"I have many times. Tracy. Remember?"
He scoffed. "She's the babysitter."
"She's a very attractive woman."
"So?"
"That's exactly my point," her mother said in a disgusted tone. "I'm sorry you lost your job, but that's no reason to start hating a man who's been a good friend to me since before I met you."
"Yeah, right. I think it's more than friendship with you two."
Her mother gaped. "Are you completely out of your mind?"
Abigail covered her ears with her hands. "Please don't fight anymore. I don't like loud voices."
Her mother kissed her cheek and gave her a soothing cuddle. "Sorry, baby. Why don't you go play in your room?" She set her down.
Abigail ran to the hallway, then paused as her father grabbed her mother's arm and jerked her closer.
"I want you to give that necklace back to him," he said between clenched teeth.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to see my wife wearing another man's gift. You hear me?"
Her mother rolled her eyes. "He's like a brother to me. Nothing more."
"Nothing more, huh? Then tell me why he carries a picture of you in his watch?"
Shock etched itself across her mother's face. "What?"
"You heard me. I saw it the last time he was over here. It's a photo of you. No man does that for his sister. Trust me."
"I don't believe you. He's never, ever said or done anything to act like he was interested in me in any way."
"And I know what I saw."
She wrested her arm out of his grip. "You're wrong about him."
"No, I'm not. It ain't natural for a man to want to come around someone else's family like this."
"You never had a problem with it before."
"I never saw that damn watch before."
Abigail frowned as she saw a shadow moving along the wall. It lifted up and crawled slowly toward her parents. Where was it coming from? There were no windows, and nothing that could cast it. It slinked down the hallway slowly. Methodically. But as a child, she was easily distracted, especially since her parents were escalating their argument. She scurried to her room to find her Scooter doll and hide.
She'd made a nest beneath her bed for just such occasions. It was where she felt safest. Her mother called it her princess hidey-hole. Abigail called it wonderful. With her blanket and dolls, she stayed there and lost track of time until she heard another familiar voice in the middle of their ongoing fight.
Jess's.
"You don't deserve her, you bastard."
"What are you doing here?" her father snarled, startling her from her play. "I told you not to come back."
"You don't tell me what to do."
Her mother's tone was much more reasonable. "Maybe you should go."