Saving Abby Read online

  Claire laughed. Inviting their friends for dinner had been a good idea. She was still exhausted, but she could see that having them over was helping Josh. The worry that had descended on him was starting to let up. There was a lightness in his stance and demeanor now, as though he no longer felt alone in carrying the burden of anxiety, the sense that something was wrong with her.

  As if reading her thoughts, Abby leaned over.

  “I expect you to eat as much steak as you can, I hope you realize. Doctor’s orders and all that. The protein will be good for you.”

  Claire lifted her arm slightly in a weak attempt at a salute. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am.”

  “On that note,” Abby said, raising her voice. “I expect to see you in my office first thing in the morning, for some more blood work.”

  Josh turned and flashed Abby a smile. “She’ll be there.”

  Claire leaned her head back and stared up at the sky. “I hate getting poked. You know that.”

  “Guess you should have been taking those pills.” There was a satisfied gloat in Abby’s voice for a moment. “Only a couple of jabs, I promise. You’re probably just anemic. Besides, you’ve got a baby to take care of now, so pull up your big-girl panties.” Abby said.

  “I’d like to wear my sexy-girl panties for as long as I can, thank-you-very-much. Which reminds me . . . Will you come shopping with me for maternity wear? I’d rather you than my mother.”

  “Can we please stop talking about underwear and your mother in the same sentence?” Josh asked.

  THIRTEEN

  MILLIE

  Present day

  Millie rang the doorbell to her best friend’s home and then let herself in.

  Liz was in the kitchen, wrapping an apron around her waist.

  “I need your help,” Millie said as she walked in.

  “Did you bring the apples?” Liz looked at Millie’s empty hands, and her eyebrows rose to heights only Liz could accomplish.

  “Don’t give me that look. They’re in the car. I think. Or maybe I left them at the booth at the market.” She bit her lip. “I can’t remember, but that’s not important. I need your help.” She wrung her hands and could hardly believe the way her stomach felt. Forget butterflies in your stomach, what she had was a swarm of bees, stinging her over and over with fear and doubt, and excitement, all at the same time.

  What had she done?

  “Unless this has something to do with helping me make an apple pie, it can wait.” Liz’s lips tightened into a thin white line.

  “Don’t you be like that with me, Elizabeth Dorn. I think I made a mistake—the worst one yet. And I really need your help. Your apples can wait.”

  “Millie . . .” Liz shook her head, looked at the ball of piecrust still wrapped in plastic and sighed.

  Millie sat down at the table and waited for her friend to put the dough back in the fridge and join her. Her knee bounced rapidly.

  “Claire might kill me,” she blurted out the moment Liz sat down.

  Liz leaned back in her seat. “I doubt that. She loves you.”

  Millie shook her head. “No, I’m serious.”

  “What did you do, Millie?” Liz sighed. “Does this have anything to do with her having a baby?”

  Millie bit her lip. “I should go get those apples for you.” She couldn’t admit what she’d done, not even to her best friend. She knew it’d been a mistake. She didn’t need Liz’s frowning face to confirm it.

  “Yes, you’re going to go get my apples. But not until you spill the beans.”

  Millie rubbed her face and then, putting her head in her hands, sat still. “I contacted Marie.” She closed her eyes at this confession. Silence filled the room.

  Marie was the woman who had adopted Claire’s baby sixteen years ago. Unbeknownst to Claire, Marie and Millie had kept in touch throughout the early years. Millie had an envelope full of photos of her grandchild hidden away in a desk drawer.

  She’d promised Liz years ago to end contact with Marie. She realized maintaining a relationship with Marie wasn’t worth the risk of losing her daughter.

  Finally, Millie opened her eyes and saw her friend staring at her with a look of exasperation.

  “Stupid move, right?” Millie said.

  “I’d say.” Liz got up from the table, shaking her head as she did so.

  “We’ll talk about how you got the idiotic idea that that would be even remotely acceptable after you go get my apples.” Liz grabbed hold of Millie’s hand, pulled her to standing, and walked her to the front door.

  “I’m sure they’re in my car.” She distinctly remembered buying them this morning.

  “No, they’re not. You left them with David. He called to see if I wanted him to drop them off.”

  Millie blushed. “I left them with him, huh?”

  “I think you did it on purpose.” Liz frowned. “Just don’t flirt too much, okay? Keep in mind I’m here waiting for you.”

  Millie stiffened and straightened her shoulders, in a show of taking no notice of all the other emotions flooding through her right now. “I do not flirt.” She walked past her friend, a serious look on her face. But once she was at her car, she looked back and smiled. “Well, maybe just a little.” She needed to see a smile on her friend’s face, to know that while she’d made a really stupid mistake, it was still a forgivable one.

  “Then maybe stop holding back. Hurry up now.”

  Stop holding back? This little flirtation between her and David had gone on for years. She liked the man, liked the attention he gave her and the way he made her heart beat a little bit faster, but she didn’t need him in her life. She enjoyed her independence, the feeling that she was free to do what she wanted, when she wanted, and with whomever she wanted.

  When her husband passed away ten years ago, she had promised herself that she would never need a man again. She wasn’t the type who wanted to be controlled or who needed to be pampered and taken care of. Not anymore. Not again. All she wanted was to be loved. But she didn’t think that concept was something most men her age could grasp.

  Especially not David. He continually hinted that he could look after her, if only she’d let him. When would he realize that she didn’t need or want that? She wasn’t a girl who needed to be rescued. She loved life, loved enjoying life to its fullest. And she would rather have a man at her side who appreciated that, not one who tried to squash it.

  No. The flirtation was fine, but that was as far as it went.

  Even if the sight of him as he waited for her by his pickup made her heart dance.

  She pulled up and stepped out of her car. “Did Liz call?”

  “That she did. Also warned me that there would be consequences if I didn’t send you on your way right after giving you the apples you left behind.” He was leaning against his truck.

  “You know Liz and her pies.” Millie rolled her eyes.

  David stood and grabbed the bags of apples sitting on the tailgate. “I sure do. She promised me my own Dutch apple pie too.”

  Millie opened her trunk for him and watched the muscles in his arms work as he carried the two heavy bags in one hand. For a man his age, he sure had a fine physique.

  “Thanks for waiting for me.” Millie smiled up at him.

  He studied her, shading his eyes from the sun as he always did. “What’s got you wound so tight?”

  The fact that he’d noticed surprised her. “Have you ever done something you don’t want to regret doing even though you know you should?”

  There was a look in his eyes, as if he could see inside her soul. He leaned down and cupped his mouth close to her ear.

  “All the time. Especially when it comes to you.”

  Millie blushed. “Now David Jefferies, enough of that.”

  “You’ve either done something you know you shouldn’t have, or you’re about to do it despite knowing you’d be better off not.”

  She frowned.

  “I hear you’re abou
t to become a grandma. Or is it Nana?” He said casually.

  She beamed. “Isn’t it amazing! But how did you hear? They’re wanting to keep it hush-hush for now. Oh, which reminds me. What type of tea would you recommend for headaches? Claire’s getting some really bad ones.”

  “Peppermint tea. It’ll help with the nausea as well. Ginger is good too. My favorite, though, is called skullcap. Let me check to see if I have some left. If not, I’ll order it. And . . . as to how I found out, that doesn’t matter. I promise not to tell a soul, but it’ll cost ya.” He nudged her with his elbow, and even though he tried to look serious, his lips quirked at the corners.

  She rolled her eyes. “What’ll it be this time? More of my oatmeal chocolate chip cookies?”

  He shook his head and pulled his arms behind his back. His voice lowered and took on a drawl she hadn’t heard in a while.

  “Dinner with me. Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” He’d never asked her out on an actual date before. Sure, they’d stopped for coffee after running into each other in town, but this was more.

  She took a deep breath. “Don’t you know, David Jefferies, that when you finally ask a girl on a date, you’re supposed to give her time to prepare?”

  “You’ve got time. I’d love it if you wore that cute little black top with the pink flowers on the hem, and those jeans you’re wearing are just fine.” His gaze slid down her body, and for a moment, she felt like a teenager again.

  Until she realized what he’d just done.

  Told her what to wear. Controlling. Just like every other man in her life. It disappointed her. She’d hoped he was different.

  That’s not how things worked with her, and it was time he realized that.

  “Sorry, David. Tonight, I’ve got plans. How about I make you a cheesecake to make up for it, though? I’ll swing it by in a few days.” She shut the trunk and, before he could say a word, got into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and pulled away.

  A glance in her rearview mirror told her she’d shocked him. He hadn’t moved, other than to fold his arms across his chest.

  She’d expected him to be angry, but the smile on his face told her otherwise.

  “You what?” Liz’s mouth gaped open as Mille dropped the apples in the sink.

  “Close your mouth, girl, and don’t pretend to be so surprised.” She rolled her eyes but smiled inwardly. It felt good, after all these years, to say no.

  Even if she’d really wanted to say yes.

  “You’re not a teenager anymore, Millie Jack, so stop acting like one. Not to mention, you’ve flirted enough with the man . . . why wouldn’t you go on a date?”

  Millie turned and put a hand on her hip. “Because he told me what to wear.”

  This time it was Liz’s turn to roll her eyes, and Millie didn’t appreciate it.

  “And what, in heaven’s name, did the poor man ask you to wear?” Liz turned on the tap to soak the apples.

  “That cute black top with the embroidered flowers that I picked up in Bayfield a few months ago.” It was a pretty shirt that made Millie feel at least ten years younger, which, at her age, meant a lot.

  “What’s wrong with wearing it? The man must obviously like you in it.”

  “The man”—Millie gave her friend a stern look—“had better like me in anything I put on. But that doesn’t give him the right to tell me what to wear.”

  “Oh, honey.” Liz dropped the apples back into the sink full of water and held out her hands.

  Millie eyed them with suspicion and then slowly reached out.

  “Not every man wants to control you.” Liz squeezed her hands tight as her eyes got misty.

  “I know that.” What was wrong with Liz? “Don’t you start crying on me now, you hear?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I’m fine.” Liz dropped her hands and turned, but not before Millie noticed her wiping the tears with her apron.

  She sighed. Liz was very fragile, and Millie tried hard to help keep her friend’s spirits up. That’s when it hit her. Today was the anniversary of her son’s death. Mark had died in Afghanistan.

  Millie rubbed Liz’s back.

  “I’m okay,” Liz said. Millie could hear the grief in her voice.

  “Of course you are.”

  “Give love a chance, Millie,” Liz said. “You never know when it may be too late.”

  “Honey, if I die today, I will die a happy woman. I’ve dealt with my mistakes, with my past, and moved on. I don’t need to be loved by another man, and having that love won’t complete me. You know this.”

  Millie loved who she was. She loved life. She loved how she lived—with abandon, happiness, and peace. She didn’t need a man in her life. But, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t welcome one, if he were the right one.

  “What I know, Millie Jack, is that you are a very stubborn woman who believes she can do everything on her own. Well, you can’t. There will come a time when you realize that, and I hope to God you haven’t pushed everyone away by then.”

  Shocked at Liz’s outburst, Millie dropped the apple she was wiping off, splashing water everywhere.

  “I’m sorry,” they said in unison, but for two very different reasons.

  Millie mopped up the water with a towel, while Liz dropped her knife and began to sob.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Millie gathered her friend in her arms.

  Two years ago today, Captain Mark Dorn, Elizabeth’s eldest son, was killed by an IED, an improvised explosive device, while traveling with a convoy in Afghanistan. He was there in a mentoring capacity, which meant he was supposed to have been safe. At least, that’s what he promised his mom before he left.

  On the day Liz found out about his death, flowers had arrived to celebrate Mother’s Day. An hour later, the phone had rung. Liz had thought it was Mark, calling her as a surprise.

  It had been his commanding officer instead.

  “Elizabeth Dorn, you don’t have to be strong with me.”

  “He liked my apple pies.” Liz pulled away, sniffling.

  “That’s because you make the very best in town.”

  “I know.” Liz managed a smile. “Can you do me a favor now?”

  Millie nodded.

  “Leave me alone?” She picked up the knife and held it over one of the apples on the cutting board. “I can’t handle your mess right now. I’d like to bake my pie in peace, think about my son, and blubber like a baby without feeling foolish. Tomorrow can be all about you.”

  Millie gave Liz a hug, squeezing her tight. “That’s fair. You blubber all you want.” Elizabeth Dorn would be okay. She was tough and strong and could weather this storm called grief. She might falter a little here and there, but that was expected. And when she did, Millie would be there, to hold her up and give her a smile.

  After all, it’s what Liz did for her all those years ago when her husband had died.

  MY FEW (BUT AMAZING) CAREER GOALS

  Make a name for myself.

  Work for myself.

  Establish a client list.

  Create one drawing for myself at least once a year.

  Create a book of my drawings.

  Have books I’ve illustrated land on a New York Times bestseller list (or any other list).

  Illustrate for someone really famous.

  FOURTEEN

  CLAIRE

  Present day

  With legs crossed, Claire sat on her bed looking through a box full of stationery she’d collected over the years. Her collection included postcards she’d picked up, along with the odd notecard and stickers to go on the back sides of envelopes.

  She’d also collected miscellaneous kinds of paper. Vellum, laid and linen, matte and glossy, even some vintage stationery designs—anything that caught her eye. She loved paper, its texture and heft, loved to draw on it, and adored writing letters.

  She’d always been keen on letter writing, despite it being an art whose popularit
y was rapidly dwindling. As a teen, she’d often sent postcards and letters to pen pals and summer-camp friends. But then the Internet took off, and it became easier to keep in touch via e-mail. These days she only wrote letters occasionally, although always at least once a year for Josh on their anniversary.

  Wouldn’t it be nice to write letters to her child every year for their birthday? Maybe set them aside, to be opened and read when they were older?

  But why wait for a birthday? Why not start now, from the beginning?

  She sorted through the papers, looking for the perfect sheet.

  She picked one that was soft white with an almost satin finish. She drew her knees up and placed the paper over one of her sketchbooks, so she had a hard surface to write on.

  What would she write? How could she express the feelings in her heart for this child—the love, the wonder, the excitement?

  She’d never written her son a letter. She’d often thought about it, but she knew that writing him a letter would hurt more than help. Her fear was that if she wrote to him, she’d never get over him, that she would always mourn for what could have been, and that it would hinder her efforts to move forward.

  Her hand shook slightly as she held the pen. The only thing she knew about being a mother was how to give up a child. Would she be able to love this one enough?

  When Josh first proposed to her, she’d been petrified that he’d find out the truth about her—that she’d had a teenage pregnancy, that she’d given a child up for adoption, and that she was never good enough in her father’s eyes. Claire handed the ring back to Josh and told him he deserved someone better.

  She would never forget his words. She glanced over at a frame on the wall opposite their bed.

  Once upon a time, a boy met a girl who made him believe in love.

  She changed his world, his heart, and his life.

  The happily-ever-after he always searched for was with her.

  She’d melted into a puddle at his words. She’d said yes and kept her fears to herself. But she knew that one day he would leave her. When she finally told him about the baby she’d given up as a teenager, she’d been certain he would call off the wedding and want nothing to do with her. Instead, he’d held her close and told her he’d support her in any decision she made, and that one day, if it was what she wanted, he would love to meet her firstborn son.