, but I haven’t ever blamed you for it.”
The two women sat and looked at each other silently for a few moments before Cleo crossed the room and hugged Abigail tightly.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, “but please don’t feel guilty.”
Squeezing Cleo tightly, Abigail found it hard to reply.
“I… I’m glad, too, and I’ll try.”
Breaking apart, Cleo smiled and looked into Abigail’s face.
“I’m betting that’s as good as I’m going to get.”
Abigail laughed, “Probably, yeah. Now, don’t you want a change of clothes?”
Cleo looked down at her creased t-shirt and wrinkled sweatpants, “Uh, I mean—I’m fine…”
“You can leave me by myself for an hour, you know.”
She pursed her lips, “really? Can I?”
“Oh, just go! I’ll be fine!”
With only a little effort, Abigail managed to get Cleo to the front door and headed home for a shower and a change of clothes. As she closed the front door and contemplated the empty and silent house, she regretted it only a little bit. Abigail swallowed against the lump in her throat and pulled out her phone to start looking for local locksmiths as she paced the hallway.
About halfway down the page was a local guy who had decent reviews; clicking through, she saw Byron’s face in a small circle next to some italic text.
John is a professional I trust with both my own locks and those of the projects I work on. He’s fast, but not rushed. Value for money, but doesn’t cut corners. Friendly, but he won’t keep you on the phone for an hour when ten minutes will do. He’s the whole package.
Abigail stared at the little picture of Byron. What was she going to do about him?
A knock on the door startled her and she glared. Cleo wouldn’t be knocking, and Jada said she would call if they found anything out. Abigail approached the door as quietly as she could and peered through the peephole.
Byron!
She glanced down at her phone in disbelief. Was this guy psychic or what? Hastily, she closed the web page; there was no need for her to risk him seeing his own face on her screen. From the corner of her vision, in the distorted image from the peephole, she saw him raise a hand and run it over his face; he looked… distressed. Pausing a little longer, Abigail took a moment to observe him. He shifted his weight slightly from foot to foot and swapped a large envelope from hand to hand as he did so. She watched as he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and seemed to be mouthing something as he let it out in a long, slow exhale. Was he counting!? She focused in on his mouth and saw what could have been seven… eight… nine—
Abigail stepped back and swung the door open, not proud of herself but a little satisfied when he jumped slightly—made a nice change from him startling her out of her wits whenever he arrived unexpectedly.
“Hello,” she said calmly.
“Uh, hi,” he replied, smiling nervously, “I, uh, think I owe you an apology.”
“You… think? As in, you’re unsure if storming out of my house with no explanation or even a throwaway ‘I’ll explain later’—which would still have annoyed me a lot, by the way—while making off with my property warrants an apology or not?”
Byron stared back at her as she leveled her gaze with his. She needed him to break first, but he did genuinely look so sorry… and his eyes were damnably attractive.
He glanced away and cleared his throat. “I recognize that I owe you a significant apology.”
“Better. Come in.”
Abigail stepped back and gestured towards the kitchen. She took the opportunity to peer across the street to see if she could spot Cleo, but her friend had obviously made it inside in the short period of time. Her phone pinged, taking her attention away from the house across the street.
From Shelley: Hey hun! How have you been coping up there in the gorgeousness that is Rhode Island? I just wanted to touch base with you about the files—has the first delivery arrived yet?
From Abigail: Hi sweety, It’s been all right—it is beautiful, but the humidity is something else. I have not received anything, and when you say ‘first,’ what do you mean?
Abigail closed the door as she typed her reply and upon seeing Byron waiting for her halfway between the door and the kitchen, she tucked her phone away and hurried.
"So," she said, "uh... tea?"
"Sure!" Byron replied, making a beeline to the kettle and tea station that had haphazardly grown on her kitchen counter.
"Nothing too strong," she said as he reached for one of the heavier blends.
It was once again satisfying to see him pause and recalculate, but she still wasn’t proud of herself for the feeling.
From Shelley: Oh yeah, the humidity is the killer; remember when I went to Indonesia for my sister's destination wedding, and my hair was nearly standing on end? Well, I was thinking about it all after I shipped off the first one, and I remembered I’d seen a box labeled paper, and at the time, I figured that was printer paper or something. Then yesterday, I thought to myself, there’s no way you’d package up and pay for the storage of a box of paper. I went back and saw that it actually said papers with an S but it had faded unevenly, so I sent it off to you yesterday afternoon. Got the expressiest express but it still might be a few days... I’m sorry!
From Abigail: Omg, don’t even worry about it!! That is totally fine, I’ll get it when I get it.
"Everything okay?" Byron asked.
"Hm? Ok, yeah, it’s just my friend at home."
"Right..."
She felt like she was being unmeasurably petty but it also felt like he didn’t really deserve the details of her life right now—not until he explained his behavior and she decided if it was something she could move past.
From Shelley: So there’s no rush? You sounded kind of urgent about it on the phone.
From Abigail: Sure, but the first one will get here, and then I’ll spend my time reading through that until the second one arrives. It's no big deal!
The soft hissing sound of boiling water, the gurgles made by the teapot as it was filled, and the overall sense of warmth that the process evoked were calming to Abigail. She took a moment of the silence to breathe in deeply and enjoy it, as well as let Byron steep in what she assumed were his own thoughts.
Again, not proud of it but not ashamed enough to put him out of his misery.