Abby found Lisa in the kitchen sitting at the table, drinking a condensation-covered can of root beer. “Hot?”
Lisa smiled. “As a matter of fact, I am. I decided to stop for a minute to catch my breath.” She lifted the can in her hand. “Want one?”
“No, I didn’t have much exercise today, at least not the kind you seem to have had. In fact, I’ve never worked out the way you do.”
“That sounded cryptic. You didn’t even ask me what I did.”
Abby grimaced. “I don’t have to ask. And I don’t want details, please.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Lisa’s smile faded and her eyes narrowed.
“Let me tell you a story,” Abby said. “Once upon a time, while minding my own business, I happened to find my mother and the hired help clenched together in the kitchen on a sunny afternoon. Whatever they had been doing together made them hot, so they shared a drink. Then they whispered sweet nothings to each other, had a little kiss, declared their love, and parted. The End.”
Lisa jumped up, shaking her head. She reached for Abby. The can toppled over; dark, foamy liquid ran across the table and dripped to the floor in a brown puddle. She ignored it. “Oh, Abby, no. You can’t possibly think Jack and I, are, well, together that way. You don’t understand.”
“Right …” Abby tapped her temple. “I don’t understand because you don’t think I’m ready to hear it. Isn’t that how you put it? Well, news flash, I will never be ready to hear about you screwing Jack. You’re old enough to be his freaking mother, not that you have the least idea what a mother is supposed to be.” Abby choked back tears.
“This is an awful misunderstanding.” Lisa ran her hands up and down her arms as if a sudden chill had entered the warm room. “Sit down, let me explain everything. I’m very fond of Jack … I love him and …”
“You disgust me.” Abby ran out the back door and toward the barn.
The screen door slammed. Lisa strode across the yard. She glanced at Abby but didn’t stop.
Abby grabbed her bike and sped into town, skidding into Dairy Delicious on reflex. Usually a chocolate milkshake could freeze out the pain of most problems, but not this time. She had no idea what to do. And she knew she couldn’t stay at a dairy bar forever.
As Abby sat at the outdoor table, milkshake untouched in front of her, Lisa sped past in the truck. She drove across the bridge and headed out of town. Abby pedaled home. Bikers’ Rest appeared deserted until she headed for the third floor. The sound of hammering got louder as she ascended.
Abby reached the top of the stairs and glared at Jack.
He tossed the hammer into the toolbox. It landed with a loud clang. “That about does it.”
Abby winced, the pounding in her head intensified at the sight of him. She surveyed the wall repair hiding the staircase once again. A big piece of plasterboard covered the opening, with a gaping perimeter.
“I’ll plaster the edges later,” Jack said. “I told your mother she might want to consider opening the false wall at the bottom someday and make a back entrance into the kitchen between here and there, but it’s her call. She’s the boss; except for you, of course.” He winked at Abby. “I have to get back to the barn roof. I’ll be leaving soon for D.C. and the bike rally. And I want to get the job done before I go.”
“I think you’ve done plenty while you were here. More destruction than repair.”
Jack shrugged. “Whatever that means.”
“You don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“No clue.” Jack picked up the toolbox.
Abby wondered if Lisa hadn’t had a chance to tell him that their secret had been shattered. Which meant she could avoid confronting him, he would leave, and Lisa, well, that wound would never heal. She just had to stay calm and act normal.
“So you’re leaving for the bike rally. Do you really expect to meet the president?”
Jack shrugged again. “I’ll make sure I get up close and personal with the commander-in-chief. My dad is being honored at the rally, as the father of a fallen marine. He’s sitting on the viewing platform and will make sure I’m part of the action. I’m certain that Keller will be using the occasion as a photo op to boost his popularity; he needs it. He should spend more time getting soldiers out of a war zone and less time worrying about his image. If he had done his job in the first place my brother would still be alive. And so would other peoples’ brothers and sons and daughters.” Venom laced through Jack’s words, cobra-like and deadly.
Abby shivered, not sure what to do, not sure what he expected, not sure about anything. She defaulted to a non-threatening subject. “It’s so amazing you and your dad will meet him, even if you don’t agree with everything he’s done. Politics are complicated, and I’m not that into it. But I know how much you must miss your brother. My
dad—”
Jack interrupted, “Your dad was old. Older people die; it’s called natural causes. That’s the way it works. You need to get over it. My brother was young and didn’t deserve to be killed. It’s Keller’s fault; he’s the president. You’re incredibly naïve, even for an American.”
The shock of Jack’s words made Abby reel back in surprise. “First of all, my dad was not old. And I don’t need to ‘get over it’ until I’m good and ready. I loved him, maybe even more than you loved your brother, who knows? What is your problem? Your brother chose to join the Marines. I’m sorry he died, but as you said, ‘that’s the way it is, and you need to get over it.’ Blaming the president is stupid; you’re brainless to think it’s anyone’s fault. War is war; no one wins. Maybe you should worry more about your own behavior, since it’s something you can control.”
“What’s next?” Jack sneered and put his hand over his heart. “Are you going to wave a little American flag and sing the “Star Spangled Banner”? Grow up, Abby. It’s people like you with their heads buried in the sand that insure people like me will suffer grief. I thought you understood. But you’re so self-centered that all you can think about is the death of one old man.”
“Don’t you dare say another word about my father.” Abby’s hand shot out and the resounding crack of it against Jack’s cheek echoed in the hallway. She snatched her hand back and pointed to the steps. “Get out.”
Jack rubbed the reddened handprint on his face. He turned and marched away.
Abby went into her room and looked out the side window, arms wrapped around her waist, trying to subdue the shaking. She watched Jack stride from the house to the barn and climb onto the roof. The sound of frantic hammering soon filled the air.
She pondered the dilemma. As much as she had wanted Jack to like her, at the end of the day it had just been a stupid fantasy. Things had been getting better with Lisa. Shared meals, laughing at the same jokes, even working together to make Bikers’ Rest a success had jump-started the bonding process. Probably all mothers and daughters fought sometimes, but lately the bitterness of Lisa’s absence had faded. Now that relationship had been tainted forever.
Sudden longing filled her heart. Not for Jack, Lisa, or even her father. She yearned for Silas to be with her all the time. Strange that only with him did she feel whole. What did that mean? It meant that in some indescribable way, she had fallen in love with a ghost. What she felt for him was more real than any emotion she’d ever experienced.
“Abigail.”
Abby caught a whiff of campfire and coffee. She turned, expectation making her heart pound. “Silas!”
He stood at the end of her bed. The translucence had faded, his appearance as a living man fully restored. “Here I am.”
“How did you know … that I wanted you?” Abby discarded all thoughts of this being anything other than what it was to her: someone she loved, here when needed.
Silas smiled. “Me and you, we share one heart. Time don’t mean nothing in eternity. I just been waiting to love you.”
Talk of love, soul mates, and shared hearts had never been part of Abby’s dating life. It had always been pizza, movies, and quick kisses. A few boys had come and gone; she didn’t miss them. Jack had grabbed her attention; she wouldn’t miss him, either.
“This can’t be real.” Abby reached her hand toward Silas. “You aren’t real.”
“Bodies surely do die.” Silas took two steps toward her, closing the distance between them. “But love, real love, never dies. Do you know Walt Whitman? He was a poet in my time, put some good thoughts on paper. He said, ‘I tramp a perpetual journey.’ That’s what we all do. The Good Book is a help.” He clasped her hand, his thumb stroking the soft skin between her thumb and finger.
She closed her fingers around his, this time reveling in his flesh, substance, warmth. He leaned in closer, and Abby closed her eyes, anticipating a kiss.
Instead, a gentle breath passed from Silas to Abby. It tasted of vanilla and cinnamon.
A feeling of total peace filled her, leeching through her mouth and filling her entire body. She opened her eyes. Silas had gone. She noticed the old Bible sitting on the table. Abby ran her hand over the puffy leather cover. Her grandmother had called a Bible ‘the Good Book.’ Is this what Silas meant? Why hadn’t he stayed to tell her his story? How could she get him back again?
“Silas? Are you here?” Abby waited a full five minutes. When he didn’t return, she sighed and turned her attention to the Munroe Bible.
Upon opening the book she saw a crack along the bottom edge. It had survived since Leticia received it in 1843. Until it met Morton. Maybe it could be glued or something. She inserted her pinkie into the split and inside the cover; a quick, sharp pain on her fingertip made her draw it out again. She sucked on the cut. “How come a freaking paper cut hurts so much? And what’s a piece of paper doing in there?”
Abby turned the Bible so the opening faced the light from the window and got down on her knees to be at eye level with it. She grabbed a pencil from her desk, inserted the eraser end into the opening, and pried the broken edge wider. It seemed to be stuffed with something.
From the bathroom Abby retrieved an antique straight razor Lisa displayed as a decoration. Carefully she slit the long side of the Bible cover and across the top. She peeled back the quilted leather. Inside she found an oilskin packet, tied with twine. One separate sheet of paper sat on top of the protective layer, held close by the cord. She slid the entire package from within the Bible cover and untied it.
“Hey—Abs. You up there?” Morton called from the second floor.
“Yeah. And hurry.”
“How’s the head?” Morton entered the room, puffing from running up the stairs. “Why did I have to hurry? What’s that?”
Abby realized her head no longer ached. “First, I'm sorry I acted like a jerk. But look what I found.”
“Apology accepted. I’m used to you.” Morton examined the oilskin. “It’s old waterproof stuff, you know, before they invented plastic. Someone wanted to protect it. All but that paper on top.” He crowded in beside Abby and ran a finger across the surface.
“That ‘someone’ must have been Leticia. It’s her Bible.”
Morton reached around Abby and untied the twine. The loose paper fluttered through the air. He grabbed for it, tripped, and landed on the floor. Raising his fist in triumph he opened his hand. The ancient sheet of parchment fluttered to the floor in pieces.