Chapter 44
Simeon barely had the patience to turn off his vehicle before he shot toward the house. The clock had moved way too slowly today as he’d imagined this moment—coming home to his wife. He couldn’t wait to hold her, to kiss her, to show her in every way how much he loved her.
Man alive! He’d left the flowers in the vehicle. He sprinted back down the walk and grabbed the bouquet of peach hibiscus off the passenger seat, then darted back to the house.
He pushed the door open. “I’m home,” he called, a wave of thankfulness washing over him.
Things had been hard—harder than Simeon had ever anticipated, even after all his years of counseling troubled couples—but God had brought them through it. And now they were looking forward to their future. To starting a family.
A persistent beeping returned his greeting. Not piercing enough to be the smoke alarm, thankfully. The oven timer?
“Abigail?” he called up the stairs as he headed for the kitchen. “I think whatever you have in the oven is done.” The savory scent of garlic—maybe a little burnt—hit him as he reached the kitchen. Abigail must not have heard the timer going off.
He set the flowers on the table and hurried to the oven to jab at the annoying alarm. The burnt smell intensified as he pulled the oven door down, and Simeon coughed. He switched the oven off, then reached for a pair of oven mitts and pulled out what looked like a blackened roast. He set it on the counter and waved the smoke away. It didn’t look salvageable, but his heart sang anyway at Abigail’s thoughtfulness in making it.
And was that cheesecake on the other side of the counter?
It looked perfect.
He swept the flowers off the table and headed for the stairs, grinning at the thought of finding Abigail still getting ready.
“Hey, the roast got a little burnt, but I think— What are you doing?” He stopped in the bedroom doorway.
Abigail had her back to him and was stuffing clothes into a small suitcase open on the bed.
“Are we taking another trip?” He could get on board with that. “Give me ten minutes to pack.”
But Abigail shook her head, and then her whole body followed suit with a shudder.
Simeon crossed the room in less than a heartbeat.
Abigail tried to skirt out of his reach, but he grabbed her elbow and spun her toward him. Her face was wet and splotchy, streaked with what might have been makeup.
But it was her eyes that made Simeon feel like someone had stabbed a dull knife into his chest and was slowly ripping his heart away from the sinews.
Her eyes were empty.
Hopeless.
Like they’d been before the accident.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” He stepped closer, and the flowers rustled in his hand. “Here. These are for you.” He held them out, as if their fragile petals could fix whatever was wrong.
“Thanks.” Abigail sniffed but didn’t take them.
Simeon tossed the bouquet on the bed and pulled her to him. But she pushed away and stuffed a pair of jeans into the suitcase. It knocked the breath out of him harder than the time he’d fallen out of the giant oak in Liam’s backyard.
“Abigail. What’s going on? Why are you packing?”
She shook her head, tears pelting her cheeks. “I have to go.”
“Go? Go where? Why? Did Wendy get to you again?” Everlee had called him the other day to say that Wendy wanted him to know she was sorry—and that she wasn’t calling him herself because she wasn’t going to interfere in his life anymore. But maybe that had been a ploy.
Abigail’s only response was to shake her head and reach for a pile of socks.
“Abigail, stop!” Simeon grabbed her arm again. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t stay here.” Abigail’s voice wobbled with each word.
“What do you mean, you can’t stay here? Where? River Falls?”
She slid her wedding ring off her finger.
The whole room rocked like the deck of a ship as she held it out to him.
He shook his head, balling his fists so she couldn’t slip it into his hands. “Why are you doing this?” His voice sounded strangled, like someone had cut off his oxygen supply. He was pretty sure someone had.
“The adoption agency called.” She moved to her dresser and set the ring on top of it.
“This is about the adoption?” Relief coursed through Simeon. “I told you, if you changed your mind, we don’t have to—”
“I didn’t change my mind.” She wiped at her cheeks, sounding suddenly matter-of-fact. “They did. Because of me.”
Simeon stared at her. They hadn’t even done the home study yet. “What do you mean? Because of your amnesia? They said that wouldn’t—”
She shook her head, her expression going grim. “Because of my background check.”
Simeon let out an involuntary laugh. This was absurd. “Your background check? What could have possibly—”
“My arrest record.” She didn’t say it with a hint of a smile, but Simeon laughed again. There was no way that was right.
“There’s obviously been some kind of mix up. I’ll call Zeb. Someone must have stolen your identity or something.”
“It’s not a mistake.” Abigail’s voice was way too even, way too calm.
Why wasn’t she upset that someone had used her name to commit crimes?
“Of course it’s a mistake. You never—”
“It’s not a mistake,” Abigail repeated. “I told you before the accident. I’m not who you think I am.”
“Before the . . .” Simeon tried to bring some sense to the words. “Are you saying you remember?”
The look on Simeon’s face would forever be seared in Abigail’s memory. The hurt, the confusion, the longing.
She’d planned to be gone before he got home, so she’d never have to tell him all of this. But she’d found herself moving through tar as she’d collected her clothes and filled her suitcase.
It was probably better this way. Once he knew everything, he’d send her away and never come looking for her. Never wonder what had happened to her. Never wonder what he’d done wrong, when he’d been nothing but wonderful.
She choked back a sob, fighting for enough control to answer his question.
“I remember,” she whispered. “I remember everything.” She’d waited months to be able to say those words—and now that she could, all she wanted to do was forget again. Go back to being the person she’d thought she was. The person Simeon loved.
“Come sit down.” Simeon dropped onto the bed, shoving her suitcase aside and patting the spot next to him. “Tell me what you remember.”
That hope, that kindness in his eyes stabbed her right through the middle.
She retreated to the window, wrapping her arms around herself. Beyond the mountains, the sun dragged its light away from the town.
“I lied to you.” Bile tried to escape with the words, but she forced it back down.
“About what?”
The question was simple, but Abigail laughed ironically. “Everything.”
“Could you be more specific?” The strain in Simeon’s voice nearly broke Abigail.
“Everything. From the moment we met. My past. My parents. My—” She swallowed and licked her lips. “My crimes.”
She heard the bed creak, and she was so tempted to go over there and bury her head in his shoulder and let him tell her everything would be okay. Because he would do it. He would do anything for her.
She’d taken advantage of that once. But she wouldn’t do it again.
So she made herself remain upright on shaky legs.
Simeon hadn’t said a word, and she dared a glance at him. He was watching her, waiting.
She wondered if this was what his clients felt like—like he was someone they could pour their hearts out to, tell their worst secrets, and he would still look at them with compassion.
Only she wasn’t a client.
She was his wife.
And once she told him all of this, he would hate her.
She rubbed at the sharp pain in her chest. It was too late to turn back now.
“Do you remember my book?” she asked.
Simeon’s expression flipped to relief. “Abigail—” He stood and crossed the room, stopping close enough that his scent—it was sage, she remembered now—tried to lure her into his arms. “Is that what this is about? We’ve been over this. That book is—”
“A memoir,” she said flatly, taking a step backwards. “Or maybe more of a confession. An attempt to leave it all behind for good. But now I see that’s impossible.”
Simeon shook his head. “It’s a novel. You told me that.”
“No. You said it, and I let you believe it. I’m sorry.”
Simeon scrubbed his hands over his face, and she longed suddenly to feel the rough stubble of his cheeks under her fingertips. But she never would again. She already knew that.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Simeon’s patience sounded stretched thin. “Think about it. The character in your book—”
“Me,” she interrupted.
He shook his head but kept speaking. “Is the daughter of—”
“Illinois state senator Colin Harris,” she said flatly.
“Exactly.” Simeon looked relieved, as if he felt like he was making progress with his argument. “And your parents died a long time ago.”
Abigail shook her head with a ferocity that made it ache. “They’re not dead. They sent me away. So I couldn’t ruin my dad’s career. I figured that since I was dead to them, they may as well be dead to me too.”
Simeon still didn’t seem to grasp what she was saying. “Even if that’s true—”
“It’s true. You read the book, Simeon. I was a car thief. Or, well, my boyfriend Garrick was. He was part of a crew. I made some calls for them once in a while. Went with him to deliver the cars. I told myself it was all harmless. They were only stealing from really rich people, you know? And I figured their insurance would cover it, so they weren’t really hurting anyone, and—” She had to stop. Listening to herself now, parroting back the lines Garrick had fed her, made her sick.
“But in the book,” Simeon said slowly. “The narrator—”
“Me,” Abigail corrected again.
Simeon shook off her comment. “She was a nurse and this Garrick guy—” He broke off, his eyes widening. “A nurse,” he repeated.
Abigail nodded, even as her heart crumbled. He believed it now, she could see it in his eyes. “That’s how I knew how to save Pastor Mateo. I was a nurse.”
She cleared her throat, forcing herself to go on. “I met Garrick in nursing school. He was a student too. He was always driving these really nice cars, so one day I asked him about it, and he said it was a job perk.” She dropped her head against the window. She’d been so naive. “By the time I realized what the job was, I was head over heels for him.” She swallowed. “I knew it was wrong, but if I said anything, he’d leave me.” Oh, how had she ever been so stupid?
“That’s what happened in the book,” Simeon said, turning away to pace the room. “It wasn’t real.” He shook his head as if trying to dislodge the possibility.
“There’s more.” Now that she’d started, she had to finish. “The part I hadn’t written in the book yet. The reason for the manslaughter charge.”
Simeon stopped pacing to stare at her. “Manslaughter?” His voice was too thin, his face too pale.
Once she told him the rest, there’d be no hope of salvaging their marriage. But she couldn’t make him live in this lie anymore.
She ran a finger up and down the window pane, watching the smudge it left behind.
“We were supposed to deliver a Jaguar,” she said, making sure to speak loudly enough that he’d hear her. Because there was no way she’d be able to repeat this. “Garrick was speeding like always, and suddenly there was this cop behind us. I told Garrick to pull over, but he wouldn’t. He seemed to be exhilarated by the chase. We were going so fast.” She clutched at the curtains. “We ran a red light and hit a car.” She had to stop and take a few quick breaths. Finally, she managed to force the words out. “There was a passenger. A woman.” She gasped for air but couldn’t grab at any. “A pregnant woman.”
Her legs folded under her, and she dropped to the ground, burying her face in the rough curtain, a flash of memory washing over her. When she’d lost the first baby, she’d sat right here in this spot and cried. Because she’d known it was her fault. It was what she deserved. She shoved the curtain harder against her face to stifle her sobs.
Strong arms wrapped around her back, and she tried to wiggle away. Simeon tightened his grip, but she turned and shoved against him.
His face registered surprise and hurt as he dropped his arms.
“Don’t you see?” She was screaming now, and she probably sounded like a crazed lunatic. “It’s my fault we lost our babies. I’m responsible for the death of that woman and her baby. That’s why God took our babies away.”
“Oh, Abigail.” Simeon reached for her again, but she scooted backwards and jumped to her feet.
“Don’t. I didn’t finish yet.”
Wariness cloaked Simeon’s features as he stood but didn’t move closer.
Good. At least he had the sense to know that he should be worried about what else she could possibly say.
“They arrested us.” She could still feel the cold metal of the handcuffs biting into her skin. “I was facing years in prison. But my dad pressured the prosecutor to drop the charges in return for my testimony. I put the rest of the crew in prison, and I walked away scot-free. The moment the trial was over, my parents shipped me out of the country.” She paused, waiting to see if he’d make the connection.
It only took a moment. “Ecuador?” he whispered.
She nodded numbly.
“But you told me . . .” Simeon looked so lost that she barely resisted going to him and wrapping her arms around him and telling him it was all a joke. That she hadn’t really done any of these things.
“I know what I told you,” she said instead. “That I went on mission trips every year. That serving God was my passion. But the truth is—” She licked her lips. “Up until that point, I’d barely stepped foot in a church, except at Christmas and Easter. But I thought maybe the trip wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe I could make up for some of what I’d done. Become a better person. And then I met you and—” She shook her head helplessly. She didn’t need to tell him anything that would hurt him more.
“And what?” Simeon pressed.
“And I thought maybe it was a chance to start over. To become someone else. The kind of woman who would belong with a man like you.”
“So it was all a lie? Right from the beginning?” His voice was flat, and she hated it. She would have much preferred anger. Then she could get angry back, and it wouldn’t have to hurt so much.
“It was— I don’t know what it was.” She forced her voice to remain composed. “I wanted to tell you the truth, but I didn’t know what I’d be coming back to, after Ecuador, and then you asked me to marry you, and it seemed like the perfect chance to start over. To be the woman you thought I was.”
“Did you—” Simeon cut off, shaking his head, as if he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
“Did I what?” she whispered.
“Did you ever really love me? Or was it all an act?” Torture clung to the words, and he refused to look at her.
“I remember our wedding day,” she said softly. “Waiting in the church lobby, and then seeing your face. I was so in love with you.” An unexpected sob escaped, but she forced herself to push the rest back down. “And I was so in awe that someone like you could be in love with someone like me.” Another sob fought its way up her throat. “But you weren’t in love with me. You were in love with this persona I created. And I wish—” She sniffled, choking back another sob. “I wish I could be her again. But I can’t. I can’t lie to you anymore.”
Simeon shook his head, his expression warring between stunned and hurt and confused.
“I still have these.” Abigail lifted the divorce papers off the dresser. She’d been planning to leave them for him to make things easier. “They’re still valid. All you have to do is sign.” She held them out to Simeon, wanting to beg him not to take them. Not to sign.
But he took a step forward and slid the papers out of her fingers.