Worth the Fall(78)

He rested his head against the brick, glancing down. Pieces of his shattered cell phone lay scattered at his feet. Calling her with that was out of the question.

—

“More, peeze,” Charlie said from the table. He’d already eaten his weight in pancakes this morning.

“Okay, one more.” She kissed his syrupy cheek.

Abby’s eyes blurred with fatigue, not tears. Because she hadn’t cried. But that didn’t change her routine. She still got up, still made breakfast and lunches. Put on a smile. Pretended to be happy.

She braided Annie’s hair, making sure it was extra neat the way she liked it. The uniforms were freshly ironed. The lunches made extra special. That’d been her secret to holding herself together: keeping it together. And not caring. She had rules about that. She’d just forgotten them for a while.

It was Charlie’s day to go to school and there was a lot she could do. Jack needed new cleats, and Gracie’s tights had a snag. She could always use more casseroles in the freezer. With the new baby, she’d need easy dinners. Good. That was her plan, her task for the day. But Matt’s words slipped in.

God forbid you admit you need me?

He’d almost sounded hurt. But that was after he’d said it wasn’t working, wasn’t it? The conversation continued to repeat in her head like a broken record, as it had all night.

With her guard down, the L word swirling around in her mind and heart, sitting on the tip of her tongue. She’d reached out to him with the phone call—not a natural instinct for her. Better to keep to yourself. Safer to be an island. It’s who she was, what she knew. She took a breath and lifted her chin. Just a few months ago it had been enough, and it would be again.

An hour later she sat in her car, cradling her Starbucks. She’d dropped the kids off at school and gone for a pre-errand-running boost. Her doctor had said limit caffeine, not cut it.

Angie had made her promise not to push Matt away, and then he’d pushed first. She’d worked hard her whole life not to let that happen again. Yesterday she’d thought Matt was worth the risk. She’d been so sure he loved her. So sure that she’d wanted to tell him she loved him too.

And that would be okay with you?

Of course not. Of course it wasn’t okay with her. And that’s why she pushed. As a child it had been the only means of defense she had, but—did he really think she didn’t care?

She stared at the phone in her hand for several seconds. She could call him and say…what? That she was hurting? That it wasn’t okay? But it wasn’t working for him. He’d been clear enough. She dropped the cell into her cup holder.

Forcing her mind on a grocery list, she pulled into traffic. Cheese sticks, peanut butter, bread. She approached an intersection and slowed at the light. Merchants in the adjacent strip mall were wasting no time, already decorating for Christmas. She’d probably find holiday music too. She flicked a glance in the rearview mirror as she reached to turn on the radio, then a quick look again. A small silver car was coming up behind her. Too fast. Way too fast to stop. He was going to hit—

The sound of impact reverberated through her body. A split-second flash of the dashboard. Her head hit the steering wheel and then…nothing.

—

“How far along are you?”

Abby felt the words shouted at her, then her body being moved from one gurney to another.

The next time she opened her eyes, she squinted against the bright lights overhead. She lifted a hand to her head, but someone stopped her. It felt wet. She wanted to wipe it.

“Abby, you were in an accident. You’re at St. Michael’s Hospital. How far along are you? Who’s your obstetrician?”

She lifted her hand again. There was something over her mouth.

“It’s okay. That’s oxygen.”

But they were asking her questions and she couldn’t talk.

“Is there someone we can call?”

Matt.

Tears slid from her eyes into her hair.

She needed Matt.

—

A red turkey feather ticked around the clock on his mother’s kitchen wall, marking the minutes until the AT&T store opened. He was able to switch SIM cards with a friend so he could pull up Abby’s number and had come here to use the phone. He’d hoped maybe his parents would be out, that he’d be able to avoid discussion. No such luck.

His mom bustled around the kitchen. “Can I fix you some breakfast, honey?”

“No, thanks.”

“You don’t look too good, son.” His dad joined them, a slight grin on his face. Zero sympathy.

“I’m fine.” He’d had more than usual to drink last night, but that’s not why his head hurt.