Sleep No More (5 page)

Father Kevin spun around, his face wet with tears, his mouth a twist of agony. "Maggie?"

"I'm right here, Uncle Father."

With a trembling mouth, he raced across the room and crushed his niece to his chest. "Praise God! You're all right."

"What's wrong?" Abby's heart began to settle back into its proper place as she slowly bent to pick up the phone.

Father Kevin turned his face toward Abby, seemingly reluctant to release Maggie from his arms. "It's late. You didn't answer your cell."

"Oh!" Abby, her own hands shaking from the adrenaline rush, reached inside her purse. "Sorry. I forgot to turn it back on after the funeral." She turned the phone on, its cheerful welcoming tones ringing hollowly in the room.

Father Kevin pressed a kiss on the top of Maggie's head and mumbled, "You're all right."

"We didn't mean to worry you," Abby said.

Father Kevin straightened and released his niece. He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Sorry. I overreacted--with the rain-slick roads and all."

As Abby handed him the cell phone, his eyes still held the glitter of agitation and his face was shiny with perspiration.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "Let me get you some water."

"I'm fine. Fine." He put a hand on Abby's arm and took a step toward the office door, escorting her out. His hand was trembling.

Maggie said, "I'm going on to the house."

Father Kevin's head snapped her way. "No!" He paused. "I'll only be another minute here. We can share the umbrella."

Maggie shrugged and flopped into the worn leather chair across from his desk.

He walked Abby to the office door. "Thanks for taking Maggie along. She always enjoys it." His voice had the tone of manufactured casualness.

"They all love to see her come." Abby didn't have the heart to bring up the question Maggie posed on the ride home. "And she's great company for me."

"She's a special girl." He looked toward his niece with heartbreaking tenderness. Not really surprising. Maggie could stir protective instincts even in the most callous heart.

"Yes, she is." Abby agreed. The sheen of perspiration seemed to be disappearing from his face. "You're sure you're all right?"

He nodded and put one hand on the doorknob, giving Abby a gentle nudge with his other. Clearly he was embarrassed by his behavior and was anxious to get her on her way. "Good-bye, Abby. And thanks again."

"Good night, Father." Abby moved through the open door and it closed quietly behind her.

She glanced toward the sanctuary on her way out. A dark figure huddled at the kneeling rail. Candlelight reflected the pale oval of his face. He was not bowed in prayer or gazing at the crucifix, but staring directly into the hallway where Abby stood. The instant their eyes met, he turned away and bowed his head.

Feeling like an intruder on the man's solitude, an eavesdropper on his prayers, Abby hurriedly headed for the side door.

Yet another feeling ran just beneath her embarrassment, the nagging of something being off, out of place.

She nearly turned around and went back to knock on Father Kevin's door to make sure he knew someone was in the church. Recalling the look in his eyes as he'd hurried her out his office reinforced the fact that she was a visitor here; she needed to leave both the parishioner and the priest to their privacy.

As Abby got in her van and started the engine, it dawned on her what had bothered her about the man in the sanctuary; he still wore his hat.

Let Maggie get one look at that and she'd make certain the poor guy wouldn't make that mistake again.

Jason leaned back in his desk chair and rubbed his eyes. It had grown dark nearly an hour ago. The desk lamp in his office was the only illumination in the house. He got up, stretched his arms over his head, and shut the lamp off. If he was going to eat, he'd have to go out. The kitchen was bare, as it usually was on the weeks when he didn't have Brenna. He wondered why dining out by himself felt less lonely than grocery shopping for one. He supposed it had something to do with living in a small town; invariably, he ran into someone with whom he could have at least a passing conversation.

The rain that had begun during Vera's burial had settled in like an uninvited relative. Jason ducked his head into his collar as he hurried to the detached garage, thinking that Lucy was having enough trouble with her grief without dreary weather compounding it. She'd seemed to fold in on herself as Bryce had helped her to the family car at the cemetery.

Jason put up the garage door, but before he started his car he dialed Bryce's cell phone.

"Hey, Jason." The "Dad" vulnerability of earlier in the day had apparently departed. The tinny sound of iPod earbuds filled the background. Jason could picture Bryce sitting there with one of them plucked from his ear and dangling on his chest.

"You really need to turn that thing down; you're going to ruin your hearing."

Bryce sighed loudly, but the music disappeared.

"I was just calling to see how everyone is," Jason said.

"Fine."

"Are you still at Grandmother's?" As with her name, Constance refused anything short of proper. She was the only person in the world to call Lucy
Lucinda
.

"No."

"Been home long?"

"A while."

Jason could hear the shrug in his son's voice. He longed for the day when Bryce would emerge from his teen years and participate in more than monosyllabic conversation again.

Jason asked, "Mom holding up okay?"

There was the slightest beat of a pause. "Yeah."

"Can you expand on that?" Jason prompted.

"She laid down for a nap after we got home."

"She's still sleeping?"

"Um, I'm not sure."

"What's your sister doing?"

"Watching a Disney DVD."

"I was just headed out to get some dinner. You and Brenna want to come?"
And while I'm picking you up, I can check on your mother's sobriety.

"No." The answer was unusually curt, even for Bryce.

Before Jason could say anything else, Bryce added in a tone that bordered on apologetic, "I really think we should stay with Mom. Besides, we already ate. Grandmother sent home a bunch of food people carried in to her house."

"All right, then. Tell Brenna I'll call her at bedtime." He paused. "And Bryce... call if you need me."

"Right. Bye."

Jason ended the call feeling more disconnected and isolated than he had in a long while.

The sand and gravel parking lot at Jeter's Restaurant was jammed with haphazardly parked cars. It looked like a junkyard jigsaw puzzle with ill-fitting pieces. Not for the first time, Abby thought that a little organization might help. She knew that Sam Jeter didn't want to risk losing the mature trees that grew at random both in and around the lot by paving it, but it seemed he could somehow define the parking spaces. At the very least, he could reserve a spot for carry-out orders.

She wove through the maze of bumpers and taillights and finally found a place to squeeze in her van. One of these days she'd be able to afford a second vehicle, something small and fast, easy to park; she wouldn't have to drive this logo-branded beast everywhere. Of course, her sister--who designed said logo--was quick to point out that the van was inexpensive advertising, a mobile billboard, which was necessary since Abby's business was run out of the old carriage house on the family property and not where anyone could see it. Truth was if folks wanted flowers in Preston, it was Abby or the Internet. Courtney just liked the idea of her artwork on constant display.

The rain had stopped. As Abby gathered her purse, drips from the trees hit the top of the van, echoing like a drum. It was a lonely sound that served to remind her she'd be eating by herself again tonight.

Jeter's was a jack-of-all-trades eatery, family dining mixed with a small arcade, a pool room, and a bar. There was a wide porch on the side with wooden picnic tables; empty tonight because of the weather. The place was Lowcountry through and through, complete with rough-sawn wood, corrugated galvanized steel, and buckets built into the tables for the crab and shrimp shells. Out back was the big smoker for the pulled pork and ribs.

When Abby entered, she was pinned against the door by the crowd of people waiting for tables. The din of dozens of conversations was punctuated by the occasional child's squeal and clack of balls in the pool room. Everything was overshadowed by too-loud music.

She was in no mood for chaos. Today had been filled with too many unsettling events. Dad. Father Kevin. Worst of all, those damn muddy footprints. With the distraction of her work day over, these things had become a toxin invading her thoughts. The festering splinter of her sleepwalking was throbbing with each heartbeat. It whispered a cadence of condemnation that matched the rhythm of her pulse.

And beneath that, reaching across time, was the echo of her sister's screams--

"Are you all right?"

Abby blinked; the cries of pain and terror faded back into the past, sliding beneath the lively sounds of Jeter's. The hostess stood in front of her with a concerned look on her face.

While Abby had been lost in thought, the path to the bar had cleared.

"Fine." Abby forced a smile and moved toward the bar. "Just picking up a carry-out order."

The barstools were nearly all taken. A knot of people were having an animated conversation in front of where she normally picked up her order.

As she stepped up behind an open barstool, she made an effort to avoid making eye contact with anyone. The problem with small towns was when you wanted to grab and dash with your dinner someone invariably sucked you into an unwanted conversation.

Sam noticed her from behind the bar and nodded. He finished mixing a drink and then grabbed a brown paper bag from near the register. Before he reached her with it, a voice on her left said, "Did you and Maggie get all of the flowers delivered?"

Even with a simple question, Jason Coble's voice soothed her ruffled nerve endings and all thoughts of avoiding conversation evaporated.

"We did," she said, turning to him. "Thanks to your help, Maggie had time for an extra game of checkers with Mr. Deveraux."

Sam set the bag with her dinner on the bar and Abby paid her bill.

Jason eyed the bag. "Dinner for one?"

He was wearing an oxford shirt with rolled-up sleeves and jeans; looking less like Indiana Jones and more like the kind of professor college girls fell wildly in love with. Quiet. Confident. Hot.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she admitted.

He gestured to the empty barstool next to him. "Join me? I'll buy you a beer to go with whatever's in that bag."

His semi-sad smile tugged at her heart. She imagined the loneliness in his eyes was reflected in her own.

The appeal of eating in her empty house was diminishing by the second; the whole idea suddenly felt more like exile than sanctuary.

It bothered her a little that his presence could change her once-set mind so quickly. Even so, she sat down next to him. "Thanks, I believe I will."

Sam came back and handed Abby real silverware and a napkin. She ordered a beer; Jason made certain it went on his tab.

As Sam walked away, he shot Abby a wink. She responded with a perturbed stare. Damn busybody. This was why she ate at home.

Jason, seemingly oblivious to her eye war with Sam, reached over and pulled the top of her bag open. He peeked inside. "Maybe you have something better than boiled shrimp in there."

Abby drew the bag to her. "I do." She looked at him sternly. "And I don't share."

He leaned close when she opened the Styrofoam container, breathing deeply as the steam rose from her pecan-honey-glazed fried chicken. "Didn't expect a skinny girl like you--"

She thumped the top of his head with the back of her spoon.

He jerked upright, surprise in his eyes.

"You get over there and peel your low-fat shrimp." She shooed him away with a flip of her fingers.

He laughed and the shadow of sadness seemed to lift from him. It felt nice to have boosted his spirits, and she realized he'd improved hers as well.

They talked of inconsequential things for a while. Jason's dry humor engaged her completely, keeping her thoughts away from dark places. He finished his beer and ordered another. Abby declined a second, but ordered coffee, just to have a reason to stay.

There was a lull in their conversation as she stirred cream into her coffee. She toyed with the idea of quizzing him about her father's lapses--who better to let her know if she had reason to worry than a psychiatrist. But tonight he wasn't a psychiatrist. He was just a guy in a bar; a charming guy who made her laugh and forget her own worries. Why drag things down? Besides, it would be like asking for free professional advice. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

She lifted her coffee cup. "About how many sit-ups I'm going to have to do to keep that fried chicken from being the straw that popped the button on my jeans."