Come Home: a novel Part 8

"No, not at all. You always love it when people love what you love." Megan smiled. "Like when people say Beef is cute, I love that. I hate people who say he's old or fat. Abby's a sweetie, and you know how she is when she gets an idea in her head. She's like Beef, with his sock, she never lets go. She needs us, Mom. We're her family."

"Are we?" Jill asked, feeling surprised and validated, both at once.

"Yes, sure, you can't just kick somebody out of your family. She's in my family, so she has to be in yours."

Jill smiled. She still thought of herself as Abby's mother, but it came as a revelation that Megan thought of her as family, too.

"Mom, you say your pa.s.sion is helping kids. Right?"

"Yes," Jill answered.

"So how can you not help Abby? She's ours."

Chapter Eleven.

Back at home, Jill had changed her clothes and was putting fresh sheets on Megan's bed, in a house that was empty and felt that way. She had dropped Megan off at Courtney's to work on an English project until their afternoon practice, and Sam was still in town with his colleague Lee. Jill was doing laundry and other ch.o.r.es, trying to put the memorial service and its aftermath out of her mind, without success.

Why did you guys really break up?

Jill felt a twinge, missing Megan. It was too soon to be an empty-nester, but you didn't have to be a pediatrician to know that the baby birds left before they could fly. She tucked in the flat sheet and made a lousy hospital corner. She had worked in six different hospitals and couldn't make a decent hospital corner. Even hospitals didn't make hospital corners anymore. The irony was lost on Beef, who watched her from between his paws, resting his head on his dirty tube sock.

She's like Beef, with his sock. She never lets go.

Jill reached for the duvet cover, an old one she'd gotten from the closet. It usually took her two or three tries to put on a duvet cover, and it was a ch.o.r.e she hated. She'd rather change a bedpan than a duvet cover.

Brrring! Her cell phone rang, and she slid it from her pocket and checked the number, in the Philly area code. She answered it, "Jill Farrow."

"I'm so sorry about what happened." It was Abby, her voice thick, and Jill set down the duvet cover, feeling for her.

"How are you, honey? How was the service?"

"Um, okay. I'm okay." Abby sniffled. "I'm glad you didn't change your phone number. Am I still A on your speed dial?"

Jill felt a stab of guilt. "You were until I got a new phone, but that erases all the speed dials. Where are you, honey?"

"Home."

"Alone?"

"Pickles is here."

Jill sank onto the bed, hating that Abby was all by herself after William's service, sitting in the house they'd shared.

"Jill, I'm so sorry for what I said, accusing you of cheating on Dad. I know, deep inside, that you didn't, but Dad said it and Victoria went along, and I didn't want to think he'd lie. I mean, he's all I have. Had."

"I know, don't worry. Did you have a reception afterwards?"

"We did, but I left. Victoria's so mad at me. She's still at the restaurant. It was Brian and all her friends anyway."

"Who's Brian?"

"Brian Pendle. He was at the service. Tall and cute, with gla.s.ses."

Jill remembered. "Megan said he was her boyfriend."

"Not yet. He has a girlfriend studying abroad, but Victoria's working on him. He's a lawyer in New York, and she's crus.h.i.+ng like crazy on him. The more unavailable the guy, the happier she is."

Jill let it go. "Did you eat?"

"Not yet. I'll get take-out, I'm obsessed with this Chinese place near us. The one time I didn't call and order, they called me to make sure I was okay. It was the day Dad died."

Jill shuddered.

"What are you and Megan doing?"

"Everybody's out, and I'm making the bed somebody barfed on." Jill was trying to make Abby laugh, and she did, chuckling.

"Oh no, yuck, sorry. Does Megan hate me?"

"No. Megan loves you, and so do I."

Abby fell silent. "I don't mind being here alone. I have Pickles and I decided I'm going to live here on my own, from now on. Victoria says I can't do it, but I know I can. She wants to sell the house, but I want to stay."

Jill knew it was the grief talking. "It's too soon to make any decisions, sweetie. See how you feel in time."

"I can't, Victoria's already talking to the lawyer. We're in a fight."

Jill sank onto the bed. "Well, maybe she's right, honey. It costs money to live in a house. You have to pay the mortgage, every month."

"No, there's no mortgage. The house is paid for."

"That's not possible." Jill and Sam were a decade away from paying off the house, and together, they made good money.

"Yes it is, Dad told me."

Then Jill figured it had to be a small mortgage. "But you'll have living expenses. Can you afford them, waitressing?"

"I quit."

"What?" Jill checked her tone. Criticism was the last thing Abby needed today. "Why?"

"I want to find out who killed Dad. I'm going to do it, whether you help me or not."

Jill let that go, too. "What will you do for money? Did your Dad have life insurance?"

"Yes, Victoria said there was a policy for a million dollars, and we're the beneficiaries, and I saved about three thousand dollars, so I'll be fine."

Jill relaxed, rea.s.sured. She'd made William get life insurance when the girls were young, though they hadn't had a million-dollar policy. It seemed odd.

"Jill, can you tell me how to set up a budget? How to run the house, like Dad did?"

Jill saw room to strike a bargain. "Yes, but if I do, you have to do something for me. I want you to meet with a psychologist, a really great woman. "

"A shrink?" Abby moaned.

"You've had a terrible loss, and there's no shame in therapy. I had plenty after my first husband died. Give it a chance is all I ask. She'll see you anytime this week."

"Okay," Abby answered, after a moment.

"Thanks, sweetie." Jill felt a wave of relief.

"So wanna come over? You said you were alone. We can order Chinese."

"Tonight?"

"Why not?"

Jill felt her mood lift. She had answered all her patient email, returned all their phone calls, and done the laundry. She was going to take a swim, but she could do that anytime. "Okay, sounds good," she said.

But Jill didn't know what she was in for.

Chapter Twelve.

It was almost dark by the time Jill got to Philly, surprised to find that William had lived in one of the best parts of Society Hill. His house was a stunning contemporary column, with a concrete-and-gla.s.s facade, and she climbed the steps in astonishment, ringing the bell. Abby opened the door in her flowing boho dress, sweeping into Jill's arms.

"Jill, I'm so glad you came."

"Me, too, sweetie." Jill let her go, gesturing at the modern facade. "This is your house? It's amazing."

"Now you know why I want to stay. Come in." Abby moved aside, and Jill followed her through an all-white entrance hall to a dramatic living room, with walls of ma.s.sive gla.s.s sheets and beige leather sectionals, arranged around a state-of-the-art TV and entertainment center.

"Abby, where did your Dad work?" Jill asked, mystified. She set her purse down on the couch. "He wasn't still a drug rep, was he?"

"No, he was doing really well on his own, making investments with his friend Neil." Abby smiled, with pride. "Dad has a Mercedes, and he bought Victoria a BMW, so she could drive back and forth to visit us. He got me the old Datsun, you saw, but it was all I wanted. She's a rescue car."

Jill didn't get it. "But even if you have the money, are you sure you want to live here, by yourself?"

"I already do. Dad was on the road, sometimes four nights a week."

"Why, if he wasn't a rep anymore?"

"For business." Abby shrugged. "He went lots of places, to New York and other cities. You know how Dad was, he kept his business to himself."

Jill bit her tongue. William kept everything to himself. "So you would be here alone?"

"No, my boyfriend was here. Santos." Abby's face fell. "He helped me a lot with the house, he was older."

Jill had guessed that the boyfriend was older. Santos must have been the raggedy-looking guy on Abby's Facebook page. "How old was he?"

"Thirty."

Jill masked her disapproval, worried at how vulnerable Abby was, especially now. "Honey, I don't know if you're safe, living here alone."

"Sure I am. We have a burglar alarm, and Dad had a gun."

"He did?" Jill blinked, surprised. That would have been a new thing for William. They'd never owned a gun, at least she didn't think they did, but there was so much about William she never really knew. "But you, in this big house, honey? It's too much for you."

"Why does everybody keep telling me I can't do things, even you?" Abby's eyes turned pleading. "You never did that before, Jill. You were the one person, all my life, who told me I could do whatever I set my mind to."

"It's not that I don't think you can, it's that I don't know why you want to."

"Why wouldn't I want to find out who killed my Dad?"

Jill let it go, for now. "Okay, now, where did your Dad keep his bills and things?"

"Upstairs, in his office. It's really his man cave. Come this way." Abby turned and led the way to a transparent staircase leading to a light-filled hallway on the second floor, then opened a door. "Here's my bedroom. The other is Victoria's room, but only Pickles sleeps there. He likes it in the daytime."

Jill looked inside Abby's bedroom, speechless, for a moment. It was a replica of the one she'd shared with Megan, traditionally decorated with a blue hook rug, a comforter covered with forget-me-nots, and matching curtains.

"I know, it's crazy but I wanted to make it feel like home, so I wouldn't miss everything so much."

"Did it work?" Jill asked, pained.

"Kinda."

"Good for you." Jill touched her arm, realizing that the divorce had cost Abby her family and her home, neither of which could be replaced by an empty gla.s.s column, a veritable house of air.

"Here's Dad's office." Abby walked ahead, and Jill found herself in a stark, masculine office with a dark-patterned carpet. There was a black leather sofa and a side chair with lacquered end tables, and a sleek walnut desk with a black Herman Miller chair. "He paid all the bills in here, and I have to learn about that stuff if I'm going to take over. The file cabinet has lots of the old bills."

"Okay, but I have an easier way." Jill went over to the laptop. "When we were married, we used Quicken, which is a program that pays all the bills. Mind if I check the laptop?"

"Go for it." Abby stood aside, and Jill sat down at the desk and tapped a key, feeling odd about intruding into William's life. The laptop came to life with a vacation photo of a grinning William, Abby, and Victoria, and Jill cringed, looking up at Abby, to see if it upset her.

"You okay, honey? We can do this another time."

"No, I'm fine, go ahead. I already checked his email but I didn't see any hate mail, psycho girlfriends, or anything suspicious." Abby pointed to the side table. "That's where the police found the bottle of whisky. It was Glenfiddich, but there was no gla.s.s. If Dad had the killer up here, whoever it was took both gla.s.ses when he left."