Chatter buzzed around Abigail and her mom from their booth table. She scanned the restaurant they’d dined at many times and wondered why, for the first time, she felt out of place. She’d been back in Chicago for a week and a half, but somehow it seemed much longer.
Outside, darkness was falling against the Chicago skyline. Across the restaurant, a cheer rose from the enclosed bar as the patrons watched the Cubs score a run on the flat-screen TV.
“Eat something,” her mom said.
“I am.” Abigail realized belatedly she’d only been pushing the salad greens around. She forked a cucumber and slid it into her mouth.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
Abigail thought about disputing the statement, but who was she kidding?
“You have a headache? I have some Tylenol.”
“I’m fine.” Truth was, strange as it sounded, her hypertension symptoms were better. She hadn’t had a headache in three days, and her palpitations were less frequent. Maybe her past had weighed on her more heavily than she’d thought.
At least something was better.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened in Montana?” her mom asked.
Abigail flashed her a no-trespassing look, then forked another bite of the salad. She was tired of thinking about Wade. The memories only made her ache for what she couldn’t have.
“All right.” Her mom waved her hand. “I’ll just be honest. Reagan already told me everything.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
“I should’ve warned you about J. W. I mean, heaven knows he’s got cowboy charisma galore and looks that could stop rush-hour traffic on the Eisenhower.”
Abigail groaned. “Moooom . . .”
“Well, I’m old, not dead, honey.” She sipped her French onion soup from the side of her spoon.
“I do not want to talk about this.” Not with her mom or Reagan or anyone else. Abigail set down her fork and rubbed her temple. She was done stuffing food into her mouth that she didn’t even taste.
“Fine.” Her mom wiped her mouth on the starchy white napkin. “Let’s talk about what you’re going to do next.”
“Show up at the office next week and start packing up, like everyone else.” She hated the thought of facing everyone again after letting them all down. It was going to be a long week.
“I mean after that.”
In the last week she’d made a decision that had been long in coming. Her heart was no longer in writing, certainly not in exposés. She’d barely managed to finish the simple travel article on Moose Creek.
Simple, my fanny.
“I’ve done a lot of praying about it, Mom, and I’ve decided to give up writing. I just don’t have that burning desire anymore. My reasons for writing are gone, and I’m feeling led toward something else. I think I want to be a teacher.”
Her mom nodded slowly, studying her face. “Okay . . . that’s not completely unexpected. You know I’ll support you in whatever you choose to do.”
Her mother touched her hand, which, Abigail realized, was now balled into a fist around her poor defenseless napkin.
“Is that what all this tension is about? Your career? You’ve dreaded telling me?”
Abigail wished she could blame it on that. Truth was, she felt total peace about that decision.
“You can’t write, you’re not eating, and judging by the Jones bags under your eyes, you’re not sleeping much either. A few months with Aunt Lucy was supposed to give you a break, but instead you’ve come back broken.”
“Very poetic, Mom.” Had she thought her mom wouldn’t notice? Abigail had always been driven. Couldn’t wait to get to the next story. Now she wondered how she could even take her next breath.
“Honey, talk to me.”
Abigail deliberately inhaled, just to prove she could. The tangy smell of balsamic vinaigrette turned her stomach, and she pushed her plate away. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Are you in love with J. W.?”
“Wade.”
“What?”
“He goes by Wade.” She tossed her napkin on her plate. “Oh, what does it matter? Wade, J. W. . . . it isn’t like I’ll be addressing him anytime soon.”
“If he loves you, honey, he’ll forgive you.”
“It’s not that simple. He and Maddy are leaving their home because of me. Everything he said was true.”
“You were only doing your job. You’re the Truthseeker. At least, you were.”
“If the truth hurts innocent people, what good is it?” That, in a nutshell, was what bothered her so much. “My column was for exposing bad people who did bad things. But Wade didn’t do anything wrong, Mom. On the contrary, he only did what was best for his daughter after the awful experience of losing his wife. That article— no matter how well written—was nothing but tabloid trash, and I’m glad it wasn’t published.”
“Abigail . . .”
Now that she’d stated it so bluntly, she knew it was the truth. “No, Mom. My column was for exposing wrongs. Well, I’m the one who was wrong. Wrong for spotlighting an innocent person’s private pain.”
Her eyes burned, and she blinked them clear. A familiar ache swelled in her throat. Jesus, how can there be any tears left?
“I’m sorry I put you in that position.” Her mom’s green eyes turned down at the corners.
Abigail dabbed her eyes with the napkin. “It’s my fault.”
“You were only trying to save Viewpoint. Maybe there’s a way to fix things between you and Wade.”
Abigail shook her head. “That’s not my decision. And I feel selfish for dwelling on my own misery when so many people have lost their jobs because of me. You. Riley—she doesn’t even get child support, and now she’ll have no income either. Warren’s fighting lung cancer and needs insurance, not to mention his salary. Evelyn’s the sole supporter of her elderly mother. I could go on and on.”
The server came and removed their dinnerware. Abigail drained the last of her soda and pulled out her credit card.
“Know what we need?” Her mom dabbed her lips with the napkin. “A girls’ day out. It’ll get your mind off your troubles. Let’s do something fun, maybe tomorrow?”
Abigail shrugged. “Sure.”
“We can invite Reagan if she’s not on call.”
“I guess the theater’s out then.”
“I’ll plan the whole day, and it’ll be a surprise. How’s that?”
Abigail reached deep and pulled out a smile. “Sounds fun, Mom.” She supposed anything was better than sitting around her apartment with memories of Wade swimming around her head.