Come Home (3 page)

Jill returned to making the French toast, while Abby talked. William had always taken excellent care of himself. It was everybody else he disregarded, even his daughters.

“He never would have taken those pills on purpose. So he had to have been murdered, and you can help me figure it out.”

“No, I can’t. I’m a pediatrician, not a detective.”

“You’re a doctor, and Sherlock Holmes was a doctor. You told me that, remember, for that English paper? I got a B plus, because of you.”

Jill felt touched. “What I said was that the author, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, was a successful doctor, and Dr. Watson was as important as Sherlock.”

“But you said that the way they solved a murder case was the same way you diagnose a disease.” Abby leaned over, urgent. “Please, will you help me? We can do it together.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Ladies, I’ll let you two spend some time alone.” He came over and kissed Jill lightly on the cheek. “Love you. Call me if you need anything.” He turned to Abby, straightening. “Goodnight, Abby.”

“Goodnight.” Abby gave him a little wave, and Sam left the kitchen. When he was barely out of earshot, she leaned over and said, “He’s kind of old for you, don’t you think?”

“No. Hush.” Jill saw Sam turn around, but she knew it was the liquor talking. “Now, drink your coffee.”

Chapter Three

“I think a shower might be a good idea for you, before bed, don’t you?” Jill climbed the stairs with Abby, who was still in her turban and towel.

“Yes. Clean me up and tuck me in, huh?”

“That’s the idea.” Jill put an arm around her, and Abby looked over, her expression sad and soft.

“Dad never got serious with anyone after you, Jill, you know. We met a few of his dates, but he didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“That’s too bad.” Jill kept her thoughts to herself. They took a left at the landing, past a lineup of candid photographs of her and Megan. “Come this way. We have a guest room you can sleep in, with its own bathroom.”

Abby stopped on the stair, at the photographs. “These pictures are so nice. Did you guys go to a photographer or something?”

“No, Sam took them. It’s a hobby of his.”

“This is the best one, of you alone.” Abby lingered at one photograph, a candid taken at the Jersey shore, and Jill was laughing, her hair curling in the salty air. Sam had been trying to get her to relax, pretending that he’d dropped his camera in the sand, and Jill loved the photograph because she loved the photographer.

“Ah, I was younger then.”

“You’re still young, and your hair is so sexy, that way. You should wear it down all the time.”

“Please. I don’t have time, and it’s not doctor hair.”

“Remember when I was little, we looked so much alike, people thought I was your daughter? I mean, your real daughter?” Abby gestured at the photo, waving her dark fingernail up and down. “See, your nose is little and straight, like mine. Our eyes are the same shape and almost the same brown, only yours are lighter. Our hair is more different, I don’t have the reddish brown like you, but we have the same exact smile. I think our smile is our best feature.”

Jill managed a smile, but couldn’t ignore the wistfulness in Abby’s tone, and put an arm around her. “You know, I kept track of you, on Facebook. Your Dad asked me not to write you there or post on your wall, but I read your feed, all the time.”

“I bet you were, I knew it.” Abby smiled at her.

“I know about your cat, Pickles, and your ancient car, and how sad you were over your breakup with your boyfriend.” Jill didn’t add that the boyfriend looked a little rough around the edges.

“I
love
my cat.” Abby smiled, more easily, and Jill warmed at the sight, happy to lighten her heart, if only for a moment.

“I can see why. He’s the cutest cat ever.”

“Did you see that photo of him in the laundry basket?”

“Yes, of course, and orange tabbies are my favorite.”

“I know. Dad told us to unfriend you, and Victoria did, but I didn’t. I just made my settings private, so he didn’t know.” Abby’s smile faded. “I feel bad saying that about him, now.”

Jill gave her a final hug. “Let’s get you showered up, girl.”

“Okay.” Abby hugged her back, and they went to the guest room, where Jill switched on the overhead light. It flickered off, and the room went dark.

“Damn. I’ll get a new bulb and some clean sheets. The last time this room was used was when Sam’s son Steven visited. He’s an architect, in Austin.”

“So Sam lives here, with you and Megan?”

“Yes. I bought this house after the divorce, and he sold his condo in Philly and moved in.”

“When are you guys getting married?”

“This summer, in July.” Jill felt suddenly uncomfortable, telling her the details, and Abby smiled, shakily.

“So Steven’s going to be your new stepson? Does that make this the steproom?”

Jill smiled, then the bedroom brightened from a flash of lightning, with a loud thunderclap.

Abby made a nervous face. “Do you think I could sleep in Megan’s room tonight? Since she’s not here?”

“Sure.” Jill didn’t think Megan would mind, in the circumstances. “Follow me.”

“Thanks.” Abby walked down the hall with Jill, and Beef stayed between them, panting and trembling, because of the storm. “He still hates thunder, I see.”

“You have such a good memory, honey.” Jill stopped at Megan’s door and flicked on the light. “Here we are.”

“
Sweet
room.” Abby stood in the threshold, taking in the large room, with its white canopied bed and a pink-patterned comforter. The far wall had a panel of windows with a padded windowseat, next to full bookshelves and a matching oak desk. A bulletin board hung above the desk filled with swimming awards, team photos, and stills from the school play, as well as glossy pictures of Michael Phelps, the Phillies, and the
Twilight
crew, which Megan had cut out of magazines.

“Bathroom’s to the right.” Jill gestured, but Abby was already walking there with Beef.

“She was always so neat.”

“She still is.” Jill went to the threshold of the bathroom, and Beef settled down on the bathmat. She pointed at the shower stall, where overpriced shampoos and conditioners were lined up. “Put the caps back on, you.”

“You remember the orange juice?” Abby smiled, sheepishly.

“How could I forget? It was funny.” Jill smiled back. She’d taken a jug of fresh-squeezed out of the refrigerator and shaken it, but Abby hadn’t put the cap back on and the walls were orange for a week. “You take a nice, warm shower, and I’ll bring you some clean towels, okay?”

“Okay, thanks.” Abby leaned over and kissed her suddenly on the cheek, and Jill felt a rush of emotion. It felt right to be taking care of Abby again, and at the same time, it felt strange to be taking care of Abby again. She left the bathroom, went to the linen closet, got the towels, then stopped to see Sam.

“Still up?” Jill asked, entering his home office, which was small, lined with bookshelves filled with medical textbooks and teaching awards. Sam taught at Penn’s medical school and was also a researcher in diabetes.

“Just waiting on you.” Sam looked up at Jill, with a worried smile. He was sitting at his old wooden desk against the window, raking his floppy hair with his fingers as he read a book online. “How’s the kid?”

“Okay.” Jill looked at him anew, after what Abby had said. His tortoiseshell glasses reflected two white pages with tiny footnotes, and behind them were sharp blue eyes, full of intelligence and humor. Sam was only eight years her senior, and his deep crow’s feet and laugh lines only made him more handsome to her, in a lived-in sort of way. The gray in his hair reminded her of the weathered cedar of a comfy rocker, and Jill felt lucky to have him. “Thanks for being so nice to her.”

“No need for thanks.”

“She’s upset tonight, obviously. She’s really a sweet girl.”

“I’m sure.” Sam slid off his glasses and set them on his desk, which was clean except for his laptop and iPhone. He touched her arm. “I’m sorry about your ex’s death. How are you feeling, really?”

“Honestly, it’s upsetting, mainly because of the girls.” Jill set down the towels and looked behind her, to make sure Abby wasn’t within earshot. “Megan will take it hard, because she was so conflicted. She loved him, but after the divorce, he didn’t answer any of her calls or texts. That killed her, and now she’ll never get the chance to ask him why, or understand.”

“I’ll be there for her. We’ll get through it.” Sam buckled his lower lip, pained. “I was supposed to meet Lee tomorrow, he’s coming in from Cleveland. But I can see him after the memorial service, if you want to go.”

Jill felt touched. “But Lee’s flying in just to meet with you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but I can delay meeting him. It’s a death in the family, more or less.”

“No, don’t. Thanks for the offer, but you don’t have to come. If Megan wants to go, I’ll take her.”

Sam frowned. “You sure?”

“Totally.”

“Okay, thanks. But please, promise me you won’t get sucked into this murder business. It’s absurd. We both know the Internet is full of idiocy about which drugs can kill you.”

“I won’t get involved. The cops are experts, I’m not.” Jill picked up the towels and gave him a kiss. “Gotta go back now.”

“Come to bed, soon. It’s late.”

“I know.” Jill smiled, straightening up, then left the office and went back to Megan’s bedroom. The bathroom door was closed, and she knocked. “I have fresh towels, honey.”

“Don’t need them.” Abby opened the door. Steam clouded the air, and she was wearing one of Megan’s nightgowns, a red-striped Lanz, of worn flannel. “Is it okay I’m wearing this nightgown? Remember, it used to be mine?”

“How could I forget? It was so nice of you.”

“It’s even better than it used to be, it’s so soft. Megan kept it, huh?”

“She wears it all the time.” Jill smiled, remembering when Abby had given Megan the nightgown. Megan had coveted it for so long, and they’d tried to find one like it in Nordstrom’s, but they couldn’t. So Abby had folded her own, put it in a box, and gift-wrapped it for Christmas, and Megan had been delighted.

“God, I’m so tired.” Abby padded past her and climbed into Megan’s bed, and Beef bounded up behind her. The dog settled down, stretching out his tufted front paws while Abby ducked beneath the comforter. “It’s so cozy here.”

“Good.” Jill went over to the bed and tucked Abby in, on mom autopilot. “I remember when you and Megan would get into the same bed, even though you barely fit.”

“I know.” Abby smiled, her breath minty from the toothpaste. “It was fun, and we would whisper so you and Dad couldn’t hear. Beef used to get in bed with us, too, especially when it rained.” She stroked the wavy fur on the dog’s back. “I bet Megan misses those days.”

“I’m sure she does.” Jill sat down and moved Abby’s wet hair away from her forehead, noticing a stray streak of electric blue. “You want a towel for your head?”

“No, thanks.” Abby paused. “Can I ask, what happened with you and Dad? I know what Dad said, but I want your side of the story. Why did you guys get divorced?”

“Let’s not talk about that tonight, honey.” Jill felt her chest tighten. If she told Abby the truth, it would make William look terrible, and she knew from her practice that kids who felt terrible about their parents somehow ended up feeling terrible about themselves. “Maybe someday, but not tonight.” Jill brushed Abby’s hair back again. “Blue, huh?”

“Yeah.” Abby smiled softly. “Do you like it?”

“Yes, but the tattoo is another story.” Jill mock-frowned. “No more tats, please. I don’t have my mom powers anymore, so it’s just a request.”

“You’ll always have your mom powers, to me.” Abby raised her arms for a hug, and Jill embraced her.

“I’m sorry about your Dad. You shouldn’t have to go through this.”

“It’s just that he looked so horrible, lying there. I found him.”

“Oh no.” Jill hadn’t realized.

“I came home, and the house was so quiet and the cat was meowing, which she never does. I went upstairs and he was lying in bed, with the TV on. His face was all, like, slack.”

Jill imagined how traumatic that would be, at Abby’s age. Jill had dissected cadavers in medical school and she never got used to it. It took her months to shake the images, and some never left her.

“His mouth was open, but just hanging there.” Abby emitted a new sob, her body hiccupping. “His eyes were open … stiff, like they were cold … but they weren’t looking
anywhere
.”

Jill held her close. She knew the unfixed gaze of the dead, but it was one thing when it was clinical, and another when it was eyes you had loved, in life. She had been there, too. One minute she’d been in anatomy class, locating the trigeminal nerve in the cheek, and the next minute, she’d come home to find another body, dead. This one, of someone she had loved, with a cheek she had kissed.

“I was … calling him … I put myself right up to his face … trying to get him to see me … but he couldn’t see
anything
.”

Jill was the one who’d found Gray, her first husband, lying dead on the kitchen floor. She’d tried CPR and heart massage, but he was gone, from a brain aneurysm. A week later, she would learn that she was pregnant with their child, Megan.

“I grabbed him and held him … and his mouth was, like, hanging open … and his head hung back like his neck was
rubber
 … like he didn’t even have a … neck bone.”

Jill felt tears come to her eyes, her thoughts immersed in the past, reliving every emotion of finding Gray, the agony and the shock and the surreality. She felt terrible, mourning her first husband while Abby was mourning her second, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Please, Jill … help me figure out who killed him … I can’t do it alone.”

“Let’s not talk about it now, honey.”

“Please … just think about it? Please?”

“I’ll think about it, but just breathe for now, just breathe.” Jill held Abby until she stopped crying and finally dozed off. Then Jill eased out of bed, covered Abby with the comforter, and turned out the light.