The Forgotten Summer (Book 1 Newport Beach Series)

Chapter 1

Today had been a long time coming, but despite knowing that, it still felt surreal to be sitting across a too-shiny white table from Liam at the end of it all.

Okay, fine, maybe a touch dramatic,Abigail thought to herself, but it really did feel like the end of everything. The divorce itself had been brewing long before any papers were served, and it wasn’t like he cheated on her or anything. But the fact remained that she had believed heart and soul that the man sitting across from her in this expensively sparse office with its floor-to-ceiling windows, fake smile, and real ferns was the love of her life.

“Mrs. Danbury?” the tall one said, glancing at her over the rim of his designer glasses, “there’s not a lot left on the official agenda to discuss—”

“Oh please can we dispense with the Mrs. Danbury?” Abigail said, cutting him off. “In one or two signatures, I’ll be back to Ms. Clement, and honestly, I think it’s weird that you insist on calling me Mrs. throughout my divorce proceedings.”

She looked over to Liam for support out of habit despite having been separated for so long and winced inwardly as she did so. To his credit, he did look uncomfortable.

“Yeah, Mark, I know it’s ‘proper’ or whatever but… can you call her what she wants to be called?” Liam said, smiling awkwardly.

Abigail sighed. He wasn’t a bad guy—just not her guy. Not anymore.

“Certainly,” Mark said tightly, “Ms. Clement, these documents here outline the final division of physical assets and the financial arrangements. The ongoing custody of the children, as detailed previously, should continue as is in perpe—”

“No, Mark,” Liam said, “not in perpetuity. We discussed this last time, and both Abigail and I agreed—the girls should get a say. We should check in once a year at least to make sure that they’re happy with it.”

Abigail noticed he looked so worried as she glanced at her lawyer. Shelley smiled warmly, sneakily shooting her a ‘don’t worry’ glance. Standing at six feet tall—before considering the high heels she frequently wore, having absolutely no qualms with her plus-size figure, and a personality sparkling enough to make friends and enemies with a roomful of people at the same time—Shelley was a large woman in all senses of the word. Her long fingernails, painted lime green and glittering gold today, clicked together as she flipped her pen to point at the documents Mark was holding.

“Mr. Danbury,” she said, “the fact that you and my client are on such good terms is a real testament to your dedicated parenting. The arrangements outlined at the beginning of your separation are not a binding custody agreement; it simply reinforces that despite separation, you are keeping joint custody, and each has an equal right to major decisions concerning the girls. The decisions around where they live, proportional time with each of you, etcetera, are all up to you—especially with the twins old enough to make their preferences clear. It would only become court ordered if you were to come to an impasse and mediation was unable to help.”

Liam looked at his lawyer, who nodded and visibly relaxed.

“I just… I just don’t want them—or Abigail—to feel like it’s a problem—you know?”

A flicker of something sparked in her chest and Abigail’s eyes narrowed.

“Why would it feel like a problem?”

What she left unsaid was ‘it hasn’t been a problem so far, why would it be a problem now?’ and she could see from the way he swallowed hard that she was right. Something had changed. Something was wrong.

“Uh…”

Mark shot his client a weary glance before addressing Abigail and Shelley.

“My client has a proposal,” he said, clearing his throat, “he has had an incredible opportunity afforded to him that could significantly benefit both of the children should they be open to it. However, considering the nature of the opportunity… an emotional refusal on your part, Ms. Clement, would potentially deny them this chance.”

Her left molar flared with pain as Abigail bit down, a bad habit she had developed when dealing with Liam’s lawyer. How many women could say they had almost no problem with their ex-husband, but a significant one with his lawyer?

“Do not,” she said quietly, “try and bait me, Mr. Rowe, by implying that I would deny my children opportunities based on an emotional outburst.”

Shelley sensed the contained anger and held up a hand to Mark and Liam, silencing them as they both opened their mouths to speak.

“Gentlemen, if there is a significant choice to be made about the twins’ lives then each parent has equal weight in making the decision. I question the decision to wait until now to raise it; it feels tactical and targeted, truth be told, but now that you have—it would be in your interest to fully disclose whatever it is.”

The calm and collected tirade that subtly hinted that Shelley would not hold back in condemning their actions should it come before a court encapsulated a lot about why Abigail had chosen her as counsel—and why she and Abigail had become friends.

Liam cleared his throat. “We weren’t holding back for anything bad… I swear. I only found out about it this week.”

He looked to Abigail pleadingly; he was being honest, at least.

“Okay, go on…” she said, rolling her hand.

“Well, you know my dad took up his lectureship at the LSE? Before it all kicks off, he really wants to see the girls as he probably won’t make it stateside for a couple of years—he’s offered us his townhouse in London for the summer.”

Abigail’s stomach dropped; the whole summer?

“That’s three months…” she said, unable to keep the words in.

“Yes, it is, but it’s not just about seeing their grandfather,” Liam said, speaking fast and nearly tripping over his words, “It turns out one of his friend’s wife is Sarah Warg. If we go, Hannah can have a spot in the Warg Foundation Summer School.”

She felt herself blink, which was an odd sensation, to say the least. She closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hands against them.

“Sarah Warg?” Abigail asked from behind her hands, “Like… as in the Sarah Warg whose face is plastered to the cello vision board in our daughter’s bedroom along with Yo-Yo Ma, Servais, and Jacqueline du Pre?”

“That’s the one.”

Damn it…

“Have you told her?”

Silence. Abigail removed her hands and blinked at Liam. As he came into focus, she saw that he was shaking his head but looked extremely guilty doing so.

“No? Not at all?”

“Look,” he said, “I did tell them about the London part, the Grandpa part, but I felt like telling her about the Sarah Warg part would be… unfair.”

That was true. It would have been unfair because Hannah would probably have run away from home and stowed away on a flight to London if Abigail had said no.

“And what about Sid?” she asked, “You know she feels like we take Hannah’s cello more seriously than we take her interests.”

Liam grinned. “The very first thing she asked was if I would take her to punk shows at some famous venues and bars. I said I’d look them up to see if I thought it was appropriate—and ask you as well.”

Abigail’s lips twitched; she didn’t want to smile, but that was so incredibly like Sid—and so like Liam to add a caveat to make sure it would be safe.

“There needs to be more than that,” Abigail said, “If her sister is getting this world class opportunity and she just gets what she would have gotten anyway—they’re eleven, it’ll turn into an argument.”

Nodding, Liam continued, “I know, there’s an art studio around the corner from the townhouse—they have a summer program for kids her age. She’s been talking about art school…”

She had, which terrified Abigail in the face of a job market already almost impossible to get into, but Sid did have talent…

“It’s three months, Lee…”

She hadn’t meant for it to come out a second time, but three months was two and a half months longer than she had ever gone without her girls.

“I know, but this opportunity really is once in a lifetime,” he said, “we’ll video call you every day, we’ll get local phones so they can text and call you to their hearts’ content. And you know… maybe it’s a good chance for you too?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve been meaning to head up to Rhode Island for years now, but there was always too much to do in the summer with the girls. Maybe this is a chance for you to head up and actually sort out your old family place…”

Abigail had, in fact, been meaning to sort out her family home in Rhode Island for nearly a decade and had let it slip into the too-hard basket. The idea wasn’t so bad. She could fix it up and potentially sell the place. There would be plenty to do so she would not miss the girls so much. Maybe she could finally close the door on that part of her life instead of guiltily ignoring it like the distant beeping of a smoke alarm in another room lamenting its dying battery…

“Daily video calls—no exceptions. The girls will be back no later than Labor Day, so they can start school normally in September. They both keep a journal of their summer. You clear any and all concerts Sid wants to go to with me first. No going out on their own—London is too big and the tube is a nightmare, no going out with kids without parental supervision… And… And I want you to bring me back some of those boiled sweet things your Mom used to send me.”

Liam’s face split into a broad grin. He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

“But first, they both have to agree and acknowledge all the hard things that go along with being away for three months—not seeing their friends, missing out on birthday parties, all that.”

“Agreed,” Liam said, grinning, “this weekend at the bridge?”

She smiled at that; their old joke that sharing custody didn’t need to be like a cold war prisoner exchange every time had become shorthand for a meeting at a café down by one of the bridges where they’d sit and chat with the girls for an hour or so every time they moved between homes. Nodding, she gestured for Shelley and Mark to start dividing the papers to be signed.

By the time they had finished signing the papers that formally ended their marriage, Abigail had found herself excited on her girl’s behalf for all the things they’d be doing over the summer. She couldn’t say she was exactly excited about her own plans, but it would be good to finally put the past behind her… but could she just close the door on it so easily?

She barely remembered the rest of the meeting, the coffee she’d shared with Shelley after, or the bus ride home—she’d been too preoccupied going over her old life in Rhode Island.

It was an hour after she’d finished dinner, washed the dishes, and scoped out everything the girls needed in the next two weeks before she finally ran out of chores to avoid what she was really thinking about. With a loud, disgruntled sigh, she gently closed the weekly planner and made her way into the study. On the back wall was a tall bookshelf and at the very top was a document box she hadn’t opened for ten years. Inside was everything she had gathered on that two-day trip that she had only made because she legally had to in order to sign the papers and contract the guy to keep the place from falling into complete disrepair.

Opening the lid, she saw a small stack of papers, a few loose pens, and a water-damaged composition notebook that held her notes from the last time. She snapped the lid closed in a pang of panic. Several deep breaths later, she picked up the document box, carried it up the stairs, and dumped it unceremoniously in her half-packed suitcase. Even if she decided against it in the end, she’d need it if she was even going to try and figure out what happened that night in senior year—why they’d crashed, what she’d forgotten, and maybe even what happened to Jacob Givens.