Evidence of Life

Chapter 22



Abby ran the length of taffeta through her fingers. It was the same ribbon, wasn’t it? It was wrinkled as if it had been tied, then come loose and slipped off. Lindsey often lost her ribbons that way. But how had it come to be here, in the closet of all places? Abby parted the collection of jackets and sweaters; she fished through the assortment of shoes and boots on the floor. She didn’t know what she was searching for. She’d already done this once when she hunted for the checkbook that was in Nick’s jacket. If the ribbon had been here, she would have found it then, wouldn’t she?

The phone rang, the landline, and her head came up. Her heart hammered in her ears as she raced to the kitchen to answer it. But it was Joe, according to the Caller ID.

Still, she said hello, as if she had no idea who it was, and studied the ribbon in her hand.

They exchanged pleasantries, and then Joe said, “Abby, listen, there’s been a development, something I thought you should know, although I’m sure it’ll be all over the news shortly, if it isn’t already.”

Abby straightened. He was going to tell her Nick had done it; he’d stolen the money from those injured children. The sense of this snaked through her mind, vicious and cold. She closed her eyes.

“Adam Sandoval’s been found.”

“Dead?” Abby said and caught her lip because she wished it. She wanted it to be true. She couldn’t have said why.

“No, alive. He’s in jail, in Amsterdam. They didn’t like the look of his passport there when he went through customs, so they detained him. Then when they searched him, they found he was carrying nearly a quarter million in undeclared cash.”

“The money from the settlement.”

“Minus a few thousand, but, yeah, it’s mostly there. And it’s good, too, because eventually, it’ll come back into the fund to support those children. Nick’s winning that case, all his hard work, it won’t have been in vain after all, Abby.”

She pulled out the desk chair and sat, pressing her knuckles to her mouth.

“Abby? Did you hear me?”

She swallowed. “Yes, thank you, Joe. Thank you for letting me know.”

“No problem,” he said.

“Joe? Was Adam alone when he was arrested?”

“A woman was with him, his wife, I think.”

Or Sondra, Abby thought. Was it possible?

“Listen, we should get together soon. We’ll need to address the probate of Nick’s will and his equity share in the partnership. You’ll probably still want to consider working, but I think together with his life-insurance benefits, you’re going to be in a good position financially.” Joe paused.

He sounded so satisfied. Abby sensed he was waiting for her to voice her satisfaction, too, even her gratitude. It was as if what Nick had left was better than the man himself, as if he was worth more dead than alive. Abby toyed with the ribbon. Was it the one she had tied onto Lindsey’s braid? She held it up. She guessed it could as easily not be the one. She was going to have to watch herself, the tricks her mind might play.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” Joe said. “You’ll call if there’s anything I can do for you?”

Abby said she would; she thanked him again and hung up. She thought he probably knew about her trip with Hank into the Hill Country, why they’d gone, what they’d discovered, even though she hadn’t mentioned the circumstances. Abby imagined Nina would have found out about all of it somehow. Maybe, Abby thought, she should ask Nina how Nick’s jacket had managed to make its way to Sondra’s cabin. Maybe Nina had the answer.

But what difference did it make? Whether Abby ever knew or didn’t? It wouldn’t bring Lindsey or Nick back; it wouldn’t make the house payment, either. Resolutely, Abby stowed Lindsey’s ribbon in a desk drawer. She would have to find a job, and soon, but she couldn’t call on Hap again. Chances were he’d forgive her, but only after she explained, and she was sick of that. She felt as if the entire world knew her business.

That night, lying on the sofa in the den, Abby thought of her new life, the one that she lived now without her daughter, without so much as the comfort and grace of her memories, because all of those were a total lie. Abby flipped onto her back. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe for the heat that came. She felt suffocated by it. She felt as if she had swallowed fire.

Everyone had said the worst was over, that time would soften her grief, but she didn’t feel grief. She felt hate. It pushed against the walls of her brain, huge and destructive. Flinging the cover to the floor, she got up, found the keys to Nick’s BMW and headed out to the freeway. The speedometer edged eighty, then eight-five. Now ninety. The light-haunted scenery blurred, and then all at once she let go of the steering wheel and let go of sense, too, and it was terrifying and exhilarating. She was shaking when she took control of the car again and steered it cautiously onto the road’s shoulder. She fought for breath and reason. Who was she trying to punish? Them, she thought. Nick and Sondra. But they were beyond her reach. At least Nick was. And if Sondra wasn’t?

Abby stared into the gritty path of headlights, unable to imagine what she would do if Sondra were to somehow be found alive. She wanted to go back in time. Inside her head she felt at war. She felt herself waiting for something else awful to happen.

Finally, when she felt calm enough to drive properly, she started the car, and it was when she reentered the freeway that she noticed the dark-colored sedan parked on the feeder some distance behind her. But it didn’t register; she didn’t take the memory with her, and a few days would pass before she would think about it again.

* * *

Jake came home that weekend ostensibly to do his laundry, but Abby thought he had come to check on her, and it both pleased and annoyed her. He was heaving a tangled mass of jeans mixed with bath towels into the dryer when Abby walked in with the groceries.

“How many times have I told you not to overload the machine?” she asked, kicking the door shut.

He took the sack from her, bringing it into the kitchen. “That machine can take it,” he said. “Trust me.” He popped a couple of grapes into his mouth.

She held the rest of the bunch under running water.

“I’ve been thinking, Mom.” Jake leaned against the counter.

“Uh-oh.” Abby sounded lighthearted, but inside she was dismayed. She knew what he was going to say, that he was dropping out of college. She braced herself for it.

“Ha, ha,” Jake said, “but, seriously, I’ve been thinking how Dad said you could wait too long to figure out what really matters, you know?...and I think he was talking about finding out what you want to do in your life, not what someone else wants you to do. Like, he wanted me to be a lawyer, but that’s not what I want. I can’t live his dream anymore.”

Abby finished rinsing the grapes and started scrubbing the sweet potatoes she’d bought to go with the pork roast they were having for dinner. She knew she couldn’t stop him, not on her own, not without Nick’s support, and it infuriated her to think that Jake’s degree would be lost, too, one more casualty of the calamity that seemed never-ending. She needed to stay calm, but inside she felt like screaming.

Jake said, “I want to transfer to Sam Houston State. I want to study law enforcement.”

Abby glanced sidelong at him. “In Huntsville?” The university was just up the road, maybe a thirty-minute drive. She’d see more of him.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Dennis told me the criminology program there is one of the best.”

“Dennis?” Abby turned off the water, picked up the kitchen towel and dried her hands, unsettled at how the mention of his name brought a flush of warmth to her face, but she wouldn’t call it pleasure. She couldn’t. “You talked to him about it?”

“Yeah. He’s a good guy, Mom.”

Abby didn’t answer. She couldn’t give that to Jake, her validation.

“Look, he’s really sorry—”

“I’m sure he is,” Abby said, adding, “It’s fine, Jake.” And because she didn’t want to talk further about Dennis, she brought up the coroner’s office. “They called the other day,” she said gently. “They want to know what arrangements we’ve made for the remains.”

* * *

“I’m so angry,” Abby said to her mother a couple of weeks later.

They were in her mother’s kitchen, having just finished planting a few dozen ranunculus tubers. The ruffled, brightly colored flowers with petals as thin as crepe paper were one of her mother’s favorites, and Abby brought fresh tubers every year in November and helped her mother plant them.

“I’m just mad enough to kill, and it scares me. I’ve never felt such anger in my life.” Abby finished washing her hands and turned off the water.

It had been misting earlier, and outside the window, fat pearls of moisture dripped from the eaves. A robin fluttered to perch on the fence post that held the mailbox and sat preening in the somber light. Ordinarily Abby would have called her mother to come and look, but not today. She scarcely registered the robin’s presence.

“Who are you angry at?” her mother asked.

“Nick, and at Sondra, but mostly myself. I knew something was wrong; I knew Nick was unhappy, but I ignored it. I thought it would pass.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” her mother said. “When you’re running around after two children, you’re so busy doing, there isn’t a lot of time or energy left to pause and reflect. You trusted him. You’ve always been trusting. It’s your nature.”

“Not so much now.” Abby came to the table and sat down. “Hank Kilmer called the other day.”

“Do you think it’s wise, keeping a relationship with him?”

“At least he never lied to me.”

Abby’s mother looked startled. “But you must realize Jake never meant to lie. Neither did Katie. She feels awful for what’s happened. Just dreadful.”

Abby averted her glance.

“She is so sorry, honey. We are all so sorry.”

“Do you know how sick I am of hearing that?” Abby pursed her mouth. She felt her grief swell hard against her ribs. It rose into her throat, bitter-tasting and as black as ink, and she was frightened by it. The tears came in spite of her, brimming over her lashes, scalding her cheeks with their pent-up fury. She bent her face into her hands, shoulders heaving from the force of her sobbing.

Her mother brought her a warm, damp dishcloth and rubbed her back again.

“I don’t want to hate Nick, Mama.” Abby forced the words through labored hiccups.

“It isn’t in you to hate.”

“You don’t think they were wrong? Kate and George and Jake? They knew things, each one of them knew different things about Nick and kept them secret, when if they’d told me, I might have stopped him. At the least I would have kept Lindsey home with me.”

Abby’s mother sat down. “Maybe they were wrong and maybe they weren’t, but it’s in the past now and you can’t change it. What matters is they acted out of love for you. They wanted to protect you. They still do.”

Abby rose and returned to the window. The robin was in the grass now, pecking among the flattened yellow blades.

“What will you gain by blaming them?”

Abby didn’t answer.

Her mother tried again. “You’re still here, Abigail. Kate and Jake—”

“Don’t say it again, Mama. How I have to go on for Jake’s sake. Don’t say I have to live for him or Kate or you so you can be okay.”

“No, that isn’t—”

“Your granddaughter is dead!” Abby wheeled, voice rising, shattering. “He took her. Took my daughter from me, Mama, to be with that woman! Maybe you can get over it, maybe you can forgive him, but I can’t!”

“You think I don’t feel Lindsey’s loss? That it isn’t the gravest pain to bear? Seeing you, what you and Jake are going through? You think I don’t grieve, as you do, for the loss of our precious girl?” Her mother’s voice broke.

Abby knelt at her side. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry.”

It took several moments, but Abby’s mother gathered herself, and once the air between them settled, she said, “Can’t you see? If you dwell on the injustice, you become the victim of his mistake, his cruelty.”

Abby straightened. “But he was cruel.”

“Yes, and I deplore his actions, but hating him only hurts you.”

“But isn’t it so convenient? Nick dying? If you ask me, he got off easy.”

“He might argue that point,” her mother said dryly.

The sudden smile that twitched on Abby’s lips felt unnatural. Hideous. She touched her mouth.

“Forgiveness is hard,” her mother said. “Harder than anger, but forgiveness is what heals. Forgiveness and love.”

Abby reached out with her hands. “He’s taken my memories, Mama. Even those I can’t trust.”

Her mother rose and came to Abby and pulled her into an embrace. “Give it time, sweet,” she murmured.