Chapter 10
A quick internet search told her that the old ice cream shop was open and not too busy so, instead of finally heading upstairs and getting started, Abigail made her way towards the beach armed with her notebook. The entire walk there was spent obsessing over the details of Stanford and Fromm Equities and Bonds.
She and Cleo had gone through the stack of papers and found where she had seen the name. Neither of them could figure out what was so special about the inventory order. She’d taken a photograph of it on her phone and had been studying it whenever she paused.
Though it was a huge order, there was nothing on the list that stood out to her as particularly weird—furniture, office supplies, servicing and detailing on fleet cars, and kitchen appliances. Nicer kitchen appliances than Abigail had ever owned… they clearly weren’t cost cutting on their office spaces.
The old ice cream shop was in a bit of disrepair, but the major features remained unchanged. The long glass cabinet was still filled with gleaming silver trays of delicious flavors; though now, one section boasted ‘weird and wonderful’ ones in what she assumed was a viral marketing attempt. They also offered coffee whereas they’d only ever offered milkshakes in the past. The whole long wall of the diner was covered in mirrors which, while it did make the place look larger, also forced anyone sitting at the bar to watch themselves eat which was certainly a choice to make. She couldn’t imagine how much time was spent cleaning sticky fingerprints off the glass by these poor servers...
“Can I get a Dark Choco-Cherry?” she asked when it came to her turn in the queue, “and a large black coffee.”
The young attendant smiled and took her money, indicating she could take a seat at the stools that ran along the back and side walls. There were still booths, but fewer of them and they were all currently full of tourists. The humidity was high today, even higher than normal, so the warm weather felt far more intense than it really was.
As she took her seat on the slightly too high stool in front of the mirrored wall, she took in the décor. Some things remained, like the black and white photos of vaguely famous people who had been there over the years and the framed newspaper clippings which seemed to be split between favorable reviews and world events. Abigail wondered if anyone actually looked closely at the clippings on the wall—they were hardly in keeping with the cheery surroundings. JFK’s assassination and the World Trade Center attack, right next to the announcement of the Miss Universe winner from twenty years ago.
Abigail shook her head and withdrew her notebook. She’d come here to try and remember more about the memory she’d experienced the flashback of all those weeks ago. Her coffee arrived at the same time as the small glass bowl of ice cream. Taking a spoonful, she paused for a moment to enjoy the strong flavors before taking a deep breath and starting to write.
Jacob—Ice Cream Parlor—His Concerns About His Dad
~ we weren’t on a date, I don’t think. Just hanging out.
~ he was talking about his dad and how his mom would lose her mind if he was cheating on her again.
~ I asked if he was sure and he kind of got mad at me?
~ he said he was going to find out, follow his dad—that was when I first saw him with a black eye.
~ it wasn’t like other dreams or memories of him form that summer, it was…
There was a prickling sensation on her neck and suddenly she felt self-conscious. Abigail glanced down the beach and only saw some kids making a mess with their sundae bowls, they weren’t interested in what she was doing.
It was the same feeling she had when the client she didn’t like was in the house, like she was being judged for everything she did. Abigail closed her notebook and scooped up some more ice cream. It was pretty good, but the chocolate flavor could be stronger for her taste. Absurdly, she raised her free hand to cover her mouth as she popped the spoon in. Even as she did it, she looked at herself reflected in the mirror with a ‘what the heck is that all about’ expression on her face. She hadn’t done that in years, not since her early office days when she’d been on the same lunch slot as an older woman who took it upon herself to actively comment on the diet of every single person in the office and offer so-called ‘helpful’ tips on how to make it less fattening. That was the feeling she had, she realized, at the house with Mister Undertaker-Suit and right now—like someone was watching her and waiting for her to say or do something embarrassing.
This is ridiculous, she thought as she glanced around, no one is watching me, and Andrea is probably still the sub-assistant manager of the administration pool because she’s too unpleasant to be promoted beyond that.
The catty thought didn’t make her feel better, but it did distract her enough from the feeling to realize she was probably just anxious and overthinking it. She took a deliberately large spoonful and placed it in her mouth, letting the ice cream melt on her tongue as she slowly withdrew the spoon and really tasted the dark chocolate deliciousness cut through perfectly with the tart cherry. The coffee seemed cool enough to start drinking it. As she raised it to her lips, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. The warm coffee aroma was pleasing, especially mixed with the sweet flavors of the ice cream.
Doctor Lavender had walked her through an anxiety-reducing breathing exercise on the phone the other day and it had helped a lot, so she decided to try it now. She took a sip and focused on the flavor, how it felt on her tongue, what her throat felt like when she swallowed it. What could she hear? Children laughing and talking, the cash register clacking, orders being called out.
Another sip… this time, the coffee tasted less bitter, which was probably because the chocolate flavor had faded. What could she hear that was different now?
The adults at the table behind the children were having a disagreement. One of the men had said they would take the children to do something on the beach but now wanted the women to do it so he could go to the sports bar with the other husband. He was lecturing the group, about how he had already done so much for them on this trip, couldn’t they just give him this?
Anxiety rippled through Abigail’s system, an electric crawling sensation that started in the pit in her stomach and radiated outwards. She swallowed hard, trying to quash it. A man’s voice rang out in her head—“can’t you see what I’ve done for you!?”
Abigail gasped, breathing in the coffee, and choking on it. She coughed violently, knocking the bowl of ice cream onto the floor, and dropping the coffee as she struggled to breathe. Her throat closed and her lungs burned as her heart began to race. The coughing wasn’t helping, every ragged breath felt painful and sharp as her body panicked. Someone was rubbing her back. A glass of water was in front of her but she pushed it away, face burning with embarrassment.
“I’m fine,” she tried to say, but it disappeared into another series of coughs.
She braced herself on the bar and coughed hard. She tried to shut down the panic and control her breathing but the words kept ringing in her mind—can’t you see what I’ve done for you, can’t you see what I’ve done for you, can’t you see what I’ve done for you...
The image of her tripping and falling, her shins hitting concrete steps, grazed on her hands and a spike of pain as Jacob grabbed her injured hand and pulled.
The image of her blood smeared on Jacob’s hand as it shook trying to unlock a car door, leaving blood on the chrome handle.
As she caught her breath, the words morphed from the man’s tenor to a different male voice, Jacob’s. The words were slipping away but at least she could breathe.
“Are you all right?” a woman asked from her left.
Abigail turned to face her, knowing her cheeks were stained with tears from her eyes watering as she choked and panicked.
“Yes, thank you—I’m sorry,” she stuttered, “the coffee, I breathed it in, and it hurt... Hot...”
“It’s all right dear,” the woman said, “that kind of thing hurts, you just sit down and breathe for a moment. Here...”
She handed Abigail a wad of napkins and gestured to the stool she’d been sitting on. If she was being honest, she hadn’t actually realized that she had stood up...
The group of people around her slowly dispersed, though she noted bitterly that neither the man who had been complaining about taking his kids to the beach nor the other husband had gotten up to help her, but both their wives had. As she noticed them in the mirror, she saw a man hovering at the parlor door, his black suit out of place in the summery heat of the beach. She spun on her heel but there was no one there. Had she imagined it? Considering she had panicked just after thinking about Mister Undertaker-Suit, it wasn’t impossible.
Abigail eased herself up onto the stool and sighed, her coffee had spilled over her notebook and the pages were soaked. One of the servers was headed her way with cleaning supplies and Abigail felt the embarrassment set in.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her face heating, “I... Please let me help.”
“It’s totally fine,” the server said brightly, “just glad you’re okay!”
“Yeah... Me too,” Abigail said.
She wasn’t okay, though, not really. The fear had choked her as much as the coffee had and now that she was calming down, Jacob’s words that she’d almost lost as she regained her breath came back to her.
“We can’t say anything, we can’t tell anyone, we just pretend we didn’t see it? Okay!?”