My Name is Nell. Laura Abbot
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“I haven’t done anything like that in a long time. It sounds like fun.”
Driving back to the motel, he reflected on his temporary sense of well-being. As he had thought on first acquaintance, Nell was an easy woman to be with. One able to honor silence. When she spoke, it was simply and directly. He liked that.
As for that ex-husband of hers, he’d clearly left her feeling diminished. Brady suspected she had no idea what a strong, resilient and lovely woman she was.
TOSSING HER BACKPACK into the overhead bin and taking the window seat, Abby glanced nervously at the passengers still boarding. Weekends were bad enough, but this past seven days with Dad and Clarice had been the pits! She hoped no one sat beside her. She didn’t need any well-meaning grown-up playing parent to her. She had enough of those in her life even if she didn’t always agree about the “well-meaning” part. Buckling her seat belt, she couldn’t avoid looking at the geeky puke-green T-shirt encrusted with a rhinestone palm tree that Clarice had bought for her and insisted she wear home. Never mind it sucked. It had been easier to go along with her than to argue.
A flight attendant checking seat belts walked up and down the aisle, stopping briefly to give Abby a warm smile and the offer of a magazine. She looked like a nice lady, a regular person. She’d prob’ly be a good mother, the kind who baked cookies and was a Girl Scout leader. Not like Clarice who had made Abby go with her to a ritzy country club for a golf lesson. Bor-ing. Not once did anybody ask her if she’d like to hit a golf ball. At least she might have been able to. Not like Clarice who whiffed more often than she connected. Learning the game didn’t seem to matter to her stepmother nearly as much as showing off her “adorable” new outfit.
On this visit Abby had actually had some time alone with her father, but that was for lunch at this fancy-schmancy restaurant where she could hardly eat for worrying about which fork to use or whether she’d spill on her dress. She could hardly remember when her father lived in Fayetteville and a big family outing was dinner at Applebee’s and a movie. Clarice wouldn’t be caught dead in Applebee’s.
It was weird how she and her dad didn’t have much to say to one another. He’d asked all the usual questions about school, the courses she’d be taking, her friends, at least the ones he could remember. Along the way he’d use these cutesie names on her— “Sweet Pea” and “Sugar Lump.” Stuff like that. She’d rather he called her “Spud.” That’s what Tonya’s father called her on account of how she would only eat mashed potatoes when she was a baby. “Spud” had meaning.
When the plane rolled back from the gate, Abby breathed a sigh of relief. No talkative stranger to ignore. Just her and the clouds. She would never admit how glad she’d be to get home and see her mother. She knew Mom worried about her. She really should try to be nicer—help more around the house, cut out the complaining and back-talk. But it was hard.
At least she’d escaped Dallas one more time before the ultimate embarrassment. It could happen any time now. Any place. That was the terrifying part. Tonya and Allie had already started their periods. Mom had given her the big talk when she was eleven and had shown her where the supplies were kept. Lately, like some inflatable doll, she’d felt her body shifting, bloating. She’d even imagined she had cramps.
Okay, so it was all normal, but it couldn’t happen in Dallas. Not with Clarice. And no way could she tell Dad. She’d die of embarrassment. Totally.
Please, God, let it be at home. With Mom.
A lump formed in her throat and her eyes stung. She wouldn’t cry. That was for babies.
All she wanted was to get back safely and hug her mother.
SUNDAY AFTERNOON after unpacking his bags, Brady surveyed his rented living room. The fusty Victorian look wouldn’t have been his choice of décor, but he couldn’t argue with furnished—not when all his belongings were in storage in California. There was a part of him that wondered what the hell he was doing settling for any length of time in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Although it was a decision that would make no sense to anyone he knew, it felt right.
Had he simply been ready to stop his running, or was Nell responsible? He liked her. A lot. But he could never again make someone else responsible for his happiness. He stumbled through each day trying to wrap his mind around the reality that he would never see Brooke or Nicole this side of the grave. So what was he really after?
A connection. In the here and now. Some relationship that would remind him he wasn’t alone. But what would that look like? And would it be fair to Nell? She deserved more. A lot more. Right now, though, he was giving all he could.
The evening of their boating excursion, he’d tried to keep things light. The sound of Nell’s gentle laughter echoing across the secluded cove they’d found for their picnic and her tales of the characters that frequented the library had made him smile. She told him about her graduate courses at the university and her enjoyment of refinishing furniture. However, she’d reserved most of her enthusiasm for her home, relating how she’d scrimped following the divorce to make the down payment and how she’d done much of the remodeling herself. He doubted any Silicon Valley multi-millionaire took more delight in his surroundings.
He slumped into the brown overstuffed chair smelling faintly of pipe tobacco and picked up the Sunday paper. If he was going to hang around, he needed to fill his time with something productive. Otherwise, Carl would be on his case about getting back to work. An idea had slowly been forming in his brain ever since he’d explored the I-540 corridor.
When he had finished with the business section, he began studying the real estate section. Logic told him he was several years too late, but he had the gut feeling there was still money to be made in this neck of the woods, still a need for venture capital.
And if there was one thing he had a surfeit of, it was money.
“I AM NOT wearing this stupid top,” Abby said Monday morning.
Nell looked up from the bagel she was smearing with cream cheese. Abby stood, feet planted, holding out the blouse Nell had ironed the night before as if it were an odious rag. “You asked me to iron it,” Nell said, struggling for calm.
“That was yesterday. I just talked with Tonya. Nobody’s wearing flowers.”
Nell knew how important it was to a junior-high-age girl to appear cool. “Suit yourself but hang that one back in your closet. Also, whatever you wear, I’d appreciate it if your navel was covered.”
“Mo-om!”
“You’re going to register at school. I doubt your teachers or the principal are keen on exposed body parts.”
“Clarice would let me,” Abby muttered as she left the room.
Great. Now, suddenly, Clarice was the patron saint of teeny-boppers. Nell knew her daughter was experiencing the mood swings endemic to adolescence, but that didn’t make living with her any easier. For a brief moment at the airport, Nell had deluded herself that Abby was glad to see her. She’d even hugged her and uttered the magic words, “I’m so glad to be home.”
But that was before Nell asked her to gather her dirty clothes for the wash and before the phone started ringing. Abby had been far more interested in hearing from her friends about all she’d missed during her week in Dallas than in performing any domestic duties. It was so hard to know when to cut her some slack and when to pull in the reins.
While Nell ate her bagel, Abby reappeared, picked up an uncooked Pop-Tart, took a bite, then asked for money. “After enrollment, a bunch of us are gonna eat lunch together.”
“And you’re promising me that your clothes will be washed by the time I get home?”
“Who cares about the clothes?”
“You do, unless you prefer going naked.”
“Okay, okay. You don’t need to get on my case.”
Oh, really? “Fine. Don’t forget