She clicked on the six personal e-mails. Her sisters had e-mailed. Jenny, her younger sister, begged Abigail to fly to Hawaii for her next surfing competition and slapped an exclamation point after everything involving her new surfboard. Jenny was their resident marine biologist and professional surfer.
Sandra, the oldest sister, sent pictures of the kids swinging on the new jungle gym her husband had built. Sandra was the shining star. She married an attorney, which made their father happy as a clam. He was the good son-in-law. None of the kids had chosen to follow in their dad’s footsteps, so the sons-in-law took up the slack to save the day. Justin, the other son-in-law, was an attorney too, but also turned out to be an asshole of the worst caliber. Knew the law. Knew how to get away with the worst of crimes. Abigail cringed at the thought and buried it—again.
Douglas, the only son, almost put their parents in the psych ward when he chose to attend Harvard only to promptly drop out his senior year and pursue a career in art. Doug was her partner in crime. The two middle kids in a house of expectations and disappointments, Doug was always there for her. There was only one time in her life he hadn’t been there to save the day. He never e-mailed. He was one of the only humans left on the planet who actually picked up a phone and called someone.
KathySwansonGrandma was the next e-mail. Mom, of course, had sent the invite for the annual Fourth of July bash at the lake house. Her usual itinerary was neatly listed into the appropriate categories for the two-day event. How could Abigail have fallen so far from the apple tree? Her mother’s letters were always precise and perfect, while Abigail had trouble compiling a grocery list that wasn’t pieced together on a napkin.
Abigail moved the electronic letters into their respective folders.
Spectre5 was the next in line.
Abigail felt her stomach condense into a pile of cement. Her throat stuck, holding on to the saliva that was about to choke her. What if this was like Seattle all over again? The phone calls came at all hours of the night. She looked up at the open door. It was a saving grace in a room that was slowly closing in around her. Breathe in. Breathe out. After reading the third self-help book, she finally realized that the breathing exercises really did help when the panic started to rise. Breathe in. Breathe out. As the air crept through her lungs, the tight grip she felt around her throat started to ease until finally it was gone. She blew a long breath out, feeling good to finally have some kind of control over the insane anxiety that plagued her.
Her momentary serenity was squandered when she looked back at the eight characters on the screen. Eight gut-twisting, confusing, possibly nothing characters. She clicked the little yellow envelope.
An e-card—another e-card! This time, bright red roses rested in a heart-shaped vase next to a gray kitten. The caption read: We’re purrrfect together. She knew who thought they were perfect together, and the asshole couldn’t be further from the truth. It was time to change her e-mail once again.
The idea that the sender had misplaced the correct e-mail address had long ago been squashed. She’d e-mailed back the first few times to tell the sender he or she was sending to the wrong mailbox. The cards kept coming.
She moved it into the folder titled “Justin.” That was where she kept them. All Valentine e-cards. All sappy and commercially typical: a couple on the beach, a couple drinking coffee in bed, one of those black-and-white ones with the two kids. The girl pointing her pert nose up to see the boy’s smiling face, a red rose behind his back.
The small corner of Abigail’s brain, the one that controlled fear, the one that had managed to take over the rest of her gray matter, screamed to call the police. To tell everything. But she wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready to talk about the afternoon Justin had come home early from work to beat her because she’d not cleaned the kitchen to his liking. Or the time they’d gone out to dinner and he’d slapped her when they were in the parking lot. No, she just wasn’t ready.
She slipped her hand under the hem of her T-shirt. The scars were still there. They’d always be there. Her fingertips slipped along the jagged remnant of her secret. The secret she kept locked away about the horrible night Justin had broken into her home, taken her by the hair to drag her into the bathroom and used a knife from the kitchen to destroy her life. The last words out of his mouth would be her undoing as he left her on the floor to die in a pool of blood. No, there would be no confessions about her past today. No fidgeting, no nail-biting, and no confessions!
THE SMALL LOBBY caught Sean off guard. Brightly colored Oriental rugs were scattered over the concrete floor. The red loveseat against the wall had three tiny silk-looking pillows resting against the back cushions. He lost count of the potted plants sitting on the tables and shelves. It was warm and inviting. Not too gaudy, but…homey.