Abby opened her eyes to bright morning sunshine. She stretched, yawned, and rolled over to check the time. Her thoughts, the same as every day for the past week, centered on how close she’d been to the Munroe Bible, only to see it taken away.
She stretched again, kicked off the sheet, and picked up her phone. The date screamed at her. Turning over she rolled into a ball, pulled the sheet over her head, and let the gloom sink into her bones. Her dad’s birthday. No more celebrations. Ever.
The hurt became a physical jolt, deep in her gut. Memories flooded her mind, shutting out the sunshine, the blue-sprigged cotton sheets, and the raucous cries of a crow outside the window. The first text she’d ever sent had been to him: HB 2 U.
Visions of birthday cakes, dripping candles, and her dad’s beaming smile played through her mind like an old DVD.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Daddy,” she sang in a quiet, tear-clogged voice. He always sang along, even on his own birthday, “Happy birthday to me.”
“Abigail …”
The deep, soft voice surrounded Abby with comfort, a hug from an invisible source. She looked up, expectant, longing for more. Beside her bed stood the same young man she’d been imagining, only this time his outline was sharper, more distinct. He reached out one hand to touch her hair.
“Silas …?”
His right cheek dimpled, and he saluted. “Silas Munroe, at your service, ma’am.”
“How is it possible?” Abby searched his gold-flecked eyes. “You died a long time ago.”
“Life don’t really change with death. But it sure is a mystery, Miss Abigail.”
Abby reached for his hand. Hers went through his semi-transparent flesh as if pushing aside a cloud of cool steam. “You aren’t really here. I’m losing my mind.” But she had the sense that, as crazy as it seemed, he really did exist. And had come to rescue her. “I want to help you.”
“Abby.” Lisa’s voice—grating, annoying—chased Silas away.
Abby crashed back into the real world, with a profound sense of loneliness and longing for Silas. Shaking her head, she refocused. Dad. Lisa. Reality.
Maybe, even after everything that had happened, Lisa might be having a hard time, too. Surely she remembered what the date signified and had some good memories. It might be one time when they would be better off together. Abby tossed the covers aside, dressed, and bathed her eyes in cold water.
Entering the kitchen, Abby expected the stench of burnt coffee, the murk of shut blinds, and a mother with red, swollen eyes to match her own. Instead, bright sunlight greeted her, accompanied by the crackle of sizzling bacon and the aroma of warm cinnamon rolls.
“There you are.” Lisa leaned over to squeeze Abby’s shoulders. “I made breakfast. It’s been a while since I had time to take care of you, not that you need much caring for anymore.”
Abby watched in amazement as her mother sat breakfast on the table and continued to prattle about nothing of any importance whatsoever. She sat down and sipped a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Her stomach rebelled as the cold citrus burned its way down her throat. The bacon congealed in a greasy pool on the plate as it cooled. The dark cinnamon swirled into the center of the rolls. It reminded her of a circular labyrinth leading to hell.
“I’m not hungry.” Abby put down her juice glass. “And I don’t eat pork.”
“Not hungry? You love cinnamon rolls.” Lisa paused. “Don’t you?”
“Not today.” Abby shoved the basket of rolls across the table.
“Why do I even try?” Lisa cleared the table with jerky movements. “You expect too much, Abby. In fact, I’m not even sure what you want most of the time.” Her shrill voice went up an octave. “I left the life I had made for myself and moved back here to take care of you when your father died—I want to be with you. I’ve tried to give you space, but still pay attention. I wish you would talk to me, really talk to me, even if I don’t like what you have to say. But you walk around in a rage and nothing I do works; you act like we’re strangers. It’s lose/lose for me, no matter what.”
“Well, this time you’ve outdone yourself.” Tears filled Abby’s eyes. “You were so busy playing mommy that you forgot today is Dad’s birthday. You’re two for two—absent from his death, forgot his birth. Way to go. I realize you didn’t love either one of us enough to make things work twelve years ago. But somehow I gave you credit for remembering the good as well as the bad. Go figure.” She stood up and pushed the kitchen chair so hard it fell with a clatter onto the tile floor.
“Abby, wait,” Lisa said. “I want to explain …”
Abby interrupted. “Don’t bother. I’ll be in my room; your explanations can keep you company.” She ran from the kitchen, the slap of her flip-flops echoing on the tile floor in the sudden absence of voices.
Abby paced for several minutes after returning to her room and slamming the door shut, her thoughts centered on hating Lisa. When the anger morphed back into sadness, her momentum wound down like an old clock. She collapsed in a heap on the bed, unable to move at all. Questions wound through her brain. Did Lisa come back out of duty or love? What happened to make her leave? Does she feel guilty? Am I a candidate for Bitch of the Year? And what’s with Silas? Am I not only a bitch, but crazy, too?
Abby made her bed, folded some clothes, and ran out of things to do. The need to keep busy sent her to her phone. Since she’d forgotten to charge it as usual, she went back to her laptop. She had to discover something concrete about Silas Munroe and his relationship to Abraham Lincoln. After forty-five minutes Abby rolled her neck and shoulders. Millions of hits on Abe, but nothing about him with anyone named Silas.
She took a shopping break and clicked on eBay. Browsing through purses, shoes, and bike accessories yielded nothing of interest. Then she thought about Morton. He would love some ghost supplies if she could find them cheap enough. She entered “spirits” and sat back. To her amazement, the screen lit up with a multitude of items for ghost hunting, nothing she could afford. Suggestions for further searches included Holy Spirit and Bible.
She entered “antique Bible” in the search block and sat back. Several appeared on-screen and she scrolled through, noticing as she did that most old Bibles looked similar. Some were listed with the auction starting as low as five dollars, others up to two thousand dollars. Kel had been smart to check out the price of her find.
“No. Way.” She stopped scrolling. The Bible on the screen looked exactly like the Munroe Bible. Her hands started to sweat as she clicked on the picture and the description came up.
Antique Bible, circa 1840. This lovely old book boasts a quilted leather cover, brass hasps, and full-color illustrations. It is in fair condition. Wear evident on cover, some pages torn/missing. Newly listed, this historic gem won’t last long. Seller: Confluence of Events Antiques & Oddities. Confluence, Pennsylvania, United States. Contact seller at:
www.confluenceofevents.com
Buy It Now price: $65 shipping $3.99
Abby took a deep breath. Morton had talked about the little town of Confluence as being nearby, down the Allegheny River. It’s also where Kel and her friends had come from. But what if she spent that much money and it turned out to be the wrong Bible?
She sat back and searched for a fingernail that hadn’t already been bitten back to the quick. They all looked bad, but she found a place to gnaw. When that didn’t dispel her indecision, she went to twisting a strand of hair around her finger. She stared at the Bible on the computer so intently it seemed to float off the screen.
“Abigail … trust yourself.”
Abby’s head whipped around; no one. She jumped out of the chair and went to the kitchen. She could see her mother and Jack through the window, standing beside the barn. There were no guests in the house. And no Silas anywhere.
She returned to the computer and sucked in a breath. The cursor had moved and was poised over the words BUY IT NOW.
Abby struggled to put a word to what Silas made her feel. She thought about the psychologist Lisa made her talk to once, who repeated over and over for an hour, “How does that make you feel?”
Rather than being freaked to the max, the voice and vision of Silas made her truly feel love again. Somehow, he always knew when she needed comfort, hope, protection. Something about him, his chiseled chin, curly hair, and broad shoulders made her long to be held in his arms, to feel his heart beating against hers, to press her lips against his.
Abby’s indecision vanished, replaced with a sense of certainty. She rummaged through her desk drawer until she found the credit card Dad had given her to use for emergencies after he got sick. It had never been canceled, and the money she had saved would pay the bill when it came. Back at the computer she entered all the necessary information and hit Complete Transaction. Several minutes later she had an email confirmation and expected delivery in three days.
Leaning back in the antique chair her dad had restored, she rubbed her hands on the smooth wooden arms.
“HB 2 U, Dad.”