Read Reconciled for Easter Online
Authors: Noelle Adams
Reconciled for Easter
Reconciled for Easter
Willow Park, Book 4
Noelle Adams
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Content Editing, Kristin Anders,
The Romantic Editor
Proofreading: Vanessa Bridges,
PREMA Romance
“Mia! Are you ready to go?” Abigail Morgan called out from the kitchen, trying to put dirty dinner plates into the dishwasher and send an email from her laptop at the same time.
It was almost six already, and Abigail needed to leave for a work function in less than an hour. She still had to shower and dress—not to mention pull the house into some sort of order and make sure her daughter had everything she needed for the weekend.
Flustered and too hot in the stuffy house, Abigail finished typing a reply to her boss and pressed Send, hoping she hadn’t spelled any words wrong. She finished loading the dishwasher before she set it to run. “Mia!” she called again. “What are you doing?”
She knew the answer before she heard the little voice reply, “Reading.”
Abigail closed down her laptop and glanced over the counter. There were piles of books and mail and homework sheets scattered around, but no crumbs or dirty pots and pans. Not too bad, considering.
Abigail picked up one of Mia’s books and a well-worn stuffed dog from the kitchen table before she went into the living room to find her daughter curled up in a ball on the couch. Reading, of course.
“Are you packed and ready to go?”
Mia lifted reluctant blue eyes and peered at her mother through small, wire-framed glasses. “Yeah.”
“You have clothes for tomorrow and your brush and toothbrush?”
“Yeah.”
“You have panties?”
Mia rolled her eyes. She was only six years old, but she’d always been an oddly mature child—extremely smart, frequently shy, and scarily observant. She didn’t have very many friends her own age, and she listed the postman, the old lady with the poodle next door, and the butcher at the grocery store as the people she liked to hang out with.
Sometimes Abigail worried about her, and sometimes she stared at her daughter in awe.
“Mom,” Mia sighed, still focused on the pages of her book.
A couple of months ago, Mia had forgotten to pack panties for one of her visits with her father. This lapse in memory had necessitated some improvisation on the part of Abigail’s estranged husband—something Abigail would prefer not to repeat.
“Did you pack panties?” Abigail asked again.
“Yes.”
“Here’s this book.” Abigail crammed the chapter-book she’d grabbed from the counter into Mia’s purple case. “You’re only halfway through this one. And you’ve got that one you’re reading now. Did you bring a couple more? You know how sometimes you run out.”
“I brought four books, and Daddy always gives me more.”
“I know, but it’s best if you bring enough for the whole weekend.”
Mia devoured books, and her reading abilities were far more advanced than her age-group. But, more than once, Abigail had been surprised at what she’d found her daughter reading upon returning from weekends with her father.
Abigail reached over and smoothed down some flyaways in Mia’s long reddish-blonde braids. “All right, put up your book. Your daddy will be here any minute.”
“He might be late.”
“He won’t be late today,” she said, hoping she was speaking the truth. Thomas was often late—sometimes so late Mia would decide he wasn’t coming at all. He hadn’t been late as much recently, though, so Abigail could speak with some degree of confidence. “He said he would get here on time.”
Mia wrinkled her nose. “You just want me to leave so you can go out to your dinner.”
“Mia, you know that’s not true.” She squatted on the floor next to the couch and held her daughter’s gaze. “You know I always miss you when you’re gone.”
The girl frowned but didn’t argue.
Feeling a knot of worry tighten in her throat, Abigail asked, “Are you a little upset that I’m going to this dinner tonight?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? We sometimes have dinner with people who might donate money to Milbourne House. It’s part of my job. Is there anything you want to ask me about it?”
Mia’s blue eyes were level and strangely wary. “Are you going to dinner with Mr. Foster?”
Abigail sucked in a breath at the implications of the question. “He’ll be at the dinner, but there will be other people there too. We’re not going to dinner together just ourselves.”
“Does he like you?”
“Does who like me? Mr. Foster? He’s my boss. I think he likes me, but not in any special way.”
Mia was still frowning.
“Why did you ask that, Mia? What are you worried about?”
“Are you going to date Mr. Foster?”
“No! No, of course not. I just work with him. I’m still married to Daddy. There’s nothing for you to worry about with that.”
“Oh.” Mia swallowed and stared at Abigail blankly. “Okay.”
Abigail searched her daughter’s face and fought another swell of worry. Mia was so quiet and so reflective that it wasn’t always easy to know what was going on in her mind.
“Mia, tell me if you’re upset about anything.” She reached out to stroke her daughter’s pale cheek. “I always want to know. Even if it’s not good.”
“I’m not upset. It’s okay.” Mia smiled—a smile that broke out in sudden brightness.
Abigail reached over to hug the girl. Then she stood up and offered the stuffed dog, Mia’s favorite toy. “All right. Here’s Baxter. You don’t want to forget him.”
“Yeah.”
“All right. Help me pick up a little so the place isn’t such a mess.”
Mia heaved herself up and stuffed her dog in her case. Then together they started picking up some of the toys, books, papers, and shoes that littered the floor. Sometimes Abigail felt waves of guilt and embarrassment when she looked at her messy house, thinking about what her mother or father would say if they saw it. But Abigail had been separated from her husband for almost fifteen months, so she worked full-time and had primary responsibility for Mia. Housekeeping was way down on her to-do list.
When she heard a knock on the door, she sighed in relief. At least Thomas had shown up on time.
“Let your daddy in, and I’ll put this stuff up,” Abigail said, trying to juggle an armful of junk they’d collected from the living room.
She didn’t actually put it up. She just dumped it on the floor of her bedroom and shut the door.
She could hear Thomas’s voice wafting through the hallway with Mia’s happy giggle.
The girl loved her father. That was good. It was something Abigail had worked hard to maintain after the separation.
The separation had been bitter, since Thomas had refused to accept it or even understand why Abigail wanted it at all. Part of her had been absolutely convinced that divorce was the only option, but she’d also been reluctant to give up on the marriage completely, so she’d agree to wait a year before making any decisions. They’d spent a year trying to work out the problems between them to no avail, until they’d both been so emotionally exhausted that even the counseling had been counter-productive. So they’d agreed to take a break for six months so they could rest and recover, and then they’d try counselling again. If they couldn’t work things out at that point, though, they would have to make a final decision.
Some of Abigail’s friends and acquaintances thought she should have given up on the marriage long ago, since a relationship that took so much work couldn’t be worth it. And other friends and acquaintances thought she was selfish and unreasonable for separating from her husband at all, and she should just live with a broken marriage because that was her duty.
Abigail wasn’t satisfied with either of those answers. She kept praying that, after the six-month break was over, the right thing to do would be clearer.
She came out into the living room to find Mia and Thomas seated across from each other in exactly the same position, leaning forward with hands on lap. They appeared to be having an intense discussion.
“It’s a work dinner,” Mia was saying. “Mr. Foster will be there, but there will be other people there too. They’re there to ask money from the people for Milbourne House.”
Abigail’s chest tightened painfully as she heard her daughter’s earnest declaration. Something was troubling Mia about Mr. Foster, and Abigail would need to talk to her about it again.
Thomas had come right from work at the hospital, so he wore trousers and a green dress shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. He was fit and attractive, with brown hair, well-chiseled features, a high forehead, and an intelligent mouth. He looked faintly tired, but he had ever since she’d known him.
“I see,” Thomas said, his eyes focused on their daughter. “Do we know where they’re going?”
“We don’t know,” Mia answered.
“We’re going to Spencer’s,” Abigail said, hoping Thomas’s skeptical tone didn’t mean he was still unhappy about her job.
He’d never wanted her to take this job to begin with. He’d hadn’t even wanted her to work outside the home, although he’d said he wouldn’t stand in her way.
He hadn’t seem to resent it so much lately, though, so she told herself she was misreading his tone. She smiled at him in greeting and then at Mia. “They have really good coconut pie at Spencer’s, so maybe I’ll get some for dessert.”
“Yummy!”
“How was work?” Abigail asked, studying Thomas’s face and thinking he looked more tired than normal. The creases between his brows were more pronounced than usual, and the expression in his eyes looked far too tense. He was a surgeon. When he’d had a bad day, it was usually a
really
bad day.
She hated the thought of it. Despite everything they’d gone through, she still couldn’t help but want to take care of him.
“It was okay.”
When she peered at him closely, he seemed to recognize why. His face changed and he added in a soft murmur, “Really. It was fine.”
Relieved, she glanced at the clock and gasped when she saw how late it already was. “Okay. I hope you both have a great weekend. Mia is all ready to go.”
“Daddy said he’s going to take me to play with Ellie and Aunt Lydia and Uncle Gabe tomorrow morning,” Mia announced, scrabbling off of the couch.
“That sounds like fun. Here’s your case.” Abigail picked up the lavender vinyl bag and handed it to Thomas. “You have everything, Mia? What about your outfit for the recital tomorrow?”
Mia’s forehead wrinkled as she thought soberly over her worldly possessions. “I forgot my ballet shoes.”
Abigail stifled a flutter of impatience—she had to take a shower soon if she was going to be ready on time—and she said with another smile, “Well, run get them so you and Daddy can get going.”
Mia scampered out of the living room, and Abigail turned to Thomas, who was looking at the book Mia had been reading earlier. “She’s eaten a light supper already, since she was getting hungry.”
“Okay,” Thomas murmured. “Have you looked at this book?”
Abigail glanced at the cover. It was one of a series of popular children’s books about a school for fairies. “Yeah. She got it from school. All the girls like them. It’s kind of silly, I guess.”
“It’s terrible. Do they really think girls have to read something this shallow and superficial?”
“I talk about it with her,” Abigail said, hoping Thomas wouldn’t start blaming her for a badly chosen book. “She’s read all of the good children’s book that I’m familiar with. I try to find her better stuff, but there’s really not much out there, and she reads so quickly. She’s just six, so I really don’t think she should be reading Hemingway.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “You know she just happened to pick that up—”
“I know,” Abigail replied, keeping her voice quiet so Mia wouldn’t hear. “But I think we should be careful about what she reads at this age. She’d not old enough to tackle adult subject matter. So all that’s left is the fairy school. For now, at least. I don’t think they’re going to make her silly and shallow. She just needs stories to read.”
“I’m sure we can find better books than this.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But for now, this was the best I could find.” She felt a familiar swell of guilt and defensiveness—both at the same time. She’d felt that way so often when she and Thomas had been together, and it never seemed to go away. She fought the instinct to snap at him, so the conversation wouldn’t turn into an argument. “If you can find something better, that would be great. Just as long as it’s a children’s book.”
“Okay.” Thomas glanced away from her, his shoulders a little stiff. “I will.”
He was annoyed. Maybe at her or maybe just at the book. Abigail had been married to him for more than seven years, but sometimes even she had trouble reading his body language.
She was suddenly so tired that her knees threatened to buckle. Even in such a little thing, their inclination was to argue, and it took so much work not to do so.
There never seemed to be an end of the work their marriage required.
Mia came running out with her ballet shoes, and Abigail shook the thought away.
When they’d reached the door, she knelt down to give her daughter a big hug. “You have a good time. I’ll see you at the recital tomorrow.” She glanced up at Thomas. “She needs to be there by four.”
Thomas lifted his eyebrows. “I have it in my schedule.”