Handle with Care (7 page)

"I
think we should go back," she said quietly as she hunched her shoulders
against a chilly breeze.

"Abby,
I want you to promise me you'll think about all I’ve said," he requested,
as he ran his hands up and down her arms. It wasn't just the chilly air he was
trying to warm her from. He wanted to melt the ice she had allowed to build
within her heart. Craig knew it was her way of shielding herself from ever
feeling again, from being hurt. He thought her choosing to accept
responsibility for one man’s action was ridiculous. But, he accepted it was a
crucial moment of her life. Defined by something beyond her control, Abigail’s
role as caregiver, as counselor, as confidant, as healer, had taken a dangerous
and destructive turn.

"I
promise," she agreed, savoring the sensation of his warmth blending into
hers. She knew if he held her close a moment longer, she might be the one to
take a kiss from him, and perhaps much more.
But would that be right?
She could not believe the impact his touch was having on her.
Craig sighed as he reluctantly pulled away from her. Holding her hand tightly
in his own, he led her back to the parking lot. Once she was settled in, he
started the truck and tried not to think about how much he hated the idea of
driving her home. The ride back was silent but comfortable, both reflecting on
the day’s revelations. When he parked at the marina, Craig still was not ready
to let her go.

"Can
I walk you down?" he asked, without looking directly at her. Abby smiled
to herself at how polite he was.

"I'd
like that," she replied quietly.
A moment
later he was opening her door. He led her along the dock, and she smiled at the
way he kept glancing at her nervously. When they reached the houseboat, he
hoped she would invite him in.

"Are
you sure you're okay on your own?" he attempted to hint.

"I'll
be fine," she assured him and he held her hand as she stepped on to the
boat deck.

"Abby,
wait," he called out as she walked toward the cabin door. She turned back
to face him, her heart racing.

"What
is it?" she said hopefully. She could not bring herself to invite him on
to the boat, not after how dangerously needy she had felt on the dunes.

"Just,
I'm here if you want to talk.” His words sounded lame to his own ears.

"Thank
you." Abby forced a smile to her lips. She wanted to plead with him to
stay, but everything in her mind told her it was a bad idea.

"Alright
then," he nodded. "I'll see you soon."

He
turned and strode back down the dock. Abby watched him until he reached the
parking lot. A part of her wished he would come racing back and demand to be
let onto the boat. But Craig was far too polite to do anything like that. And
besides, it was probably close to the time for him to pick Chloe up from
school. She sighed as she opened the door to the cabin and slipped inside,
closing it firmly behind her, and then got ready for bed. It was early to
sleep, but her day trip with Craig had been emotionally draining. There was no
where she needed to go, and no place she’d rather be, than in a cocoon of
pillows and blankets. Maybe she’d emerge as someone different.

Mulling
over the day, Abby recalled Craig’s touch grazing her skin. How electrified she
felt when his lips touched hers.
Is Craig just a distraction? To avoid facing
what I left behind?
The thoughts swirling through her mind frightened her.
Having been emotionally detached for so long, she wasn’t sure she could trust
what she was feeling. Abby told herself she hadn’t come to this sleepy little
town to get involved with anyone, and she had no intention of leaving broken
hearts in her wake. She did not want to hurt Craig
,
or Chloe. There was no way she would risk the hearts of two precious people,
even if it meant ignoring the desires of her own. As she fell asleep, she vowed
she would no longer allow her emotions make decisions for her.

* * *

Abby
looked at her phone as it rang again. She knew whose number she would read on
the screen. Craig had been calling her twice a day, for the past few days.
He
must have gotten my number from the harbor master or Paul.
Without having
spoken to him, she knew he was trying to check on her. It was understandable,
after sharing such a passionate kiss on the dunes, then barely saying a word on
the ride back.

When
they had kissed, the intensity of the desire she felt frightened her. She
craved him, his touch, the sound of his voice, the solace she obtained when she
was near him. She did not trust herself or her feelings. It was all too much,
too fast, in her mind.
I’m far too much of a mess to get involved with him
.
That was one thing Abby was sure of.

Craig
hung up the phone with a sharp jab of his finger. He had called so many times,
Abby's phone number was the only one showing up on the list of recent outgoing
calls. He was more than frustrated - they had shared such an intimate moment,
and now she would not answer the phone.

"I
guess that's how they do things, in Philadelphia," he said under his
breath as he tossed the phone onto the kitchen table. He grabbed his jacket and
stormed out into the backyard to chop firewood that didn’t need to be chopped.
After Rachel died, he chopped firewood for the whole town, enough to last two
winters. When Chloe saw him storm out the back door, she knew what he was going
to do, and it left her disappointed. For the first time in a long time, she had
seen her father's eyes glowing with happiness. She was sure it was because of
Abby.

Chloe
smiled a little as she realized how much he must like Abby. She liked Abby too.
As she sat down at the kitchen table, she began to devise a simple plan and
thought of Paul.
Surely Paul would know what could be done, what would work?
She looked out the window and saw Paul’s car coming slowly up the street; he
patrolled it about this time every day. Chloe jumped up from the table, grabbed
a sheet of her favorite pink paper, then set out to fetch Paul.

By
the time Craig came back inside, the house was empty but he could hear Chloe
chatting with Paul on the porch. He sighed as he looked around the house
.
It sure could use a woman’s touch
. He missed
having the company of his wife, but for the very first time since her death, he
missed the company of another woman. He missed Abby.

* * *

Abby
slept a fitful sleep. Unwisely, she’d refused the shrink’s medications, and
night after night, the dreams came. Others would call them nightmares. The
intervals with her eyes closed couldn’t exactly be called sleep; it was more
like she succumbed to wave after wave of explosive emotion. Exhausted, she was
powerless to resist a parade of bad memories. Her mind drifted into a vague
semi-conscious sleep state, a world between reality and another dimension. This
setting replayed often. Abby was back in her Philadelphia office. She was
sitting across from an empty chair, speaking to it, as if someone were
occupying the seat.

“Don’t
do it, Bill. It’s wrong,” she said sternly. “You’re not a murderer; you’re a
soldier. What you were obligated to do should not change the essence of who you
are, deep inside. Remember your desire to protect and serve. It is honorable...
”

“Honorable?” Bill said, his voice echoing from the walls behind her. “What’s so
honorable about killing? People think I’m a hero. Not true. I’m a butcher. ” As
Abby spun around to face the specter, she struggled to redirect his words, to
reframe his experience through what her other patients had shared. The only
words she could utter came out unintelligible; she was babbling. Then Bill
stated, “I’ll show them what I really am, what they made me into.”
Suddenly her words were drowned out
by the
sound of sirens. The perspective and setting changed, morphing into a new
scene. Abby was no longer sitting in her office. She was now standing in front
of a skyscraper in the middle of Philadelphia, a bank building. Mayhem.

At
day’s end, fifty-four people would be dead, including Bill. But he’d never know
the death toll. He would never know about the child who had just left the
dentist's office after having his braces taken off. He would never know about
the pregnant executive, who had been crushed in the collapse, or the nation praying
her baby would survive, prayers that were left unanswered. He would never know
all of the lives affected by that single act. He would never know their pain.
His pain ended the moment he pushed that button. But it was only the beginning
of Abby’s. She would come to know every single face, every single story.

“Why?”
they asked. “If this man was in the care of a competent psychologist, why did
this happen?” Abby asked herself those same questions. She hid herself away in
her apartment and tried to ignore her phone’s incessant ringing. In the
firestorm of a media circus that ensued, everyone wanted an interview with her
- the woman who had reportedly told Bill it was “normal” for him to have
fantasies of killing and mass destruction, post deployment. She had no clue as
to how secured files and her treatment records were being leaked to the press.

Abby
knew most of her colleagues would have treated Bill the same way she had, but
they didn’t come forward to support her. Instead, they crucified her publicly,
anywhere they could find an outlet. She became the sacrificial lamb for
America’s pain, guilt and embarrassment, and she accepted the role as
scapegoat. Abby believed she had failed that poor young soldier - a man who had
been angry, confused and traumatized by the actions he, and others, had been
forced to take. She believed she had given him permission to commit a
horrendous act, an act which destroyed many lives. In his suicide note, Bill
had said, “Perhaps society might be spared the impact of war if only the guilty
suffered the consequences.”

* * *

Abby
awoke from the nightmare wild-eyed, covered in sweat. She was disoriented.
Nothing looked familiar.
Where am I?
Her eyes darted around. She felt
like she was hiding out, but this wasn’t her apartment.
Where am I?
She
sat up, clenching the sheets, trying to muffle her breathing while she listened
for reporters. Her heart raced and she felt on edge. She felt panicked.
Breathe.
Breathe!
Then it slowly dawned on her where she was. A sense of relief washed
over her, followed by a sickening realization.
I can’t do this anymore. I
just can’t.
Abby decided she could not go on like this, night after night.
If she were to ever move on with her life, she needed to face her accusers,
their hatred and their judgment. It made no sense she continue to hide out, to
keep running. She made a decision: it was time for her to leave Winchester Bay.

* * *

Abby
tucked her last cable knit sweater into her suitcase and sighed as she glanced
around the small space. It had become home to her; she was not eager to leave
it. A lot of what Craig said made sense. She needed to go back to Philadelphia,
with her head held high, and confront the people who believed such terrible
things about her.

She
rationalized her leaving had nothing to do with Craig's confessing his feelings
for her. But, just thinking about it, and the memory of his lips on hers, was
enough to make her want to run away. It wasn’t that she did not feel the same
way about him. She did. She felt very strongly for him and believed she didn’t
deserve him. The therapist in her kept chiming in, warning her she was in no
shape to commit in any way, and she agreed.
That made the decision to head back to Philadelphia a rather simple one.
Elementary,
indeed
. Abby wouldn’t have to face her feelings about Craig, and, if she
were gone, he would realize he did not feel as strongly for her as he thought.
Yes,
I’ll go.
She smiled to herself, in
satisfaction, confident she was right to leave. Zipping her suitcase shut, she opened
the door of the cabin and stepped out. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep
lung full of the cool morning air.
Boy, will I miss this place
.
Breathing out slowly, she savored the moment, and slowly opened her eyes. Abby
was about to step off of the boat when something caught her eye. She saw a
shiny pink note taped to the cabin door. Abby smiled when she saw the childish
squiggles. It was a note from Chloe. 

Abby,

Please
join us for a picnic at Umpqua Lighthouse at 4
o’clock.
It is a special picnic and you have to come.
Please come.

Love,

Chloe

Abby
stared at the note for a long moment, pondering what to do. The perfect
spelling was almost as adorable as the abundance of hearts and flowers she had
drawn in the margins. Clearly Chloe had put a great deal of effort into the
missive.

She
didn't think it was a good idea to encourage Chloe but, at the same time, she
didn't have the heart to disappoint her. She hadn’t purchased her ticket home
yet, so she had some time.
What would it hurt to leave a few hours later?
Resolute she would still leave, she decided to go
and enjoy the picnic. Craig deserved a “goodbye” and a “thank you”
for all he had done for her. She wanted to be honest
with him, and let him know it was not the right time for them to get involved
in a serious relationship.
Yes... I’ll tell him.

Delighted
with her decision, Abby put her suitcase back inside the cabin. She was excited
at the idea of seeing Craig one last time and left the boat, walking in the
direction of the lighthouse, south through several parks that were strung
together buffering the shoreline from the highway that ran along the coast. She
had been gazing at it for days, finding its simple beauty very alluring - the
red, green and white colors contrasting with the mid-morning sky. Since the
picnic was scheduled for late afternoon, she had plenty of time to explore the
area first. Abby hadn’t had a chance to see the lighthouse up close.

As
she was walking, a patrol car pulled up next to her. It was Paul, the sheriff
who had given her his card after Craig spoke to him about protecting her. He
drove slowly along the graveled park road, keeping pace with her steps. Taking
the not-so-subtle hint, she turned to look at him.

"Everything
alright today, Abby?" he asked. "Anyone giving you any trouble?"

Abby
managed a smile and shook her head. "Everything’s fine," she replied.

"Are
you sure?" he asked, meeting her gaze pointedly. "I got word you were
heading out."

"Word?"
Abby asked suspiciously. She wondered how he could possibly know she planned to
leave.

"Yes.
When you notify the marina a boat will be vacant, they notify me. It’s so I
know which boats are empty and which are occupied," he calmly explained.

Abby
nodded slowly as his words began to make sense to her. She had called the owner
of the marina earlier that day to make sure her uncle's boat would be taken
care of and maintained after she left.

"So,
you
are
leaving?" His good nature meant she was willing to overlook
how nosy he was being.

"Tonight,"
Abby confessed and grimaced when Paul's face grew serious.

"Did
something happen to make you uncomfortable here?' he asked.

"No,
not at all," Abby replied with a slow shake of her head. "I’ve
decided it's time I face the people back home. The ones who think I have
something to hide."

Paul
chuckled as he leaned back in his seat. "I don't know, Abby. Seems to me,
people like that shouldn't be worth your time, or a plane ticket." He
shrugged and started the engine on the car. "Just so you know, you're
always welcome here." He gave her a short wave and drove away.
Abby stared after him. His words struck her as she watched his car disappear
down the road.
Maybe he is right. What do any of those people back in Philly
matter to me, anyway?
The truth was Abby didn’t like any of them. She had
no interest in defending herself.
So why am I going back?
She was still
absorbed in thought, contemplating it, when she reached the lighthouse.

* * *