Abigail went to church with her aunt, then they grabbed a quick lunch at the Tin Roof. As they were about to leave the café, Aunt Lucy couldn’t find her car keys. They searched her purse and the booth area for ten minutes and finally found the keys in the car’s ignition. On the way back Abigail dropped a hint about a checkup, but her aunt didn’t pick up on it. She just talked about her latest idea for a Colonial doll. Next time, Abigail resolved, she would outright suggest Aunt Lucy make an appointment.
By the time Abigail returned to the house, Wade and Maddy were already in their paint clothes and wielding wet brushes.
Abigail didn’t have an old shirt, so Wade offered a gray Texas Longhorn T-shirt, which was long enough to cover the shorts she hoped to preserve. She’d hardly started painting when Olivia called, and Maddy took the phone downstairs. Ten minutes later she was still chatting with her friend.
“So much for her eagerness to paint,” Wade said.
“I think she’s more eager to have the room done than to actually do the work.” Abigail wet her brush and swept it along the window trim.
“You don’t have to stick around,” Wade said from his spot on the floor. “You should be resting.”
“I think painting is soothing.”
“If you say so.”
They worked in silence, then a few minutes later they reached into the paint can simultaneously.
Wade gestured for her to go first. “How’s Miss Lucy?”
“Good, I think. I enjoy her company—you never know what she’s going to say next.” Abigail swept the brush across the can’s rim, removing the excess paint.
“She’s a character.”
“You have any colorful relatives back in Texas?”
Wade wet his brush, then went back to the trim. “Not really. A few cousins running around, an aunt and uncle, but they’re relatively normal.”
“I always wanted cousins.”
“You have a sister.”
“She’s a few years older, so we didn’t play together much. I always wanted those big family get-togethers with kids running around everywhere.”
“Know what you mean, being an only child. That’s where neighborhood friends come in, I guess. I’m thankful I had Dylan.”
“Yeah.” She thought of Julia. “I had a good friend who lived two doors down. We walked to school together, played at recess together . . . she loved to play in the rain. Used to say it was just like taking a shower except for the clothes.” She wasn’t aware of the sadness in her voice until she noticed Wade studying her.
“What happened?” he asked.
Abigail’s brush paused. She’d never told anyone outside her family about Julia. She sneaked a peek at Wade and got caught in the warmth she found in his earnest gaze. She somehow felt he’d understand. She reached for more paint. “One day I was going to her house, and Julia was in the garage with her father. He was hitting her.”
“You saw it?”
She squatted down and swept the brush under the window trim. “I heard it.”
“How old were you?”
Abigail smoothed out a few brush lines. “Ten.”
“A year younger than Maddy.”
Abigail loaded her brush.
The action seemed to set Wade in motion. He wet his own brush and started back to work. “That’s terrible. What happened?”
Sometimes she still wondered if she’d imagined it, and she’d replay the scene to confirm her conclusion. She replayed it now and found the recollection fresh and raw and convincing.
Abigail pulled herself from the virtual nightmare. “I sneaked away before they saw me. She never mentioned it, but I think he abused her regularly. I saw bruises on her arms sometimes.” Her mouth was dry as sawdust. “I never told.”
She couldn’t believe she’d told him. She hadn’t even told her sister and mom until she was an adult.
“You were only ten. Must’ve been afraid.”
Why had she started this? She cursed herself for bringing up the subject.
She was making a mess of the trim, but loaded up again anyway. If she stopped, she’d have to look at Wade. And if she looked at Wade, she’d see accusation or disappointment or some other emotion she couldn’t bear.
“I should’ve told anyway. She was my best friend.” She clamped her mouth shut, wondering why she was going to this place, with Wade of all people.
“What happened to her?”
Abigail shrugged. “She moved away when we were thirteen. Kept in touch awhile, but then I lost track of her.”
A few moments later, Wade lowered himself to the floor next to her and wet his brush. “Don’t know how someone could do that to a child.”
“I don’t either.” She didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It made her feel too raw, too vulnerable.
“Wasn’t your fault, you know.”
The words were balm to her wound, but she didn’t let them soak in too far. “Well, I can’t do anything about it now.” She couldn’t go back and fix it. She’d always regret that she hadn’t told, would always carry the weight of knowing she could’ve stopped it.
She felt Wade’s perusal but wasn’t about to look his way and fall into those eyes again. “Everyone has baggage, I guess. I do, you do, Maddy does . . . You just put it behind you and move on, right?”
Wade fought the wave of sympathy. He imagined Abigail at ten, knowing her best friend was being abused, and couldn’t stop the shudder. She must’ve been confused and afraid. To say nothing of the guilt she obviously carried. It radiated from every pore. He was on a first-name basis with guilt himself.
But Abigail was done talking about it. He could see that much and respect it.
“I mean, that’s what you did,” Abigail said. “Moved to Montana and started a new life—put the past behind you.”
Wade reloaded his brush, then swept it along the trim. If only it were as easy as changing locations. “Hard to put the past behind you when your daughter’s a living reminder of it.”
“She’s like her mother?”
Wade shrugged. “Some things. Her smile. The way her eyes light up when she’s excited, the way she tucks her hair behind her ears—that’s all Lizzie.”
“Must make it hard.”
“Wouldn’t change it for the world. Maddy’s all I have.”
Her eyes were crystal green in the light that flooded through the window. He saw compassion and understanding and so much more hidden in their depths.
Wade felt connected to her. Maybe it was the way she’d bared her soul, the fact that he’d just shared something he’d never told anyone, not even Dylan. Maybe that’s why his next words tumbled out.
“I was the one that found her—Lizzie.” Wade started to wet his brush, then realized he’d made a complete line around the room. The trim was finished. He set the brush on the can’s rim.
“You found her?” Abigail’s voice was gentle, coaxing.
“We’d argued earlier, before I left the house. There was a party. I wanted to go, she didn’t. I was young and selfish. I left for the party, left Maddy with her.”
The familiar pang of regret hollowed his stomach. If only he hadn’t gone. If only they hadn’t argued. If only, if only . . .
“What happened?”
Her question pulled him from deep inside himself. Why was he spilling his guts to someone he’d known barely over a month? What did he know about her—really know—that he’d trust his deepest secrets to her?
He rose and grabbed a paint tray. “Like you said. Past is the past and ought to stay there.”
Abigail finished the last part of the window and stepped back. “I’m sorry for what you went through. Maddy too. Losing a parent is hard.”
Wade set their brushes aside and poured the paint into the pan while Abigail unwrapped the rollers. “I worry about her. She’s at that age where she needs a mom.”
Abigail handed him a roller. “You’re doing a great job. She loves being with you.”
The sound of Maddy’s feet on the stairs halted their conversation.
When she entered the room, she grabbed a roller and unwrapped it. “Olivia said lime-green and brown are really popular colors. I can’t wait ’til it’s finished.”
“Me neither,” Abigail said.
Wade’s mind was stuck on his conversation with Abigail. His daughter did need him. But what if he failed Maddy the same way he’d failed Lizzie? It was why he held himself back—that fear that maybe she was better off without him.
And Abigail didn’t make it easy. Between picnics and projects— case in point, he thought, looking around the room—both of them were becoming a regular part of his daily routine whether he liked it or not. And he wasn’t sure which of them scared him more.