The Second Life of Abigail Walker (14 page)

“Well, since we cannot join you in the bathroom, we will go see what is happening on the football field,” Anoop said. “Come on, Jafar. I feel like showing Thomas how the game is played.”

Abby and Marlys watched the two boys as
they left the computer lab. Marlys looked at Abby. “Football? Really?”

“Soccer,” Abby explained. “Everybody else in the world but us calls it football.”

Marlys sighed. “Boy, do I hate soccer. My parents made me start playing when I was three. I hate most sports. Except for baseball.” She looked at Abby hopefully. “Do you like to play baseball?”

Abby thought about it. “I think I might,” she said. “At least I'm pretty sure I don't hate it.”

Marlys smiled. “That's good. That's a good place to start.”

no one
was home after school, so Abby shoved a bunch of grapes into a bag and grabbed a sleeve of graham crackers from the pantry. She added a bottle of water and a book about animals she'd found in Gabe's room, and then she put everything in her backpack. Just as she was walking out the door, the phone rang.

“Ab? It's Dad. Can you bring some bottled water up to the office? The water guy was supposed to bring a new five-gallon thing today, but he never showed. Two bottles ought to do it.”

Abby grabbed the water from the fridge and went out through the mudroom door and up the stairs to her dad's office. She hardly ever went up there because her dad didn't like to be disturbed while he was working, and besides, there was nothing fun to do—no TV, only one computer, and her dad was always using it. Her dad used to have a fish tank that Abby liked to look at, but some disease wiped out all the fish, so there wasn't even that anymore.

Dropping her backpack at the top of the stairs, she tapped on the door. “I've got your water, Dad.”

“Come on in, Ab,” her dad called. “I'm on the phone.”

He was tipping back in his seat, his feet on the desk, wearing a headset. “Just put 'em on the desk, thanks,” he whispered to Abby, nodding to the one spot not covered up in papers. “Oh, just my daughter, bringing me something to drink,” he said into the little mic on his headset. “A man builds up a thirst after a long day of wheeling and dealing.”

Abby rolled her eyes. Her dad developed and
marketed computer software. It wasn't exactly like he was some hotshot on Wall Street. Still, she thought it was sort of neat that he'd built his own business. Not just anybody could do that.

“Okay, thanks, Ab,” her dad whispered, giving her a wave, like he was ready for her to go. She waved back and started to leave, but paused to look at the “rogues' gallery,” as her dad called it, a collection of framed photographs of family and friends that took up most of the wall near the door. There was her dad when he was a high school football star, there were Grammy and Gramps on their wedding day. One picture showed Abby dressed up for Easter when she was two, another documented John and Gabe at the beach last summer, John buried up to his head in sand, Gabe with one foot on his chest.

Abby hadn't seen the beach pictures before. She smiled at the one of her mom sitting under a huge umbrella, a sombrero-size hat on her head, her nose smeared with zinc oxide. There was even one of her dad, which was rare, since he was the family photographer. But there he
was, waist deep in the ocean, waving toward the shore.

But where was Abby? Abby scanned all the beach pictures and realized there wasn't one of her. In fact, there weren't any new ones of Abby at all. She looked and looked, but the most recent one of her was from fourth grade, and she was standing behind a chair, so you could only see the top part of her.

She looked over at her dad, who was laughing at something the person on the phone had just said. Did he even realize there were no new pictures of her? Was that a coincidence, or did he do it on purpose? Did he think,
No pictures of Abby in my rogues' gallery until she loses a little weight
?

Well, fine, just fine! Abby stuck her hands on her hips and glared at her dad, who wasn't paying the least bit of attention to her. Tears filled her eyes, and she swiped them away. Just fine! Be that way!

She turned back to the wall and grabbed a picture of herself, age four, on a pony. Then the Easter picture, and her third-grade school
picture, and the one of her on Santa's lap when she was five. “Fine, fine, fine,” she muttered to herself. “Just fine.”

“Abby!” her dad hissed. “What on earth are you doing?”

She didn't answer. She grabbed one last picture—herself on the merry-go-round at the second-grade picnic—and stomped out of the office. Outside the door, she dumped all the pictures in her backpack.

“Be that way,” she snarled at her father through the door. “See if I care.”

Of course she cared. She knew that she cared. She'd care if somebody punched her in the gut, wouldn't she? Well, that's what her dad had done. He'd punched her in the gut. Didn't he know it would hurt?

How could someone not know that?

Outside, October
had landed. Everything in the lot across the street was dying away, Abby knew that, but she also knew better. Seeds were everywhere. She couldn't walk five feet without being covered by hitchhikers and burrs, all
wanting a ride to somewhere else, to a good piece of dirt where next spring they'd take root.

The afternoon was cool, but not cold. It was perfect weather for something. But what? Abby put down her backpack and set up her chair. She took out a graham cracker and began to nibble on it. The weeds rustled quietly in the breeze. Abby felt herself fill up with—what? Helium, it felt like, or rays of light. She thought if she wasn't careful, she might start dancing in circles. She began to laugh. She twirled around a couple of times for good measure. She laughed harder, thinking about those pictures in her backpack. Who did her dad think he was, anyway? The fat police?

On the third twirl, slightly dizzy, she came face-to-face with Wallace. The helium feeling turned electric. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

Wallace stood still for a moment, as though he wanted to make sure he had her attention, and then turned and marched toward the fence at the back of the lot, his tail wagging high in the air. Abby felt like he was telling her to follow him, but why? Maybe Anders was waiting
for her at the creek. Maybe something had happened on the farm? Abby grabbed her backpack and scurried after the hound.

By the time they reached the creek, Wallace had picked up the pace, and Abby had to run to keep up with him. Halfway up the hill to the field, she began to feel strange again, and she realized—wildly, impossibly—that the running didn't hurt so much anymore. Her lungs didn't feel red hot, her throat wasn't tight, she didn't want to throw up.

She wished she could tell Claudia! She wished Claudia were with her that very minute. Or Marlys. Someone who would take her hand and swing around with her, laughing at the craziness of Abby running up a hill and not feeling like she was about to die.

She was panting by the time she reached the farmhouse. Wallace, she noticed, was not. Wallace stood at the top of the porch steps, eyeing Abby calmly, as though he'd just taken a stroll around the yard.

“Show-off,” Abby scolded him.

She tapped on the porch door. She waited for Mrs. Benton's loud “Come in!” or Anders's face at the window. She stood for a minute, two minutes. She turned to look at the driveway. The Impala was gone, but the pickup truck was there. Maybe they'd gone on a field trip. Or to Walmart.

She was about to leave when the front door clicked open behind her. Abby turned to see Matt standing in the doorway, shadowed by the screen door. “Anders had to go get his flu shot,” he told her. “He should be back in a half hour or so, if you want to wait.”

They left Matt by himself? She didn't think Mrs. Benton and Anders ever left Matt alone in the house for more than a few minutes. It seemed like a bad idea to Abby. What if Matt got really depressed all of the sudden? Or thought someone was coming after him?

“Do you want some company?” she asked, her face growing hot. Matt would think she was stupid for asking if he wanted some eleven-year-old girl's company. But what else was she supposed to do? She pressed on. “Because I
don't know about you, but sometimes I don't like hanging out by myself. Sometimes I do, though. So, I mean, it's up to you.”

Matt shrugged. “I'm okay. I saw my doctor today. I always feel good on the days I see my doc.”

Abby looked at Wallace. Wallace looked at Abby.

“Maybe I'll just wait until they get back,” she said. She peered toward the road, willing Mrs. Benton's car into sight. How could they have left Matt by himself?

Matt stepped out onto the porch. “You can stay if you want to, but you don't have to. I mean it, I'm good. I'll be okay. Everyone worries too much.”

“Oh, I'm not worried at all,” Abby said, talking over him, wanting to go, but feeling like she shouldn't. “What would I be worried about? I just want to wait for Anders. I've got, well, stuff—stuff I need to talk to him about.”

Matt laughed. “I don't need a babysitter, Abigail.”

Abby shoved her hands into her pockets and
rocked back on her heels. She felt dumb. Matt was an adult. He didn't need a kid to take care of him. But Matt wasn't like other adults, Abby reminded herself. He was more like a broken cup that had been glued back together. Maybe the glue would hold, maybe it wouldn't.

“I've been taking my meds and talking every day with my doctor at the VA,” Matt went on. “I'm real steady right now. I'm getting better.” He was quiet for a minute, then said, “You want to go see the horses? Long as you're here?”

Abby stared at him. Horses? He wanted to see the horses?

“My doc says I need to give the horses another chance.” Matt reached over to pull a dry, brown leaf from a pot of geraniums on the porch railing, crumpling it between his fingers. “You know that horse, Ruckus? The one that girl Louise rides?”

Abby nodded.

“That's my horse. I got him around the same time I got Wallace. He's getting old, man. I used to ride him all the time.”

“How come you stopped?”

Matt stared straight ahead. “When I was in Iraq—” He stopped. “It was just bad, okay? Some really bad stuff happened. And it wasn't about horses, but horses kind of trigger this feeling in me, this feeling like I can't control things, the way I couldn't control anything over there. That's what my doc says, anyway. I was really scared over there, Abigail. I mean, all the time. And mad. And—” Matt rubbed his eyes. “And a lot of things. A lot of junk. But I'm trying to get better.”

He looked at Abby and smiled. “One day at a time, right, Abigail?”

Wallace led the way to the barn. Matt had a stiff-legged walk, like an old man, and Abby wanted to reach out and take his hand, help him along. She'd never felt this way about an adult before, like she was the one who was supposed to make sure everything was okay.

When they reached the door, Matt turned to Abby. “I've taken Ruckus out every day this week, doctor's orders, and he's been real steady. In fact, I'm thinking I might let Anders ride him.” He paused before going on. “Because, like
I said, Ruckus is real steady. So if you wanted to ride him, you could. I've got an old Western saddle you could use.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Abby said in what she hoped was a breezy sort of tone. She couldn't believe Matt was offering to let her ride Ruckus. He was the one person she thought she was safe around when it came to horses. He should let Anders ride. Anders actually knew how, after all, unlike Abby. Well, even if Anders
was
allowed to ride one day, that didn't mean Abby had to get up on a horse. “I guess I'm not really in the mood to ride.”

Matt put his hand on her shoulder. “There's nothing to be afraid of, Abigail. Ruckus won't run away with you.” Then he smiled. “I'm
trusting
Ruckus not to run away with you. I'll hold on to the reins the whole time.”

Abby started to shake her head. Really, what was it going to take to convince Matt she wasn't the sort of person who rode horses? He, more than anyone else, should get it. Horses were big, and people fell off them. Hadn't Matt kept Anders from riding for that very reason?

But he's trusting horses now,
Abby told herself.
That's a big deal. That's totally opposite of where he was just a few weeks ago.
If she got up on Ruckus, it might help Matt get better. It might make him see that he had come to a safe place.

She thought about what she'd read in the article about the truck bombing. Imagined what it must have been like, to be blown into the air, flames all around you. How could you ever feel safe again after that? You'd have to work really hard at it, that was for sure. You'd have to come a long, long way.