On Tenterhooks (27 page)

From the kitchen, Susan Nikko heard the bell ring
.
She turned off the
faucet
and walked through the den to the front door
.
P
eer
ing
through the side window,
she thought
back to the phone call they’d received several days earlier about the mysterious
preacher
.
She saw the
three strangers on the sidewalk, but none fit the description of the man
who
had been asking for Abby at school
.
The sound of pounding water told her
Jack was still in the shower upstairs. S
he walked back to the den and picked up the cordless phone
before she
walked back to the door
,
opened it and
asked,
“May I help you?”

“Hi, are you Mrs. Nikko?”
queried
Steve.

“Yes,” Susan replied, nodding slightly.

“Ma’am, my name is Steve Connor
. I am from Charlotte, North Carolina
.
These
are my
, uh
,
colleagues
:
Martin Abingd
on
from Virginia
,
and
Veronica
Ryder
from New York City
.”

Martin smiled a “hello
,
” and
Veronica
gave a brief
,
awkward
wave.

“We were hoping we cou
ld talk to you
and
your daughter
,
Abigail
.”

At the mention of Abby’s name,
Susan turned and looked behind her
, before stepping
out on the porch, pulling the door
closed
behind her.
 
“I’m sorry.
Can yo
u please tell me who you’re
with?”

“Well
,
i
t’s very complicated.
All
of us here recently lost a loved one
.
Veronica
lost her mother
;
Martin
,
his daughter
;
and I lost my wife, Julie
.
I am very, very sorry for you
r
loss
too, Mrs
. Nikko
.
Do you know if
Abigail
happened to get a letter from a company called
Say Goodbye to Me
?”

Susan ignored the question.
“I am sorry, but I
do not understand
you
.
What is it that I can do for you?
”

“We just want to talk to you, and to
Abigail
, about what’s going on with us, and see if she is ha
ving the same problems we are.
We’ve just come from the airport
,
and if we could have a few minutes of your time, we want to talk
with you
about t
he letter, the responses, and things.”

“I am very sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about
.”

“I do.”
Abby pulle
d the door open from the inside.

“Abby?” said Susan, clearly confused.

“I know about the letter
,” she said, stepping out onto the porch
.
She turned and faced Steve and the others.
“They answered you too, didn’t they?”

Steve and Martin nodded.

“I figured you would show up here.”

“Abby, what are you talking about?” Susan
demanded, obviously concerned
.

“Mom, look,
y
ou have to let them in
.
I
need to talk
to them
. It’s fine. Trust me
.”

Susan turned to Steve.
“Clearly, my daughter knows what you are talking about, but I don’t
.
I don’t think—”

Abby interrupted
.
“Mom,
I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wasn’t sure how to explain it.”

Susan turned back to
her daughter
.
“Explain what
, Abby
?” Fear
now replaced
her concern and
made
Susan’s
voice tremble at the ed
ges. “I don’t understand what’s going on
.
I don’t even know what you’re talking about
. What is it that you have to ‘explain’?”

“Mom,
p
lease believe me
.
I didn’t mean to keep it from you and Dad. There is something going
on and
I
—
I didn’t know how to explain
it
. But they
—”

“But they are good enough to explain it to?”
Her voice was
raising
in pitch the way it always did on the rare occasions when Abby made her angry.

Steve stepped back from the argument.

“You want to tell
them
what is going on
,”
Susan
asked, pointing to the porch, “instead of me?”

“No,
Mom,” Abby replied, tears
welling
.
“Please
.
I don’t need to explain it to them
.
They already understand it
,
probably
better than I do. I promise
.
Let them in
,
and w
e can all sit down and talk about it. They can fill in the gaps
,
and then everything will make sense.”

Susan marveled at the way in
which Abby could so gracefully disarm the situation and lead it to a brighter place
.
O
nce again
, her
18-
year-old daughter was
teaching her about the value of communication and
the
power of serenity.
She
reached out and pulled
the girl
to her
, all t
o
o aware
that th
e days of lingering in a hug with Mom in the front foyer were numbered
for Abby, and therefore for her
.
She
squeezed harder, trying to push the knowing ache out of her heart.

“What’s going on
out here?”

In the doorway stood an imposing
man
whom
Steve took to be Abby’s father
based on
the resemblance to the picture in
Zac
k
’s obituary
.
They had the same strong jaw,
the prominent forehead and t
he
close-cropped
blond hair. They also shared
the wide shoulders and deep barrel chest of a long time
athlete
.
This man’s
muscular bare
arms and face were well
-
tanned
, and his
sturdy frame
all but blocked the doorway
.
To Steve
,
his expression was too hard to read
.
He could be mad or scared. Regardless, he was imposing.

“Dad,” Abby said. “These are my
,
uh, friends, from out of town.”

“Jack,” said Susan
.
She let go of Abby and stood in front of her husband. “It’s okay.”

“Hello
,
sir
.
My name is Steve Conn
or.” Steve stepped forward, hand extended.

Jack looked at Susan and then back at Steve.
He
accepted
Steve’s
hand
,
and
Steve
felt the rough
calluses
across his
palm
.
The grip was strong
.
Steve did his best to return the grip with equal force.
He
knew this man was used
to dealing eye-to-eye
and that, for him,
a handshake was a bond.

“Jack Nikko
.”
He looked at Susan and Abby. “Can someone please fill me in?”

“Jack, we need to invite them in. Apparently Abby has something to tell us.”

Jack looked at Steve and his companions with a cool gaze.

“Come on, Dad!” said Abby.
When she
pulled on Jack’s arm
, he
stepped out onto the porch to let Steve pass
, before shaking
hands with Martin and
Veronica
as well
.

Susan and Abby
gestured them into the back of the home, past the stairs and a wall of photos of their family
.
As they shuffled down the hall, Steve saw several pictures of
Zack
.
He
tried to avoid looking at them. It made him feel
like he was prying
into a family’s private sadness
.
He
recalled
Martin’s warning
about their grief
.

They rounded the corner into a large great room
.
On
on
e side was a stonework fireplace with a massive
,
rough-hewn beam for a ma
ntle
.
The back wall was
glass and looked out onto more of the same stonework set into a patio with wrought iron furniture. The floor was hardwood with wide dark
planks,
most of them covered by
a plush tan rug
.
Two oversized couches and a matching lovesea
t of cream-colored crushed
leather occupied the middle of the room.
Abby and her mother stood to
the side
as they entered.

Abby smiled and gave them a small
victory wave, a
trace of embarrassment cross
ing
her face.
Jack gestured
toward
the couches in the middle of the room.

“Please,
h
ave a seat.”

Steve and
Veronica
sat on the loveseat
and
Martin took to a chair next to them
.
On the opposite side of the table, Abby sat on the couch, flanked by her parents.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” asked Susan.

“No, ma’am,” said Martin. “Thank you
,
though.”

“You have a beautiful home,” remarked
Veronica
, admiring the rock fireplace.

“Thank you,” said Susan.

“Now,” said Jack. “Can someone please tell me what is going on here?
”