Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Abyss
As we wait for our food to arrive, I look at her and decide to fill her in as much as possible concerning Gretchen. “So, while I normally won’t talk about club business, since this kind of concerns you, I want to fill you in about what our meeting was about,” I say.
“Both Livy and Issy have explained what ‘club business’ means, Abyss, so I don’t want you to tell me anything you’re not supposed to,” she replies. “It doesn’t mean I don’t want to know, of course, but only if it’s okay.”
“It’s okay for me to tell you this, Shelly, I promise,” I say.
“It may become something that turns into club business at some point, but right now, it’s not.
I told them about Gretchen, and it turns out that she actually works at the same clinic that Doc does.
They weren’t aware she was missing, but now they are.
We’re looking into it and will do our best to find out what happened to her. ”
Her face is so expressive, I can see every emotion flash across it as I talk, so I reach out and clasp her hand in mine. “God, that’s kind of terrifying,” she murmurs. “When… when was the last time Doc saw her?”
Clearing my throat, I wait for the waitress to put our food down, not wanting a stranger to overhear our conversation and the things I’m about to share.
They may not be top secret, but there are some things the public doesn’t need to be made aware of.
Once she leaves, I pick up where I left off and say, “She told everyone about getting her tattoo, according to Doc. He said the last time anyone saw her was the night before her appointment.”
“That means something must have happened after she left work,” Shelly muses.
I become fascinated as I watch her lightly tapping the tines of her fork against her bottom lip.
While I’ve been slowly getting her used to me, constantly touching her whenever she’s nearby or kissing her, I find she continues to surprise me time and time again.
When I first met her, she was closed off, like a flower that hadn’t opened yet and bloomed, the grief and loss she experienced causing her to retreat from life to somewhere she felt safe.
As time has passed, she’s been slowly opening up.
Not just to me, but to Livy, Issy, and Marge.
The grief that hung like a pall over her is still there, of course, but she’s no longer just plodding through life.
She’s living and hopefully, I’m one of the reasons.
Because down to the marrow of my bones, she’s it for me.
Much like the fillies I’ve helped train over the years, she’s shown me that while she may sometimes need a gentler touch, she has a steel backbone.
It’s been ingrained in her from an early age, and the accident bent it slightly and caused her to retreat into herself, but now she’s coming into her own.
She’s the woman I’ve been looking for, and I didn’t even realize that fact, but since I’m aware now, I’ll do whatever it takes to cement her to me for life.
She’s going to be my ol’ lady, my wife, the mother of my children.
“Probably so,” I admit. “Right now, Nerd is doing a deep dive on her life to see if there’s any trail of her anywhere.”
“I hope y’all find her,” she murmurs. “I don’t know her except the little bit that Gina has shared, but anyone who has that much time in on their recovery is someone to admire. She’s young too, well, older than me, but still young in the grand scheme of things.”
I nod since I agree with her and take a bite of food while she continues to talk, allowing her words to run through my mind while I eat. Once I swallow, I ask, “Do you know if Gina has a picture of her?”
Her eyes widen and she says, “I don’t know. I’m going to text her and ask.” She pulls out her phone, and I watch her fingers fly as she sends a message to Gina.
“Good idea,” I reply. “If she does, I’ll get it to Nerd.
” I’m pretty sure there are pictures of her on the clinic’s website and throughout social media, but they’re probably not current, and if she’s the type of woman who colors her hair frequently, she might have a completely different look.
Plus, it’s possible that the picture on the website is several years old and a lot can change; people gain and lose weight, cut their hair, get tattoos, and don’t get me started on all of the filters people use nowadays on social media.
“Okay, she just sent me several pictures that were taken a week before she went missing,” she says, looking down at her phone. “Want me to send them to you?”
“Yeah, sweetheart, that’d be good,” I reply.
The rest of our meal goes off without a hitch, and soon, I’m following behind her as we head to her house. When we get there, I park underneath the carport that’s off to the side while she pulls into the garage. She gets out of her Jeep and walks over then asks, “Why aren’t you parking inside?”
I shrug as I get off my bike then pull my duffel bag out of the hard shell. “No reason to, Shelly. It’s not raining and even if it was, the carport will work.”
“If you’re sure,” she replies, doubt heavy in her tone.
Taking her hand in mine, I sling my duffel over the opposite shoulder then tug her toward the door I can see in the garage. “Are you gonna give me the five-cent tour or what?” I ask.
She lowers the garage door then inputs the code required to open the door and enter the house. As I notice the various security measures, I grin, knowing that Mack wasted no time ensuring their home is a fortress.
“Okay, so as you can see, this is the mudroom and it bleeds into the laundry room,” she teases, holding her arm out like Vanna White does before she turns an illuminated tile. “Now, follow me into the heart of the home,” she continues, grinning up at me.
“Damn,” I whistle as I take in the homey kitchen. The wood on the cabinets is a dark cherry grain, but instead of making the room seem dark and gloomy, the frosted glass inserts and light green paint make it appear to be twice the size than it actually is, which is impressive.
I’m not wholly in the know as far as top-of-the-line kitchen appliances goes, but I’ve heard of the brand of stove I can see, as well as the sub-zero refrigerator.
A large island delineates the cooking area from the table, before the room flows into the living room.
I wander around as she points out various aspects, giggling a little as her descriptions become more and more outlandish.
But I stop moving when I see the curio cabinet that is obviously a shrine to what she lost. The top shelf has a picture of a woman about Mack’s age, and I know instinctively it’s his woman, Marcella.
A beautiful urn sits there, along with one of those flameless candles, sending a soft glow on the small placard that’s on the bottom.
“She didn’t have any family except for us,” Shelly murmurs, her voice quiet and somber. “I honestly don’t know why they never got married because she was it for him and vice versa, but I never asked. She was the only mom I ever knew, though, and I miss her a lot.”
“I know, baby, I know,” I murmur, gently tugging her into my side. I lean in and kiss her temple and say, “The cabinet is a beautiful tribute, Shelly.”
“Uncle Mack had it specially made,” she admits. “Before, we had shelves.”
I shake my head as I imagine Mack doing just that.
I look at the next shelf which is bigger than the top one and my mood instantly changes.
There’s a picture of a man holding up a sonogram whose grin is so big, it’s obvious that it’s James, her former partner.
A smaller urn, with his name and information on it sits to one side, while another one with Amberlea’s name is opposite.
A small picture of her is slightly off to the side and even knowing what I’m looking at, I can honestly say that her daughter was beautiful.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I murmur as I pull her in front of me and wrap my arms around her. “She was perfect.”
“Yeah, she was,” she whispers, reaching out to touch the glass.
“Some of my friends tried to make me feel bad because I had pictures taken with her, but Abyss, it’s becoming more common these days.
Both Uncle Mack and Marcella thought it would help me and it did, it really did.
If I had woken up and she was just gone, I don’t think I would have handled it all that well. ”
“I get it. I’m sure it’s not possible for everyone, but I’m glad you were able to have that time with her, sweetheart.” Looking around, I see a sketchpad on the coffee table. “What’s that?”
She glances over her shoulder and her smile brightens again. “Oh, I’ve been toying with an idea, but I’m having problems getting it to come together. Come and look.”
We sit next to each other on the couch, and I can tell what she’s trying to do as ideas start flooding my mind. “You’re trying to create an urn to hold both of them,” I state.
“Yeah, but I’m having a hard time getting it just right,” she admits.
Looking at the sketchpad, I ask, “Can I?” When she nods, I grab the pencil and turn the page, my initial idea quickly coming to life. It’s rudimentary, of course, but my hope is that it’ll give her some peace. “What do you think?” I question when I’m done.
She takes the pad from me, and I watch her finger lightly stroke the lines the pencil made just moments before.
“I love it,” she murmurs as her gaze catches mine.
I can see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes, but they don’t fall.
Instead, a tremulous smile now stretches across her face.
“I was having a hard time with the profile, but you nailed it. And while I’m still not positive there’s an afterlife of any kind at all, I’d like to think that the two of them are together. ”
The picture itself is simple; a man sitting in profile, a baby cradled in his arms with ‘Together Again’ in flowy script beneath it. “What were you thinking of using to create this?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” she says. “Wood would get dusty, but I feel like resin or porcelain would look cold.”
“Maybe you could do a combination of both,” I reply. “Let me think about how that might work and I’ll let you know. I’ve got quite a few contacts out there who may be able to create what you’re looking for.”
“Okay, thanks, Abyss.”
Setting the pad back on the table, I lean in and kiss her. When I pull back, I murmur, “No, thank you for trusting me with this.”
“You’re welcome. Um, so, let’s carry on with the tour, shall we?” she asks, a shy smile on her lips.
“Lead the way, sweetheart,” I say, waving my arm in front of me.
“It’s really not all that exciting,” she muses, grinning.
After she finishes the tour and we end up back in the kitchen to grab some drinks, I say, “I think what I’m most impressed with is that y’all have your own sides of the house upstairs.”
“I told you!” she exclaims.
Leaning closer, I kiss her nose then whisper, “Can I see your sketches?”