A Message for Abby. Janice Johnson Kay
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more than that.” Ashamed to be responsible for excluding Jack Murray—who was, after all, Will’s father as well as the sheriff—Abby admitted, “He’s pretty closely connected to us. As much as Daniel’s mother.”
“Because of Will?”
“Because he dated Meg.” She added deliberately, “And me. If...if this is someone who knew us back when...”
“Does Meg know...” Scott hesitated, giving a brief cough. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“No. She doesn’t know I dated Jack.” Abby heard the bite in her voice. “Why would she care?”
Looking stiff, Scott said, “I spoke out of turn.”
“Tell her.” Abby gave an elaborate shrug and turned away. “Suit yourself. It’s more Patton history. We know how to write it.”
“You can tell her,” Scott said quietly. “If you choose to.” He touched her shoulder. “Thanks for coming, Abby.”
She watched him climb into his Jeep Cherokee and slam the door. A moment later, he backed out.
Aware of Ben, a silent witness to her admission, Abby said, “Well? What do you think?”
“That you’re pretty steamed at your sister. Care to tell me why?”
“Why’s a good word.” She hugged herself, the chill of a mountain night penetrating her bones. “As in, why would I? Like I said, it’s ancient history. Which means it’s none of your business.”
Sounding brusque—which she deserved—Ben said, “Unless it has something to do with these cute little messages you guys are getting. Or with the fact that you’re mad at me for no reason I can see.”
“I’m not mad...” Abby bit her lip. She hated having to apologize. Hated knowing she had behaved so gracelessly. “I’m sorry. This scares me. I don’t like feeling scared. I’m taking it out on you.”
“Tell me straight.” Ben hadn’t moved; his voice hadn’t softened. “Do you think the fact that you and your sister both dated Murray has anything to do with these threats?”
She walked a few steps, closed her eyes. Sighed. “No. Who knows what set this guy off? Not some guy my big sister and I both saw.”
“Just don’t hold back on me.”
Abby whirled around. “I haven’t yet! I wouldn’t. It’s not me I’m scared for.”
He moved then, taking a step toward her, lifting a hand as though to touch her but stopping short of doing so. “This was symbolic. We have no reason to think this guy intends to hurt Emily.”
“Maybe not,” Abby said tautly, “but there’s a pretty strong suggestion of violence here, wouldn’t you say?”
“We’ll find him.”
“Will we?” She didn’t let him answer. “It’s late. I really do appreciate you coming, Ben. Call me.”
“I will.” He watched her get into her car. Just before she backed out, he knocked on the window. Abby rolled it down a few inches. “By the way, forget the strapless dress. Wear a bathing suit and shorts. We’re going rafting. I’ll bring a picnic.”
“Rafting.” It was almost a physical wrench, this transition her mind had to make from the bloodied headless doll, from the man she and her sister had shared. Blankly, Abby said, “You mean, Friday.”
“As early as you can get off work.”
“White-water rafting?” Maybe he was a man after her own heart, after all. The physicality, the adrenaline rush, of battling the river sounded like just the panacea she needed.
“Nope. We’re going to drift Listen to the birds and the breeze, soak in some sun. Maybe swim. Spend a lazy couple of hours.”
Die of boredom.
He smiled as if he’d read her thoughts. “Trust me. It’ll be fun,” he said with gentle mockery.
Abby’s heart lurched. No, she doubted if she’d be bored. Not with Ben Shea. Irritated, maybe. Defensive, uncomfortable, maybe sexually aroused. But definitely not bored.
“Right,” she said, and rolled up her car window.
He slapped it with his palm, and walked away.
His headlights were in her rearview mirror all the way down the mountain. She could hardly wait to turn off the main road and escape him.
Why, oh, why, had she agreed to go out with a man who made her feel so edgy?
RENEE ASKED MEG and Abby to meet her the next day for lunch. Abby had a suspicion she knew why.
Meg was the last to arrive, waddling into the café on the main floor of the antique mall. They often had lunch there. The minestrone soup and berry cobblers were unbeatable. Abby, for one, rather enjoyed the irony in the old police station where Daddy had reigned. His office now held shelves and nineteenth-century armoires overflowing with quilts and antique lace. He wouldn’t have minded old guns. Lace he would have hated.
Today the three sisters talked about the doll in the car seat and what it meant until the waitress brought their orders.
Renee didn’t even look at hers, waiting only until they were alone again. “I’m pregnant,” she announced.
Meg lumbered to her feet. “Oh, Renee! Congratulations!”
They hugged and squealed a couple of more times. Abby felt like a fifth wheel.
But when they stepped back from each other and she saw their wet cheeks, she found her own eyes were stinging. Rising to her feet, she said quietly, “You’ll be a great mother.”
Renee sniffed. “Thank you.”
“Funny, isn’t it,” Meg mused as they resumed their seats. “The idea of us as mothers.”
“I wouldn’t know how to begin,” Abby heard herself say. “Being a mother, I mean. You’re so patient, Meg.”
“I guess I’m lucky,” she said. “I remember Mom the best. She was gentle, always willing to listen or to admire the latest artwork or whatever. I can still hear her giggle, as if she was a kid at heart. She loved us.”
“I can’t even picture her face.” Again Abby was startled to discover she was the one speaking. She often chose to tune out these conversations. “I mean, now I have pictures,” thanks to Meg, “but they’re all I see when I close my eyes and try to envision her. Sometimes I have this feeling...” She frowned. “Feeling” wasn’t quite the right word. Fleeting impressions: a brush of a soft hand, a scent, a murmured voice telling stories, a warmth and sense of security. Even such amorphous memories always ended up swallowed by emptiness and loss, as if her later hurt had acted as WiteOut, obliterating her mother’s existence. In frustration and anger at herself, Abby blurted, “I was old enough when she left. I should remember.”
Meg touched her hand. “Maybe the memories will come back. After I had Will, I found myself thinking about Mom all the time.”
“But you’d just seen her,” Renee argued.
“Yes, but...” Meg shook her head. “It’s as if she’s two different people for me. The mom from our childhood, and the one I watched die. I... never linked them, not really. Does that make sense?”
Her sisters nodded. Sandwiches sat untouched.
“The one I remember is Mom. Our childhood mother. I say something to Emily, and I think—Mom said that, too. Or I have little ways of doing things, and I realize that I’m imitating her. Have you seen that poster that says, ‘I looked in the mirror and saw my mother?’ Sometimes that’s how I feel. As if she’s part of me.”
Renee