Strangers in the Night (5 page)

Abbie watched the white Cadillac pull out of the driveway. They all waved, and Jake waved back. In a way she felt a little jealous of Emma's innocence and how she had clung to Jake, not wanting to lose him even for a moment. Truth be told, Abbie hadn't wanted him to leave either. She used her thumb to wipe away residual tears and reassured Emma again. “It's okay, sweetheart. Uncle Jake has to go to his own house.”

“He'll be back, dear.” Her mother laid an arm across Abbie's shoulder and it dawned on her that she wasn't talking to Emma.

“What?” Abbie shook her head. “I wasn't—”

Her mother gave her a knowing smile and thankfully changed the subject. “Let's go inside. We have a surprise for you. Oh…” She squeezed Abbie's shoulder. “I see our surprise has ventured outside.”

Abbie turned and spotted a pencil-thin woman sitting on the porch swing, smoking a cigarette and staring at them. Shock slammed into Abbie's chest and tore every thought of Jake from her mind. “Oh my…” She stopped, unable to take another step. She let Emma slide down her hip and leg. “Is that—”

“Skye.” Her mother's whispered response held as much or more pain than Abbie felt. Jake had said she was sick, but Abbie never expected anything like this. “What happened to her?”

“It's a long story, but let's not worry about that right now. We'll have plenty of time to talk later.”

Carlene nudged Abbie forward and took Emma's hand. In a cheerful voice she said, “Come on, sweetheart. Let's go see your auntie Skye.”

Abbie swallowed the lump in her throat and followed her mother. She hadn't seen Skye since marrying Nate and moving to Iowa. The sad part was she wouldn't have recognized her sister if she'd met her on the street. Hollow eyes continued to stare at them, reminding Abbie of emaciated children from third-world countries.

Skye stopped rocking and rose from the swing then bent down to crush the cigarette in an ashtray. Tears filled her eyes as she grasped the railing and hobbled down the steps toward them.

“Oh, Skye,” Abbie gasped. She threw her arms open wide, and her sister stepped into the embrace. Abbie's brain bubbled over with questions, but this wasn't the time. She held Skye as tightly as she dared.

“It's about time you got here.” Skye pulled back and brushed at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Abbie held her sister's hand and turned to bring Emma and her mother closer. “Emma, sweetie, this is my little sister. Remember the pictures I showed you?”

“Skye.” Emma grinned and waved a hand in the air. “Like the sky.”

“That's right.” Skye tossed Abbie a questioning glance. “Your mommy told you about me?”

Emma nodded. “She shows me pictures and we say prayers every night. But you don't look like the picture.”

“Emma, shush.” Sending her sister an apologetic look, she added, “We look at pictures of you, Nana and Papa, and Tim almost every night and we pray for all of you.” Looking at Skye now, Abbie wondered if God had answered any of those prayers.

Pops slipped by them and climbed the steps to the porch, where he picked up two of the suitcases. “I should help him.” Abbie released her sister and grabbed one of the bags.

Once the suitcases had been set in the rooms that Emma and Abbie would occupy, everyone gathered in the living room, a large, light-filled room that looked over the sand, rocks, and the ocean beyond. The tide was in, coming almost to the base of the hill upon which the house stood. The décor was simple and beachy, with nearly all the pictures depicting the sea. One of them Abbie recognized as a painting she had done while in college. The walls were painted in light aquamarine and peach and seemed to bring the outdoors inside. There were a few too many decorations and knickknacks—lighthouses, salt and pepper shakers—for Abbie's taste. She supposed her mother's tendency to collect came from living so many years without a real home.

Skye had settled herself in a hammock that hung from the ceiling. With blankets wrapped around her, she looked to Abbie like she was in a cocoon.

Emma sat cross-legged beside her, rocking a baby doll and cooing, “It's all right, baby. Mommy's got you. It's going to be okay.”

Tears sprang into Abbie's eyes. But she caught them and whisked them away with a tissue she fished out of her pocket. Her first instinct was to pick up her little girl and reassure her, knowing that when Emma loved on her doll, it was often because she herself felt frightened or insecure. But Emma was dealing well with whatever fears she had at the moment. Abbie would talk to her later.

Abbie had so often said those very words to Emma—especially after they left Iowa. A curtain of guilt shrouded her as she remembered how brokenhearted Emma had been. She'd loved her grandma and grandpa Campbell and her uncle Daniel. Abbie had taken back her child, but in the process she'd stolen relationships that might have been.

Lord, I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt Emma. I didn't want to hurt anyone
.

Abbie pushed the guilt aside, knowing there'd be no going back and knowing she'd do the same thing again if she had to. She turned her mind toward the here and now.

“How's that coffee coming, love?” Pops sank into a huge leather recliner that went with nothing in the room, yet strangely went with everything. It sat directly in front of the television set, with other chairs of lesser import arranged in a horseshoe shape. From each chair, one had a view of the water as well as the television.

Abbie moseyed into the kitchen, which was an extension of the living room, only at a slightly higher level so one could watch the sea while cooking. A long breakfast bar/counter separated the two areas.

“What can I do to help you, Mom?”

“I'm almost done.” Carlene pulled forward a cookie jar, from which she selected about a dozen cookies. “Oatmeal chocolate chip. Your grandmother used to make them for us all the time, remember?”

Abbie nodded. Grandma Olsen lived in a retirement home nearby. “How is Grandma?”

“Feisty as ever.” Carlene arranged the cookies on the plate. “You'll see her soon. She comes to the house and bakes for me at least once a week. How do you want your coffee—still taking a little coffee in your cream and sugar?”

Abbie chuckled at the old joke. “I'm down to two spoons of cream and one sugar cube.”

Carlene lifted the cream from the tray and handed it, along with a cup, to Abbie. “I'll let you fix your own and then you can bring the tray. I'll take the cookies. My arm is acting up.”

“Probably from carrying Emma. She's not a baby anymore.”

“Don't remind me.”

Guilt struck at Abbie again. She'd stolen time with Emma away from her parents as well. Maybe coming back would repair the damage.

Unless Leah takes Emma and I go to jail
.

Stop it
. She couldn't let herself think that way. Jake had promised her it would work out in her favor. She had to believe that. Abbie poured herself some coffee, added the cream and sugar. After a couple of stirs, she placed it on the tray and joined the others in the living room.

Abbie served her father first, then Skye, thinking it should be the other way around. Pops wouldn't have minded in the least, but that was how things were done. Emma scooted over to the coffee table where Abbie set her fruit drink and cookie.

Carlene picked up her own mug and settled into a cushioned rocking chair, which sat parallel to her husband's. Abbie imagined them sitting there in the evenings watching their favorite television shows. She picked up her cup and took a chair between her mother and Skye.

Once they had their goodies, the room fell silent until Pops asked about the trip and how things were in Grand Forks. Did she like it there? Had she and Jake had a good trip?

Abbie answered each question in turn, wishing she could ask a few questions of her own. The family tiptoed around the issues that had brought them all together and they did it quite well. Years of practice, Abbie supposed. For now it was a good thing. Emma didn't need to hear about their problems.

“I'm glad you're here, Abs.” Skye managed a smile, though it seemed to hurt her mouth.

“I am too.” Abbie patted her sister's bony hand then tore her gaze from Skye's gaunt face to her cream-diluted coffee.

How are you? Are you eating? Have you stopped drinking and taking drugs? Are you dying?
All questions Abbie wanted to ask but didn't.

“So”—Mom eased out of the awkward silence—”how is Margie?”

“Good. She says to tell you hello. I think our being with her these last couple of years has been good for her. For both of us.” Abbie smiled. “She has a friend, Charlie, and I think they're pretty close to being a couple.”

Another silence.

“Did Jake take you to see the property on your way into town?” Pops asked as he lifted his hand-thrown pottery mug to his lips.

“No. He thought about it, but we both agreed it would be better to wait. I wanted to settle in here and he…” She frowned. “His partner seems to be missing.”

Her mom perked up. “Barbara?”

Abbie nodded. “He's been trying to reach her for days. But she's not returning his calls. I don't suppose either of you have seen her?”

“As a matter of fact, we have. Jake had already left for Iowa and we wanted to see the property again. “ Pops smiled. “We're still pinching ourselves. Doesn't seem possible we could find such a great place.”

“Barbara was kind enough to take us out there.” Her mother pursed her lips. “She seemed fine. Said she wanted to go anyway— something about having another look.”

“The last time we saw her was when we'd finished looking around. She got in her car and followed us out to the highway.” Pops frowned. “She's a nice lady, sure hope she's okay.”

“Do you remember what day that was? Jake says he hasn't heard from her since the twenty-sixth of May.”

“It was before that,” Mom said. “The twenty-fifth.”

Abbie made a mental note to let Jake know about Barbara's visit to Cold Creek. She couldn't help but wonder if that visit had had something to do with the Realtor's disappearance.

Emma had fallen asleep on the plush seafoam-green carpet, and Mom reached into an old wooden trunk near her chair and pulled out a crocheted afghan—probably one Grandma Olsen had made. She tucked it gently around Emma, pausing to lean forward to kiss her cheek.

“It's been a long day.” Abbie sighed.

Skye untangled herself from the cocoon. “For me too. I need to take my meds and maybe get a nap before dinner.” She smiled. “I didn't sleep much last night. All I could think about was where you might be and when you might come and—”

“She was like a little kid,” Pops said. “Remember when you guys were little and you used to ask, ‘Are we there yet?' About drove me crazy.”

“I remember,” Abbie said. “Some of those trips were excruciatingly long.”

“I know, but we had fun.” His smile widened. “We used to sing songs to make the time go by faster.”

Carlene nodded. “We also sang them as practice for our performances.”

“They were good times.” Abbie squeezed her mother's hand.

Pops shifted in his chair. “We were family.”

“What are we now, Pops?” Skye challenged, her tone taking on a sharp edge.

“It was different. We didn't have kids on drugs and alcohol.”

“Didn't we? You drank, Pops. Every night. And you took uppers so you could stay awake.”

“So you're blaming me for all this trouble you've gotten yourself into?”

“Shush.” Carlene pushed out of her chair. “Come on, you two, let's not argue. Not today. Not in front of Abbie and Emma.”

Abbie's gaze flickered over Skye and her father. “It sounds like we need to talk, but Mom's right. Not now.”

“Not ever, if Pops has anything to say about it.”

Their father said nothing as he left his chair and walked out the front door.

Skye rose and shuffled across the floor. Clinging to the banister, she slowly and painfully ascended the stairs.

“We offered to give her a room down here.” Her mother lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “She refused.”

Abbie nodded. “Always the stubborn one.”

“Takes after her father.” Carlene sighed. “He's taking this so hard. Blames himself for not being stricter with her in high school when all this started.”

“And what about Skye's accusations?”

Mom shook her head. “He drank some—but he was never drunk or mean. She's wrong about Dad taking drugs. All he ever took back then was pills to lower his blood pressure, and sometimes he took pills the doctor gave him to help him sleep. He was never an addict.”

Abbie never remembered her father being a user, but Skye had gotten the notion somewhere. A lot of performers used drugs and drank heavily. It was part of the culture. “Even if Pops never took street drugs, Skye had a lot of role models.” Abbie wanted to know more, but she also wanted to change the subject. “How's Tim?”

“Good. He's hoping to get a job with the state police in this area, and if he does he'll be moving back home for a while.”

“That's what Jake was saying.” Abbie helped her mother take the cups and tray back into the kitchen.

“How do you like our Jake?”

Our Jake?
“He's very nice.”

“Oh, he's more than that.” Mom gave that knowing smile.

Abbie would have commented, but Emma had awakened from her nap. “Looks like this might be a good time to unpack and get settled in.” She picked up her daughter and headed for the stairs.

“I'll walk up with you,” Mom said. “Make sure everything is to your liking.”

Abbie and Emma would be staying in two of the four upstairs bedrooms, which connected via a large European-style bathroom. Emma's room looked as though it had been newly decorated in pinks, of course, and hints of other pastels. The bed, dressed in princess-style ruffles and eyelets, had a canopy with yet more ruffles. The furnishings, a dresser and vanity table, had been painted white with gold trim. Very elegant and very much appreciated by her highness.