What's Left Behind (18 page)

When you’d known someone for decades, when you’d essentially grown up with someone, it was pretty hard for that someone to pull off a surprise.

Unlike Rob. Everything with Rob was a surprise. Last night, she’d learned he would not touch a drunken woman, even if sex was in the offing. He’d shared his worries about his daughter’s emotional well-being and his history of racing to her side in the middle of the night.

Each and every reveal left Abby wanting to know more.

“I’m still going out with Rob,” Abby told Charlie. Whether Rob still had an interest in going out with her remained to be seen.

“I’ll behave.”

Tessa flew by with two plates of food, heading into the dining room. Side view, her jaw was set and determined, her gait sure. Gone was the poky girl, unsure of her serving skills. Or was Abby imagining the transformation?

“I know where you want to take me,” she told Charlie. “Off limits—”

“The happiest place on Earth.”

“That’s Disney’s tagline!”

“Nothing bad ever happens there.”

No one ever grew old, no one ever died. Their special place had been like Neverland.

The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg morphed into the milky-powdery musk of a newborn’s scalp. Was it her lingering hangover or the trick of grief? She felt a little sick. Sick with longing. “I don’t know whether I’m up for it,” she whispered. “I don’t know whether I can.”

“Shh,” Charlie said. “I’ll come by at three. Hiking boots, optional bathing suit, towel. I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll take care of everything. It’s about time.”

Abby dropped the phone into her apron, stepped from the pantry and into the light. She took control of the kitchen, busied herself with brewing a second pot of coffee, refilled the creamer, and brought breakfast to the Kincaids. The gray-haired couple finished each other’s sentences and each other’s food. More impressive, after twenty-five years of marriage, they still flirted with each other. Would she ever be part of such a couple?

No mystery where Charlie intended to take her. Her only question was,
why?

A
bby rocked.

On the front porch of Briar Rose, she settled into one of the three white-washed rockers and pushed off with her feet. The motion soothed, but the glider’s whine and ratchet against the timeworn floorboards set her teeth on edge. Nearby, a mourning dove cooed, the cry coming late in the day for a creature whose voice marked the rising of the sun. Inside the entryway next to the dinner bell, there was a note with her cell phone number, an alternate means for her guests to summon her. Standard procedure allowed her to slip out now and again for errands: a carton of eggs, a gallon of milk, a hike with Charlie to the forbidden place. She sipped from a highball glass of mint-decorated iced tea, scooped out a leaf, and sucked the cool juices. The texture roughed her tongue, and the triple cooling of shade, drink, and herb revived her energy. Yet, anxiety hummed from the top of her tingling scalp to the tracks of her hiking boots, as though a hopped-up shadow-Abby were sewed to her, like in
Peter Pan and Wendy.

She and Luke had found a dusty 1940 edition at Hidden Harbor’s used and out-of-print books store, Second Time’s a Charm. At night, she’d tuck Luke’s block quilt around him, nestle his blue teddy bear between Luke and the wall, and snuggle in beside him to share the story of boys who’d never grow up.

Tessa and Hannah breezed onto the porch, and Abby set her hiking boots to the floor, stilling the motion.

Tessa had volunteered to help Hannah clean the guest rooms while Abby hunkered down in the kitchen, preparing afternoon self-serve refreshments. In the dining room, warm Mexican wedding cookies, cool slices of watermelon, and iced teas awaited her newly checked-in guests. Sweet cooling comforts.

The girls’ hair was piled high on their heads, like Celeste’s gourmet cupcakes. Hannah’s bun was frosted milk chocolate buttercream; Tessa’s, dark and bittersweet. The girls wore similar outfits, flouncy-frilly eyelet skirts reserved for the under twenty-five set.

Tessa swung her pocketbook, her expression free as a bird. A bird not sitting on a nest. “Going shopping!”

“Retail therapy,” Hannah offered.

Abby nodded. “Have fun, girls.”

Tessa and Hannah ambled down the porch steps and practically skipped to Tessa’s white Corolla. The outfits, the familiarity, the joy of togetherness, the fact one teen was pregnant. Abby could’ve been looking at herself and Celeste twenty years ago. The teen pregnancy heritage continued. Why did children refuse to learn from their parents’ mistakes?

Tessa slid behind the wheel, yelled through the driver’s side window. “Have fun with Charlie! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

If Celeste had delivered that warning twenty years ago, she would’ve meant it.

Charlie’s Jeep turned into the driveway. He stopped beside Tessa, lining up the driver’s side windows. A moment later, Charlie’s and Tessa’s hands high-fived between the vehicles. Then Tessa took off, beeping her horn, the sound trailing down Ocean Boulevard.

I have a teenager in the house.

Today, the thought made Abby grin. Would the notion thrill her thirteen years from now?

Charlie pulled up in front of the porch and tooted the horn three times. Who needed a teenager when she had Charlie? Charlie, who wanted to take her back to the forbidden place. The pressure to blow out a breath built in Abby’s throat. Instead, she swallowed it down and snapped up her day pack.

Charlie got out of the Jeep, tossed her pack in the backseat on top of his. “Let me guess. Towel, water, and the perpetual fleece?”

He wore shorts Abby didn’t recognize, hiking boots with fresh laces. His face was clean-shaven and smooth as a boy’s, as though he’d waited till afternoon to do the deed. He’d tried for casual. Despite Charlie’s breezy tone, casual wasn’t something you could try for.

“Let me tell. Towel, water, fleece, and a bathing suit.”

Charlie clutched his chest. “Slain through the heart.”

“Funny, I wouldn’t have guessed your heart the body part impacted by my choice to wear a suit.”

Charlie tossed her a grin, the kind turned down in an apology. “Same diff. You know me better than anyone.”

Abby squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Charlie often used humor to diffuse a tense situation. And her humor often lashed out at Charlie’s expense when she should’ve been shadowboxing. Charlie slid his sunglasses from the console, slipped them onto his face, and silenced his inner comic. Abby folded her hands in her lap. For the short ride, she kept her gaze on the road’s heat shimmer, the mirage of a cooling pool of water, just out of her reach.

Charlie pulled over to the side of the road and parked in a spot meant as a turnaround. “Think anyone will recognize my ride?”

“Bright red Jeep with
Teach
vanity plates? Not a chance.”

This time, Abby’s joke inspired a genuine grin. Just like old times, Charlie let Abby hit the trail in front of him. They followed the white blazes and wended around slabs of limestone and slate, through the silent thick of pine and spruce, beech, poplar, and birch. Hard to believe so many birds lived in the trees, hidden from sight. Abby listened for the whistle of the wood thrush, the variable tweet of the song sparrow, the tap of a woodpecker. Then, over the crunch of Abby’s and Charlie’s footfalls, a white-throated sparrow called, the sound rising from a low-lying shrub. Lily Beth had claimed the bird was saying, “Old Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody!” The same message, over and over, if anyone cared to listen.

Abby climbed a rock face, pulled herself over the ledge, and squinted against the ocean-reflected sunlight. With Charlie right behind, she navigated the rocky shoreline, jumping from boulder to boulder and darting between bushes heavy with wild blueberries. Countless times she and Luke had picked blueberries along the shore, little Luke eating half his basket by the time they returned home, his fingers stained purple from the juice.

Abby almost wished she could tell people she’d scolded him for their wasted time. She almost wished she could say she hadn’t kissed the juice from Luke’s sticky fingers. If she knew she’d lost Luke because she hadn’t appreciated every moment, maybe, just maybe, she could stop looking for a reason.

Charlie came up behind Abby, clamped a hand on to her shoulder. “Here we are.”

The sun burned the exposed back of Abby’s neck, and sweat pooled between her breasts. She ripped a page from Lily Beth’s rule book, inhaling from her toes in an attempt to settle the beat of her heart. It didn’t work. Then, pulse hammering in her throat, they half-climbed, half-slid, down into The Cove.

Same as twenty years ago, the sun shone bright on the secluded beach, no clouds to filter or shadow the ocean’s turquoise waves. No sounds of beachgoers drifted from neighboring shores, or even from the other side of the rock face. The wooded shoreline insulated them from neighboring beaches, laden with families, Frisbees, and sunbathers who customarily wore suits. They’d once thought the beach was theirs alone, but then they’d find evidence to the contrary. A dropped candy wrapper. A single sand-covered crew sock. A campfire’s charred remains.

After Charlie had left for college, Abby vowed never to come back here. Then, when Charlie had graduated and returned, she’d made him promise, too. Luke’s death had elevated The Cove from secret to sacred.

Charlie stared out to the ocean. His mouth tightened, and a noise came from the back of his throat. Did Charlie feel it, too?

“Gotta water a tree.” Charlie lowered his pack to the sand and trotted off into the woods.

Abby smiled at Charlie’s retreating form and then cast her gaze to the water’s edge, the surf breaking a jagged line along the shore.

Ghosts haunted this beach.

Two madly-in-love teenagers liked to come here after dark, throw down blankets, and make love in the sand. One night, the boy suggested they go for it in the water. The girl had her doubts. She’d heard it wasn’t as romantic as it sounded. Something about water washing away essential moisture and sand lodging in inconvenient places.

The water was cold, but she deep down knew her shivering had more to do with the boy’s suggestion they go without a condom than the Maine-cold waters numbing her ankles. Then the boy promised he’d love her forever, and she was gone.

What would Abby tell her younger self, if she had the opportunity? Not a damn thing. How could she regret the best thing that had ever happened to her?

Abby unzipped her pack, shook out her towel, and took a seat under the blistering sun. She fished around in her pack’s outside pocket, looking for her water bottle, and then pictured it sitting beside the sink at Briar Rose. Capped and good to go nowhere.

No water bottle sat in the netting of Charlie’s pack. She unzipped the main compartment and discovered two insulated lunch bags and one chilled wine carrier. From the long pouch, she slid out a bottle of Korbel Brut.

What in the world?

She unwound two champagne flutes from Charlie’s blue-and-white-striped beach towel.

Charlie stepped from the woods and into the light.

Abby raised the champagne bottle above her head. The glass iced her hand. “Are we celebrating something? Are we celebrating the baby?”

Charlie jogged over to Abby’s towel, knelt, and took the champagne from her hands. He shook his head. “Geesh, Abby. And you tell me I don’t have any impulse control?”

“Sorry! I was thirsty. I was looking for water. I didn’t think you’d mind.” After everything they’d shared, was it any wonder Abby overstepped Charlie’s boundaries? In elementary school, they’d shared lunches, sipping from the same box-bound bendy straws. By middle school, they were holding hands and trading spit. Was it any wonder they’d made a baby in high school?

Was it any wonder Charlie was still one of her best friends?

Best friends with benefits?

That’s not how she thought about Charlie. But was that the way he thought about her?

Charlie took off his sunglasses, so she could see he was kidding.

“Did I ruin a surprise?”

“I sincerely doubt it.” Charlie beamed. The tips of his ears turned red, a sign of uncharacteristic shyness she hadn’t seen since the day he’d told her he was getting married. Abby didn’t think he’d dated since Luke’s accident. So maybe the announcement was job related and he was moving away?

Maine’s Teacher of the Year had every right to take his career in whatever direction he wanted. Then why did her organs shift, as though she were sinking in quicksand?

Charlie sandwiched her hands between his. He sucked his lips between his teeth. His gaze met hers, and his left eye twitched.

Abby giggled. “You’re scaring me.”

“Abigail Pearl Stone, I knew you were special when you kicked my ass at Ping-Pong, and then stole a kiss from me seconds before I was planning to plaster one on you. Any girl with the balls to take advantage of me deserves my heart.”

Uh-oh.

“I’ve loved you forever,” Charlie said, and Abby’s hands trembled in his. “It’s about time we stopped messing around and got serious. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me, Abby?”

Charlie held a steady smile, her gaze, and her tender teenage heart.

When the boy you’ve loved forever managed to shock you, your jaw did, in fact, drop.

With a flick of his thumb, Charlie tipped Abby’s jaw shut.

Abby-the-teenager wanted to throw her arms around Charlie’s neck and slobber relief into his collar.

Abby-the-adult wanted to know whether Charlie was suffering from sun poisoning, summer flu, or early dementia.

“What’s this about?”

“I’ve loved you forever. It’s about time—”

Abby should’ve known Teach had been working from a prepared script. “Why now? What’s changed?”

“What’s changed?” Charlie asked, his tone a high squeak missing since eighth grade. “What hasn’t changed? Our son is dead, and his girlfriend is about to give birth to our grandchild. I want to be a part of the baby’s life, and not just on weekends. Wouldn’t it be easier if we were married? This is about us, Abby.”

Tessa had told Abby she thought Charlie was still in love with her. She’d chirped with excitement at the thought of her and Charlie going on a picnic. She’d stood by in the pantry, eavesdropping and invested. “Did Tessa put you up to this?”

“Can’t I ask the woman I love to be my wife?”

The friend.
Abby was the friend he loved, a difference worth noting. “Can’t you tell me the truth?”

Charlie swished air around in his mouth. “Tessa wants us to get married.”

“Ha! I knew it!”

“She wants Luke’s baby to grow up with two parents.”

“We’re the baby’s parents.”

“She pulled out the Luke card.”

“The what?”

“ ‘Luke always wanted you and Abby to get married. He would’ve wanted you and Abby to raise the baby as a married couple.’ ” Charlie’s voice, Tessa’s words, and Luke’s unfulfilled dream. The triumvirate delivered a sucker punch, straight to Abby’s gut.

Abby thought of four-year-old Luke crying in his bed the first time she and Charlie had gotten back together and then broken up. She remembered sixteen-year-old Luke nailing her with an angry glare the last time she and Charlie had failed him. Same as those dark days, regret choked her voice. “That’s not fair. It’s not like we didn’t try for Luke’s sake. Over and over.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Why do you care so much about what Tessa wants?”

Charlie’s eyes tried to smile, but then his gaze fell to their hands and he swallowed through a frown.

A chill climbed the back of Abby’s head and oozed over her brow. “What happens if we don’t get married? What if we don’t do what Tessa wants?”

“Nothing,” Charlie said. “Nothing happens.” Charlie raised his gaze to Abby’s. Same as the day she’d had to tell him about Luke’s accident, Charlie’s lips clamped shut, but his eyes spoke of loss. The waves tumbled; a breeze ruffled Charlie’s hair. When he released her hands, her fingers went cold.