Touchdown (26 page)

“It has to be hard for David to remain monogamous with all those fancy lady doctors he works with, the single ones — slim and attractive.”

Abby tried to catch her breath. She hated when Ma used the threat of “Other Women” as a way to get her to do what she wanted. “David loves me, Ma. And I don't understand why you're getting all worked up over one stupid bagel.”

“Love, shmove,” Ma sighed. “You just don't want him wondering what he's doing with a girl like you when he has all those capable, attractive women fawning over him.”

It was bad enough always trying to gage what David was thinking (how could she when he was rarely home?) Abby had enough of Ma's accusations. “That's hurtful.”

“I'm only trying to help.”

Abby moved through the playground and reached the fence. “How is telling me that David won't want me being helpful?”

“I don't want to see you alone, and my grandbabies without a father, because you aren't keeping up.”

“You think I want to be alone?”

“I don't know what to think anymore. Between the weight gain and escaping into the soaps and all those romance novels — you sure don't behave like a woman who wants to keep her man.”

“How can you say that? My life revolves around taking care of David and the kids. I taste what I cook, so I gain weight. Is that a crime? Anyway, David doesn't seem to mind.”

“Doesn't seem to mind? You're living in a dreamland, Abby! Like those romance novels you feel compelled to write — God knows why — or that stupid soap opera you're addicted to.”

“
One Life to Lose
is not stupid. It's about true love. And you know why I write.”

Ma sniffed. “Right. 'Cause Abby Miller, age thirty and mother of three, thinks she's going to be a star. You'll be famous, and everyone will want to read your romance novels.”

Abby stopped suddenly. “That's exactly what I think, Ma.”

“You're delusional, baby. But I love you, anyway. Lose the bagel, okay?”

“Later, Ma.” Abby shut the phone and heaved herself over the fence.
Not bad for a fat girl,
Abby thought, and landed with a thump.

A short, thin, red-haired man with a furry, beaver-shaped mole on his forehead crouched on the ground, shot to his feet at her sudden appearance and scurried away.

Two more minutes
, she noted, and then she stumbled, twisting her ankle. Shoot, she thought, as she smoothed her hair.
Can't be late. What was that?
She bent down to see what had tripped her and let out a scream.

It was a severed human hand.

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