Chapter 43
Abigail surveyed the kitchen. It was a disaster. But the roast baking in the oven smelled delicious, the cheesecake looked perfect, and she’d only had to call Benjamin twice to ask what the recipe meant.
Overall, she was pretty sure this meal was going to be a success. Perfect for the one-month anniversary of putting her wedding ring back on. She may not remember the first month of their marriage, but she was pretty sure even that couldn’t have been this perfect.
She checked the time again.
Simeon had promised to be home from the office early tonight. Which gave her maybe an hour to finish getting everything ready.
The mess would have to wait.
First she had to get herself ready. She brushed off the basil and Parmesan that clung to her shirt and hurried to the bedroom. She’d splurged and bought a new dress—a white halter style with a flared skirt and open back—for the occasion.
She quickly pulled off her dirty clothes and grabbed the dress, pulling it on and tugging it down, then moved to the mirror to examine herself. The dress hugged the curves that Simeon seemed to love so much, and she couldn’t help grinning as her eyes caught on the ring glinting from her finger.
She moved to the bathroom to put on a little makeup, but her phone rang before she had a chance to blend the foundation she had dotted onto her cheeks.
She scooped it off the counter, careful not to smear it with the makeup still coating her fingers.
Her heart leapt right up to the ceiling at the words that lit up the screen: Hope for Tomorrow.
It hadn’t taken her and Simeon long after she’d put her ring back on to decide they wanted to move forward with adoption. After all they’d been through, neither of them was ready to deal with the potential heartbreak of another pregnancy loss. Plus, they both loved the idea of becoming a family for a child who otherwise might not have one. They’d submitted their paperwork three weeks ago and had been waiting for a call about starting the home study process.
Abigail’s fingers shook as she swiped to answer, putting the phone on speaker so she wouldn’t get makeup on the screen.
“Hello?” Did she sound too eager?
She probably did—but she didn’t care.
“Is this Abigail Calvano?” The woman on the other end of the line didn’t sound nearly as enthusiastic—but Abigail supposed this was fairly routine for her.
“Yes, this is Abigail.” She rubbed at the foundation on her face, just to give her hands something to do.
“This is Janice Stark. I’m a caseworker at Hope for Tomorrow.”
“Yes.” Abigail tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. Who cared about pleasantries when they were waiting to start their family?
“And your maiden name is Harris?” Janice continued in that same monotone.
“Um. Yes.” Not that she remembered it. But that was what Simeon had told her.
“I see.” Janice’s tone shifted, and something about it raised goosebumps on Abigail’s arm.
“Is something wrong?”
“As part of our standard procedure, we run a criminal background check on all applicants.” Janice was back to monotone-speak. “It’s the law.”
“Of course.” A consent form had been one of the papers they’d signed.
“Yours came back with some information you failed to disclose on your application.”
“I don’t understand.” Abigail dropped her hands from her half-blended face and picked up the phone, holding it in front of her as if that would make everything clearer. “What kind of information?” Had she gotten a speeding ticket? Maybe jaywalked—she and Simeon had been joking about that the other day when they’d crossed the street.
“It looks like you were arrested about . . . let’s see . . . six, no seven, years ago?”
“I— What?” Abigail’s voice squeaked, and her hands were shaking as hard as her head. “There must be some—”
Janice’s monotone turned steel-hard. “It looks like the charges were dropped in return for your testimony, but this is still a very serious matter that should have been disclosed on your application.”
“Charges? What kind of— I don’t under—”
“Grand theft auto.” Janice paused, then shot the word at her. “Manslaughter.”
“But I never— This has to be a—”
Abigail’s lungs seized as a barrage of images assaulted her.
Riding in a car that wasn’t hers.
A man—not Simeon—kissing her hard and then laughing.
Police sirens.
A scream.
And then the crash.
No. No. No.
She gasped, but the air was too heavy. It refused to make it all the way to her lungs.
More images pummeled her.
Her childhood.
Her parents.
Nursing school.
Meeting Garrick.
No. No. No.
It was all from her book. It was just a story.
“Abigail?” The voice came from far away. “We’ll need to set up a meeting to—”
Abigail pressed her finger to the red circle on her phone screen. Janice’s voice disappeared.
But the room was loud. So loud with memories.
The jail. The courtroom. Her parents banishing her.
Meeting Simeon.
Their babies. Oh, their babies.
And Carly. Carly was gone, and Abigail hadn’t even said goodbye.
She braced herself on the counter. The world was sliding out from under her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
What was she going to tell Simeon?
She’d been so upset with him for not telling her about the divorce and Wendy—but he’d kept all of that to himself to protect her.
She’d lied to him—about everything—only to protect herself.
She lifted her head and blinked at her reflection, wiping at the tears sliding down her cheeks, streaking the half-finished makeup.
Maybe she didn’t have to tell him anything. He’d said himself that the fact that she hadn’t gotten her memories back by now meant chances were good that she never would. He’d said it with such compassion—as if it were a sad thing that she’d never remember her past.
Because he didn’t know what her past was.
She pressed her fingers to her lips as a sob ripped through her. Once he knew, he would send her away, just like her parents had.
Unless—
Unless she left first.