Woman in Black (57 page)

Why should it be any different with Abigail?

“I'm sorry, Gil,” he murmured into her hair, which smelled faintly of molten metal and the fruit-scented shampoo she used. “I wish it could've been the way you wanted. But I meant what I said before—I owe you my life. I'd probably be dead by now if it weren't for you.”

“If you'd croaked, I'd have gotten to mourn you, at least.” She lifted her head off his chest to give him a half-assed smile. Her eyes were wet, their thick black lashes clumped together like little starbursts. “It would have been one kick-ass funeral, too. I'd have worn a black dress and veil like Jackie Kennedy's, and everyone would have thought I was the love of your life. I'd have played it to the hilt.”

“You look good in black.” He smiled back at her.

“Good is for nice Catholic girls. I fucking
rock
.”

“You do, at that.”

Just then, the phone rang. Neither of them moved to pick it up. Three rings later, Vaughn heard the faint sound of Abigail's voice on the answering machine in the next room. His heart leaped, and he was torn between the desire to make a run for it before she hung up and a reluctance to rub salt into Gillian's wounds by doing so.

It was Gillian who made the decision for him. She jerked free of him, scowling. “Go on, answer it. You two deserve each other.”

“
I need to
see you.”

At the sound of Abigail's voice, like cool, sweet water to a parched throat after his confrontation with Gillian, Vaughn felt some of the tension go out of him. “Just name the time,” he said.

“How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“Great. That little Italian place we went to the last time?”

She hesitated before answering, “I was thinking of somewhere a little more private.”

“You could always meet me at my hotel,” he said.

“You're moving out?” She sounded surprised.

He lowered his voice, casting a look in the direction of Gillian's studio to make sure the door was shut. “More like I'm getting thrown out.”

“I see.” Abigail didn't have to ask why. It must have been obvious. “Vaughn, I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry, too,” he said, thinking of Gillian and feeling like a heel.

“I don't think meeting at your hotel is such a good idea, though,” she told him. “We'd only end up in bed, and there's something I need to talk to you about.”

He wondered what it could be. It sounded serious. “All right, then. Just tell me where to meet you.”

They arranged to meet the following day at the Noguchi Museum. It was a little out of the way, she said, but it was the one public place where she was unlikely to be recognized and where they could talk in relative privacy. The museum, Noguchi's former studio, was on a grungy industrial block in Long Island City and thus not exactly over-run with tourists.

Vaughn arrived early the next day, well before the appointed hour, wanting to have a look around before Abigail got there. For one reason or another, he'd never gotten around to visiting the museum. Now, wandering from one vast, concrete-floored room, taking in Noguchi's sparely elegant sculptures, he found it a serene, Zenlike oasis. The mild apprehension he'd been feeling since his phone conversation with Abigail the day before began to ebb.

After touring the exhibits, he exited into the walled courtyard out back. A slender woman, wearing dark glasses and a scarf over her head, was seated on a bench under a Japanese maple, gazing at a polished granite sculpture that made him think of a pair of entwined hands. It was an instant before he recognized her; then his heart leaped.

Abigail rose, walking toward him. Not the proud, confident Abigail he knew; this Abigail walked cautiously, holding herself as if she were a brimming glass that might spill over. Anyone who didn't know better, if asked which of them had been ill, would have picked Abigail.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked.

She smiled at him. “Not at all. I only got here a few minutes ago.” She slipped off her sunglasses and tucked them into her purse. Her eyes looked bruised, as if from lack of sleep. Clearly something was troubling her, and he wondered uneasily if it had to do with him.

They started down the graveled walkway, lined with trees and outdoor sculptures, that wound through the courtyard. The only sounds, other than that of distant traffic, were the rustling of leaves overhead and the pleasant gurgling of fountains. “So what was it you wanted to see me about?” he asked as they strolled along, hand in hand.

“I'll get to that in a minute. First tell me how it went with the doctor.”

“Good. Better than good, actually. Dr. Grossman tells me I'm officially in remission. With any luck, I won't have to see him again for another three months.”

“Oh, Vaughn. That's wonderful!” In an instant, her troubled look vanished, and she was grinning from ear to ear. “You don't know how happy that makes me. My God, what a relief.” Her eyes shining, she paused to caress his cheek—the same light, almost reverential touch he'd used in smoothing his hand over one of the sculptures inside a minute ago when the guard's back had been turned.

The obvious next step would be for her to ask,
What now?
But he didn't want to get into that just yet. He wanted to hear what was on her mind first, find out what was troubling her.

“How about you? How'd it go yesterday?” he asked.

Abigail sighed. “Tougher than I expected. Something came out in the session.…” She paused before going on, wearing a deeply pained look. “It seems … well, it seems my daughter was sexually molested. By one of her teachers at school.” Though the weather was sunny and mild, she began to shiver as if with a sudden drop in temperature. He understood then why she looked so bruised, and his heart went out to her.

“I'm so sorry, Abby. My God.” He'd been to countries where it was legal for men like Phoebe's teacher to have sex with girls and boys as young as eleven and twelve. He'd witnessed it with his own eyes—older men trawling the side streets and alleys at night in search of young marks—and the sick depravity of it never got any easier for him to stomach.

“Kent and I have already spoken to the DA,” she informed him. “As soon as Phoebe gives him her affidavit, he'll press charges.”

Vaughn shook his head in disgust. “The sick bastard.”

She stared past him, her mouth set in a grim line. “Believe me, I know all about sick bastards who prey on young girls. That's what makes it even worse. I should have recognized the signs.”

“How could you? It's not something most people automatically suspect.”

“I'm not most people.”

“What do you mean?”

Abigail took a deep breath, as if to steady herself, and brought her gaze back to him. “I was sexually abused, too, when I was her age.”

Vaughn stared at her in shock. “Jesus.”

“It was my uncle,” she said. “I was only sixteen. The only other person I'd been with until then was you. And we never …” She trailed off, her eyes welling with tears.

“Oh, Abby. My poor Abby.” Vaughn wrapped his arms around her.

“When I told you your letters were a lifeline, I meant it,” she whispered hoarsely.

He drew back to level his gaze at her. “If I'd known, I would have moved heaven and earth, if that's what it would have taken, to get you away from there. You believe that, don't you?”

She nodded, wearing a small smile. “I used to fantasize about it all the time. My knight in shining armor, riding to the rescue.”

“I'd have done more than that. I'd have beaten the guy to a pulp. Why didn't you tell me?”

“I was too ashamed. I thought it was my fault, somehow. I never even told Kent. He didn't find out about it until yesterday, in the session.”

“He must have been pretty taken aback.”

“More like shocked. Angry, too. He couldn't understand why I'd kept it from him.”

“Why did you?” Vaughn was curious.

She gave a small shrug. “I was good at keeping secrets. A little too good, as it turns out.”

Suddenly a lot of things made sense to Vaughn. Mainly, why Lila's failure to get in touch with her had been even more hurtful to Abigail than it ordinarily would have been. How abandoned she must have felt! Stuck out there in the middle of nowhere, with her mother dying and her uncle …

But Vaughn couldn't think about that. If he did, he'd want to smash his fist through something.

He understood now the mountain she'd had to climb in order to forgive his sister, and that made him love her all the more.

“So is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” he said.

“Partly, yes.” She gazed at him intently, looking more vulnerable than he was used to seeing her. “It made me realize something. I need to know where we stand, Vaughn. Not,” she was quick to assure him, “that I'm trying to corral you in any way. Please don't think that. Right now, I'm in no shape to even make a date for next New Year's Eve, much less anything more long-range than that. I just need to know if this—
us
—is just for old times' sake or if there's really something there.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her, a deep, lingering kiss that he hoped would put any doubts to rest. “Was that the answer you were looking for?” he murmured as he drew back.

“No, but you're definitely headed in the right direction.” Her face lit up briefly, but her smile faded almost as soon as it took hold. “Seriously, Vaughn, where do you see this going? We're not kids anymore. Our lives are too complicated to just take this on a wing and a prayer.”

She'd removed her scarf, and the sunlight filtering through the branches of the gingko tree under which they stood had brought out the natural red highlights in her hair, making them spark as if with electricity. Her face seemed pale in contrast. Vaughn longed to tell her everything she wanted to hear, but he'd only be painting a picture as false as the fantasy Abigail had had as a teenager, of them riding off into the sunset together. It would be unfair to let her think they could have a life together when the reality would be scattered visits and phone calls, so he bit the bullet and said, “I love you, Abby. But I'm afraid that's all I can offer you right now. I'm not even sure where I'll be on New Year's Eve.”

“You're leaving?” It wasn't so much a question as a statement.

He nodded. “I got a gig with the Discovery channel. I'll be gone a couple of months, maybe longer.”

“Then there'll be another gig. And another one after that.” She gave a small, resigned smile that tugged at his heart. But unlike Gillian, she wasn't going to fall apart. She drew in a breath, as if to bolster herself, and said in a voice that was only a little ragged around the edges, “So. I guess this is good-bye.”

“It doesn't have to be.” Vaughn had been hoping against hope that she'd be willing to accept less than the full sum as a down payment on the life they could have one day, when they were both retired (though somehow he couldn't picture either of them retiring). “I'm not leaving until the end of next week. Why don't you stay over in the city this weekend? Seems a shame to let my hotel room go to waste.” He aimed for a roguish smile that fell a little flat.

She shook her head. “I can't. I promised Kent we'd go over the financial statements. We'll probably be at it all weekend.” He sensed it was just an excuse. Was it just that she wasn't up for a long, drawn-out good-bye, or was there something else? The answer, when it came, rocked him. “Speaking of whom, my husband has very gallantly offered to move back in with me,” she informed him.

Vaughn felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. “What did you tell him?”

“
Not
that I was in love with another man, you can be sure of that.”

Vaughn felt some of the tension go out of him. “So you told him no?”

She nodded, putting him out of his misery. “He was only offering because of Phoebe. I told him I didn't see what good it would do any of us if it was for all the wrong reasons.”

“Wise choice.”

Her expression grew serious again. “Which doesn't change the fact that the man I
am
in love with is leaving me.” He heard a little quaver in her voice and knew she was struggling not to give in to tears, but there was no accusation in it, as there had been with Gillian.

“Not leaving
you
. Just leaving. For the time being. There's a difference.”

He put his arms around her and pulled her to him, kissing her again. With abandon this time, the way you kiss a woman you love when you don't know when … or if … you'll be seeing her again. They could've been on a city sidewalk with people streaming past and he wouldn't have been any more aware of his surroundings than he was at that moment, as they stood with their arms wrapped around each other, mouths and hearts joined.

When he finally drew back, it was to whisper, “I love you, Abby. I've always loved you.” It felt good saying it, like when he'd finally been able to stretch his limbs and take in fresh air after those first few weeks of confinement. “It doesn't have to be the end.”

“It does for me,” she said with regret. “I'm not built the way you are, Vaughn. I don't live life on the fly. Don't get me wrong, I love who you are, but you're everything I'm not.”

“That doesn't mean we have to cancel each other out.”

“No, but it does mean we'd only end up making each other unhappy. Why not admit it now and save ourselves a lot of grief?”

“Abby …” He reached out to her, but she was already pulling away.

“I should get back to work,” she said, adding somewhat ruefully, “I have a business to run.”

There were many things Vaughn could have said just then.
I could travel the world over, and I still won't be able to leave you behind. I know, because I've tried. I may not have realized it then, but all that time, with those other women, there was only you
. But all he said was, “I'll write to you. Will you write back?”