Evidence of Life - By Barbara Taylor Sissel Page 0,65

had forgotten when she used Lindsey’s shower the night before that it leaked. One more item on the never-ending to-do list. She was searching for the plumber’s telephone number when Hap Albright returned her call. She let it ring. She didn’t want to go back to work. To go anywhere. The phone rang again, and she covered her ears. What if she forgot them? What if the day came when she couldn’t remember how Nick loved classic jazz and the shape of her feet or that Lindsey loved backrubs and the smell of new hay? Abby saw it in her mind’s eye, her forgetfulness rising like water over their images, softening her connection to them, erasing every bond.

The phone rang and rang.

Hap left a message, and when she didn’t return his call, he phoned again that evening. And she realized he wasn’t going to leave her alone, that if she didn’t speak to him soon, he was liable to appear on her doorstep. He was jovial when she answered. So glad to hear from her, he said.

“I’d love to have you back in the classroom,” he told her. “When can we meet?” he asked. “How about tomorrow morning? Say, around ten?”

“Tomorrow?” Abby searched her mind frantically for an excuse, but found none.

“The quicker we get the ball rolling, the quicker you can be back to work.” He was cheerful, certain he was offering her the opportunity she wanted.

Abby thanked him; she even managed to sound pleased, but after she hung up, she went to the kitchen sink and stared out the window. She saw them there, the four of them together in the yard. She could smell them, feel them in the air all around her. Her family.

Real. The word dropped into Abby’s brain, and she turned, facing the empty room.

It was real, she told herself. “Real,” she whispered.

* * *

Hunting for something suitable to wear the next morning, Abby went through her clothes, the dresses and skirts, blouses and vests she’d worn when she’d taught before. They looked awful to her now, out of date and frumpy. Finally, she pulled out a navy plaid skirt that fell to the knee and a white tailored blouse. She tossed a navy blazer on the bed, returned to the closet and hunted for shoes. All she found that would work was a pair of scuffed, low-heeled black pumps. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even worn heels.

In the bathroom, she pulled her hair into a chignon, and for the first time in months, applied lipstick, blush and mascara. She examined herself in the full-length mirror. Even with the blouse tucked in, she’d lost enough weight that the skirt gapped. She made a pleat in the waistband and secured it with a safety pin. The skirt bunched over her backside, but with the jacket on, no one would see. Too bad there wasn’t a way to camouflage the circles under her eyes or flesh out the hollows beneath her cheekbones. At least she hadn’t cried.

The phone rang as she was on her way out. She looked at the Caller ID, and recognizing Nick’s office number, her hand rose. She drew it back. It would be Nina calling on behalf of Joe or Joe himself. Now that she was home, there were steps to be taken, papers to sign, financial matters to discuss. In voices thick with regret, they would acknowledge the circumstances were tragic, but the partnership was a business. And as unfeeling as it seemed, the practice was more than the sum of the partners. After all, didn’t she know, and better than most, that the needs of the clients took precedence? That Nick, of all people, would want their interests considered before all others—blah blah blah. Abby left the house.

* * *

Hap waited for her in the doorway of his office, eyes alight with pleasure, smile warm with sympathy. Too much sympathy. Abby’s steps faltered. She didn’t want to be embraced by him, and luckily he only took her hand in both of his.

“Girl, how’ve you been?” he said.

Drawing her inside, he closed the door behind them, motioned her into a chair, propped his hip on the front corner of his desk. “You look good,” he said. “Damn good, considering.”

She murmured her thanks, made a show of putting her purse on the floor beside her chair.

“I never could figure out whether to call or come by or what.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine. Really.” She wished he’d sit down in his desk