look at that front porch, where it’s sagging away from the house.” Abby shoved her hands in her pockets, not wanting the conversation to drift further into her own plans. Not yet. She had far too many questions of her own, and far too few answers. She did not want to alarm Belle. There’d be time enough in the days to follow to face reality.
“You do that.” Belle’s eyes followed Abby as she went out the back door. “I think I’ll take a nap. I feel very tired, all of a sudden.”
T he man at the gas station had not exaggerated. The chimney listed at an odd angle. It appeared that mortar was washing out from the bricks on one side. Abby wondered how it could be repaired, and at what price. She stepped back away from the house to study it.
When she was a child, she had believed this house to be enchanted. A wide turret rose three stories on the left, and the porches were trimmed with fancy woodwork. Gingerbread, Aunt Leila had called it. From the street, it did look like an oversized gingerbread house. Now, the paint peeled from the clapboard siding and several shutters hung loosely. The only thing that looked good was the roof, which Belle said Leila had replaced. With Belle’s money.
Money, Abby reminded herself, that she would be obligated to repay.
She sat on the front porch and pondered the situation. She had an enormous house that was falling apart from every angle, an old woman to support, and debts she hadn’t even known about. To pay Belle back, Abby would have to sell the house. If she sold the house, Belle would have nowhere to go. Even the money from the roof wouldn’t take the old woman far, assuming she would agree to go. But go where? Abby could think of no option that would not inflict certain pain on Belle, whom Aunt Leila had trusted Abby to care for.
Damn Alex Kane, anyway. He screwed up my life when I was sixteen, and he’s doing it again. Belle doesn’t want to impose on him, doesn’t want to disrupt his life. What about my life? I’ve worked every bit as hard as Alex has, and I’ve had my share of hardships, too.
She ambled around the back of the house and pushed open the old garden gate, which protested loudly having been forced from its long-inactive state. The pachysandra had spread to the drive, all the way back to the old carriage house which stood alongside the fence and overlooked the river. An ancient pine tree she’d climbed as a girl stood watch over the grounds. From where she stood, she could see the initials carved halfway up the trunk. A.K. & A.M. Alex had carved them that last summer, where Abby could see them from her bedroom window at the back of the house.
Without thinking, she had walked toward the pine, and now she ran her fingers over the rough bark. She had stood right here, in this spot, when he had kissed her good-bye the night before she left for Chicago. It had been an agonizing good-bye, Abby crying and unable to speak. Alex had done all the talking, between deep kisses they were still learning how to negotiate, in spite of all their practice that summer.
“It’ll be okay, Ab, I promise,” he had whispered. “I’ll write every day, you will, too, okay? And I’ll call you when I can. And before you know it, summer will be here again, and we’ll both be back. It won’t be so bad. Look, Ab, a shootin g star… righ t there… quick, make a wish. ”
What had she wished for that night so long ago? That she and Alex would live happily ever after, here in Primrose. She hadn’t asked him what he had wished for. He’d held her close and whispered his undying, never-ending love for her.
“I’ll never love anyone but you, Abby,” he’d said. “I just never could.”
And the next summer, he’d stayed away. Job or no job, she’d childishly insisted, he should have come. She had never forgiven him, but neither had she ever forgotten him.
7
T he bells in the tower that rose sixty feet above the town hall
“You do that.” Belle’s eyes followed Abby as she went out the back door. “I think I’ll take a nap. I feel very tired, all of a sudden.”
T he man at the gas station had not exaggerated. The chimney listed at an odd angle. It appeared that mortar was washing out from the bricks on one side. Abby wondered how it could be repaired, and at what price. She stepped back away from the house to study it.
When she was a child, she had believed this house to be enchanted. A wide turret rose three stories on the left, and the porches were trimmed with fancy woodwork. Gingerbread, Aunt Leila had called it. From the street, it did look like an oversized gingerbread house. Now, the paint peeled from the clapboard siding and several shutters hung loosely. The only thing that looked good was the roof, which Belle said Leila had replaced. With Belle’s money.
Money, Abby reminded herself, that she would be obligated to repay.
She sat on the front porch and pondered the situation. She had an enormous house that was falling apart from every angle, an old woman to support, and debts she hadn’t even known about. To pay Belle back, Abby would have to sell the house. If she sold the house, Belle would have nowhere to go. Even the money from the roof wouldn’t take the old woman far, assuming she would agree to go. But go where? Abby could think of no option that would not inflict certain pain on Belle, whom Aunt Leila had trusted Abby to care for.
Damn Alex Kane, anyway. He screwed up my life when I was sixteen, and he’s doing it again. Belle doesn’t want to impose on him, doesn’t want to disrupt his life. What about my life? I’ve worked every bit as hard as Alex has, and I’ve had my share of hardships, too.
She ambled around the back of the house and pushed open the old garden gate, which protested loudly having been forced from its long-inactive state. The pachysandra had spread to the drive, all the way back to the old carriage house which stood alongside the fence and overlooked the river. An ancient pine tree she’d climbed as a girl stood watch over the grounds. From where she stood, she could see the initials carved halfway up the trunk. A.K. & A.M. Alex had carved them that last summer, where Abby could see them from her bedroom window at the back of the house.
Without thinking, she had walked toward the pine, and now she ran her fingers over the rough bark. She had stood right here, in this spot, when he had kissed her good-bye the night before she left for Chicago. It had been an agonizing good-bye, Abby crying and unable to speak. Alex had done all the talking, between deep kisses they were still learning how to negotiate, in spite of all their practice that summer.
“It’ll be okay, Ab, I promise,” he had whispered. “I’ll write every day, you will, too, okay? And I’ll call you when I can. And before you know it, summer will be here again, and we’ll both be back. It won’t be so bad. Look, Ab, a shootin g star… righ t there… quick, make a wish. ”
What had she wished for that night so long ago? That she and Alex would live happily ever after, here in Primrose. She hadn’t asked him what he had wished for. He’d held her close and whispered his undying, never-ending love for her.
“I’ll never love anyone but you, Abby,” he’d said. “I just never could.”
And the next summer, he’d stayed away. Job or no job, she’d childishly insisted, he should have come. She had never forgiven him, but neither had she ever forgotten him.
7
T he bells in the tower that rose sixty feet above the town hall
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