Chapter 15
ABIGAIL
By the time indicated on the wall clock, we had been talking for more than fifteen minutes, when l I heard someone hollering in the background. We rushed our goodbye and promised to check in later tonight.
Keeping my promise to stretch, I pulled out my yoga mat from the closet and put my body back together. Today, I would take things slower. Do only the necessary things, especially those phone calls. The weather had broken from frosty to moist these past few mornings; however, today, a balmy breeze passed through the leaves of the giant weeping willow in the front yard. I remember seeing a wrought iron table in the backyard and deciding it belonged on the front porch, along with a cement statue of a Labrador. After rummaging through the garage for a device to move everything, a red Radio Flyer wagon peeked at me from behind a gaudy yellow screen.
”Yes! There you are. You”ve been hiding from me.” I knew I”m talking to myself, but I”m good company. ”Let”s put you to work.”
Four trips later, from front to back, I placed these pieces strategically so I could enjoy my coffee and people watch. The plan was to watch, not engage. Growing up, I”d never seen a willow tree until meeting Seneca. Her apartment building in Chicago had one out front. We would sit under it, talking about everyone who came into her dad”s store saying judgmental things about them. I”m not sure why we felt that was funny at the time. Could I claim to be young and stupid? In retrospect, we weren”t hurting anyone, only that we were small and petty. Thank goodness that phase of our lives was over. It was time to catch up with my friends and family. I hoped they remembered I was alive.
I started with my Aunt Eleanor. I hoped she kept my stuff. I dialed and waited while her very annoying ringtone beckoned her to pick up.
”Where have you been? It”s been three days, and you haven”t called or texted. I was beginning to think you weren”t ever going to call.”
Her voice was accusing and harsh. Newsflash, Auntie! The phone works both ways. Why didn”t you check on me? If you thought something was wrong, why didn”t you reach out? So much for the caring, concerned aunt routine.
”Hi, Aunt Eleanor. Hello to you, too.” Two could play that way. ”I”ve had my hands full with, you know, moving, car troubles, money troubles, and house troubles, just to name a few things. How are you? Is your move going well?” I hoped my patronizing tone came through loud and clear. God forbid my life should be a priority for a while.
She harumphed. ”Don”t take that tone with me, missy. I”ve been up to my ears in moving, job changes, and gout. Unlike you, I have real responsibilities, so where can I send your junk?”
See? That right there was why I didn”t have any respect for her. Me not having responsibilities? What the fuck? Did she not know why I moved? And, also, why were my things junk and hers so precious? Once I got my stuff from her, I was done with her. After overhearing a private phone conversation with one of her friends, she made it clear she never wanted me; therefore, I didn”t feel obligated or dutiful. It”s a wonder I turned out as good as I did. Thanks, Mom, for the great beginning of my life. I gave her my address and promised to reimburse her if it was too much of a financial hardship. My whole existence with her was summed up in one saccharine minute.
”Aunt Eleanor, thank you for your sacrifices in raising me without warning. I know you had to give up your personal life to keep me alive and well, and while I greatly appreciate that, I hope you won”t feel obligated to keep in touch after sending my things. I”ll be fine.”
Strangled, guttural noises akin to a gag, were my last words with the woman who technically raised me. I felt numbness throughout the day as I tried to remember any positive, outstanding childhood moments. Beyond my first birthday, after my mother”s death, nothing came to mind. It felt tragic in some ways, like another death I had to mourn. It made me feel out of control and alone. It explained my behavior at times, which was impulsive and unfiltered. It could be the unbalanced chemistry in my brain or my subconscious acting out. Either way, it was problematic. I hoped I would outgrow one or the other, but that was a stretch.
After a cup of coffee and a sleeve of cheap, packaged chocolate chip cookies, I called Seneca. She”d lift my spirits.
She answered on the first ring as a good friend should.
”Abigail! Girl, I”ve been waiting for your call. What took you so long?”
Seneca had, and I quote our sixth-grade teacher, ”diarrhea of the mouth.” She was one run-on sentence after another. It was charming at times, though mostly hilarious, to see her get passionate about everything.
”Ugh! How long do you have? My story is like a saga. But—it does come with a hunky guy.” I baited her, and she ate it up.
It took me the better part of a half hour to give her a vivid account of my travels, Elias, and my house. Generous amounts of drama and imagery poured out of my mouth until I got to Elias”s departure. My throat closed off, and I went silent.
”Abs. Where did you go? Are you okay?”
I cleared my throat, hoping that was why I couldn”t speak, except it wasn”t. It was the thought that Elias wouldn”t come back and that the future he painted would never happen. I felt gutted.
”Sorry. My thoughts about Elias are complicated. I”d never thought past the end of the week since I was always in survival mode. I don”t know how to think about him and where he fits into my life. Frankly, I”m still trying to figure out how I will be able to keep this place, let alone take care of it.”
My voice cracked, and the heaviness of everything I had to endure until now sat like a pit in my stomach. The added responsibilities felt like I was having a heart attack. I could barely take a full breath.
”Seneca. I think I”m having a panic attack. I can”t breathe.” I waved my free hand before my face and began pacing around the room. The walls were closing in on me, and there wasn”t an escape route. I bolted from my seat and started walking around the circular driveway, snapping my fingers.
”Hey. Hey. Slow your roll. I can hear you snapping your fingers. You need to stop and breathe. Come on. Breathe with me.” She did this thing with me every time I had an attack. It made me more anxious when I began the deep breathing exercises, but I started to settle down after a minute. To this day, I don”t know why my brain couldn”t think of doing that on my own. First, Seneca, and now, Elias. How did he know to do this exercise? Did he have anxiety, too? I”ll have to ask him next time I see him.
”Thanks, babe. I”m better. What would I do without you?” I smiled as I walked down the side drive, taking in the buds preparing to pop open.
”You”d collapse, and when you woke up, you”d breathe normally. Of course, your head would be cracked open, and you”d have a black eye and a broken arm.” Her voice cackled through the receiver.
”Very funny. Then you”d have to come here and be my nursemaid until I healed. Are you ready for that kind of commitment?” Having her here wouldn”t be so bad, right?
She clucked her tongue, ”Be careful what you wish for. I wouldn”t mind a little vacation in Connecticut. My dad”s store isn”t doing well, and I think he”s considering shutting it down. Would you mind if I stayed with you for a bit? I could help you with stuff, and we could watch movies and eat popcorn like we used to until the middle of the night.” Silence drifted between us. I fondly remembered cuddling each other, watching a horror movie, and then diving into the Romance Channel to lighten the mood.
”Sen, you are welcome to come for as long as you want. You are the chosen sister I never had. Give me a shout when you”re on the way.” My chest fluttered excitedly at the idea of Seneca coming to stay with me. She grounded me, and I needed that desperately. ”I love you, girl.”
”I love you too, boo. God knows I need you to braid my hair.” We laughed and made promises to speak again soon. She was good medicine, and I needed more of it.
The rental car company dropped off an inexpensive sedan at midday. Since I”d be going back his way to do some errands, I appreciated not being charged extra for a chase car. Today”s errands included the library, a craft and material store, the grocery store, and one of those giant warehouse stores for a security system Elias demanded I install.
”You can”t be out here all alone with all these buildings. You need cameras all over this place. Get one, and I”ll install it next time I come down.” I wondered when that would be.
Mystic Library was a converted mansion home similar to mine but more rustic. The vaulted ceiling was lined with thin boards slotted in long panels surrounding a wood medallion-like centerpiece in the center. The floors were covered with ancient rugs, and the walls had chubby baby pictures dating back to their origin in 1878. I couldn”t wait to get my hands on my family”s documents. A loud ”meow” screeched near my feet when I turned to find a librarian.
”Well, hello, kitty. Sorry, I almost tripped on you.” Seriously, what”s a cat doing in the library? I found the main desk and was sent down the hall to the historical records section. Hmm. I didn”t know that was a thing.
A sweet-faced little woman lifted her head and smiled at me—finally, an approachable person.
I smiled. ”Hello. I”m Abigail Farnsworth-Burton. I could use your help finding my family”s historical information.”
Her raised eyebrows should have been a red flag regarding my name. First, the lady at the Deed’s office, then the old guy at the realtor’s office, and now this chic. Was there some big secret about my family that I was the last to know? She pulled open a drawer, pulled out a set of keys, stood, and signaled me to follow her.
”I”m Micah,” was all she said as we walked down another hallway, down a flight of stairs, and into the basement. If I didn”t know better, I”d swear she was going to kill me down there.
She stopped abruptly, unlocked a door, and pulled a set of white cotton gloves from her pocket.
She pinched a small smile on her face. ”Here is where your search will begin. Start on this shelf and continue reading through those volumes.” Ten, to be exact. Handing me the gloves, she turned and walked away, only to stop short again. ”When you finish those, you”ll want to go to the courthouse and ask Ellen to direct you to the property archives to better understand the Farnsworth Estate”s operational history.
I fell asleep after the first three volumes. Reading articles was worse than history class with Mr. Ruggers. The silver lining to these first books was that I learned about the area”s growth, the logging business on the Mystic River, and my great-great-grandfather”s contributions to feeding this up-and-coming city, along with finding sustainable development in the production of trees. So, this was how the old guy made his money.
I returned upstairs to return Micah”s gloves and a list of articles I needed to be copied.
”Oh, hello, dear. How did it go?” My eyes looked to hers over her reading glasses, appropriately hanging from a beaded necklace.
I rolled my eyes, ”Let”s just say I”m not ready for a final exam.” I chuckled, and she did as well. ”I”d like to make some copies of the articles in a few sections. Could you help me with that? I want to build a scrapbook for future visitors at the house.”
Micah made a bright hmm sound. ”Visitors, you say. Will you be keeping the home as a bed and breakfast?”
I knew she was phishing and wasn”t wrong, but I wasn”t ready to commit to anything now. ”Maybe. I haven”t decided yet. There”s still so much to do there.” I winked and smiled. She reciprocated and stood to take my list. ”I don”t need this right away. I”ll be back and finish my research. Would you hold onto them until later this week? Can I pay you for all the copies when I pick them up?”
She pursed her lips. ”I suppose so. By the way, I”m embarrassed to ask, but I was hoping I could take a walk through the house sometime. I”ve always wanted to see the inside. I fancy myself a bit of an antiquarian. Are many original pieces of furniture and artifacts still in the home?” She pressed her hands together in prayer, tapping her fingers like a hopeful child. I couldn”t resist giving in to her request.
”So many,” I said. Micah gasped. ”If you could give me a week, I”m still combing through the house and making piles of items with questionable antiquity. Do you think you could help me figure out what is an antique and what is a knock-off?”
Micah was full-out clapping at this point, and so was I. This woman was the hidden gem I”d been looking for. Ideas swirled around my brain like a tornado. If Micah liked antiques, wouldn”t other people? If Micah wanted to tour the place, wouldn”t other people also pay to take a look? The book I mentioned to her earlier could be in a gift shop at the end of the tour, and recipe cards could be purchased for authentic meals initially prepared in the house. There was no limit to what I could do with this gift, and Micah was the catalyst to get me fired up.
”I would be delighted to have you over. Would next Thursday work for you?” She turned and ran for her purse, pulling out a tiny paper calendar.
”It”s a date!”
It was too late in the day to look through the sewing store, though I managed the warehouse and grocery stores. By the time I got home, the sun was low in the sky, and two eggs were nestled in my crocs on the side porch—dear sweet Amy. I”d have to build her a proper nest. If she kept delivering eggs, I”d put on those few pounds I”d been hoping for. I was tired of having a body like a boy.
I sat down in the front parlor, the proper name as disclosed in the annals of the Farnsworth Estate, to tidy up my to-do list for tomorrow. It appeared that my plan of zipping through all these tasks was naive. Research took time. Lots of time, including appealing to people”s sense of kindness to find what I was looking for. It was exhausting. Tomorrow, I decided to do some gardening, build Amy”s nest, and watch YouTube videos on recommended cooking channels. This home could produce so many income streams if I could stay focused, getting even one of them going.
My phone buzzed with a familiar number, and I smiled, remembering his kindness.
”Hello, Mr. Brickner, to what do I owe the honor of your call?” I giggled at my formality.
He chuckled back. ”You”re still alive and doing well, I hope. I needed to hear your voice to determine whether you were distressed or thriving.”
”You”re the best. Thank you for keeping me on your radar. I”m doing well—most of the time. I won”t lie, this is a lot to manage, but I”m giving it my best shot.”
”I knew you would. Establishing a household for anyone, Abigail, is a huge undertaking. The fact that you made it this far is commendable. Keep baby-stepping through this, and all will work out.”
His sincerity in his pep talk was so uplifting that I believed I could conquer this giant task. My only hesitation was if I could keep my insecurities at bay.
”Thank you so much for your support, Mr. Brickner. You”re my guardian angel. I appreciate you calling.”
”My pleasure. I”ll call again soon. Remember, you can always reach me at this number.”
The wind picked up as I stared out the windows. The willows swished elegantly like hulu girls, and I prayed that my mind would work in that fashion one day: fluid, graceful, and unpanicked. Being kind to myself, I took a moment to pat myself on the back. I had survived four days. Not only did I survive, but I thrived moving this monumental project forward. Maybe there was hope for me? Time will tell.
A sudden jerk woke me up, and I gasped. What the hell? Oh. I must have fallen asleep. The house was pitch black with no moon to guide me, so I used the couch to find my way to what I thought was a clear path, but I smashed my shin on a rather pointy table instead. Crap! That”s going to leave a mark. I pawed the table to find the lamp I remembered was there and twisted the dial. Happily, it worked, and I didn”t have to find the first aid kit to fix more bumps and bruises. After turning the foyer lights on, I turned off the end table lamp, chastising the table profusely.
”Bad table!” I yelled, shaking my finger at it. ”Don”t do that again!” Trust me when I tell you I didn”t wait for a reply. It”s a table, for God”s sake.
I admired the original pastoral mural painting along the curved staircase. If my eyes weren”t so blurry, I”d appreciate it more. I might take my coffee break tomorrow on the stairs, enjoying the details. It wasn”t especially elaborate, but it was simpler compared to other pastorals I”d seen in my humanities class in high school. It was intriguing, though, I could make some notes to include in my brochure when I got around to making one.
My bed called me, and I obliged. Since I arrived, each day has been jam-packed with activity. At the end of each day, the blessing had been falling into Elias”s arms, followed by greedy kisses and snuggling—well, mostly. Last night was hard without him, and tonight wouldn”t be any easier. When he stroked my arms, stress released instantly, and my brain calmed. I wondered what he was thinking right now.
”Sweet dreams, Elias.” I texted, not being able to hold back. Was I being too needy? Second-guessing myself was as natural as breathing to me. Perhaps he liked needy women? Maybe he got off on it? I could get off on him easily.
Moments passed, and the response dots began, stopped, and started again. I knew that hesitation. ”Don”t say anything stupid.” Or worse, lewd.
Then the sweetest message in the whole wide world came, ”Only if I”m thinking about you.” Swoon!See, I wasn”t kidding.
”Aren”t you the sweetest? As it is, I am thinking about you. I can”t decide if trying to start the car or the tractor would be better tomorrow morning?” I loved to bait him.
”NEITHER!” came the following text. ”Step away from the vehicles, Abigail. I mean it. I”ll get to them this weekend,” followed by an angry face emoji.
I jumped up and down and danced around the room. Elias was coming back like he promised. Wahoo!
”Yes, sir. That”s a hard no to touching the vehicles. Got it.”
”Behave yourself, Abigail.”
”Or what???” I knew, but the rush of warmth between my legs egged me on.
”LOL. Oh, princess, you are in trouble.” The GIF he sent was a hunky guy waving his finger at the camera.
”#Promise /#Notpromisetobegood.” Sent with a GIF from a Schitt’s Creek episode. I hope he gets the reference. I loved that show.
””What you did was impulsive, capricious, and melodramatic …”” Laughing smiley face. I guess he did watch that show.
”Haha. You get me! Good night, handsome.” I was horny as hell after that conversation.
”Good night, princess.”
I reached over and plugged in my phone, feeling too turned on to fall asleep. The nap I took earlier didn”t make sleep easier. I knew a good way to relax and had no shame using both hands to massage my small breasts. I envisioned his face, as I squeezed my tits tightly, wishing they were his. My right hand slid down my narrow body and slipped inside my moist panties. I pressed small circles around my clit igniting my desire, and, moments later, Elias’ name whimpered off my lips as I came. A wash of calm and sleep passed through my body, my mind wandering to new possibilities. I wished there a way to find out if we had a past life together. We must have because there is no other way our attraction could be so strong.