Abigail’s initial visit to Rebecca Steinman’s office immediately set her at ease as she now found a growing comfort in knowing she was not going crazy. Rebecca gave her peace of mind, as did the sedative Abigail now takes in the morning before breakfast and at night before dinner. More so, Abigail had finally found someone who can relate.
As of late, things had become quite unbearable; however, now, and for the first time, Abigail felt immeasurable release. She began dreaming less of Bill; she could no longer hear or see him for that matter. Rebecca gave Abigail the ability to cope with one little abbreviation—ESP.
Abigail had not spoken with her parents about the eye-opening paranormal session she allowed herself to undertake with Rebecca. Instead, Abigail dumbed down the entire experience, assuring both of them, especially her mother, that Dr. Steinman was definitely helpful in ascertaining her situation. Abigail regrettably had told a half-lie, but at least Jeannie and Walter now had a newfound pseudo-optimism concerning their daughter’s future. It would allow Abigail to find those much-needed answers to the Bill conundrum. Until Monday after school, when she would meet with Rebecca again to delve further into her strangely newfound paranormal world, Abigail knew she had to keep up appearances. This meant getting back into a regular routine.
She awoke around nine forty-five on Saturday morning and took her pill. She had breakfast with her parents, which up until this point was more than uncommon. After an extensive conversation with an eager Jeannie and Walter that involved Abigail having to lie through her teeth, she decided to go for a jog around the neighborhood. As she exited through the front door, Douglas Elliman was at the door with the mail in hand. He greeted Abigail with a downhearted nod, but she smiled and said, “We’ll always have Paris.” She then took off down the walkway.
At around eleven thirty, after a shower, Abigail called Maggie to see if she was up for a visit from Shelly and herself. Maggie sounded a bit off, eventually confessing she had been feeling a bit under the weather as of late. Shortly after her confession, Bill’s mom then welcomed the visit. Abigail was extremely hesitant about asking if they could bring their bathing suits as per Shelly’s previous request, but when Abigail finally got around to the question, Maggie seemed surprisingly delighted by the idea.
After hanging up, Abigail made another quick call, this time to Shelly, informing her that she would be picking her up within the hour, and that she should wear her bathing suit. After Abigail slipped into her own bathing suit and after blow-drying her hair, she heads back downstairs. On the way out the door, with car keys in hand, Abigail picks up a strip of bacon leftover from breakfast and popped it in her mouth before Jeannie could sweep the plate away. She kisses her mother goodbye and then steps out into the sun.
It was already early October, but still, the temperature was reaching highs of ninety-six degrees. The last winter only had mild snow and there was lack of rain in the spring, which was supposedly rain and tornado season, now the fall season is proving to have record-high temperatures that feel like summer. City hall issued an official burn ban earlier during the summer to prevent the burning of trash in rural areas and a close fire watch on all drivers flicking cigarette butts out of car windows. Two summer months and three grass fires later, city hall then issued a statement calling for a water ban due to the drought Derrylin and all of Kansas and most of Oklahoma was experiencing. Following the severe weather, local electric companies extended cut-off dates on overdue bills due to the constant running of air conditioners that skyrocketed electricity usage. It was starting to cool down a bit as Derrylin headed for mid-October; however, as Abigail slid into the front seat of Herbie, the hot leather quickly penetrated her cool skin and she jumps out of the seat yelping.
After placing a towel around her waist, she slides on her sunglasses and pulls out of the driveway, heading off to Shelly’s house. Abigail tunes in a local radio station featuring the voice talent of Todd Gentry or Terrible Todd as he refers to himself while on air.
Terrible Todd’s smug haughty voice instantly comes to life after Abigail finds a clear reception for 97.9. Todd is discussing with his assistant, Bailey ‘The Boss Man’ Bass, how Typhoon Mellor as the storm had been aptly named, started out heading southeast from the Persian Gulf but then curved east, demolishing the coast of Indonesia and most of Thigh-land, as Todd jokes. They further discuss how the tropical storm had blown completely over Japan and was currently in the Northwest Pacific Basin headed for the coast of California. Todd implies that the remnants of the storm should hit Santa Cruz as early as Monday morning, bringing one to three inches of rain to the coastal and valley areas, and as much as five inches of rain in the mountains. When he finishes his weather report, Terrible Todd announces they would be right back after a short commercial break. Frustrated with a repetitively annoying car commercial that soon followed, which she had heard a thousand times before, Abigail hits the button on her car’s CD player and begins bobbing her head lightly to the rhythm of the beat of rock music.
She arrives at Shelly’s a few minutes later and pulls up to the curb outside the large Victorian house. Abigail then turns down the music and honks, which catches the attention of Shelly’s dad, Roland.
Roland is quite the golf enthusiast, and today, he is dressed for the green in knee-length plaid shorts, a navy blue polo shirt, and a light yellow sweater draped and tucked around his neck and shoulders. He looks as if the afternoon heat is not nearly a burden as his bad slice on the golf course. After loading his clubs into the back of the extended cab of his Cadillac Escalade, Roland makes a beeline over to Herbie.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Roland smiles as he approaches Abigail on the driver’s side. Strikingly tall and slim with broad shoulders, Roland’s erect posture is that of a distinguished gentleman. He is very attractive for a man who is forty-seven years of age. His hair, cut short, is thick and wavy but still carries every bit of its blond vibrancy as when Roland was a younger man. Probably dyed, Abigail thought. In fact, only deep crow’s feet on the outer edges of Roland’s beady eyes and the pronounced laugh lines around his mouth give away his true age. These deceiving factors made Roland that much creepier, as did the fact that Roland still spoke as if he was on the market and not at all married. Frowning, Abigail turns down the music showing slight displeasure in a less than authentic smile.
“Hey, Mr. Spencer,” she says.
“Please, Abby, you know to call me Roland,” Roland insists, brandishing a deliciously smug grin while gawking mindlessly over Abigail’s pink two-piece bikini. Roland frowns as his eyes meet with the towel around her waist. He instead settles his eyes on Abigail’s small pink-clad bosoms. After noticeably lingering too long, Roland glances up, meeting the subtle fury of Abigail’s fiery green eyes. He smiles devilishly, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth. “We’ve known each other far too long. I think we can dispense with the formalities. What do you think?”
“Whatever you say,” Abigail girlishly laughs—a poor act.
“So are you and Shelly going for a dip today?” Roland looks too obviously as his eyes drift over her breasts for the second time.
“We’re headed to Maggie Colden’s… I thought we might lay out and get some sun. It won’t be around much longer.” Abigail instinctively places her hand over her chest.
“Yeah… that’s nice.” He stretches his arms out to his sides. “I’m headed to the golf course myself. You know, to get a few holes in. I bought this new driver and I’m looking to drive a few balls home.” He implies this with a debonair smirk, as if Abigail was so naïve that she would never catch the underlining sexual innuendo. Uncomfortable and now genuinely disgusted at Shelly’s perverted father, she gives the horn a short rap.
“And how is Maggie doing?” Roland leans forward through the open window. “It’s got to be really tough on her these days.”
“She has good days and bad days.”
“That’s certainly to be expected. Not to worry though, I’ve seen to it that she lives out her days peacefully and without concern for the things she is accustomed to.”
“What do you mean?” Abigail snaps her neck in Roland’s direction, her eyes brimming with insinuation.
“Well, I shouldn’t be telling anyone this so early on, but you’re practically family, so what the heck. I guess it would be okay to divulge my interests, considering.” Roland fills his grin with towering overindulgence as if he had entered a pie-eating contest and emerged at the end with a first place trophy and a bursting belly. Abigail is immediately seething with mental accusations in regard to the Colden’s misplaced trust. “You see, with Ted’s unfortunate passing, I have moved to assume control of the entire estate as per the detailed request of Ted’s will.”
“What about Maggie? She doesn’t have a say in this?”
Roland’s blatant expression disregards any such ingenious notions. “Certainly Maggie is in no condition to manage the entire town. Your boyfriend’s premature death in the Middle East—”
“Bill—” Abigail corrects him.
“Bill, yes. Bill has forced me to step in so that I may see to Derrylin’s day-to-day affairs. Now, that’s not to say Maggie will suffer one bit or go without. No. I will be granting her access to the entirety of her inheritance—as I see fit, of course. It’s just better this way. We need to observe any decisions concerning Derrylin’s well-being with the scrutiny of a watchful eye. It is the way Ted would have wanted it.”
“At some point, I am sure Maggie would want to take over.” Abigail informs him with a glare.
“Not likely. Some people just never recover from tragedy, especially when it happens twice in such a short span of time.”
Annoyed with the egotistical self-indulgent asshole, Abigail looks to the Victorian house and gives the horn another rap, and this time, she puts effort into her anger and allows the horn to sound off for an even five seconds. She then calmly looks back up at Roland with a guiltless smile. “Wow, Mr. Spencer. That sounds like a great promotion. I’m sorry I just really want to get to Maggie’s house. You know… for one of our afternoon sharing sessions.”
Roland immediately understands the implication of Abigail’s statement and glowers ominously. “Well, you tell Maggie our thoughts are with her.”
“I’ll make sure to do just that, Mr. Spencer.”
Seconds later, Shelly pops out the front door. She steps out onto the porch garlanded with a line of manicured Sunshine Blue blueberry bushes on either side of the front house. The bushes have already given up their vibrant greenery and dusky blue fruit for the flaming scarlet appearance of the ensuing fall season.
Shelly wears a pair of white Wayfarers and a baby blue two-piece bikini that fits snugly against her tanned skin. Tied off at her waist and covering her bikini bottom is a solid pink beach sarong. She walks adventurously into the sun, smiling from ear-to-ear, and slips into the passenger’s seat. Shelly is all smiles and excitement as she then leans in for a hug.
A normal father with any parental skills might have frowned upon Shelly’s scanty apparel; however, Roland looks upon his daughter with an inexplicably weird fixation. Abigail seems to be the only one that notices Roland’s lingering stare and wants nothing more than to vent her frustration on the horn a third time, but she cannot sanely come up with a reason that will justify such a sudden and prolonged outburst. Instead, Abigail hits the power button on the CD player and allows the music to do her venting. Roland pulls away from the window and erects himself. He makes his way around Herbie toward Shelly’s side, escaping the loud music.
“Hey, pumpkin,” Roland gloats knowing the displeasure it will create. Shelly turns down the music and whips her head in her father’s direction. Abigail frowns.
“Daddy,” Shelly smiles innocently, sounding just a little too cute to be addressing her father in such a way. Of course for Shelly, it’s not sexual at all. No. This is just how she shows her father affection—acting as if she is still daddy’s sweet little girl. This way, Shelly can milk him for whatever she feels she needs at the time. For Roland, a man with little practical integrity and an appetite for the nicer things in life, this implies an entirely different meaning. In Roland’s mind, as sick as it is, Roland gets off on his daughter just a bit. Abigail wants to scream when he leans in and kisses Shelly on the cheek while looking directly at her. She keeps her eyes locked forward to restrain herself from lashing out at him.
“You girls have a good swim. I need to be heading out myself. I really want to drive a few balls home before it gets too late.” Roland turns away walking toward his Escalade and then spins back around. “Oh, and what time do you think you’ll be getting home, so I can tell your mother?”
“I don’t know. I told her five or six—we’ll see how it goes.”
“Oh. Well, just the same—have fun girls.”
“We will, Daddy.”
“Okay. Love you, pumpkin.” Roland bounces the tip of his index finger playfully off his nose with a smile that resembles a creepy children’s TV host. Abigail responds by punching the fuel pedal, accelerating away from the curb, and yet, as she drops the shifter into second gear and Herbie speeds away, Roland continues with his minuscule parody of fatherhood and offers up a modest wave of his hand.