Finding Abigail (5 page)

High-pitched
squeals and laughter filled the room as the children discussed my movie. Yes, I
didn’t technically write the screenplay, or have much say after it was
approved, but since I wrote the original story, in my mind, I considered it
mine. The producers did involve me in choosing the actors, and watching them
record the voices was interesting. Although I really didn’t understand the
production of it, trying to figure out how the animation came to life was
confusing. I usually just sat back and listened, acting like I understood what
they were saying.

“Isn’t that the
same story from one of your books, Aunt Abby?” Justin asked, pulling me from my
thoughts as he licked the tiger-tail ice cream that trickled down his arm in a
thin orange and black streak.

I sat across
from him, a banana split waiting in front of me, Haley beside me on the
cushioned bench. He glanced up, blue-gray eyes wide with curiosity, waiting for
an answer. “Yes. Do you remember when I told you that a big producer asked me
if they could make a movie based on my book, and I said yes?”

He nodded,
licked, and swallowed. “But how did they make it, and how did they make those
people into cartoons? Can they make me into one?”

Keeping a
straight face was usually difficult when speaking to this kid, and the idea of
him thinking he could become a cartoon was so comical, a laugh snuck out. “You
would
be interesting as an animated character. But they didn’t make anyone into a
cartoon. They draw pictures on a computer and they make them come alive on the
screen. Then people tape their voices so they can match it with the character
drawings.”

His eyes
widened. “Cool. Can I put my voice on one?”

I shook my
head. “Probably not.”

I turned to
Haley, who had been quiet longer than usual. She was holding her tongue out and
spinning the cone to catch the melted bubble gum ice cream. Some of it was
smeared over almost every inch of her adorable face. I took out a tissue from
my purse and wiped her off. “Okay, you two, let’s get you home before your
clothes are covered, and your mother won’t let me take you out again.” When
they finished eating, I removed the remaining ice cream that covered their arms
and faces, then we headed for their place.

Brenda lived
outside of the city, about a twenty-minute drive, not far from where we grew
up. “Hey, sis. Ready or not, your kids are here,” I yelled after letting myself
into her two-story colonial. I envied her; I couldn’t wait to buy a house
someday, instead of my apartment in the city. Right now it was fine, but like
Brenda, I wouldn’t want to raise kids in the city. It was crowded, noisy, and
not exactly as clean as the suburbs. It wasn’t often you’d find a Dumpster
overflowing with garbage around here, or a homeless person sprawled out against
the trees.

“Hey, you made
it back in one piece, I see,” Brenda said, coming out of the kitchen.

“You were
worried about them?” I sat down on the comfy leather couch that faced the large
picture window. A perfect place to sit and watch the view of the park across
the street. Swing sets, slides, climbers, rocking horses, and even a pond in
the center waited for kids to come and play. It was a peaceful view; the grass
that surrounded it all was brown with the occasional green blade sticking up,
craving the sunlight still shining bright. Shrubs, marigolds, and petunias were
planted throughout the park. Mothers could sit on the iron benches that were
conveniently located in the shade, while their kids played. I watched a girl
hang upside down on a climber; her long tresses flowing down in liquid,
bluish-black ink, to the dirt below.

I turned from
the scene to my sister, who sat in the overstuffed armchair beside me. A book
lay open on the end table. She must have taken the free time away from her kids
to catch up on some reading.

“No, I was
worried about you. I thought you might have a hangover, and my kids talk a
lot,” she explained absently, playing with the pages of the novel I couldn’t
see the title of.

“I told you
this morning before I took you home that I was fine. What about you? Hungover?
You’re older; I can handle it better than you.”

A snort escaped
her lips. “Bite your tongue. And two years doesn’t count.” She rolled her eyes,
rubbing the soft arm of the chair with her hand. “Do you want to stay for
dinner? Jeff’s cooking chicken on the barbeque.”

“How can I say
no to barbeque? Do you have any wine?”

“Of course.
What am I, a barbarian?” She stood up and walked into the kitchen.

I followed her
into the large, airy room and sat down on one of the stainless steel stools in
front of the white and chrome island. “Why don’t we take it out on the deck? We
can watch Jeff cook.”

“Sounds good to
me.”

Outside, I lay
on a lounge chair sipping my wine, enjoying the beautiful weather, listening to
two finches fight over a worm in the big oak tree that Jeff had carved the
kids’ names on. The smell of barbeque teased the air, mingling with the slight
scent of lilacs.

“So, Abby,”
Jeff said, turning to look at me. He closed the lid of the barbeque and took a
sip of beer. “My wife tells me you were falling all over some cop last night.”
He grinned. “Did he cuff you?”

“Uh…no. And I
wasn’t falling all over him. We danced a couple of times.” I pointed at him
with my free hand. “And if there was any falling, it was him.”
Why did I
sound so defensive
? So what if he asked me to dance all night, and tried to
kiss me, without asking for my number. I was an independent woman; I certainly
did not need some hottie cop falling all over me.

“Did you give
him your phone number?” Brenda asked me. She was perched in a lounge chair
beside me and leaned back against the head rest; her long silky hair hung over
the edge.

“No. He didn’t
ask for it.” I noticed her eyebrows knit together, and I quickly asked, “What?”
My tone was more defensive than I would have liked.

She sat up,
taking her wine glass off the white plastic table between us. She took a sip
and swallowed. “Nothing, but I’m surprised. He seemed really into you.”

“Not enough, I
guess. Debbie and Brian exchanged numbers though.”

“Does that
bother you?”

Maybe, but I
definitely wasn’t going to admit it. “No, I’m happy for her. I know everyone
else thinks I should have a man. But I’m happy with my life.”

The sympathetic
expression that crossed her face annoyed me. I didn’t need her pity. It was
just a guy, no big deal. Thankfully, Jeff saved me from having to hear what she
was about to say. “Dinner’s ready. Brenda, do you want to bring the salads and
plates out?”

“I’ll help.” I
jumped up before she could say anything more.

Thankfully, the
subject was forgotten as we made our way into the kitchen to get the rest of
the meal.

“Kids, come on,
dinner’s ready,” Brenda yelled, taking down plates, while I carried the
macaroni and potato salads outside. We almost dropped our load as the kids ran
by us, racing to see who could get to the table first.

“I won,” Justin
proclaimed, slapping the patio table top with a smack. The glass and metal
shook in protest.

“You cheated.
Mommy, he cheated,” Haley shrieked, yanking on her mother’s coral top.

“Could you give
me a break, just until we’re finished eating?” Brenda’s voice was almost as
whiny as Haley’s.

Once Jeff set
the platter of juicy meat on the table, we dug in, listening to the kids
bicker. They fought about their elbows touching, Haley’s extra scoop of salad,
and Justin’s foot on her side, under the table. And why couldn’t they have
chocolate cake for supper, instead of icky meat and cold potatoes.

I have to be
honest; it was a relief when the last dish was put away, and I could escape to
my peacefully quiet home, where the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator
and the ticking of the clock.

With the kids’
shrill voices still echoing in my mind, I fell into the Jacuzzi tub with
candlelight and soft music, hoping to clear my head. The bubbles and jets
worked their magic, and by the time I climbed out I was relaxed and ready for
bed.

Water dripped
on the tile floor as I reached for my robe, when the phone rang. Clutching the
towel I had wrapped around me, I rushed into my bedroom, tripping on a shoe and
falling face first on the bed. With the towel falling off, I answered, annoyed.
“Hello!”

“Uh…hi, is Abby
there?”

Oh God. I
thought it was my mother, but the voice on the other end was too deep. “Yes.
This is Abby,” I replied in a much more pleasant tone.

After a soft
chuckle, I heard, “It’s Nick, how are you?”

Excitement ran
though my body at the sound of his voice. “Nick? How did you get my phone
number?” My voice was casual, but in my head I was shouting,
Wahoo!

“I’m a cop,
remember? I have my ways.”

“Did Debbie
give it to Brian?”

“Yep.”

“That is good
detective work.” I couldn’t help but smile, enjoying the banter we had going.

Another deep
chuckle. “Thanks. How were you feeling this morning?”

“Fine. I didn’t
drink that much.”

“That’s good.”
From the other end of the phone I heard a noise that sounded like a nervous
sigh. “Listen, I decided to take you out to dinner tomorrow night.”

In my head I
was shouting,
Yeah!
But of course I had to play it cool. “Did you now?
Do I have a say in this?”

“No.”

I laughed at
his demanding words that sounded opposite to the humor in his voice. “Sure, I’d
love that.”

“Great. I’ll
pick you up at six. Where do you live?”

I gave him my
address, and after a few more minutes of light chatter, he let me go, since he
was still on a shift.

My mood
lightened considerably after I hung up, even with the sore toe. I treated
myself to another glass of wine and a bowl of pretzels, and fell asleep reading
a book. I might not have been hungover from last night, but I was up pretty
late, which didn’t happen often.

First Date

The next
evening, shortly before Nick was set to arrive, I stood in the mirror gazing at
my reflection. I had to admit I looked good. Since I’m not one to put much
effort into my appearance, it was nice to dress up for a change. I had stopped
work early to prepare, choosing a short-sleeve red dress that fell to my knees.
Feeling sassy, I pulled my golden hair up in a twist, with loose strands
framing my face. To finish off the look, I was even wearing heels. Bright red
spiked ones that hurt my feet, but hey, you only live once, right? They looked
good and that was all that mattered.

The last time I
wore this dress was at my second cousin Alfred’s snore-fest of a wedding, a
year ago. To say the night was dull was putting it lightly. The minister’s
voice was monotone, reminding me of the teacher from the movie
Ferris Bueller’s
Day Off
. The words “
anyone, anyone
” popped in my head as I listened
to him and waited for him to say it at the part of the objections. I was
surprised when he didn’t. It was hard to keep my head upright throughout the
ceremony.

The doorbell
rang at exactly six o’clock, and after a final peek in the mirror, I opened the
door.

Nick was oh-so-handsome
in a blue button-down shirt and charcoal sport coat. Instead of dress pants, he
wore jeans. The look made him appear sexy—respectable with a touch of
recklessness.

He smiled,
making the corners of his dark eyes crinkle as he handed me the bouquet of
white and pink lilies he held in his hand.

My fingers
grazed his as I took the flowers. “Thank you so much, they’re beautiful.” I
loved flowers; for some reason, they always made me smile, no matter how
depressed or upset I was. The sight of them in my apartment brightened my day.
I can’t really say why I felt so strongly over something so simple, but the
only reason I could think of was my mother’s prized sunflowers.

My father
always told her that she had a blue thumb, not purple, not quite green either.
Every year she planted a large garden, and every year most of them died; either
she watered them too much, or not enough. The only ones that flourished were
the sunflowers, lined along our red-brick house; behind the wilted peonies and
the dead petunias. The yellow and brown flowers almost reached the top of our
living room picture window; the heads were always the size of dinner plates.
After my father died, though, she gave up on gardening altogether. But they
still made me smile.

“Come in while
I put these in some water,” I said to Nick as I closed the door behind him,
breathing in the delicious scent of the lilies.

“You know, I
never asked what it was you did for a living.” He pointed to my computer,
sitting in the corner of the living room; stacks of paper littered the desk and
shelves above.