first place.
She hadn’t been keen on moving back here.
In fact, she’d thought Seattle—with its vibrant waterfront, cooler climate, rugged snow-capped mountains within driving distance, rough-and-tumble history, and most importantly, the over two thousand miles of distance from there to Louisiana—had been a perfect place to settle down.
Well…aside from Zoey and that nasty little indiscretion with Luke. She took a long swallow from her glass.
Be fair, Abby, her conscience argued, Luke’s involvement with Zoey hadn’t been a little indiscretion, it had been a full-blown, heart-wrenching, mortifying affair!
“Bastard,” she growled, then drained the glass and shoved it into the dishwasher.
She should have divorced Luke when she’d learned he’d cheated during their engagement, but oh, no, she’d been stupid enough to give the marriage another chance. He’d sworn to change his ways if she’d just move with him to New Orleans.
She’d been dubious of the marriage being able to resurrect again, of course, but the temptation for a new start had been hard to resist, and at that point, she’d been foolish enough to think that she still loved her husband.
“Idiot,” she muttered under her breath, returning to the living room and the dust rag sitting on the windowsill. There had been other reasons for moving to New Orleans, or the area surrounding it. Hadn’t she always promised herself that she’d return to the place where her life had changed forever when Faith Chastain had fallen to her death? Hadn’t Abby decided that the only way to put the ghosts of the past to rest was to visit the hospital, take pictures of it, reexamine that night that was so fragmented in her mind?
“Oh, Mama,” she said, once again picking up the framed head shot and staring into eyes so like her own. She glanced at the fireplace where, only a few nights earlier, she’d burned the photos of her marriage. Black curled ashes still clung to the grate.
Her cell phone rang. She could hear it singing inside her purse, which sat in the dining room next to her portfolio. She hurried to the purse, snatched up the slim phone, and flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Hi, Abby, this is Maury,” the caller said. Abby’s heart sank. “Maury Taylor. You remember. I work with Luke.”
“Of course I remember you.” Her voice grew cool. Maury the moron.
“Look, I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Luke, have you?”
“No,” she said slowly, sensing a trap. Maybe this was one of her ex-husband’s pranks. He was known for setting people up while he was on the air, then letting the whole listening world laugh at the victim’s expense. Even if the show wasn’t airing at the moment, he would tape his victim’s responses and replay them over and over again when the show was broadcasting. Her stomach tightened.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Why would I hear from him?”
“I don’t know.” There was an edge to Maury’s voice. Worry? Panic? “He, uh, he didn’t show up at the station yesterday. Missed the program completely. We had to air an old program we had on tape from last summer.”
She wasn’t buying it and really didn’t care. She was finished with Luke Gierman. “So why do you think I’d know where he was?”
“I don’t know. I thought you might have heard the show we aired earlier this week, the one on ex-spouses.”
She didn’t respond, but felt heat climb steadily up her neck. Bastard, she thought, imagining Luke at the microphone, spewing his lies. Her fingers clenched over the phone.
“He, uh, well, you probably already heard, he really ripped you up one side and down the other.”
“And that would make me want to talk to him?” she mocked, somehow managing to hold her temper in check. She still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a setup. “What a charmer. I have no idea where he is. Good-bye.”
“No, look! Abby,” he said anxiously, as if afraid she would hang up on him. “I’m
She hadn’t been keen on moving back here.
In fact, she’d thought Seattle—with its vibrant waterfront, cooler climate, rugged snow-capped mountains within driving distance, rough-and-tumble history, and most importantly, the over two thousand miles of distance from there to Louisiana—had been a perfect place to settle down.
Well…aside from Zoey and that nasty little indiscretion with Luke. She took a long swallow from her glass.
Be fair, Abby, her conscience argued, Luke’s involvement with Zoey hadn’t been a little indiscretion, it had been a full-blown, heart-wrenching, mortifying affair!
“Bastard,” she growled, then drained the glass and shoved it into the dishwasher.
She should have divorced Luke when she’d learned he’d cheated during their engagement, but oh, no, she’d been stupid enough to give the marriage another chance. He’d sworn to change his ways if she’d just move with him to New Orleans.
She’d been dubious of the marriage being able to resurrect again, of course, but the temptation for a new start had been hard to resist, and at that point, she’d been foolish enough to think that she still loved her husband.
“Idiot,” she muttered under her breath, returning to the living room and the dust rag sitting on the windowsill. There had been other reasons for moving to New Orleans, or the area surrounding it. Hadn’t she always promised herself that she’d return to the place where her life had changed forever when Faith Chastain had fallen to her death? Hadn’t Abby decided that the only way to put the ghosts of the past to rest was to visit the hospital, take pictures of it, reexamine that night that was so fragmented in her mind?
“Oh, Mama,” she said, once again picking up the framed head shot and staring into eyes so like her own. She glanced at the fireplace where, only a few nights earlier, she’d burned the photos of her marriage. Black curled ashes still clung to the grate.
Her cell phone rang. She could hear it singing inside her purse, which sat in the dining room next to her portfolio. She hurried to the purse, snatched up the slim phone, and flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Hi, Abby, this is Maury,” the caller said. Abby’s heart sank. “Maury Taylor. You remember. I work with Luke.”
“Of course I remember you.” Her voice grew cool. Maury the moron.
“Look, I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Luke, have you?”
“No,” she said slowly, sensing a trap. Maybe this was one of her ex-husband’s pranks. He was known for setting people up while he was on the air, then letting the whole listening world laugh at the victim’s expense. Even if the show wasn’t airing at the moment, he would tape his victim’s responses and replay them over and over again when the show was broadcasting. Her stomach tightened.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Why would I hear from him?”
“I don’t know.” There was an edge to Maury’s voice. Worry? Panic? “He, uh, he didn’t show up at the station yesterday. Missed the program completely. We had to air an old program we had on tape from last summer.”
She wasn’t buying it and really didn’t care. She was finished with Luke Gierman. “So why do you think I’d know where he was?”
“I don’t know. I thought you might have heard the show we aired earlier this week, the one on ex-spouses.”
She didn’t respond, but felt heat climb steadily up her neck. Bastard, she thought, imagining Luke at the microphone, spewing his lies. Her fingers clenched over the phone.
“He, uh, well, you probably already heard, he really ripped you up one side and down the other.”
“And that would make me want to talk to him?” she mocked, somehow managing to hold her temper in check. She still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a setup. “What a charmer. I have no idea where he is. Good-bye.”
“No, look! Abby,” he said anxiously, as if afraid she would hang up on him. “I’m
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