Woman in Black (53 page)

And at the center of it all, like a warm pulse, keeping her sane … keeping her from having to be carted off to Dewhurst herself … was Vaughn. They met whenever they could, usually on the fly, with Abigail being consumed by so many other things. Sensitive to his living situation, she no longer visited him at the loft now that they were lovers. Usually Vaughn took the train out to see her when he was feeling up to it. His first visit was two weeks after the fire. She took him to lunch at the yacht club, and afterward they went back to her place, where they ended up, as they usually did, in bed.

“What's the latest on the house?” he asked as they were getting up to take a shower after making love. “You haven't said a word about it all afternoon.”

“I didn't want to bore you,” she told him, padding after him into the bathroom, feeling deliciously languorous after having spent the past hour in his arms trying to forget about all that. “You're probably sick of hearing about it.” Sometimes she bored herself talking about it.

He leaned over to kiss her shoulder. “I always want to know what's going on with you, babe. You know that.”

“Okay, then. I got the final report from the fire marshal yesterday. The cause of the fire was officially determined accidental. Most likely a candle that got knocked over during the power outage.”

“What could have caused it, I wonder?” Vaughn turned on the faucet in the shower, and when the water was hot enough, he stepped in. A moment later, she joined him.

“We think Brewster was the culprit. He always gets spooked during thunderstorms. He probably knocked over a candle trying to squeeze himself into a tight space. And Phoebe and Neal were upstairs.…”
So out of it they didn't notice until the place was going up in flames
.

Reaching past him for the soap, she felt the tension, for which their lovemaking was never more than a temporary remedy, start to creep back in. Vaughn, as if sensing the direction her thoughts had taken, reassured her: “You know it's going to be all right, don't you?” He took the bar of soap from her and began soaping her down, his big hands moving over her body with long, sure strokes.

“Do I?” The only happy ending so far was Brewster. After the fire had been put out, they'd found him in the woods behind the house, unharmed and running in crazed circles, barking his head off.

“Things generally have a way of working themselves out. Sometimes it takes a while, but eventually you get there.” Vaughn worked his way up her neck, his soapy fingers finding the tight spot at the base of her skull and massaging. She closed her eyes and relaxed against him, savoring the feel of his warm, slippery body against hers amid the billowing steam.

Would the same hold true of Vaughn? she wondered. Would he survive
his
ordeal? Worrying about him, on top of everything else, was taking its toll. As tired as she was at the end of each day, she had trouble sleeping. Often she would lie awake for hours before finally giving up and turning on the TV or reaching for a book. They hadn't talked about it. They seldom did. But … she worried.

She straightened, saying with a sigh, “The only place I seem to be going these days is in circles.”

“Circles can be good, too.” He slowly spun her around to kiss her on the mouth, and she felt him start to stir below the waist.

They didn't stay in the shower very long.

But the question nagged at her even as they lay in bed after having made love a second time.
Is that what I'm doing
—
with Vaughn? Going in circles?
she asked herself. Abigail had no answer for that one, either. She was simply taking it day by day. Neither of them spoke of the future except in the most general terms. It was as if Vaughn's life, the life he'd had before this, were on hold. He'd never said,
I love you
. Nor had she said it to him. It would carry too much weight, and right now what they had was so precious … and precarious … she didn't want to upset the cart.

“I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think it's time for a haircut,” she noted with a laugh, running her fingers through his hair, still wet and tangled from the shower. It had grown past his ears.

“What, you don't like the untamed me? I thought I was your walk on the wild side,” he teased.

“Would that be a long walk … or just a stroll?” It was the closest she dared get to nailing down specifics.

“That's up to you.” Smiling, he cupped one of her breasts and bent to kiss it.

Is it? Is it really up to me?
she wondered. Or would fate dictate, as it had once before? Was it their destiny to be forever torn apart by circumstances beyond their control? She supposed it
was
up to her in a way. She could choose to stand on the brink, teetering at the edge of the unknown, or she could take a step back; she could guard against the opening of new wounds by maintaining a safe distance, if only an emotional one.

It was the opposite with Lila. These days, whenever they saw each other or talked on the phone, Abigail came away feeling safe and rooted. The soil from which their friendship had sprung was rich and deep, allowing it to flourish once more. They talked every other day, though they didn't get to see each other as often as before. Lila and Neal had moved into an apartment on the outskirts of town, and Lila was busy with her new job at Tarkington's Travel (having turned down Abigail's offer of a job in her company, saying she'd rather have Abigail as a friend than a boss). It was the middle of April, more than a month after the fire, before they were finally able to carve out time from their busy schedules to meet for lunch.

Driving into town, Abigail noticed that the forsythia were in bloom—spatters of bright gold against the backdrop of winter-brown trees. She spotted wild narcissi along the road as well, poking up from the fallen leaves that covered the ground like tiny periscopes scouting for other signs of spring. She smiled to herself. After the winter they'd had, she'd begun to wonder if she would ever see spring again, and here it was—a small miracle in itself.

She'd booked a table at Gabriella's, her favorite restaurant in Stone Harbor, where she found Lila waiting for her when she arrived. “Am I late?” Abigail asked with a glance at her watch.

“No. I got here a few minutes early.” Lila added with a smile, “You trained me well.”

Abigail commented on how well she looked. This was the Lila she remembered from their youth, healthy and clear-eyed, wearing a rosy glow. Her outfit, a cropped suede jacket and aubergine silk tank top, with black jeans, wasn't the haute couture of her days as reigning queen of society, but it was stylish, and it suited her better in some ways than the almost too perfectly assembled outfits Abigail recalled from those old society-page photos. But it wasn't just Lila's new look; she seemed more at ease with herself. Even saying jokingly, at one point, when Abigail had asked about her new job, “I think I'm finally getting the hang of the phone system, at least. I only accidentally hung up on one person this week.”

“That's progress,” Abigail agreed.

“I love it, though.” Lila's eyes were lit up in a way they hadn't been in all the time she'd worked for Abigail. “In a way, it's like I'm getting to relive the best part of my past. All those trips Gordon and I used to go on—Rome, Paris, London, the Caribbean islands in winter.” She gave a wistful sigh. “It's a daily reminder that, yes, I once actually had a life.”

“And you don't now?”

“Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining,” Lila replied with an ease that conveyed more than any words. “The job is great. In a lot of ways, my life is great, too. For one thing, six months ago, who would have thought you and I would be sitting here having lunch together?” She glanced about—they were seated at a table out on the patio, which was glassed in so they could enjoy the sunshine without becoming chilled—before bringing her gaze back to Abigail, smiling. “I know it sounds clichéd, but it took losing everything to make me see what really mattered.”

Abigail smiled back at her, dangerously close to echoing the sentiment. “How's Neal?” she asked. It had been several days since they'd last spoken, and she was eager, as always, to hear about the progress he was making—anything to give her hope.

“Good,” Lila replied cautiously. Neal was seeing a therapist twice a week and responding to the antidepressants he was on—a different medication from the one he'd been taking originally—and according to Lila, the difference was like night and day. But she remained only guardedly optimistic, not wanting to burden Neal, or herself, with too many expectations. “We had a minibreakthrough the other day—a session with his therapist where a lot came out. It seems that Neal's been harboring a lot of anger not just at his dad but at me.”

“Why? What have you done?”

Lila's sparkle faded and she grew a little pale. “I left Gordon alone that day.”

No further explanation was needed. “I guess there's nothing rational about these things,” commiserated Abigail with a sigh.

“It's not just me—Neal's been beating up on himself. He thinks that if he'd been a better son, Gordon would still be alive. It makes no sense, I know, but the feelings are real.” Familiar furrows of worry showed briefly on her forehead before her face smoothed again. “But I'm glad he told me, even if it was hard to hear. At least I know what's on his mind. I'd rather have the real Neal, warts and all, than the perfect son who maybe isn't so perfect.”

Abigail thought about Phoebe, who was still so closed off.
If only I could get her to talk to me
.…

Their food arrived at the table just then. A shrimp-and-avocado salad for Lila and the poached sea bass for Abigail, along with the house specialty—homemade focaccia stuffed with Taleggio cheese.

“How's it going with Phoebe?” Lila asked as she tucked into her salad.

“We're having our first family session tomorrow.” Abigail felt her stomach dip at the thought. “Dr. Ernst says she's ready for it, and I assume he knows what he's doing—he keeps reassuring us that she's making progress. But honestly? We haven't seen much evidence of it. With Kent and me, I always get the feeling she's just going through the motions.” Only with Lila could Abigail admit this. With other people, she always put on a smiling face when someone inquired after her daughter's health, giving them the official version: that Phoebe was staying with relatives out of town while she recuperated from her injuries.

“Neal gets that way, too, sometimes,” Lila said. “We still have our bumps.”

Abigail leaned in to ask in a low, urgent voice, “Has he said anything to you about, you know, what might have led Phoebe to …” She couldn't finish the sentence. It was still too raw.

“Not to me he hasn't.” Lila appeared at a similar loss. “His exact words, the one time I asked him about it, were, ‘If Phoebe has anything to say, it should come from her.'”

“Do you think he knows something he's not telling?”

“Maybe. But he's right—whatever it is, it should come from Phoebe.”

Abigail sighed and put down her fork. Her appetite seemed to have vanished along with the relaxed mood. “The trouble is, we're not getting anywhere with her. It's like trying to break through a brick wall. I just wish I knew what was behind that wall.”

“Usually it's not just one thing. With Neal, it's easy to blame everything on what happened with Gordon, but the truth is, he's got his own problems.” Lila reached over to lay a hand on Abigail's. “If there
is
something Phoebe's keeping from you, it'll come out eventually. And remember, it's not so much about what happened as what happens from now on.”

A yawning pit opened in Abigail's stomach at the thought. “That's what worries me. Sure, I want her home, but at the same time I'm terrified as hell. Do I lock up all the knives? Do I clean out the medicine chest? And even if I do all that, I can't keep an eye on her every minute of the day.”

Lila eyed her in knowing sympathy. “It's not just you. I feel that way sometimes. But you'll get through this. We both will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Lila gave her a half-cocked smile. “I'm not. But I figure if I say it enough times, one of these days I'll start to believe it.”

While they ate, they caught up on other things. Lila told Abigail more about her job and the various dramas of the ladies she worked with. And Abigail brought Lila up-to-date on her divorce—a subject that just a few short months ago would have had her cursing Kent but that now, to her surprise, she found herself taking in stride. “I never thought I'd hear myself say this,” she shook her head in wonderment, “but in a way, I kind of admire him for what he did. I may not have realized it at the time, but our marriage was over long before he cheated on me. At least he had the guts to do something about it.”

“What about you? You and Vaughn still going hot and heavy?” Lila asked.

Abigail had confided in her about Vaughn once the smoke from the fire had cleared—in more ways than one. How could she keep something like that from her? How could Vaughn? And what would have been the point? The only thing Lila didn't know was that Abigail had been feeling ambivalent about the direction—if any—this was taking.

Abigail put her fork down. “Yes, but it's … complicated.”

“How so?” Lila arched a brow.

Abigail sighed. “Things are kind of up in the air right now.”

“With everything, or with just you and Vaughn?”

“Both.”

“Does that mean it's not serious with him?”

“Let's just say we're enjoying each other's company for the time being,” Abigail hedged. She cast about for an excuse for her reluctance to commit. “Remember, I'm not even officially divorced.”

But Lila wasn't buying it. “If you aren't, you will be soon enough. Come on, Abby, what's the
real
reason? Is it because he has cancer?” Her eyes locked on to Abigail's.