Saving Abby (3 page)

“On a scale of one to ten, how tired are you?” Josh put his arm around her and walked with her along the hallway.

“You keep asking me.”

“And you keep giving me numbers I don’t like.”

They lived in a two-story cottage in a little town called Heritage, located on Lake Huron. Their bedroom, with a large walk-in closet and master bath, and their office were upstairs, while the living room and kitchen were downstairs.

Her legs almost gave out as they were halfway down the hallway, and Josh picked her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way.

“When do you go in and see Abby again? If you’re not pregnant, then you might have caught a bug or something in Turkey. And isn’t there some sort of virus that people get on a cruise ship?” Josh gently laid her down on the bed and pulled a hand-quilted blanket up, tucking it under her chin. “Don’t tell me I’m overreacting either.”

Claire yawned once more. “You’re overreacting. Seriously.” She could barely keep her eyes open. “I’ll be fine, Josh. Honest. I just need to sleep.” Her eyes drifted shut, and she knew from his sigh that he’d given in.

“Let’s go to Germany for Christmas this year, okay?” She could almost taste the gingerbread cookies.

Josh laughed. “It’s a little too early to be planning Christmas, don’t you think? Besides, every trip we plan for the holidays always ends up getting canceled because you want to celebrate the holidays with your family.” He placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “How about we just throw a huge party this year, complete with sleigh rides and snowman building contests and cookie exchanges.”

“We do that every year.” She couldn’t stop yawning.

“Exactly. I’ll wake you up in a little bit, okay?” Josh pulled the curtains closed in their room, blanketing her in sweet, blissful darkness.

“Okay, love,” Claire managed to whisper before she floated off into a dreamless sleep.

The smell of something both sweet and mouthwatering teased her awake, and when she rolled over, she saw a beautiful coconut cupcake sitting on her night table.

She inhaled its rich smell and reached over to it, letting her finger slide along the top edge until the tip of her finger was coated with icing.

“Kim stopped by and left that for you. She says there’s a whole cake waiting for you tonight if you want to join the girls for the monthly get-together.”

Claire groaned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and let Josh help her sit up. “I forgot all about that.”

“She figured, since you never responded to her e-mails or texts.” Josh reached for the cupcake and bit into it, giving her a guilty smile as he did so.

“I thought that was mine. And you don’t even like coconut.” She grabbed the plate out of his hands and set it on her lap.

He dipped his finger in the icing and licked it. “It’s not that I don’t like coconut cake. It just doesn’t compare to chocolate, that’s all.”

Claire thought about it. Would she go? She wanted to. She loved the nights out with the girls, and each outing was always something different. It might be a movie in the next town, dinner at someone’s house, or a bonfire at the beach or in someone’s backyard. Apparently, it was Kim’s turn, and they were having dessert night at Sweet Bites Bakery.

That was always Josh’s favorite because she often came home with goodies for him.

“What did you tell her?”

“Kim?” Josh asked. “That I’d drive you myself because you could use a night out.”

“My personal chauffeur, huh?” She rubbed his arm before leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Anything for you.” He kissed the top of her head before putting his arm around her. “I’m serious though. You need to get out. Maybe being with your girlfriends will help.”

She looked up at him and saw the worry in his eyes.

“I’m not depressed, Josh.” She knew he thought so, even though he hadn’t said anything to her. She heard it in his voice.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“No? Then are you researching depression for a future book?” When she’d opened the iPad they shared, she’d seen the web pages he’d been browsing.

“I’m just . . . worried.”

Claire sat up. “I know you are. I am too. This isn’t normal, even for me. But I’m not depressed. Just really tired.”

She would know if she were depressed, right?

“Tell you what. How about if I go for a few hours, and then we could go for a walk along the boardwalk? We haven’t done that in a while.” She forced a smile, hoping it also came through in her voice. She didn’t like the idea of him doubting her, thinking she was depressed. She wasn’t. She could handle this. Handle the life they’d been given. She could.

Josh reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “I’d like that.”

Maybe this exhaustion and lack of hunger was her body’s way of dealing with the loss. Maybe the emotional toil was starting to show physically.

Either way, it was unacceptable, and maybe . . . just maybe she needed to stop giving in.

“You know what would go great with this cupcake? A fresh pot of coffee. I can feel a headache coming on, and it’s probably due to lack of caffeine. I’ll need it, especially if you want me to look over that scene again too.” The first step was to get back to work. She could do this. Sure, her body was exhausted, but that was no excuse. They had deadlines to deal with, and if this was a simple case of mind over matter, then it was time her body got the message.

“Coffee is made, and I made some changes to that chapter. Let’s go sit outside, so we can go over it. But before we do that, how about you call and set up an appointment with Abigail for a thorough checkup.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss. “I believe you when you say you’re not depressed. But something is wrong, and don’t tell me it’s just jet lag, okay?”

She let him pull her up off the bed and stretched her back as she yawned. “I’m really not in the mood to be poked and prodded anymore.”

Josh stared at her, unblinking, his face unreadable.

“I’m fine, but if it will ease your mind . . . then okay.”

“Thank you.” He smiled. “It does ease my mind. I’m here to take care of you, protect you . . . but this . . . I don’t know what to do with you sleeping all day. Now”—he bent down and scooped her into his arms—“let’s get you downstairs so we can get to work, otherwise . . . I may get some other ideas.” He waggled his eyebrows the way he often did, and she laughed.

She leaned her head against his chest, held on to the plate with the cupcake so it wouldn’t fall off, and let him carry her down the stairs.

She didn’t know what to do about her lethargy either. Thanks to her mother, she was on a plethora of vitamins and herbs, and yet nothing seemed to work.

“I grabbed the mail while you were sleeping. One of the postcards we mailed finally arrived.” Josh watched his steps as he carried her down to the main floor.

“Which one?” It was a tradition of theirs to send themselves a postcard from wherever they’d visited. It was something Claire’s mom, Millie, had started on family vacations when she was young. Millie would mail a postcard home during a trip, writing to Claire about the adventures they’d had. On their trip, Josh and Claire had picked up so many postcards from every place they’d been—some they left behind, after discovering that was a tradition at the bed-and-breakfast where they’d stayed in London earlier in the year, and others they mailed to family and friends.

“The one from London.” Josh set her down at the bottom of the stairs.

“Wow. That took quite a long time.” Claire smiled. “It’s been over four months since we mailed that.”

“Do you remember what you wrote on the back?” Josh asked.

Claire had to think for a moment. “Wasn’t it a recipe for those muffins Lolly made?” Lolly, the owner of the quaint bed-and-breakfast in London, had spoiled them with her homemade baking.

“I’ve got an idea,” Josh said.

“Let me guess. We should make the muffins, and then send a note to Lolly telling her how much we miss them?” Claire liked the notion. “And by
we
, I mean you,” she added.

His brows knit together.

“How about we give the recipe to your mom the next time she comes by instead. Since she loves to bake and all . . .” Josh trailed off midthought, as he expected Claire to agree with him.

“I promised to never share her recipe.” Claire shook her head.

“Then don’t tell her. Besides, you wrote it on the back of a postcard. I bet more than a dozen people read what was on the back just out of curiosity.” There was a hopeful look on his face.

“Joshua Turner, don’t you make me break a promise.” Claire frowned at him.

Truth be told, between the two of them, Josh was the better baker, and her mother would probably try to make it a healthy snack and substitute disgusting ingredients for all the sweet stuff. No thank you.

“Never. Besides, your mom would turn Lolly’s decadent treats into healthy muffins,” Josh grumbled.

Claire laughed.

THREE

CLAIRE

A memory from London, England

March

C
laire sank down on a plush chair in the library of Blossom Lane, a quaint bed-and-breakfast set in South Kensington. She groaned as she rubbed her sore feet.

“Why don’t you let my dear Herbert drive you around tomorrow, love? He’s got the day free and won’t mind a bit.” Lolly, the owner of the little home they were staying in, bustled into the room with a tray full of scones and hot tea.

“That would be lovely, if it’s not too much of a bother.” Claire raised her feet to rest them on an ottoman and took the offered cup of tea.

“You must have walked quite a bit today.” Lolly sat down in the opposite chair. “Where is that dear husband of yours?”

“Out with Herbert looking at his gardens again.” Claire smiled. Since their arrival three days ago, they’d discovered that Herbert loved to talk about his gardens and Lolly loved to chat over a hot pot of tea.

“Tell me, what did you see today?” Lolly settled back in her seat with all the appearance of genuinely caring about Claire and her day.

It was so refreshing to be here, more than Claire had imagined it would be. Their stop in London was quite long, close to three weeks, thanks to a conference they were both speaking at, and staying at a hotel would be expensive, so when their editor, Julia, suggested a cute bed-and-breakfast she knew of, they jumped at the chance. A simple English breakfast and a traditional afternoon tea were always served, and it didn’t take long for Claire to realize both Lolly and Herbert lived for their teatime with guests and weren’t quite able to hide their disappointment if they missed it.

“We followed Herbert’s map today and walked to the Portobello Market in Notting Hill. It was lovely. I even found that bakery you mentioned.” Claire reached for a triangle of cucumber sandwich. “Although, I will admit, I enjoyed your strawberry-vanilla muffin from yesterday over theirs.”

Lolly preened at the compliment. “The Hummingbird is a fine bakery, but you can’t beat homemade.”

“We found that bookshop as well,” Claire continued. “I bought a few books for our shelves back home.”

“Oh, you did!” Lolly clapped her hands together. “George is amazing, isn’t he? I just knew you’d like him. What books did you buy?”

“The Alice in Wonderland series. I couldn’t resist. They were my favorite growing up.”

Lolly nodded approvingly, and they continued on, talking about the vendors and the street food Josh and Claire had photographed.

“So is that one more thing to mark off your bucket list, then?” Lolly asked just as Claire leaned over the armrest to retrieve her book.

Every afternoon while having tea, Claire would pull out her notebook, which contained two sections. The front section was her set of list items, and the back section was a record of the places they’d visited and the things they’d seen.

“The market has always been something I’ve wanted to see, ever since reading about it in my Paddington Bear books.” She loved checking off items on her bucket list, loved that sense of accomplishment and excitement.

“And did you find a postcard, as I suggested?” Lolly stood up and headed toward a cupboard.

“I did. We almost missed that little place with the old photos and postcards. I’m so glad you told us where to look. And you were right—it was hard to pick just one or two of my favorites. We ended up buying more than we’d intended.”

“Good.” In Lolly’s hands was a box, and she set it down on the table between them. “We have a tradition here that my parents started when they first opened their home to guests. In this box you will find postcards from the last seventy years.” She picked up a few and looked through them, a sweet smile gracing her face as she did so. “I used to love taking this box to my bedroom at night and going through the postcards. A few I even memorized.” She handed them to Claire.

Some postcards were hand drawn, some were black-and-white photographs while others were in color, and many of them featured well-known London landmarks. As she started to read through the ones Lolly had handed her, she could see why they meant so much to her. They were like snapshots from the past, brimming with fond memories and wishes for future visits.

“I’d like for you and Josh to leave one here as well, if you wouldn’t mind,” Lolly said. “I remember my mother once explaining the idea to a guest. She said to think of it as a letter to your heart from your soul.”

Claire held the postcards in her hands and thought about what it would mean to write one. She picked up the card she was looking at and read the back.

There is a peace here within the gardens that I haven’t found elsewhere in a long, long time.

My mind stops. The memories I’m running from disappear the moment I sit down and breathe in the sweet scents of jasmine, of delicate roses, and hear nothing but the sound of birds chirping.

My soul has finally found rest, and I’m not sure I can leave.

“That was written by a soldier after World War II. He went home to create his own garden and was even buried there years later,” Lolly said quietly. “That’s him there, standing beside my dad. His name was David, and I used to watch him sit in our garden for hours on end.”

“It’s beautiful,” Claire said.

“Feel free to look through the box, and then when you’re ready, to leave your own. Think about what you would like to say to yourself, to your heart.” She stood and patted Claire’s hand before leaving the room.

Claire went through the postcards, tears welling in her eyes as she read through them. Some were so beautiful, haunting even, with their dreams for the future, their air of yearning, or their sense of loss from the death or illness of a loved one.

What would she write?