These Girls (36 page)

Renee caught her breath. “Do you want to?”

Abby hesitated, then nodded.

A movement in the doorway attracted their attention. Cate was standing there, holding a tray with three mugs. “I couldn’t help overhearing. . . . Do you guys want to be alone?”

Abby shifted on the bed, patting the space next to her. She waited until Cate had sat down; then she took a deep breath.

“The first time I saw Annabelle,” she began, “her hand closed around my index finger and she held on so tight. . . . I think I fell in love with her in that very moment . . .”

Twenty-seven

CATE PUT DOWN HER
blue editing pencil as she read the last of the dozen pages she was holding. At times it was difficult to read the essay—to glimpse the pain hidden behind a familiar smile. The piece was raw and powerful and frightening, because it was the story of an ordinary girl who’d slipped into an extraordinary situation. It could happen to anyone.

And it would sure shake up Cate’s first issue of the magazine.

But maybe, if she hadn’t been so focused on the issue, she would’ve noticed what was going on with Renee, she thought. So many things made sense now: the way Renee had been unable to sit still the night Trey came for dinner, her rapidly shrinking body . . . Cate frowned. She hadn’t realized it before, but Renee hadn’t been cooking as much lately. And she never left any dirty dishes in the sink. Cate was supposed to be a journalist, but she’d missed all the evidence.

Trey had come back in the middle of their talk, but he’d glimpsed their faces and quickly left again, claiming he’d forgotten he had a phone interview. Cate was glad he’d given them privacy. Although she knew Abby was grappling with something painful, she had no idea how huge it was. She’d had to
take several deep breaths to compose herself before she could say a word, but then she saw Renee wasn’t trying to hide her own tears.

“I’m so sorry, Abby . . . but you didn’t do anything wrong,” Cate said while Renee nodded. “Your parents did, but you didn’t.”

They’d talked for hours, and when the sky grew dark outside Renee’s bedroom window, they’d ordered a pizza for dinner. Cate had watched Renee take a few careful bites of her cheese-and-mushroom. “I’d almost forgotten how good this stuff tastes,” Renee had said, twisting her lips into a sad half smile.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice what was going on,” Cate had said for the dozenth time. “I just wish . . .” She couldn’t help feeling as if she’d failed Renee. “Do you think it’ll be hard for you to stop taking the pills?”

Renee had shrugged. “I think the hardest part will be watching the weight come back on. I knew this would only be a temporary fix, but I kept thinking I wouldn’t get the job unless I looked good. Thin.”

She’d given a little laugh. “Of course, who knows what Nigel is thinking now. I can’t imagine practically fainting in his lunch is going to help. If that was the case, Diane would’ve been swan-diving into his sandwiches every day.”

“Renee? Why do you want the job so badly?” Cate had asked quietly.

“Seriously? The money, for one.”

“Is it worth it?” Cate had asked.

Renee had shrugged. “My Visa bill could argue pretty persuasively that it is.”

That was hard to dispute; they’d all been quiet for a moment. Then an idea had struck Cate. “You should only do this if
you really want to,” she’d begun, choosing her words carefully. “But would you consider writing the story of what happened to you?”

“You don’t think it’ll be too embarrassing?” Renee had asked. “God, when I think about it . . .”

Abby had spoken up. “Not at all. I think it would be . . . really good.”

“If you want to do it, I’ll help,” Cate had said.

Renee had nodded, her eyes growing thoughtful, and Cate had hidden a smile. She’d seen that look in the eyes of other writers—it meant they were already starting to shape and hone the piece in their minds.

Now Cate finished reading the last line of the article Renee had been immersed in for the past few days, and she stacked the pages together, slowly aligning their edges, then put them back down on her desk. She thought about the courage it had taken for Renee to write her story, to risk more anonymous Internet attacks so that she could help other women.

Her hand, almost of its own accord, reached for her computer mouse, and she opened a search engine.
Ohio State University Admissions Department,
she typed. She clicked on the name of the admissions director, and an e-mail form appeared. She took a breath, then began to write. I’m a former student who left during my senior year, and I’d like to speak to someone to see if I can complete the courses I need for graduation . . .

It might not work. But maybe she could take online classes, or attend them at a college in New York and transfer the credits, she thought as she completed the e-mail and hit Send. She could try.

She reached for Renee’s story again and stood up, walking toward Nigel’s office. “Here it is,” she said, handing it to him.

He reached for it and put on his reading glasses. “If it’s any
good, this issue could be amazing. Trey’s story is bloody fantastic. And now people can go back to Renee’s old blogs and see what happened—some of them unknowingly followed this in real time. They’re going to eat up reading the behind-the-scenes stuff. The photos are great, too. The before and after shots she posted on Facebook . . .”

Cate just looked at him. She should have known better than to expect that he’d be worried about Renee. It was just another story to him—a way to sell a few more subscriptions. At least she’d secured a good fee for Renee for writing the piece—she’d demanded that her friend get the same payment as an outside freelance writer.

“So is it good?” he asked.

“It’s better than the polygamy story,” she said. She put a hand on the page he was already reading, forcing Nigel to look up at her. “I want to run it instead.”

Then she left his office.

Abby stood by the front door, steadying herself by leaning against the wall as she waited. The doorman had already alerted her that her visitor was on her way upstairs.

At first when she’d listened to Joanna’s message on her cell phone, her heart had plummeted. Joanna had wanted to come to New York—not for a business trip or on vacation, but to see Abby. “We need to talk,” she’d said in her usual brusque way. “Call me as soon as you get this.”

There was nothing Abby wanted to do less, but in an odd way, she respected Joanna for confronting the situation head-on. Still, when she’d phoned Joanna back, she’d asked that they meet in the privacy of Trey’s apartment rather than at a coffee shop like Joanna had suggested. Trey had offered to put off
his business trip to Montana to be here, but she’d insisted she could handle it alone.

“I need to do it,” she’d said.

“You’re not scared?”

“Of Joanna?” Abby had hesitated. “I’m not scared she’ll hit me or anything, no. She’s way too controlled for that. I’m a little scared of what she’s going to say to me, but I can take it.”

He’d kissed her forehead. “I’m proud of you. Call me afterwards, okay?”

At the sound of the chime, Abby moved forward and opened the door. Joanna stood there, her face expressionless, wearing jeans and a pretty rust-colored turtleneck sweater. Abby noticed she had on more makeup than usual and her hair was just-brushed, as if she’d wanted to look her best. Joanna looked exactly the same, yet completely different—maybe because Abby was seeing her in a new light now. She wasn’t Abby’s nemesis, the person who was standing in the way of everything Abby wanted. She was just another woman. One who didn’t appreciate her family enough, and who could be bossy and difficult, but she wasn’t a monster.

“Hi,” Abby said. “Please come in.”

Joanna nodded, just a quick up and down motion, and followed Abby into the living room. Abby sat down on a chair by the window, and Joanna selected the one opposite her.

“If you’re thirsty—” Abby began.

“I’m not,” Joanna said. “Bob told me everything.”

Abby let the air out of her lungs slowly. “I figured he had,” she said.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Joanna asked. Her mouth was clenched and her posture was rigid. “I welcomed you into my house and entrusted you with my daughter, and you slept with my husband.”

The anxiety Abby had expected to feel didn’t materialize. She just felt sad, for herself and for Bob and for Annabelle. But most of all for Joanna.

“I’m sorry,” Abby said. “I know you must be furious. It was wrong. I hated myself for doing it. Please believe me.”

Joanna didn’t accept Abby’s apology, but at least she didn’t explode in anger. “I knew something was going on. I’m not stupid, Abby.”

“I never thought that,” Abby said. “And I know Bob loves you. He wasn’t going to leave you, not ever. Maybe I pretended he would and I justified it that way, but I was so wrong.”

Joanna looked at her sharply. Had she expected Abby to announce that she would fight for Bob? Maybe Joanna was so used to conflict that she thought Abby would lash out, blaming Joanna for everything that had happened.

“I was wrong,” Abby said again. “I know you can’t forgive me, but I hope you can forgive Bob.”

“We’re working on it,” Joanna said, then she stopped herself. Abby knew why: Joanna didn’t want to invite Abby inside her marriage. She’d already intruded there enough.

“What are your plans?” Joanna said. “Because obviously you no longer have a job with us.”

“I’m going to stay here, at least for a while,” Abby said. “I’ve dropped out of school for now. I’m not going back to Maryland.”

Joanna nodded, and Abby knew she’d answered an important unspoken question. “I don’t want you in our house again. We’ll ship your things here.”

“Okay,” Abby said. She could sense Joanna was about to leave, so she asked the question quickly. “How’s Annabelle?” Her throat closed, but she blinked hard. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of Joanna.

“She’s fine,” Joanna said. She looked at Abby, and her face
softened, just a fraction. “Bob cut down to part-time, at least for a while. And Annabelle’s going to start at a little day care three times a week in January.”

“Really?” Abby asked. “She is? I bet she’ll love being around other kids.”

Joanna sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “After you left I stayed home with her for a week,” she said. “I kicked Bob out when he told me what happened.”

Abby felt shame rise within her, and she was surprised by how much she wanted Joanna and Bob to stay together. Maybe Abby and Bob could have had a future together, but that door had closed a long time ago. It might never have been open at all.

“In a sick kind of way, I should thank you,” Joanna said. “It was . . . good to be with Annabelle that much, just the two of us. And Bob and I are in counseling. You were just a symptom, Abby. You were a distraction for Bob.”

Abby knew she’d been more than that—Bob had truly cared for her—but she’d never say it to Joanna. This was the story Joanna needed to be told, and Abby wouldn’t contradict it.

“You have an amazing daughter,” Abby said carefully. “It was a privilege to spend time with her.”

She couldn’t help it then; a few tears rolled down her cheeks.

Joanna looked at her for a long moment. “You took good care of her,” she finally said.

Abby’s breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t just that Joanna had given her a compliment. It was a gift so precious it bordered on grace. Abby had taken care of Annabelle. She hadn’t let anything bad happen to her. Joanna knew that Abby had protected her daughter, that Abby deserved the trust.

She thought about Annabelle, laughing as Abby pushed her in a swing, and then Bella’s face blended into the old picture of Stevie, smiling in his sailor suit.

I miss you,
Abby thought.
I miss both of you so much.

She saw herself as a little girl—just a few years older than Annabelle—trying to make her baby brother happy by showing him how a car worked. For the first time, she imagined what would have happened if Annabelle had done something like that—if she’d innocently pulled the wrong lever. Abby’s heart contracted with love and pity. She never would have blamed Bella, not ever.

It wasn’t your fault,
Trey and Renee and Cate had all told her, again and again. For the first time, Abby let herself believe them.

“I should go,” Joanna said. She stood up, and Abby did, too.

“Can you just wait one minute?” Abby asked. She ran into Trey’s room and found the stack of blue envelopes in her backpack.

“Here,” she said as she handed them to Joanna. “Please take these.”

Joanna glanced down at Annabelle’s name on the envelopes, and she frowned. “I’m not going to give these to her,” she said. “She won’t be able to read them for years, and they’d just confuse her.”

“No.” Abby shook her head. “I can’t take back what I did. But it might . . . help you to know how much I love your daughter. I thought the letters were for Annabelle, but they’re not. They’re for you.”

Joanna hesitated, then opened her purse and put the letters inside.

“Good-bye,” she said, and she walked through the door without looking back.

Abby closed the door behind her and leaned against it. She was crying hard now, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She thought about feeding Annabelle avocado and watching the baby spit it right back out, and running up the slide to catch her, and the feel of the little girl’s soft, warm hand inside Abby’s own.
I want you to have a good life,
she thought, wishing
the message through space and time, hoping it might reach Bella and stay inside of her forever.
I will always love you.

The doorbell rang again. She thought Joanna must’ve come back, maybe she’d forgotten something, but when she opened the door she saw Cate and Renee.

“Trey told us,” Renee said, and she reached out to hold Abby. “We were waiting in the lobby, and we had the doorman point her out. We came up as soon as we saw Joanna leave.”

Abby rested her head on Renee’s shoulder. “I just wanted a family,” she sobbed. “It wasn’t about Bob. I wanted the kind of family I never got when I was growing up.”