Paper Hearts (25 page)

“A
BIGAIL, WE ARE ALL
just sick over what’s happening to your store. How are you doing?”

Celeste Dixon was an old high school classmate, and Abigail was surprised to hear from her. She hadn’t even seen the woman in over a year. But Celeste worked for the local cable channel, so Abigail didn’t have to stretch too far to imagine what she was calling about.

“I’m fine, Celeste,” she lied.

“Did you see the story on the news tonight? It’s all anyone was talking about at work.”

“I heard about it.” And heard about it. And heard about it. It seemed everyone in town was intent on talking about how Kelly the barracuda and Jacob the puppet master were throwing her out. Clearly there was not much actual news happening these days.

“I was just wondering what you thought of the whole situation.”

“I think it stinks, Celeste,” Abigail said, unable, for once, to resist a listening ear. “It stinks that just because someone has
money, they can come in here and buy up our buildings and turn them into whatever they want. And it stinks that people who’ve lived here their whole lives end up paying the price.”

“It does seem unfair.”

“The worst part is the doctor sends that woman to do all his dirty work. He doesn’t even have the decency to fight his battles himself. Sure, he can save lives and everything, but all I’ve seen is him ruining mine.”

She closed her eyes and the image of Jacob standing in front of her, brushing her hair behind her ear, popped into her head. Why did he think it was okay to send such mixed signals? Was he dense or just cruel?

Celeste was quiet for a moment, and then Abigail heard a click.

“Celeste?”

“Yes, sorry, Abigail. I just want you to know that I’m really hoping this works out for you. I would hate to see your store go out of business.”

It wasn’t until the next day’s five o’clock evening news on Loves Park’s tiny television station that Abigail realized the click she’d heard was Celeste turning off whatever recording device she had on. Abigail watched in horror as her angry words played on the television over B-roll of Jacob walking into the mercantile as Kelly stood outside, waving her arms toward the building as if deciding on signage or some other nonsense. They were painting Jacob as the good guy and Abigail as the angry, bitter one.

“She recorded me?” Abigail threw her pillow at the TV. It had been obvious to her that their conversation was off the record. Or so she thought.

The wicked witch’s theme rang out from her cell phone. Abigail picked it up. “Not now, Mom.”

Before she hung up, she heard Teensy say something about letting that wretched business go once and for all, but she silenced her and turned the phone off for the night. She awoke the next
morning to several voice messages and a congratulatory “phone note,” as Doris would say, from Ursula.

Way to fight, Pressman. Proud of you.

Another text, this one from Betsy, simply read,
You okay?

Abigail stared at the text. She suddenly missed her sister. She wanted to pick up the phone and call her, but she knew Betsy didn’t have time for Abigail’s drama
 
—not when her wedding approached so quickly.

Abigail texted back a quick
I’m okay. You?
And left it alone.

She had half a mind to call Celeste and demand the woman apologize to her for recording her without her knowledge, but what good would that do? She should’ve assumed something was up. Why else would Celeste call her? Certainly not out of concern for Abigail.

She sighed. She was tired. Worrying about the store had worn her out. Worrying about her life had worn her out. By Sunday afternoon, she’d had about all the self-pity she could handle. Her favorite flea market was located ten miles out of town, and she’d made up her mind that regardless of the fact that she had no reason to acquire vintage furniture for her store, she did still love a good find. She was going whether she felt like it or not.

This Colorado winter day was surprisingly mild, and she didn’t need anything more than the hoodie over her skinny jeans and boots. She pulled her hair up into a loose bun, dabbed on some lip gloss, and called it done. She never saw anyone she knew at these things anyway.

As she drove, the mountains in front of her, her mind spun with the countless ways her life was falling apart. She’d racked her brain trying to figure out what she’d do next, now that losing the store was, in fact, a reality. Worse, she couldn’t stop replaying the harsh tone of her voice when she talked about Jacob and Kelly in that recording. She’d been so hateful. So much for taking the high road.

“I’m so sorry.” Her whispered prayer cut the silence in her car. She’d acted badly and she regretted it, no matter how angry she was at Jacob. “I don’t want to be angry and bitter, even though everything feels so unfair right now.”

The truth was, the idea of losing her store terrified her. She’d have to finally answer the question she avoided every time she considered her future.

What do you really want, Abigail?

The question had appeared off and on over the past couple of years like a relentless mosquito intent on eating its fill. She shooed it away, but it continued to nag her.

What did she really want? What should she really want?

Before she could answer, the sign for the flea market appeared up ahead. Thankful for the distraction, she pulled into a makeshift parking space, slung her bag across her chest, and tugged on a pair of gloves.

It wasn’t cold enough for a heavy coat, but the crisp air still bit her bare skin.

She walked toward the entrance, paid her admission fee, and started browsing. She usually came to the flea market with some sort of plan, but not today. Today, the only thing on her agenda was getting lost and forgetting her woes.

Abigail stopped by the small café at the center of the market first and ordered the largest cup of coffee they had. She doctored it up with the necessary amounts of cream and sweetener, stirred, and decided even this oversize cup likely wouldn’t be enough to sustain her. Not today.

Back outside, the market had just started to get busy. People had already begun haggling for the best prices on antique furniture
 
—chipped wood and naturally distressed, just the way she liked it. Furniture renovations allowed her to turn her brain off for a few hours and create something beautiful. She could use a new project about now.

Mel Dandy’s booth was tucked away in the corner, which made it something of a lost treasure, one that no one seemed to notice. But Abigail always made a point of going to Mel’s first. The man was a bit too talkative, but he had the best stuff.

She made a beeline for the booth, but when she arrived, she found herself face-to-face with the last people she wanted
 
—or expected
 
—to see here. Kelly and Jacob. Together. If she didn’t know better, she’d have assumed they were a couple.

But then, maybe she didn’t know better. And what difference did it make anyway? They’d set out to ruin her life and they’d succeeded. But the fact that they were at
her
flea market made her blood boil. At least Jacob had the decency to look as shocked as she felt.

“Abigail,” Kelly said. She motioned to an old buffet. “Tell Jacob he has to get this for the practice. It’s a great find, don’t you think?”

Abigail frowned. Was she serious? Wasn’t she the same person who’d told Abigail to stay away from Jacob? “It’s, uh, nice,” she muttered, wishing she’d never gotten out of bed that morning.

Mel stood, hiking up his overalls as he did. “Nice?” He gave her a once-over. “It’s better than nice, Pressman. This is quality. They don’t make ’em like this anymore. Seven hundred is a steal and you know it. Tell her.”

Abigail studied Mel, who was in full salesman mode. He wouldn’t bother trying anything on Abigail because she’d see straight through his spiel, but who was she to stand in the way of him working one over on Kelly? Maybe the woman would nickel-and-dime Jacob out of the rest of his money and he’d fire her.

“Only seven hundred?” Abigail widened her eyes, then looked at Kelly. “That is quite a steal. Actually, I might want it for myself.”

Kelly tossed her hair over her shoulder like she always did. How annoying.

“Oh? Did you find a new space for your store already?”

Abigail liked this woman less and less.

“What’s wrong with the place you’re in now?” Mel obviously didn’t watch the news.

Abigail glanced at Jacob, who dropped his eyes. Had he replayed that fleeting moment in his kitchen as many times as she had? Had he wondered what would’ve happened if Kate hadn’t interrupted them? She shoved the thoughts aside.

“Didn’t you hear? Dr. Willoughby here is opening up a new medical practice and he needs the whole building, including the space where my
little
store is.”

Mel frowned, turning to Jacob. “So you’re kicking her out?”

Kelly ignored him. “Jacob, I think we need to get this. We’ll put it along the side wall when patients first walk in. That’s where the receptionist will be, and we want to make it homey. Once we get rid of that dreadful counter.” She touched his arm. “You said you didn’t want it to look or feel like a hospital or clinic. This will really help. I think it’s perfect for a display of all your literature.”

Abigail forced herself not to stare at Kelly’s hand on Jacob’s bicep.

“Seems like an awfully big expense for something to set business cards on,” Jacob said, moving away from Kelly’s wandering hands.

Kelly laughed, looked at Mel, and nodded. “We’ll take it.”

Jacob glanced at Abigail, who decided he was miserable. He looked away.

Kelly paid Mel, who gave her a ticket with instructions on how and when to pick up her new piece
 
—a piece that could desperately use Abigail’s touch if she did say so herself. He marked the buffet with a red Sold tag and thanked Kelly for her patronage.

Kelly tucked the receipt in her purse and breezed past Abigail, linked her arm through Jacob’s, and tossed a thoughtless good-bye over her shoulder.

Jacob shoved his hands into his pockets and followed his so-
called business manager to the next booth, leaving Abigail alone with her devastation.

“Thanks for backing me up there, Abs,” Mel said.

She smiled. He was about the only person in the world she’d allow to call her that. “You know I wouldn’t have paid a dime over three hundred for that.”

He winked at her. “Like I said. Thanks.”

While Abigail didn’t feel at all like shopping anymore, she plodded on, and by late afternoon, she’d purchased a small table and two old pieces of artwork she’d likely hang in her guest room. Not surprisingly, her retail therapy had done little to soothe her weary mind.

Back in the café, she ordered a sandwich and sat down with her journal, content to let her mind wander while she refueled before heading to the other side of the market. There were only a few more booths worth seeing, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave without at least perusing the goods.

She’d assumed Jacob and Kelly had grown tired of the flea market scene by now, so when he walked in and got in line at the counter, Abigail was surprised. She took a moment to study him. He looked like he might’ve been an athlete. Not a football player, maybe a swimmer. Or a baseball player. Or a golfer. Didn’t all doctors play golf?

He stood in the line, studying the menu board. She considered telling him to avoid the tuna fish but decided to let Kelly worry about his food selections. No sense butting in.

Still, in spite of everything, she couldn’t shake the image of the man she’d seen at the hospital. So desperate and worried. She had the distinct impression that a part of Jacob had gone on autopilot and there was much about his life right now that wasn’t his own.

How was it possible for her to feel so sorry for a person and so angry with him at the same time?

He must’ve felt her watching him from a distance like the
creeper she was, because he turned and caught her eyes just before the woman in front of him moved, making way for him to order. The eye lock took her so off guard that she held on to it for far too many seconds. By the time she tore her gaze from his, it was too late. He ordered, paid, and walked straight toward her.