Penmort Castle (23 page)

Mrs. Truman was
with her.

Just what Abby
needed, Mrs. Truman.

“Why are you on
the top floor?” Mrs. Truman demanded to know upon entry. “I never
go to my top floor. I feel like I climbed a mountain.”

Jenny ignored
Mrs. Truman’s complaining, took one look at Abby and asked
immediately, “What’s the matter?”

Her best friend
knew Abby well but, she had to admit, Jenny freaked her out
sometimes.

“I…” Abby
started to answer Jenny or more to the point, lie to her but she
noticed Mrs. Truman leaning toward her.

Peering closely
at Abby’s face, the older woman announced, “We need tea. We can’t
have drama without tea. And maybe sherry. This looks like it’s
going to be a sherry drama.”

“There isn’t
going to be a drama,” Abby told Mrs. Truman, wondering why she was
even there but not getting the chance to ask.

“Drama is
written all over your face, Abigail Butler,” Mrs. Truman shot back
always feeling entitled to be wherever she was.

“Abby, what’s
going on?” Jenny asked, also leaning in.

They were both
watching her and Abby opened her mouth to say something to throw
them off the scent.

Then all of a
sudden her eyes filled with tears and she felt them spill down her
cheeks. She couldn’t control them and she found she no longer had
the energy to try.

“Abby,” Jenny
said softly but Abby ignored her.

Stiffly walking
to the bed, she sat down and put the fingers of both her trembling
hands to her mouth.

Jenny and Mrs.
Truman followed, Jenny crouching in front of her saying, “What is
it?”

“Cash and I had
a fight,” Abby blurted on a tortured whisper and Jenny’s head
jerked before her face changed to a look of stunned surprise.

“A fight?”
Jenny repeated.

Abby swiped at
the tears on her cheeks and nodded. “A fight. An ugly, shouting,
awful,
awful
fight.” She looked at Jenny then Mrs. Truman,
finding she couldn’t keep it in a moment longer, she knew she
should, but she couldn’t. “I think I hurt his feelings.”

Jenny’s mouth
dropped open.

She snapped it
shut and parroted, “Hurt his feelings?”

“What’d you
do?” Mrs. Truman demanded to know.

Abby looked
away from her friend who was clearly not taking this in and turned
to Mrs. Truman.

“I…” she
started then squeezed her eyes shut, tears sliding down her face,
she opened them and admitted, “it’s a long story but I did
something. Something not very nice. He was being nice.
Very
nice. And I was very
not
nice in return.”

“How very nice
was he being?” Jenny asked and Abby looked to her friend.

“
Very
nice,” Abby whispered then her silent tears ended, she let go of
her emotions and burst into loud, wracking sobs. She covered her
face with her hands and babbled from behind them, “I was so
mean
. And I hurt his feelings. I
know
I did. Then he
asked me to explain myself and I just made it
worse
. Then he
got mad and he said the most
awful
things.” She pulled her
hands from her face and wailed, “But they were
true!
Even
though he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand. How could he?”
Abby looked at Mrs. Truman, knowing she wasn’t making a lick of
sense and also not waiting for an answer, and cried, “He was so
angry. I’ve never seen anyone that angry!”

“Did he hurt
you?” Jenny asked, her voice hard and Abby looked at her,
confused.

“How do you
mean?”

“Hurt you? Did
he get physical with you?” Jenny explained.

“Of course
not,” Abby snapped as if the idea of Cash getting physical (in that
way) was ridiculous. “He just yelled at me.”

“Did you yell
back?” Mrs. Truman asked and Abby’s gaze moved to her.

“No, I mean
yes. I mean, it was actually me who started the yelling,” she
confessed.

“You forgot,”
Mrs. Truman told her with all-knowing finality and Abby stared at
her, not understanding what she meant.

She hadn’t
forgotten a thing. She was certain that fight with Cash was burned
on her brain until the end of time.

When Mrs.
Truman didn’t say more, Abby asked, “Forgot what?”

“You forgot,”
Mrs. Truman repeated and when Abby still looked confused, Mrs.
Truman sat down beside her on the bed. When she spoke again, her
voice was surprisingly gentle. “When they die, you forget.” Abby
pulled a sharp breath into her nostrils but Mrs. Truman ignored her
reaction and carried on. “When they die, you remember only the good
things. You don’t remember the bad things. The fights. The
bickering. Their annoying habits that drive you mad. Like when they
don’t put their socks in the wash hamper even though the hamper is
only two feet away. They drop them on the floor. Morty and his
damned socks. Used to drive me insane.”

Abby felt her
lip tremble as more silent tears slid down her cheeks.

Mrs. Truman
watched her face and then leaned slightly toward her. “After he was
gone, I would have paid money to pick up another pair of his dirty
socks. Those socks, the blight of my life, became a cherished
memory. You forget that they’re just dirty socks on the floor that
you have to pick up, Abigail.” She touched Abby’s hand
every-so-lightly then took her own away so swiftly it was almost as
if the touch never happened. “Now, you’re remembering what it’s
like to be with a living, breathing,
annoying
male who you
yell at and who yells at you. It isn’t something that you can mould
into a cherished memory because it isn’t in your head. It’s real
and it’s happening. And you forgot what it felt like. Now, Abigail,
you’re remembering.”

“Mrs. Truman –”
Jenny started but the older woman shook her head, not taking her
eyes from Abby.

“But you know,”
she said softly, “you know something your young man doesn’t. You
know that even these fights, that hurt so much they make you cry,
are something to cherish.”

Abby stared at
her, eyes suddenly dry, body frozen even though her heart was
beating a mile-a-minute.

Then Mrs.
Truman broke her own spell by clapping her hands.

“Now!” she
announced and went on authoritatively, “Tea. And cucumber. You
can’t sit down with the upper crust with puffy eyes. You need
cucumber and a wet flannel.” She pushed herself up and bustled to
the door with the energy of a woman who would never complain about
climbing two flights of stairs. “I’ll see to the tea, cucumber and
flannel. Jennifer,” she turned and pointed at Jenny, “you take care
of the outfit.”

And after
issuing her orders, she disappeared out the door.

Leaving Abby
with Jenny.

“I think you
got some ‘splainin’ to do,” Jenny said, using her best Ricky
Ricardo voice, attempting to inject humour where both women knew
there was none.

“Jenny, I
screwed up,” Abby admitted quietly.

Jenny got out
of her crouch and sat on the bed beside Abby, saying on a sigh,
“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Jenny!” Abby
cried loudly, stung by her friend’s words even though of anyone
Jenny knew Abby could screw up, big time.

Jenny turned to
her. “Girlfriend, any woman in her right mind would screw up with
Cash Fraser. The man is hot. He’s also interesting. He’s also
funny. He also looks at you like you painted the Sistine Chapel on
your lunch break while wearing a bikini. And let’s not forget, he’s
hot.”

“He looks at me
like that?” Abby breathed and Jenny lifted a hand to within an inch
of Abby’s face and snapped.

“Hello? A
little focus?” Jenny asked while dropping her hand and Abby blinked
before Jenny continued. “Have you slept with him?”

Abby’s mouth
dropped open.

Now Jenny was
just plain creeping her out!

“Don’t give me
that look,” Jenny warned. “He’s hot. I was in your shoes, I’d sleep
with him,” she announced baldly. “How long did you wait?”

“It happened
Thursday,” Abby answered.

“You were
always slow,” Jenny remarked.

“Jenny!” Abby
cried, surprised at her friend’s easy acceptance of these facts.
“Do you
not
see that this is a problem?”

“Yes, I do.
Because you let your heart get involved with everything you do. I
despair the workmen coming to your house because you’ll make them
all your BFFs and end up having to buy them Christmas presents you
can’t afford,” Jenny retorted.

“I will not,”
Abby returned.

“You will,”
Jenny replied and before Abby could get a word in, she went on,
“Cash Fraser may be hot and he may be way into you but I’m not
certain his heart is involved. And I know you won’t just enjoy
yourself for once and keep your heart out of it.
This
is a
problem.”

“He bought me a
cashmere robe,” Abby announced and she saw Jenny’s eyes get wide.
“And this,” Abby continued, lifting up her wrist to jiggle the
diamond bracelet that even after that fight Abby could not bring
herself to take off. “That’s why we fought. Because of the bracelet
and kind of the robes too.”

Jenny was
staring at her wrist but she breathed, “Robes.
Plural?
”

“Yes, three.
Only one cashmere. The other one was silk and the other one –”

“Oh my
God,
” Jenny whispered, her eyes snapping back to Abby. “Why
is he buying you presents? He paid, like, a
fortune
for
you.”

“I don’t know!”
Abby cried. “He’s freaking me out; it’s all freaking me out. I
can’t keep my head on straight.”

Jenny’s eyes
narrowed on her. “You like him.”

“Well, of
course I like him!” Abby clipped and shot off the bed, starting to
pace then she whipped around and looked at Jenny. “He’s hot.”

“You don’t like
him because he’s hot,” Jenny returned.

“You can’t
not
like him because he’s hot. That’s how hot he is!” Abby
cried.

“Oh shit,”
Jenny breathed.

“What?” Abby
asked.

“He’s good in
bed,” Jenny whispered while she stood then pleaded, “Please tell me
a man that hot, that rich, that
everything
is also not good
in bed.”

Abby just
looked at her friend not wanting to lie also not wanting to
share.

She didn’t have
to, Jenny already knew. “Shit. He is. He’s good in bed.”

“Jenny –” Abby
started.

Jenny
interrupted her, “How good?”

“Good,” Abby
answered quickly.

“How good?”
Jenny pushed. “God-like good or just, you know, good-good?”

Abby thought
about lying, then because she was stupid, stupid,
stupid
,
she decided against it.

“God-like
good,” she muttered.

“Oh
God,
” Jenny breathed.

Then, going for
the gusto, Abby whispered, “Better than Ben.”

Jenny’s face
went pale and Abby held her breath.

Here we
go,
Abby thought.

“Really?” Jenny
asked softly.

“Really,” Abby
replied, her eyes began to fill with tears again and she took a
deep breath to control them before saying, “We had a nice weekend,
Cash and I. He’s different than Ben. He doesn’t talk as much but
he’s more intense. He doesn’t move around as much but somehow he
radiates more energy. He takes all my concentration. And,” she
paused then went on, “I like giving it to him.”

Jenny regarded
Abby for long moments and finally came closer, her voice going
soft. “Abby, you’ve got to be careful. You have to remember what
this is.”

Abby closed her
eyes and sighed.

When she opened
them, she said, “I know.”

“Are you going
to be able to do that?” Jenny asked.

“I might not
have to. That fight was ugly, Jenny,” Abby told her. “He might not
want me around anymore.”

“I still don’t
understand about the fight,” Jenny said.

“I was trying
to pull away from him. I threw the diamond bracelet in his face,
saying he was treating me like a whore.”

Jenny sucked in
a sharp breath then whispered, “You did not.”

“I was trying
to maintain a distance,” Abby defended.

“
Is
he
treating you like a whore?” Jenny asked.

“No. Yes. I
don’t know! I’ve never
been
a whore,” Abby answered,
frustrated. “I’ve also never received cashmere robes and diamond
bracelets like they were flowers and chocolates.” Abby pulled her
hand through her hair, bunching it in a fist at the back and looked
at her friend. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jenny stared at
her a moment and then said quietly, “Abby, you do your job. You do
nothing but your job. If you like it, okay, it’d be hard not to
like. If he wants to give you stuff, okay, take it. That’s his
deal. But you have to remember, always, it’s a job. Just a job. So
when the time comes and he’s through with you, you can walk away,
put this behind you and get on with your
real
life.”

Abby bit the
side of her lip, not liking the idea of Cash being “through with
her”, not at all even after The Fight but she nodded because she
knew Jenny was right.

Very right.

It was then
Mrs. Truman bustled in with a tray.

“You don’t have
cucumber. All you had was broccoli and carrots. Carrots don’t take
the puff out of your eyes.” She slammed the tray down on the
bedside table and turned, hands on hips, to Abby. “I had to go to
my house to get cucumber,” she declared, as if her house was in
Bangladesh, not next door. “You’re lucky I had some. Now lie down,”
she ordered and turned to Jenny. “Do you have the outfit
sorted?”

“No,” Jenny
admitted.

“What have you
two been doing?” she snapped and then stomped to the wardrobe
grumbling, “I have to do everything.”

Thus ended the
drama and for the next half an hour, Abby lay on the bed with two
slices of cucumber on her eyes covered in a cool, wet washcloth.
She had to take them off to inspect the different outfits Mrs.
Truman and Jenny brought from every corner of the house to show
her.