What's Left Behind (17 page)

Rob didn’t want to think about that right now.

Abby snapped her crumpled T-shirt from the pillow. She slipped it over her head. She gave a pinched growl of frustration and then yanked it off to turn the fabric inside-right. Instead, she succeeded in twisting some kind of inner bra contraption around itself. “Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing, but at least I know what I want.” Abby’s voice slurred over
want,
but her clear gaze met his, sending her zinger straight to his heart. Signed, sealed, delivered.

Had to respect a woman who could put him in his place even when sloppy drunk.

Rob lifted the twisted top from Abby’s hands, untangled the fabric, and handed it back to her. She shrugged into it and stood up. “Where do you keep your water?”

“In the fridge,” he said.

“Where?” she said.

A perfectly normal reaction, considering she was thinking he meant a six-foot-tall appliance you found in most houses and apartments, rather than the mini-fridge he’d crammed beneath his office sideboard. “Under the table against the wall.”

Abby nodded and slipped from the room, leaving behind a heady mix of lemons and frustration in her wake.

Rob had to admire Abby’s determination to have sex, even if she was too buzzed for him to trust her judgment. Had to admire Abby’s resolve to try and adopt her son’s baby, too. No matter the risk, Abby always reached for what she wanted. Even if success meant having her life stuck on rewind.

Abby leaned against the door jamb, pocketbook slung over her shoulder, sandals in hand. “Is this about Charlie? Because we haven’t been together in over two years. And even when we used to have leap-year sex, it didn’t mean anything. But if we were together, it would. It would mean a lot.”

Leap-year sex? Oh boy. Abby was going to hate herself in the morning, and not just because of her more-than-likely hangover. “It would mean a lot to me, too, Abby. That’s why I stopped.” He stroked her cheek, reminded himself not to kiss her killer kissable mouth.

“Drive me home?” she said, not an ounce of slur in her voice.

Rob nodded and stepped into his sneakers.

The sneakers he kept beside his too-short-for-his-body single mattress, in his tiny room, in the office apartment where a mini-fridge hid beneath a built-in table. Not unlike his freshman-year college dorm room.

He had the funds to rent an apartment, even buy a small house. But he’d told himself he should wait until the house in Bath sold, and he knew exactly how much money he had in the bank. Rather than risk a wrong move, he wanted to wait until his financial situation was a sure thing.

Rob left his shirt untucked and lifted his truck keys from a hook by the door. His hand slid to the small of Abby’s back. She shot him a look, a little sad and a whole lot disappointed.

Kind of like the looks he’d gotten from too-buzzed-to-consent girls he’d once walked from his dorm to theirs. Not much different than the looks he’d gotten from sober girls who’d stayed the night, only to wake up to his not-really-looking-for-a-girlfriend speech. And a close cousin to the look that had taken his ex-wife years to perfect.

Rob followed Abby into the night air, hunched his shoulders against the sudden chill. He got behind the wheel and shut the door with a
thud
.

If Abby was stuck on rewind, then why was Rob the one living like a college kid, making out with a girl in a shoe-box room, and then taking her home under a cloud of shame? Why was he, once again, uncertain what he really wanted?

He didn’t want to think about that right now.

A
bby startled awake to Sadie’s furry rump staring her in the face, her cell phone buzzing across the bedroom, and a pain that burrowed through the center of her chest. She scooted past the gray tabby, curled like a question mark on the bed’s right-side pillow, and scrambled to the dresser. The cell slipped from her hands and jounced against the dresser top. Celeste’s image and the time pierced through the mud flats of Abby’s brain.

Celeste phoning a few minutes past seven wasn’t unusual. They sometimes checked in with each other at the start of a busy workday. The fact Abby was late for the start of her morning shift?

Unusual!

A vise of pressure clamped either side of Abby’s head, and her brain leaked images from last night’s date with Rob. Guzzling drinks at the Lobster House, going back to Rob’s apartment, and unsnapping her bra. That didn’t explain why she was now back at Briar Rose and fully dressed.

Abby’s voice struggled beneath the weight of boozy slumber and came out in a loud whisper. “Hello.”

“I knew it! You’re upstairs hiding, you naughty girl,” Celeste said, mistaking hangover harried for the huskiness of morning-after-boinking. The sound of Celeste banging on the pipe that snaked from her kitchen at Sugarcoated to Rob’s apartment clanked through the phone, pinching the nerves at Abby’s temples.

If Abby had been on Skype, Celeste would’ve witnessed Abby’s blowfish breathing, her mane of curls snarled around her head, her makeup smudged gray beneath her eyes. Instead, the above-dresser mirror gifted Abby with the favor. She turned away from the image. “What in the world makes you think I’m upstairs?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A certain nice-looking man coming in for a large coffee and twice his usual blueberry muffin order, and then hightailing it out of the shop before I could get in a, ‘How’s it going?’ Rob sure looked like he had some
one
to hide. Did you call Hannah to start breakfast without you?”

Abby had long ago trained Hannah to start without her in the unlikely event she was late for her own breakfast service.

First time for everything.

“I think I’m good,” Abby said.

Abby’s mouth tasted of rum and mussels and mothballs, nudging her stomach into a lukewarm queasiness.
Drip.
Her brain leaked the image of Rob’s apartment, the walls and office furniture spinning by in a blur. Had she twirled in his desk chair?
Drip.
Had she thrown herself at Rob?
Drip.
Had Rob taken one look at her secret weapons and put them back in their pretty pink package?

After Rob had told her how he felt about a second chance at fatherhood, she should’ve clarified her feelings for him. She should’ve told him she cared for him, should’ve given him a chance to respond. Instead, she’d chased her feelings down with rum, and they’d come out in a desperate plea for physical contact. She wanted so much more from Rob.

Had she ruined everything?

The center-of-the-chest pain sharpened, as though she were having a heart attack. “Hang on a sec,” Abby told Celeste.

Abby reached beneath her T-shirt and found her bra’s hard plastic closure twisted in a knot, a sure sign Rob had refastened the clasp himself. Nothing baffled an otherwise coordinated man more than the unhooking and hooking of a woman’s brassiere. Abby unsnapped the clasp, unleashing her breasts, but the pain lingered.

“Celeste,” Abby said. “You were right, but not about me staying the night at Rob’s.” She stared at her reflection. Hung over at thirty-eight after a promising date that had degenerated into a disaster. Her eyes looked tired. Her body looked tired. Her soul felt tired. Why did she bother dating?

I don’t want to do this anymore.

Abby’s words rushed out on a sob. “I’m at home.”

Celeste shifted her tone from giddy girlfriend to Mama Bear-insistent. “Tell me,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

Abby sniffed. “You were right about the heels. Three inches was too much for me to handle. I got drunk.”

“You got drunk because you’re not used to walking in high heels?”

“That, plus the fact I’m crazy about Rob and he has no interest in being my baby daddy.” Abby understood, really she did. But that didn’t prevent her from using the same spiteful words and tone she’d chosen to let Rob know how his choice had affected her. Same as before, resentment cut both ways.

“Come again?”

“To Luke’s baby.”

“Oh,” Celeste said, and then fell silent.

Never a good sign when outspoken Celeste was at a loss for words.

“It gets worse. I think I might’ve maybe told him about having meaningless leap-year sex with Charlie.”

“Seriously?”

“No worries,” Abby said. “All I remember is I swigged a few drinks, went back to his place, made myself at home, and started taking off my clothes. But I think I told him about the Charlie thing
after?
”

All she knew was Rob had picked up a supposedly mature woman from Briar Rose and by the time they’d returned, she’d morphed into a drunk-on-her-butt girl. Would the real Abby Stone please stand up? Above her head, the pressed-tin ceiling rotated counterclockwise. She steadied herself against the dresser, swallowed down a swell of queasiness.

“Oh my God, Abby. You didn’t sleep with him, did you? If Rob laid one hand on you while you were drunk, I will personally cut off more than his supply of blueberry muffins!”

Clear-eyed boinking between consenting adults was one thing, sex when one party was faced was quite another. Abby laughed, and the pain in her head crescendoed. “Hush, Mama Bear. Despite my best efforts to disrobe, he made me put my clothes back on.”

Memory dripped in a sticky, disjointed stream. Abby kissing the tiny star-shaped scar by Rob’s right eye. Rob nibbling her neck. Abby stroking his erection. She slapped a hand over her eyes, shook her head at no one. Had they really made out on a mattress on the floor in a dorm-small room? And why was she picturing a dorm fridge?

At dinner, she’d told Rob about long-ago summer boys who’d been put off when they’d discovered she was a teenage mother. She hadn’t told him about the boys of summer she’d thrown herself at anyway. She’d reasoned no-strings sex was better than nothing at all. Hadn’t believed it then, didn’t believe it now. Would she ever learn?

She wanted to climb back into bed, pull the sheets over her head, and sleep through the day. She wanted to wake up and realize last night’s fiasco had been a bad dream, born of nothing more than heat, humidity, and late-night snacking. She wanted another chance.

“I told you Rob was a gentleman,” Celeste said.

“Excuse me?” Abby said. “That’s what
I
told
you
.”

“Gotta go! I have a customer. This conversation is to be continued later.” Celeste cut off their connection, getting in the last word.

Abby’s breath fogged the cell’s screen. She drew a heart with her fingertip and then wiped the slate clean. Gentleman or not, Rob couldn’t have enjoyed hearing about Charlie. No man wanted to hear about a woman’s ex-lover, especially when the ex would always be a part of her life.

Before last night’s dinner, she’d thought Rob was becoming part of her life, too.

She’d daydreamed Rob and Abby into the future, imagined leading Rob on a summertime hike over Morse Mountain to the deafening surf of Seawall Beach. She’d looked forward to walking hand in hand with Rob through low tide at Popham, and then letting high tide strand them on the rocks of the Fox Island tombolo. She’d fantasized walking beside Rob and following the path of her completed labyrinth, for many seasons to come.

She’d lost her mind.

In reality, Abby had a bed-and-breakfast to run. Her job as an innkeeper? To set the stage and make her
guests’
fantasies come true. She rubbed her thumb against her forefinger, corralled her fantasies, and got to work.

Seven minutes later, Abby stood in the kitchen with her wet hair wrangled into a ponytail. Light filtered in from the shaded side of the house, nothing compared to the ocean-reflected assault from the dining room. Squinting, she poured batter onto the Belgian waffle iron, added fruit salad to two more plates, directed Hannah to take the plates to her waiting guests, and reminded herself to give Hannah a raise.

Abby inhaled the batter’s malt aroma. Her empty stomach complained, but she knew better than to listen to a request for anything sweet. Her hunger could wait. She’d washed the worst of the sour taste from last night’s date from her mouth, skin, and hair. Two ibuprofens were bathing her brain. A steaming mug of coffee was bringing her the rest of the way home. All in all, she was in pretty good shape.

“Rough night last night?”

Abby whipped around to find Tessa, fresh-faced, bright-eyed, carrying dirty plates past Hannah to the sink, and obliterating Abby’s delusion she’d applied more than enough under-eye concealer. To Tessa’s credit, as promised, she’d shown up to help with breakfast every day this week.

Abby held a hand to her cheek. “That bad?”

Tessa’s mouth formed a panicked O, and then her gaze narrowed. She shook her head. “No . . . It’s just Hannah said you’ve never been late for breakfast before and I—” Tessa’s gaze softened, as though she were listening to a beautiful song. She dashed across the room, grabbed Abby’s hand, and dragged her into the pantry.

“What?” Abby said, laughing. “What is it?”

Tessa held Abby’s hand to the swell of her belly. Abby’s heart kicked her in the ribs and her grandbaby moved beneath her palm. A foot, an elbow, a bum? Didn’t matter. One touch drove the connection straight to Abby’s heart. Sure as her name was Abigail Pearl Stone, she would’ve gladly died to protect the tiny person growing inside Tessa.

Oh, Tessa, what have you done?

A memory bubble popped, offering up long-buried memories of Luke as a newborn. Luke’s skinny, pale arms twitching in a startled response. His head turned to the side in that fencing position. His tiny chin quivering with dimples.Tears leaked onto her cheeks. She brushed them away with her free hand.

Tessa nodded, and she took on the shrill tone of girly gossip. “Did you talk to Charlie yet?”

“Since last night?” The baby’s movement tickled Abby’s palm, but she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare ruin this perfect moment.

Tessa grabbed Abby’s free hand and brought it to the opposite side of her belly. The baby tickled that palm, too. “Charlie told me he’d call you in the morning,” Tessa said, and her voice went singsong. “He wants to take you out this afternoon. He wouldn’t say where. But you’re supposed to dress for a hike and bring your appetite.” She shrugged, as if the thought tickled. “Sounds romantic to me.”

“Charlie and I are just friends.”

“Are you sure? Because the way Charlie tells it, I think he’s still in love with you. I think he’s got it bad.”

Love for Luke’s baby surged through Abby’s hands to her heart, but déjà vu enveloped her. Whenever she’d told Luke she and Charlie were just friends, he hadn’t believed her either.

Abby would’ve had to have been deaf, dumb, and blind not to have realized that she and Charlie had disappointed Luke after their relationship’s last failure. But that hadn’t given Luke the right to talk to her like one of his buddies. That hadn’t given him the right to have pointed out that for two people who supposedly didn’t work as a couple, Abby and Charlie sure sounded like they worked great together at night.

That hadn’t given Abby the right to refuse to talk to Luke about her relationship with his father.

Abby’s belly hummed, as though her grandbaby were inside her womb. For a panicked second she thought she was having a hysterical pregnancy. Then, throat palpitating, she took her hands from Tessa’s belly and fished her buzzing cell from the pocket of her half apron.

Charlie.

Had Tessa somehow instigated Charlie’s phone call? Abby angled Tessa a sideways glance, and then turned toward the spice rack, breathed in cinnamon and nutmeg. “Hi, Charlie.”

“Hello, beautiful.”

Abby glanced over her shoulder, but Tessa hadn’t taken the hint to give her privacy. Instead, Tessa’s eyes gleamed in the low light. She leaned against the cereal shelf, one hand cradling her belly.

“Sorry, sir,” Abby said. “You must’ve misdialed.”

Charlie laughed, real and honest and from the heart. Abby grinned. She’d always loved making him laugh. “To what do I owe the honor?”
What gives?
toyed with her tongue.

“I’d like to take you on an adventure this afternoon, if you’re up for it?”

“What did you have in mind?” Abby asked Charlie, and her gaze wandered to Tessa. Why was she so invested in her and Charlie?

Tessa nodded and rubbed her belly.

The memory of touching Luke’s newborn skin blazed before Abby’s eyes. Her face prickled with heat, and she fanned herself with a flatbread. Would she get to hold Luke’s child and trace the length of his or her spine with her fingertips, or would Tessa steal that joy from her? Was Tessa unaware of the way her actions were impacting Abby? Was she completely aware?

Would the real Tessa Lombardi please stand up?

“A late picnic,” Charlie said, and he sounded slightly breathless.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

A chill ran up the back of Abby’s neck, the kind you get moments before a thrill, or seconds before a disaster. “How would I prepare for said picnic?”

“Wear said hiking boots and bring a towel.”

“Anything else? How about a bathing suit?”

Charlie’s tone went from breezy to hushed, adding a layer of intimacy. “Totally up to you. Bathing suit’s optional.”

The smell of baked-to-a-perfect-crisp waffles hit Abby’s nose, and her eyes widened.
Waffles,
she mouthed to Tessa.

Tessa made an exaggerated grimace. On her way out of the pantry, her baby belly brushed the back of Abby’s hand, sending a sad ache to her throat.

Abby touched two fingertips to her pulse. “Let’s see. An afternoon picnic spot. A hike to the dining area. Bathing suit’s optional.” Abby knew of a couple of places that fit that description, but only one she’d been to with Charlie. Only one held meaning for both of them.