Woman in Black (51 page)

“You're not alone. You have me.”

Abigail gave her a dubious look. But when Lila put an arm around her, she didn't pull away. They sat that way for the longest time, joined in a silent solidarity, breathing in the smoke their hair and clothing were steeped in. When at last they drew apart, both women's eyes were wet.

“There's just one thing,” Lila said.

“What's that?”

“I may not be around so much now that I'm out of a job.”

Abigail blinked at her in confusion. Clearly, it had been the last thing on her mind, as it had been for Lila until just now. But the plain fact was that without a house, there was no need for a housekeeper.

“Are you sure you even want to go on working for me?” Abigail said when the ramifications of their situation sank in. “I can be a real bitch at times. Not to mention demanding.”

Lila gave a dry laugh. “I won't argue that.”

“Well, don't worry about it. We'll figure something out.”

They were silent for a moment, staring out at the courtyard below, then Lila remembered to ask, “The woman who rescued Phoebe. How did she even happen to be there? You still haven't told me.”

“It's a long story.” Abigail hesitated before continuing. “It started when my factory burned down last year. One of the workers died in that fire, a nineteen-year-old girl named Milagros Sánchez.” Lila must have looked surprised, for she added, “If you didn't hear about it, it's because I pay a fortune to keep things like that out of the press. Which I've managed to do a pretty good job of until now.” Her mouth twisted in an ironic smile, and Lila knew that she was referring to her divorce, the news of which even her team of highly paid publicists hadn't been able to keep under wraps—it had been all over the tabloids. “Well, the woman who saved Phoebe's life tonight is the mother of that girl.”

Lila struggled to make sense of it. “That still doesn't explain what she was doing there.”

“She'd come by the house earlier. She was waiting for me when I got home from work tonight.”

“Why? Do you know her?”

Abigail shook her head. “We'd never even met.”

“So what happened?”

“I tried to tell her how sorry I was. I even offered her money, but she refused to take it. She said that wasn't why she'd come all this way to see me.”

“What did she want, then?”

“To have me look into her face and see the suffering I'd caused. That's what she told me, in so many words. Her English isn't very good, but she managed to get her message across.” Abigail stared sightlessly ahead, looking deeply distraught. “And she's right. I
am
responsible, in a way. That's what makes it damn complicated.”

“I don't understand.” Lila frowned in confusion. “How is it your fault?”

“It was an accident that never should've happened. You see, I was in such a rush to beef up production, I wasn't as vigilant about safety measures as I should've been. And now someone's dead because of it.” She turned toward Lila, wearing a look of self-recrimination; Abigail didn't need anyone to condemn her—she was doing a thorough job of it herself. “So I guess I only got what I deserved. What goes around comes around, right?”

“Are you saying this woman might have had something to do with tonight's fire?” Lila was shocked to think that the blaze might have been intentionally set.

Abigail shrugged. “Who knows? Does it really matter, in the end? The important thing is, she was there when it counted. She risked her life. If she hadn't, Phoebe would never have made it out of there alive.” She shuddered at the thought, crossing her arms over her chest.

“If she
did
set the fire, she couldn't have known that Phoebe and Neal were in the house.”

“No, and I have no proof that she had anything to do with it. She may not be guilty of anything more than trespassing. Oh, I admit I had my suspicions at first. Who wouldn't? She'd all but accused me of being the archangel of death. You should've been there—it was quite the scene.” A tremor passed through Abigail as she recounted the incident. “But it could be that she only came back to get the last word. Or maybe she'd decided to take the money after all. Either way, her timing couldn't have been more perfect.”

“What will happen to her once she gets released?”

“She'll probably be deported unless I can pull a few strings. I know someone in the State Department. I'll see what I can do.” Abigail's old determination surfaced briefly. “That is, if she even
wants
to stay in this country. God only knows what it took for her to get here, and I didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat.”

“It's not too late.”

“Don't worry, I have every intention of making it up to her. Even if she does hate me.”

From the way she spoke, Lila doubted that anyone could hate Abigail as much as she hated herself right now. She touched Abigail's arm. “You're not a bad person, Abby. Don't think that.”

Abigail gave a bitter laugh. “No? What am I, then?”

“You're human, like the rest of us.”

Abigail managed a small smile. Gone was the Abigail who used to pace in front of the door, cursing, when her driver was late picking her up for work, the Abigail who'd been too preoccupied to notice that her husband was having an affair or that her daughter was suicidal. In her place was someone vulnerable, someone with depth, who was taking responsibility for her actions.

Someone Lila very much wanted to get to know.

“I've been so busy playing Wonder Woman, I'd forgotten what it feels like to be human,” Abigail said with a sigh.

Lila smiled at her. “I'm afraid it's the one club you can't resign from.”

“I've been pretty hard on you, haven't I?”

“Yeah, but it only made me realize that I'm a lot tougher than I thought.”

Abigail startled her by confessing, “I've missed you.” As she looked at Lila, the years seemed to fall away. “Oh, I know we see each other every day. But it's not the same, is it? I miss how it was in the old days. If I've been hard on you, it was only because I wasn't ready to forgive you.”

Lila was so moved, it was a moment before she could trust herself to speak. “You had a lot to forgive.”

“Maybe. But it's time we moved on, don't you think?”

Lila nodded, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

“Good,” Abigail said. “Because I could use you in my lifeboat. I have a feeling it's going to be a long haul to shore.”

“I have a feeling you're right.” Lila's thoughts returned to her son, who would soon need the kind of care this hospital couldn't provide … and Phoebe, who would be in similar straits.

“I just hope you know what you're doing, because I sure as hell don't.” Lila smiled and hooked an arm through Abigail's, as they headed back to rejoin the others. “Me? I don't have a clue. But I'm sure between the two of us, we'll figure something out.”

When it was
time to look in on Phoebe again, Abigail turned to Kent and asked, “Would you mind sitting this one out?”

He looked a little taken aback, but then he nodded, seeming to understand that it didn't have to do with him, just that she needed to be alone with their daughter for a little while.

She rose to her feet, glancing over at Vaughn as she crossed the lounge on her way to the ICU. Their eyes met briefly, and she felt a current of electricity pass between them, but it was a low-voltage one—their love-making earlier in the day might have taken place in another lifetime. At the same time, she knew that the bond between them, which had sustained her in some of her darkest hours in the past, would continue to do so in the dark hours and days to come.

As she made her way down the corridor and past the nurse's station, where one of the nurses, a light-skinned black woman, glanced up at her in startled recognition, it occurred to Abigail that, aside from Phoebe, Vaughn and Lila, for all practical purposes, were the only family she had. True, they'd been apart for more years than they'd been together, but the connection ran deep. It had been there all along without her knowing it—in Lila's case, the underside of the chip Abigail had carried on her shoulder for so long. With Vaughn, it had been easy falling back into the old rhythms, but she and Lila couldn't just pick up where they'd left off all those years ago. Nor could they start over with a clean slate; they would have to cobble together a new friendship out of the spare parts from the old one. It wouldn't be easy, but the hardest part was behind them. And Abigail was grateful for Lila's presence; she would need the support of someone who was going through the same thing as she. One thing she knew: There was no going back. Her old life and the old Abigail were like her house that now lay in charred ruins: uninhabitable.

She braced herself as she entered the ICU. It always came as a little shock when she first stepped inside, seeing all those machines beeping and blurping away, half hidden by the curtains not quite enclosing the beds; the thick electrical cords and clear plastic tubing snaking everywhere—as if this were more a place of industry than of healing. The patients almost seemed beside the point.

Her gaze fell on Phoebe. Her daughter was still out like a light, which was a blessing in some ways, she supposed. Swathed in bandages, tubes running in and out of her, and an oxygen mask covering the lower half of her face, Phoebe looked like she would be in a great deal of pain were she conscious. But, of course, that was the reason she was here. Her beautiful daughter had been in so much pain that she'd wanted to kill herself.

At the thought, Abigail was engulfed by a wave of sorrow. If only she could go back in time, she'd do it differently. She would spend less time at work and more time doing the things that really mattered. She wouldn't take a single thing for granted. She would know that people—children, especially—can't be put on hold.

She placed a hand over Phoebe's heart. Her daughter's thin chest felt fragile, almost breakable; she could feel every bone.
Don't give up, my darling. I know you think life isn't worth living. But it gets better, I promise, even if it never gets any easier. And it
is
worth it. However much pain you're in right now, life is always worth it. You'll realize that someday, if you'll only give it a chance
.

As if sensing her presence, Phoebe stirred, her eyelids fluttering open for an instant, but she remained unconscious. Abigail leaned down and gently kissed her cheek, whispering to her as she had when Phoebe was a child, “Sleep, my precious girl. Mommy will be here when you wake up.”

A low groan emanated from the next bed—the bed in which Concepción Delgado lay. Abigail peeked behind the privacy curtain and found the woman who had saved her daughter's life struggling to pull herself upright, grimacing with the effort.

Abigail approached the bed, asking, “Are you in pain? Should I get the nurse?”

The resident on call had informed her earlier that Señora Delgado was suffering from smoke inhalation as well as second-degree burns, primarily on her face and hands. But the prognosis was good. The doctor expected her to make a full recovery. Not that you'd know it to look at her. With her hands swaddled in gauze and the exposed areas of her face—a face so red, it looked boiled—smeared with salve, Concepción was a pitiable sight.

“No,
gracias
.” Concepción's voice was a hoarse rasp.

“Is there anything I can get you? An extra blanket, some water?”

Concepción shook her head wearily, as if even the effort to speak were too much.

Abigail lingered at her bedside nonetheless, torn between the desire to respect the woman's obvious wish to be alone and her own need to say what was on her mind. Finally, she ventured, “Señora Delgado … I don't know what to say. There are no words to express my gratitude.”

The woman who just hours ago had looked upon her with such hatred now appeared too exhausted to feel much emotion. “She is all right, your daughter?” she inquired in her halting but serviceable English.

Abigail cleared her throat against the knot forming. “I think so. I hope so.”

“
Gracias a Dios.
” Concepción closed her eyes a moment.

Abigail felt a fresh pang of remorse. Having come so close to losing her own child, she now knew, at a visceral level, what Concepción had suffered in losing hers. How could she have turned her away? Why hadn't she tried harder to get through to her, to show more compassion?

“In fact, I owe you a lot more than thanks,” she said. “What you did … after what happened with
your
daughter …” She felt herself choke up. “It took more than courage. It took a big heart. And I'd like to repay you. There must be something you want or need.”

Concepción eyed her in confusion. At first Abigail wondered whether she'd comprehended. Then Concepción replied in her hoarse croak, “Is no for me, this.” She held up her bandaged hands. “Is for your
hija
.”

“Well, you're a better person than I. All I did was hide behind excuses.”

Concepción blinked up at her, and said with a sigh, “
Ahora tú sabes
.”

Abigail had taken Spanish in high school, language skills that had grown rusty with disuse, but she understood that much. What Concepción had said was:
Now you know
.

Yes
, she thought,
now I know
. She knew what it was to lose a daughter, for she'd come close to it tonight, and Phoebe still wasn't out of the woods. But how could she ever repay Concepción? Would anything ever make up for the anguish of this woman's loss?

“If it's a public apology you want, just say the word. You deserve that much.”

Tears rolled unchecked down Abigail's cheeks. She couldn't recall the last time she'd wept except in private, and here she was crying openly in front of a woman who was a virtual stranger. Not only that, she was offering to make a public apology, which would destroy everything she'd worked so hard to build. Had the world turned upside down? Or just
her
world?