Finding Abigail Read online

  She sat up, taking her wine glass off the white plastic table between us. She took a sip and swallowed. “Nothing, but I’m surprised. He seemed really into you.”

  “Not enough, I guess. Debbie and Brian exchanged numbers though.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  Maybe, but I definitely wasn’t going to admit it. “No, I’m happy for her. I know everyone else thinks I should have a man. But I’m happy with my life.”

  The sympathetic expression that crossed her face annoyed me. I didn’t need her pity. It was just a guy, no big deal. Thankfully, Jeff saved me from having to hear what she was about to say. “Dinner’s ready. Brenda, do you want to bring the salads and plates out?”

  “I’ll help.” I jumped up before she could say anything more.

  Thankfully, the subject was forgotten as we made our way into the kitchen to get the rest of the meal.

  “Kids, come on, dinner’s ready,” Brenda yelled, taking down plates, while I carried the macaroni and potato salads outside. We almost dropped our load as the kids ran by us, racing to see who could get to the table first.

  “I won,” Justin proclaimed, slapping the patio table top with a smack. The glass and metal shook in protest.

  “You cheated. Mommy, he cheated,” Haley shrieked, yanking on her mother’s coral top.

  “Could you give me a break, just until we’re finished eating?” Brenda’s voice was almost as whiny as Haley’s.

  Once Jeff set the platter of juicy meat on the table, we dug in, listening to the kids bicker. They fought about their elbows touching, Haley’s extra scoop of salad, and Justin’s foot on her side, under the table. And why couldn’t they have chocolate cake for supper, instead of icky meat and cold potatoes.

  I have to be honest; it was a relief when the last dish was put away, and I could escape to my peacefully quiet home, where the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock.

  With the kids’ shrill voices still echoing in my mind, I fell into the Jacuzzi tub with candlelight and soft music, hoping to clear my head. The bubbles and jets worked their magic, and by the time I climbed out I was relaxed and ready for bed.

  Water dripped on the tile floor as I reached for my robe, when the phone rang. Clutching the towel I had wrapped around me, I rushed into my bedroom, tripping on a shoe and falling face first on the bed. With the towel falling off, I answered, annoyed. “Hello!”

  “Uh…hi, is Abby there?”

  Oh God. I thought it was my mother, but the voice on the other end was too deep. “Yes. This is Abby,” I replied in a much more pleasant tone.

  After a soft chuckle, I heard, “It’s Nick, how are you?”

  Excitement ran though my body at the sound of his voice. “Nick? How did you get my phone number?” My voice was casual, but in my head I was shouting, Wahoo!

  “I’m a cop, remember? I have my ways.”

  “Did Debbie give it to Brian?”

  “Yep.”

  “That is good detective work.” I couldn’t help but smile, enjoying the banter we had going.

  Another deep chuckle. “Thanks. How were you feeling this morning?”

  “Fine. I didn’t drink that much.”

  “That’s good.” From the other end of the phone I heard a noise that sounded like a nervous sigh. “Listen, I decided to take you out to dinner tomorrow night.”

  In my head I was shouting, Yeah! But of course I had to play it cool. “Did you now? Do I have a say in this?”

  “No.”

  I laughed at his demanding words that sounded opposite to the humor in his voice. “Sure, I’d love that.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at six. Where do you live?”

  I gave him my address, and after a few more minutes of light chatter, he let me go, since he was still on a shift.

  My mood lightened considerably after I hung up, even with the sore toe. I treated myself to another glass of wine and a bowl of pretzels, and fell asleep reading a book. I might not have been hungover from last night, but I was up pretty late, which didn’t happen often.

  Chapter Five

  First Date

  The next evening, shortly before Nick was set to arrive, I stood in the mirror gazing at my reflection. I had to admit I looked good. Since I’m not one to put much effort into my appearance, it was nice to dress up for a change. I had stopped work early to prepare, choosing a short-sleeve red dress that fell to my knees. Feeling sassy, I pulled my golden hair up in a twist, with loose strands framing my face. To finish off the look, I was even wearing heels. Bright red spiked ones that hurt my feet, but hey, you only live once, right? They looked good and that was all that mattered.

  The last time I wore this dress was at my second cousin Alfred’s snore-fest of a wedding, a year ago. To say the night was dull was putting it lightly. The minister’s voice was monotone, reminding me of the teacher from the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The words “anyone, anyone” popped in my head as I listened to him and waited for him to say it at the part of the objections. I was surprised when he didn’t. It was hard to keep my head upright throughout the ceremony.

  The doorbell rang at exactly six o’clock, and after a final peek in the mirror, I opened the door.

  Nick was oh-so-handsome in a blue button-down shirt and charcoal sport coat. Instead of dress pants, he wore jeans. The look made him appear sexy—respectable with a touch of recklessness.

  He smiled, making the corners of his dark eyes crinkle as he handed me the bouquet of white and pink lilies he held in his hand.

  My fingers grazed his as I took the flowers. “Thank you so much, they’re beautiful.” I loved flowers; for some reason, they always made me smile, no matter how depressed or upset I was. The sight of them in my apartment brightened my day. I can’t really say why I felt so strongly over something so simple, but the only reason I could think of was my mother’s prized sunflowers.

  My father always told her that she had a blue thumb, not purple, not quite green either. Every year she planted a large garden, and every year most of them died; either she watered them too much, or not enough. The only ones that flourished were the sunflowers, lined along our red-brick house; behind the wilted peonies and the dead petunias. The yellow and brown flowers almost reached the top of our living room picture window; the heads were always the size of dinner plates. After my father died, though, she gave up on gardening altogether. But they still made me smile.

  “Come in while I put these in some water,” I said to Nick as I closed the door behind him, breathing in the delicious scent of the lilies.

  “You know, I never asked what it was you did for a living.” He pointed to my computer, sitting in the corner of the living room; stacks of paper littered the desk and shelves above.

  “I’m a writer. I write children’s books.”

  “Oh really, would I know any?”

  “That depends. Do you buy many books for kids?”

  A flash of something that resembled guilt crossed his face. “Ah…no. I do have a niece and a nephew, but on their birthdays I usually go for toys.” He followed me into the kitchen, watching as I took out a vase and poured water into it, the cool liquid rising to just below the small crack in the blue crystal.

  “You can’t go wrong with toys. Most kids prefer them to books.” I dropped the flowers into the water and placed the vase onto the table. “Are you ready?” I stood back and admired the bouquet, the scent already drifting in the air, mixing with the smell of onions from the burger I had for lunch.

  Leaning against the kitchen doorway, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, a lazy smile on his lips. “I am. We’re going to McDonald’s.”

  “Umm… I like McDonald’s.” My gaze slid down to my dress and heels. “But I might be overdressed.”

  He laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m taking you to Marco’s.”

  We both wandered back into the living room. “Oh, I love that restaurant. They have the best pasta in town.” I pull
ed my black wrap off the coat rack and swung it around my shoulders, the soft silk smooth against my skin.

  “I’m friends with the owner.” He opened the door and waited as I locked it, then together, we headed for the elevator.

  “Really? That’s cool,” I said, pushing the button for the first floor.

  “Yeah, I grew up with Marc; he’s always been into cooking. When we were kids, my other friends and I thought it was kind of girly, but he’s doing great. I’m happy for him.”

  When the elevator arrived, we headed down to the lobby, making small talk about our jobs.

  A red Chevy Tahoe sat in front of my building, and right away, I knew it was his. It was either that, or the black Ford Focus in front of it and for some reason, I knew he wouldn’t drive a car. Maybe it was the comment about cooking being girly, but my impression of him was a little on the macho side, which wasn’t necessarily a bad sign.

  Once we were inside the vehicle, he pulled onto the street and drove to the restaurant listening to classic rock.

  “Nick. Where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.” A man about our age, with slicked black hair, bushy eyebrows, and a warm friendly smile gave Nick one of those, quick-slap-on-the-back guy hugs. We were standing at the hostess stand waiting to be seated, when he approached.

  “I’ve been too busy making detective to go out to dinner.” They pulled apart, both sets of deep brown eyes focusing on me. “Marc, I want you to meet Abby. Abby, this is one of my oldest friends, Marc.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. I love your restaurant.”

  “Abby, you’re beautiful.” He grinned. “How long have you known our Nick?”

  “Just a few days.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Oh, your first date? Well, come on then, I’ll see that you get a great table.” He took my hand and led me to the back of the restaurant where there was a beautiful view of a fountain, the centerpiece of the restaurant. It stood about ten feet tall, clear glass tiers, with water spouting out the top, trickling down into an enormous clear basin. Lights glimmered in the water, creating an almost magical feel. It was like a floating water sculpture. The sound of the running water was soothing, a complement to the calming music that drifted around us, mixed with the smell of tomato and spices. The lights were dim, with flickers of candlelight glowing throughout the room. The ambience was one of romance; this was the place to take a date. Jason, my ex, used to bring me here.

  He gestured to an empty, cozy two-seater, with a black vase and red rose placed in the center. We sat down on the buttery-smooth leather chairs, and I noted the slight scent of cinnamon floating out of a candle. “Let me know if you need anything. Enjoy your meal.” As Marco walked away, I thought I saw him give a thumbs-up to Nick.

  We were just looking at our menus when a waiter came to our table with a bottle of Chardonnay. “Compliments of Marco,” he said, pouring us each a glass and then placing it on the center of the table. “Are you ready to order, or would you like more time?” His grin was wide, almost forced, hoping for a large tip, I guessed.

  “I think we need more time, thank you,” Nick replied, still browsing his menu.

  The waiter nodded and rushed away.

  “So, do you know what you want?” He glanced at me over his menu, the reflection of the candle’s flame dancing in his eyes.

  “Yes. I think I’ll have the lasagna. I don’t have it often and it’s the best here. What about you?”

  “I like their sausage penne.” His eyes darted back down at the choices. “But maybe I’ll have something less spicy. Just in case I get lucky and you give me a goodnight kiss.” He didn’t turn away from the pages as he made the remark, but the corners of his lips turned up into an almost smile.

  He was flirting with me, and I did love a good flirt. “We’ll see.” I lifted my glass up, holding it in front of me. “And I don’t mind a little spice.”

  He grinned, giving me a slight nod. “So, what do you do in your free time?” he asked, setting his menu down, apparently having made his decision. He took a sip of his wine.

  What free time? “Well, I work a lot, so I don’t have much of it. But when I do, I like to read and spend time with my niece and nephew.” Leaning back in my chair, I closed my menu, placing it on top of his. “Actually, I took them to a movie yesterday.”

  “Oh yeah. Which one?”

  “Wendy’s Wish.”

  “Oh, I bet they liked it. I was over at my brother’s last week and that’s all his kids could talk about. Did you guys enjoy it?”

  His words were flattering, even if he didn’t realize it. I blushed, not always comfortable with praise. If he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Yes, they did. My nephew asked how they made those people into cartoons.”

  He laughed. “So was it hard to sit through? I’ve never had to take them, but I imagine it would be a long hour and a half, watching a cartoon geared for kids.”

  I chuckled slightly to myself, since he didn’t know what was funny. “Um…no. The characters were so much like the book and the colors were wonderfully vivid. It was surreal to see my story come to life.”

  He squinted at me. “What do you mean?”

  Embarrassed to say any more, I looked down at my hands. “The movie was taken from the first pre-teen book I had published.”

  “Seriously? Your book was made into a movie?” he asked, shock spread all over his face.

  I took another sip of my wine, avoiding eye contact, hoping to calm my sudden jitters. I wasn’t one to brag and just bringing it up felt like boasting. But not to mention that part of my work felt like I was hiding something. “I’m serious. I even helped pick the actors’ voices for the characters.”

  Looking somewhat dumbfounded, he asked, “What’s it about?”

  “An orphan girl named Wendy. She finds a coin on the street and tosses it into a fountain, making a wish. When she leans over trying to find her coin, the fountain sucks her into a different world where everything is animated.”

  He leaned forward, obviously interested. “What was her wish?”

  “Well, you don’t find out what it was until the end of the book, but I’ll tell you.” I paused, raising a brow. “Can you guess?”

  The dim light made his deep eyes appear black as they narrowed in concentration. “A family?” he guessed.

  I smiled with a slight nod. “Close. A home, and she finds one, and creatures to love, inside the fountain.”

  “Wow. How many books have you written?”

  Suddenly anxious, I fidgeted with my cutlery, the knife and spoon making a light tinkling sound as I knocked them together. “Fifteen. I just started a new series for kindergarten and younger.”

  “That’s so awesome, Abby,” he said sincerely. “Nicky and Bobby would love to meet you. They’re my brother, Rob’s, kids. I also have a niece from my sister Tina, but she’s only a month old.”

  The eager waiter rushed over after Nick raised his hand to let him know we were ready. Nick recited our orders without looking up from the menu or a confirming glance in my direction. I chose to take his ordering for me as a sign of him being a cop, used to being in charge. Once we were alone again, I took a piece of bread from the basket and buttered it. In need of a subject change, I asked, “So you have a brother and a sister?”

  He nodded, chewing his own piece of rye, and then swallowed. “Mm-hmm, Rob’s the oldest, I’m the middle child, and Tina’s the baby. I was a little annoyed that she got married and started a family before me. Maybe it was the middle child syndrome, needing attention from my parents, who knows?” He paused as he washed the bread down with a sip of wine. “But I just didn’t have the time to meet anyone. When you’re a rookie on the force, you want to prove yourself to everyone, and eventually I wanted to make detective to prove to myself that I could.”

  “Do you have a specialty? Homicide or Narcotics? I have no idea what I’m talking about, only what I see on TV.” I felt awkward, hoping that I didn’t sound stupid
.

  “No, you said it right. Actually I’m on Robbery. We usually focus on stolen vehicles. There’s a guy we suspect that runs a chop shop. We’re just gathering evidence right now.”

  “You don’t want Homicide, do you?” I glanced away at the sound of laughter bursting from a table across the way. A group of couples looked to be celebrating a birthday. A giant of a man with bright orange hair was sporting a pointed blue cardboard birthday hat, a sight that the rest of his party apparently found funny.

  I turned back to Nick as he leaned back in his chair, looking comfortable. “I did at one time. It’s considered the highest detective position, but the hours suck. When you’re on a murder investigation, it doesn’t matter the last time you slept. If there’s a lead, it can’t wait.”

  His description wasn’t that appealing. I could just imagine endless nights waiting for your man, not knowing if he’d come home or not. Wondering if he was lying in a gutter somewhere shot from a perp high on crack. What was wrong with me? Was it the writer in me that let my imagination run away like this? I needed to stop and just enjoy the rest of the date.

  Chapter Six

  Suzie

  While we waited for our food to arrive, he told me an amusing story about a bust he helped out with last week. An older man living in the garage of his daughter’s house was stealing bikes, all black ones. He was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, and thought he was picking up the same bike over and over. His grandson had left his two-wheeler on the side of the street a few weeks ago, and he had picked it up for him. Now, whenever he saw one that looked the same as he went for his daily walk along the neighborhood, he’d do it again, thinking it was his grandson’s. I laughed softly, feeling sad for the poor man and his family. I had lost my father suddenly, but at least I didn’t have to see him suffer, and the thought of him not recognizing me was painful.

  Nick had just finished his story when the waiter brought our dinner. My meal was, as I knew it would be, delicious. “Do you want to try my lasagna?” I asked, holding out my fork.