Something New (17 page)

Mierda! Jeez, he even has me cursing his favorite word in his own language now.

“My eyes are wild because you pissed me off, Rodrigo.” Abby threw back her shoulders and stuck her chin up at him. “You don’t get to decide when I can and can’t do something just because you got me a little damp this morning.”

He flashed a smile that would have made a wolf envious. “Try full-on soaking wet, Bit.”

Braden elbowed in between Abby and Rodrigo and swung an arm around each one’s shoulders. “And now I think Abby is just fine.” With a step, he got all three of them moving. “Let’s go inside before she jabs you one in the jaw, Rodrigo.” He glanced back and forth between them, his pale eyes dancing in the sunlight. “Can’t wait to hear more about that little exchange later, by the way. About the wetness”—he dropped his gaze briefly to the apex of Abby’s thighs—“and about where in the hell that Bit name came from. I’ve always wondered but never could grab a good moment to ask.”

Abby saw Rodrigo open his mouth. She rounded in front of Braden in one smooth move and clamped her hand over Rodrigo’s lips. Feeling suddenly buoyant, Abby matched Braden grin for grin. “I was whipping Rodrigo’s ass in an argument, and Jonah said, ‘You’re gonna let this little bit of a thing beat you?’” It was hard to walk backward, explain, and keep Rodrigo’s mouth covered—particularly when he kept disturbing her palm with enticing little licks that pulled funny lines in her belly. “Jonah was just kidding in that strange way of his. There’s nothing little or bitlike about me. Rodrigo had to go taking it seriously, though—”

Rodrigo nipped her skin right then and shocked her into yanking her hand away.

Jeez, he looked like he’d won a hard-core footrace, and Abby barely kept from growling at the silently crowing man.

“I didn’t take Jonah seriously at all.” Rodrigo picked up the story but kept his eyes on Abby, not Braden. “I did see how it got all your little prickly quills up, though, and knew I could have some fun. The name bothered you so much it just stuck. I don’t even think about how it came about now.” His voice went all soft in a way that made Abby think about his rough hands running over her bare skin. “It’s just what I automatically call you sometimes. It just happens.”

Abby couldn’t break Rodrigo’s stare, and in response, her stomach somersaulted some more. “It doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“I know.” Rodrigo reached out and rubbed his thumb against her cheek. “I would have stopped a long time ago if I’d thought it truly did.”

Quickening his stride, Braden moved in beside Abby and put a hand on her waist, bringing her to a stop. “And now we’re here.” He turned her around, and she realized they stood at the two steps leading to the church’s front doors.

His hand still resting at her back, Braden asked, “Are you sure you’re ready?”

The white double doors went up so high that even as an adult Abby had to crane her neck back to see the top.

I used to love coming here
. Abby watched her hand as if it were disconnected from her body as it closed around the door handle and pushed it down.
There’s nothing to fear.

With a measured, steady breath, she said, “Let’s do this,” and shoved open the heavy door.

Soft light from fluted wall sconces filled the interior of the church’s vestibule, creating shadows along the padded benches that lined the perimeter. Pristine, neutral-colored carpet covered the floor to mute the sounds of men’s dress shoes, women’s heels, and the rambunctious play of the excitable children, which in this church, Abby had never been.

Abby’s extreme shyness as a child no longer mattered, though. Nor did her memory of hiding behind her mother’s or father’s legs as they spoke to Father Jim after Mass. The tall blond man in black robes, who’d often tried to coax Abby out to say hello, had rarely succeeded, even though his smile and easy laugh had made Abby happy whenever she had had chance to hear it.

Like right now.

The rich boom of male laughter carried through the open doors that led to the body of the church some dozen feet away. The sound transported Abby backward to the last time she’d heard her mother’s twinkling laugh. Two days before she’d died, Abby’s mom had brought Abby with her on a mission to drop off a huge batch of cookies either for the next big meal for those in need or for the next gathering after Sunday Mass. Abby couldn’t remember. Her mom had always been baking something to donate to the church. Elaine had sat Abby down in the vestibule with a book and a toy and told her to wait there quietly. Abby remembered reading her book four times and walking her doll around all the benches twice while she waited. Every once in a while a person would pass through the vestibule and wave to her, which would make Abby hide her face against the wall. Finally, the murmur of muted voices trickled from down a hallway toward Abby. Father Jim had laughed as he and Elaine entered the vestibule. Abby’s mom had done the same, and the two different voices that often made Abby smile became jumbled into one melodious sound.

Today, again, one of the laughs she remembered so well reached across the church and sent frissons of awareness down her spine.

Her legs started moving, following the direction her memory led her. “He’s here,” she shared with Braden and Rodrigo, who flanked her.

Rodrigo hastily crossed himself as he bent down to Abby’s ear. “Who’s here?”

Abby skidded to a halt at the back row of pews. Far down the center aisle, right at the altar, stood a man in black with his back to them. A woman in a pink skirt suit was at his side.

“Father Jim,” Abby answered. Even though she couldn’t see his face, for a moment Abby felt her mom and dad at her sides and wanted to scurry behind the protection of their legs.

She didn’t think she’d done more than whisper, but her voice must have carried in the empty church. The woman in pink looked up, and Father Jim turned right then, landing his attention on the trio at the back of the building.

Father Jim spoke to the woman in a low voice; she nodded in response and disappeared through a side alcove. Abby didn’t wait for the father to come to her. The warm, fuzzy memories of this priest slipped away to be replaced by a vision of her dead parents and then the terror of her first night in the revolving series of foster homes she’d resided in until turning eighteen.

At least one of which he could have stepped in and prevented.

As Abby strode up the aisle, the backbone she’d had to figure out how to create for herself pushed itself ramrod straight and helped slow down the furious beating of her heart. She registered Rodrigo saying he would hold back but be within glancing distance if she needed him, and Braden sharing that he would remain within hearing range but allow her some time to speak with the priest on her own first.

Abby reached Father Jim parallel to the second row of pews, ready to spew eighteen years’ worth of pent-up thoughts, but standing so close to such an important figure from her past put a lock on her tongue. The well-built man in the white collar still stood well above her height. Only the slightest hints of silver threaded his blond hair, and any lines on his face could just as easily have come from spending time in the Florida sun than as a sign of aging. Abby remembered sitting across from this man—priest—and making up stories to share with him during confession. Most of the time her shyness tied up her tongue, and on the few occasions she had done something really bad that needed confessing, she
most definitely
did not think it was smart to confess it to someone with a direct link to God. Rules or not, she wasn’t going to do it.

Standing in front of the father right now, Abby was torn between wanting to spill all her deepest fears and shocking him with tales of her recent activities with two men.

Maybe not a good idea to lead with that, girl.

Abby didn’t know how long she stared at the priest in stupefied silence, but it was apparently long enough for him to think he should break the silence first. “Abigail.” Father Jim stretched out a hand in offering. “My goodness, I would recognize you anywhere. You are the picture of your mother.”

“Thank you,” Abby murmured as she shook his hand. As with Lorene, she didn’t exactly know the correct way to respond to a comparison of someone whose life had been cut short at almost the same age Abby was now. “That’s nice to hear.”

“Lorene spoke to me privately and shared that you would like to speak to me about your parents.” Father Jim lifted his arm toward the front row of pews. “I think it’s good that you are open to connecting with them again. I am here to help in any way I can.”

So Lorene had kept her word to be discreet. Abby felt better knowing that, even though the father would learn the truth soon enough. If not from Abby, then from Braden. It was nice to know Abby could trust one person in this church, though. And that in a lot of ways, Lorene probably remained Elaine Gaines’s best, most stalwart friend.

She had to choose her son over me. Any mother would do the same.

While Father Jim waited for Abby to sit, he said, “Your parents are still missed in this congregation, Abigail.” His warm brown eyes immediately softened in a way that put up Abby’s dander. “You are too.”

Abby snorted. She fucking couldn’t help it. “Not enough to take me in all those years ago.”

“There are many here who regret letting their fear beat them.” The priest folded his ankle against his knee and stretched his arm across the back of the pew, putting his hand close to Abby’s shoulder. “There are also those who still believe turning you over to those professionally trained to handle emotionally distraught children was for the best.”

Abby scooted out of range of those fingers. “Which one are you?”

“I am torn.” The father’s gaze and tone remained even. “I, of course, believe that God ultimately heals everything, but I also believe he sends certain members of his flock into vocations to train and be conduits to that healing. You were in a very bad way, Abigail, and I needed to set aside my desire to help you so that someone better trained could.” With his pause, Abby finally noticed his jaw tighten and his throat move convulsively. “Until I reach heaven, I will never be certain that was the right choice.”

Abby searched internally for the fire that had put her legs in motion up the aisle of this church, but only experienced a slight sense of deflation instead. “Intellectually, I suppose I understand that.” The admission only scratched a little bit on the way out.

“But it’s much harder to reconcile with the heart of that child you were. I understand that as well.” Pity filled Father Jim’s eyes. Abby had seen it enough in her life to detect it in even the most skilled professionals.

Yes, well, none of that matters anymore. That’s not why you’re here, girl.

Abby cleared her throat and mentally psyched herself up not to shake or tear up as she’d done with Lorene. “I want to ask you some tough questions about my parents. I’d like you to be open to not only me, but to Detective Crenshaw also.” She looked over her shoulder toward Braden, who sat three rows back and out of her direct line of sight.

“A detective?” Father Jim’s brow creased as he glanced up at Braden. “What is this about?”

“I have suspicions that Rusty Cormack did not kill my parents. They’re valid enough that Detective Crenshaw has been given permission to explore them.” At this point, Abby didn’t want to spill more than the minimum necessary to this man. To anyone. “The best way to determine who would want to hurt someone is to learn about their life.” She looked into Father Jim’s eyes and did not waver. “That’s what I am doing here today. I need your help.”

Father Jim took Abby’s hands. “Your parents were good people, Abigail.” His tone made Abby feel like a silly child. “I don’t know what you’re looking for or what you think to find here.”

Turning away, Abby snapped her jaw shut tightly and put her focus on the trio of stained-glass windows behind the altar. She absorbed the saturated blues, greens, reds, and yellows in the biblical scene and categorized each series of panes by largest to least amount of color per section. By imagining that she shrank each piece of glass in size and dropped them into an appropriate color-coded container at her workstation at the store, Abby allowed herself to temporarily go to a place that offered her peace and order: creating her jewelry.

Breathe. Just keep breathing.

After Abby finished mentally breaking apart the stained-glass windows, she looked back to Father Jim and put iron in her voice. “Did my mother ever confess to you that she was having an affair?”

The priest leaned his shoulder back into the pew. “You must know I cannot speak of anything anyone tells me in confession. Your mother. Your father. I can’t even speak of the things you said to me as a child.”

Abby chuckled and shot him a derisive look. “I never told you anything truthful, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Father Jim didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Confession is sacred.”

“What about outside of confession?” Abby would not believe this man did not know
something
about her mother that would show a more complete version of her life. Her mother had trusted Father Jim and had believed in him in all things. Even as a child, Abby had understood the priest’s importance in their world. “Do you simply have an observation of my mother’s behavior at any point over the last year of her life that gave you pause?”

“Your mother was a busy woman,” he replied, his voice remaining frustratingly calm. “I believe her life became even more hectic toward the end of her time here. There could be many, many reasons for this, from something as simple as scheduling, too much charity work, to something more sinister. I do not automatically assume the worst when the behavior of one of my parishioners changes.”

Abby leaped, physically leaning forward in the pew. “So you’re saying my mother’s behavior did change?”

Burying his hand in his hair, Father Jim sighed. “As do many others at any given time, Abigail. It does not always mean the sky is falling. My job is to ask them if they’d like to talk, and to be there when they decide they’d like to unburden themselves.”