Chapter 3
Abigail reached for the remote to click the TV off. She’d been staring at it for the past hour, but she had no idea what she’d even been watching. Just as her finger hit the power button, a familiar face flashed on the screen. The TV went black, but Abigail pressed the power button again, leaning forward as she waited for the image to reappear.
“Senator Harris announces bid for Illinois governor,” the caption on the bottom of the screen read, though the camera was focused on the interviewer, who was asking how the candidate proposed to lower taxes. The camera panned to a man with silver hair and a politician’s smile, and Abigail caught her breath.
She hadn’t seen her father in over five years, and now there he was, staring at her through the screen.
“I’m glad you asked, Walt.” The voice was deep and resonant with a practiced empathetic pitch.
Abigail fumbled with the remote, jabbing her finger to the power button before she could hear more. She threw the remote onto the coffee table and wrapped her arms around herself.
It was good to know her mistakes hadn’t cost her father his career, as her parents had said would happen. But then, she supposed they had plenty of people to help them spin the story. And banishing her to Ecuador on that mission trip had probably helped too. All it had cost them was one daughter. A small price to pay for her dad’s political position, she was sure.
She hadn’t called them, visited them—had any contact with them—since the day they’d sent her away. They’d made it perfectly clear that they had no room for her in their lives.
She wondered once in a while if they knew where she was now. It wasn’t like she was hidden away. And they had the resources to find her—if they wanted to.
Which they clearly didn’t.
And that was fine with her. She certainly didn’t need them.
She’d never even told Simeon about them, instead letting him believe her parents were dead.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. They were dead to her.
It is a lie, her conscience argued. You told him you grew up in the foster system.
Okay, that part had been a lie. But it didn’t hurt anyone.
And what about the rest of your lies?her conscience persisted.
Abigail jumped to her feet. She couldn’t sit here and think about this.
She pulled on a sweatshirt and headed for the front door. Heat hit her the moment she stepped outside, and she looked around in surprise. Big white blossoms clung to the magnolia tree Simeon had planted their first year in the house. Tulips and snapdragons poked up from the flowerbeds that lined the porch. And the sky was a blinding blue that made her squint.
When had spring arrived?
She pulled out her phone to check the date. May 1.
Which meant it had been spring for a while.
How had she not noticed? She left the house almost every day for work. But she could have sworn that every day for the past she-didn’t-know-how-long had been gray and gloomy.
She drew in a deep breath, the scent of fresh-cut grass tickling her nose. Simeon must have mowed the lawn yesterday after he’d gotten home from church. She’d spent the morning watching TV, then retreated to bed for a nap when he got home.
Tears poked at her eyelids. Simeon didn’t deserve to be treated like this. But being around him—pretending everything was fine—was too hard.
But she could change. She would change. Starting now, with a walk. Already, she could feel the fresh air reviving her.
She set off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, making herself take notice of the flowers in the neighbors’ yards, of the gentle swishing sound of the leaves in the breeze and the call of the birds flitting overhead and the . . .
She stopped, listening, her heart jammed up against her ribs.
Children.
That was the sound of children. Shrieking. Laughing. Playing.
It must be coming from the school around the corner. She and Simeon had chosen this house because it was so close to the school. They’d talked about how they’d walk their children there every day. About how when the kids were too old to want them along, they’d just “happen” to take a morning walk in that direction. About how it would be so convenient for going to the plays and sporting events and other activities their children would be involved in.
Abigail knew she shouldn’t, but she let her feet pull her in the direction of the noise.
Despite the slamming in her chest and the churning in her middle, she walked right to the green space where a group of children chased each other in what looked like a game of tag. She kept walking, her eyes going to the jungle gym and then to the swings. She paused a moment, her gaze lingering on a little girl with dark pigtails that rose and fell around her head in time to the swing’s movements.
Abigail wrapped her arms around her middle. She wanted to be here thinking about how quickly the years had passed. Wondering how her baby was in school already. But instead, she and Simeon had three babies who had never made it beyond the womb.
After the first miscarriage, she’d told herself it was normal—sad, yes, but it happened to lots of women. After the second, she’d thought maybe she’d done something wrong. But the doctor had reassured her it wasn’t her fault. But after the third, she knew better.
It was her fault.
God was punishing her.
She’d tried so hard to make up for her past. To be the perfect wife. To be worthy of Simeon’s love.
But God knew better.
And the worst part was, her past sins were hurting Simeon, and he didn’t even know it.
“Hello.” A small voice pulled Abigail’s attention to a little girl in front of her. The girl gave her a bright-eyed smile and waved. “Hello,” she said again.
Abigail opened her mouth to reply, but all that came out was a strangled gasp for air.
She spun away, dashed across the road, and sprinted home. Inside, she slammed the door, then leaned against it, panting heavily.
No more walks, she scolded herself.
When her breathing had finally slowed, she pushed off the door and dragged herself up the stairs. She could try to take a nap, but she knew that little girl’s face would haunt her. Instead, she grabbed her laptop out of the bottom drawer of her dresser and carried it to the bed.
She stacked the pillows behind her back, then settled the computer on her lap and opened the document she’d been working on for the past few weeks.
She wasn’t sure what made her think she could write a book. Maybe it was working at the Book Den, surrounded by all those words every day. Or maybe it was the woman who came in regularly and sat at one of their tables for an hour or two, her fingers clicking away on the keyboard.
At any rate, one day Abigail had come home from work and just started writing.
She had no idea if what she had written was any good. And it didn’t matter. She never intended for anyone else to read it.
All she knew was that maybe if she got everything down on paper, she could leave it in the past and truly move forward with Simeon.
She skimmed the words she’d written a few days ago, letting herself get caught up in pretending these things had happened to someone else. That this woman wasn’t her. That the real her was the woman she was now, not the woman she’d been then.
Garrick leered at me. “What, you thought the cars drove themselves across the state? Come on, it’ll be like a road trip. I’ll even let you drive.”
I eyed the Porsche. It would be fun to drive. And it wasn’t like the owner was going to miss it. I’d seen his outrageous car collection.
“Yeah. All right.” I held out a hand for the keys, and Garrick dropped them into it, their heft much greater than the actual weight of the metal. I swallowed. Was I really capable of this?
“That’s right, baby. Road trip time.” Garrick grinned and slapped a hard kiss onto my mouth, then jumped into the passenger seat.
With one quick glance over my shoulder, I giggled, hoping it sounded carefree rather than terrified. I opened the driver’s door. This was so far from anything I’d ever done before. So far from anything my parents would approve of.
And it felt exhilarating.
Abigail’s stomach turned over, and she wished she could forget everything. But there were so many more terrible scenes to write before she got to the part she truly wanted to remember. The part where she’d met Simeon. The part where it felt like she’d gotten a do-over. A chance to start a new life.
This life.
So why did it feel like that old life still held her captive?
Abigail resolutely brought her fingers back to the keyboard. She may not be able to forget the past. But maybe once she finished this, she could leave it behind.