Evidence of Life - By Barbara Taylor Sissel Page 0,98
to her mother a couple of weeks later.
They were in her mother’s kitchen, having just finished planting a few dozen ranunculus tubers. The ruffled, brightly colored flowers with petals as thin as crepe paper were one of her mother’s favorites, and Abby brought fresh tubers every year in November and helped her mother plant them.
“I’m just mad enough to kill, and it scares me. I’ve never felt such anger in my life.” Abby finished washing her hands and turned off the water.
It had been misting earlier, and outside the window, fat pearls of moisture dripped from the eaves. A robin fluttered to perch on the fence post that held the mailbox and sat preening in the somber light. Ordinarily Abby would have called her mother to come and look, but not today. She scarcely registered the robin’s presence.
“Who are you angry at?” her mother asked.
“Nick, and at Sondra, but mostly myself. I knew something was wrong; I knew Nick was unhappy, but I ignored it. I thought it would pass.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” her mother said. “When you’re running around after two children, you’re so busy doing, there isn’t a lot of time or energy left to pause and reflect. You trusted him. You’ve always been trusting. It’s your nature.”
“Not so much now.” Abby came to the table and sat down. “Hank Kilmer called the other day.”
“Do you think it’s wise, keeping a relationship with him?”
“At least he never lied to me.”
Abby’s mother looked startled. “But you must realize Jake never meant to lie. Neither did Katie. She feels awful for what’s happened. Just dreadful.”
Abby averted her glance.
“She is so sorry, honey. We are all so sorry.”
“Do you know how sick I am of hearing that?” Abby pursed her mouth. She felt her grief swell hard against her ribs. It rose into her throat, bitter-tasting and as black as ink, and she was frightened by it. The tears came in spite of her, brimming over her lashes, scalding her cheeks with their pent-up fury. She bent her face into her hands, shoulders heaving from the force of her sobbing.
Her mother brought her a warm, damp dishcloth and rubbed her back again.
“I don’t want to hate Nick, Mama.” Abby forced the words through labored hiccups.
“It isn’t in you to hate.”
“You don’t think they were wrong? Kate and George and Jake? They knew things, each one of them knew different things about Nick and kept them secret, when if they’d told me, I might have stopped him. At the least I would have kept Lindsey home with me.”
Abby’s mother sat down. “Maybe they were wrong and maybe they weren’t, but it’s in the past now and you can’t change it. What matters is they acted out of love for you. They wanted to protect you. They still do.”
Abby rose and returned to the window. The robin was in the grass now, pecking among the flattened yellow blades.
“What will you gain by blaming them?”
Abby didn’t answer.
Her mother tried again. “You’re still here, Abigail. Kate and Jake—”
“Don’t say it again, Mama. How I have to go on for Jake’s sake. Don’t say I have to live for him or Kate or you so you can be okay.”
“No, that isn’t—”
“Your granddaughter is dead!” Abby wheeled, voice rising, shattering. “He took her. Took my daughter from me, Mama, to be with that woman! Maybe you can get over it, maybe you can forgive him, but I can’t!”
“You think I don’t feel Lindsey’s loss? That it isn’t the gravest pain to bear? Seeing you, what you and Jake are going through? You think I don’t grieve, as you do, for the loss of our precious girl?” Her mother’s voice broke.
Abby knelt at her side. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry.”
It took several moments, but Abby’s mother gathered herself, and once the air between them settled, she said, “Can’t you see? If you dwell on the injustice, you become the victim of his mistake, his cruelty.”
Abby straightened. “But he was cruel.”
“Yes, and I deplore his actions, but hating him only hurts you.”
“But isn’t it so convenient? Nick dying? If you ask me, he got off easy.”
“He might argue that point,” her mother said dryly.
The sudden smile that twitched on Abby’s lips felt unnatural. Hideous. She touched her mouth.
“Forgiveness is hard,” her mother said. “Harder than anger, but forgiveness is what heals. Forgiveness and love.”
Abby reached out with her hands. “He’s taken my memories, Mama. Even those I can’t trust.”