Part 13 (2/2)
She'd called to say she and Chaz had moved into their new house along with her mother and aunt, and his parents and brother. They'd stayed up all night and, after a lengthy discussion, had decided to go ahead with the wedding. ”I know a lot of folks might think we're being selfish, what with so much heartache all around. We are worried about that, and to tell the truth, we have a lot of survivor's guilt. But we also see our wedding as a beginning. We're starting fresh. We have hope, and with G.o.d's grace, we'll recover and move on. We want our wedding to be a symbol of hope to our friends and family.”
Tears welled in Abigail's eyes. ”Oh, honey, I'm so happy for you. I wouldn't miss it. Is it okay with you if I bring a few friends?”
”I was just going to ask!” Kaylee's enthusiasm was contagious. ”We'll have plenty of food! The caterer is from Springfield, and they are all good. It's going to be pretty casual now. The church suffered some damage, but the electricity and water are on, so we should be fine. Come as you are at 6:30 Sat.u.r.day night and bring your appet.i.te.”
The carnage was even worse, if possible, in the daylight. The tiny details such as torn family photos, a broken locket, a child's dollhouse, were what struck Abigail as she and Justin entered Old Town Rawston that morning.
The entire Old Town area: all of the cute buildings, the flowers, benches, the quaint signage, the meticulous landscaping, the historical statues and other charming landmarks, fountains, the cobblestone streets, the centuries-old trees, the Old Town Square Park with its charming gazebo-all of it reduced to a landfill in less time than it took to order a latte at Mr. Bean.
Everything in her shop had been destroyed, but it was the little things that shoved a lump into her throat. The blue vase that she'd splurged on just last month crunched beneath her booted feet as she hiked and picked her way through the refuse. The desk she'd spent a month sanding. The curtains she'd laboriously sewn with Selma's help.
Up and down the street, other business owners were also scavenging for whatever they might be able to salvage. There were some tears, but surprisingly, there was also humor. Some of it dark. Some of it silly. But all of it welcome. Most of the business owners and apartment owners, such as Abigail, were simply glad to be alive. And to find each other in the same condition. The Toyota was still sitting inside her shop. Its battery had finally died and the headlights that had illuminated the interior last night were off.
”Justin!”
”What?” He stopped sifting through her rubble and stood and stretched.
”This! It's my dresser!” It was lying on its back in the middle of the street.
Justin stepped to her side and helped her drag it to the sidewalk and set it upright. Opening a drawer, she squealed. ”Everything is still here!” A surge of joy she'd never known before at the simple act of opening a dresser drawer had her mood suddenly soaring. Justin watched indulgently as she opened each drawer and sighed with satisfaction at clothing still miraculously folded in tidy stacks. Selma had loaned them each a backpack and she stuffed hers as full as she dared with fresh underwear, and jeans, some tops and socks.
”We can come back later for the rest,” Justin a.s.sured her as she nearly toppled over from the weight of her backpack. He took a half dozen pairs of jeans out of her pack and loaded them into his. ”Come on, my little fas.h.i.+on plate. C'mon, Rawhide.” The dog jumped to follow at the sound of his name.
Abigail's giddy mood lasted only until they got to Quilty Pleasure. All of Selma's beautiful quilts. Tattered and torn and caked with mud. ”Poor Selma,” she groaned.
”Ah, man.” Justin twisted his cap back and forth on his head.
Bolts of fabric and sc.r.a.ps were strewn everywhere. Abigail picked a package of quilting squares out of a flower basket and pressed them to her cheek. These were some of the Noah's ark pattern that Jen loved. She'd save these. She grabbed a few other bits and pieces and tucked them into Justin's pack. She had no idea why. More souvenirs to commemorate the occasion, she guessed.
At Justin's suggestion, they headed back to Selma's to unload their packs, have some lunch, and then hit his place for a load of his clothes. Side-by-side they walked, neither acknowledging how much they appreciated the contact. Now and then, they would have to stop and try to figure out where they were. It was frustrating. Though she'd grown up in this town, the vista was so completely changed, she had no real idea where she was standing half of the time. Every landmark that she'd ever known was missing. The buildings were flat, the street signs, gone. Even the sky was gray and ugly. Rawston was now just a huge landfill out in the middle of the prairie.
Someone's pet dog was lying in the street, dead. It seemed like every time she spotted a bit of silver lining, reality would rear up and smack her in the face. Already Justin could read her moods. ”Are you okay?” he asked gently.
”Yeah. Fine. I just . . .” She lifted and dropped her arms. ”I'm stunned. Everything I worked for my whole life is . . . broken.”
”Not this.” He held up a framed copy of her North American Hair Stylist of the Year award. Unbelievably, the gla.s.s had not broken and the frame was in perfect condition. ”I was going to clean it up and give it to you later.”
Abigail exhaled a smile. He was so sweet. So thoughtful. She took it from his hand and explained as they walked. ”When I won this, I met a guy named DJ in LA who does hair for celebrities at his shop and at some of the movie studios. He offered me a job. I told him I had to think it over, because I had a lot going on here and I didn't want to . . . to . . . rush into anything . . . you know . . .” A quavering smile tugged at her lips.
Justin swallowed. ”And now?”
Her sharp laugh was really more of a sob. ”I don't have so much going on.”
”Oh.” Justin nodded and swallowed again. ”I know how you feel. I was thinking about talking my grandparents into moving back east with my family.”
”And you?” This time, it was Abigail's turn to swallow.
”I'd go with them.”
”Oh.” Abigail missed a step and reached out and clutched Justin's arm just before she would have fallen. He steadied her, and they stopped walking and looked into each other's eyes for a moment. Her eyes told him she hated that idea.
His told her the same thing.
He looked down at their hands, still entwined and sighed. ”I think . . . I think that today is not the day to make big decisions.”
”I,” she whispered, ”think that, too.”
When they finally made it back to Selma's house, they stepped into the living room only to find Heather and Bob Ray crying. Abigail's heart lurched as she looked into the dining room to find Selma and Guadalupe and even Elsa crying. Justin and Abigail froze and reached for each other, terror clutching their hearts.
”What?” Abigail demanded. ”What happened?”
17.
Daniel Strohacker was dead?
Selma motioned for them to sit down, but both Abigail and Justin remained standing, mouths gaping, eyes flas.h.i.+ng, digesting this unthinkable bit of misinformation.
”No.” Justin looked frantically back and forth among the tear-stained faces. ”That can't be right. There must have been some mistake.”
Selma shook her head. ”No, honey. I'm so sorry, but they . . . they . . .” the elderly woman dabbed at her eyes with a tissue she'd plucked from her sleeve, ”. . . they have identified the body.”
Abigail felt light-headed. The lump in her throat was cutting off her supply of oxygen. The room seemed to tilt. She reached out and gripped Justin's arm for balance. He must have been seeing the same black spots dancing before his own eyes, because he clutched her back so hard it hurt.
His eyes were wild and his mouth worked but no sound emerged. At long last, he was able to whisper, ”What happened?”
Bob Ray cast his bleary gaze on Justin. ”They just now found his body. Under our . . . under . . . our place. Mrs. Carmichael called when a cadaver dog got a positive hit. It's him-” Heather rubbed Bob Ray's back and handed him a tissue. He took it and buried his face. ”He was under there, to fix a leak. I should have been under there, man,” Bob Ray cried, his voice m.u.f.fled.
”Don't say that,” Heather said and pressed her forehead against her husband's. ”I'm the one who called him.”
”Nonsense.” Selma grabbed the tissue box on the coffee table, hobbled over to Justin and pressed it into his hands before she turned to eye Bob Ray and Heather. ”This is no one's fault, do you hear me? Daniel Strohacker was killed in a terrible storm. Not murdered by you two.”
”But . . . why?” Abigail finally found her voice. ”What about Jen? What about their tiny son? What about him? That does not seem fair or right!”
”Honey,” Selma said with a sorrow-filled sigh, ”life is not always fair or right.”
Abigail stared at Selma, unable to react. Unable to process everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours. Numb now, like a computer overloaded and frozen up, she released her grip on Justin's arm. The icons in her brain were spinning. Receiving error messages. Unable to display pages. Woodenly, she turned and left the grieving group to descend the stairs to her new bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she paced the floor. What now? What? Do something. Anything.
Just. Don't. Think.
Eyes blank, she moved with an automated frenzy. She reached for her backpack, the bag from last night and the pants she'd worn yesterday. Dumping them out on the bed, she pawed through all her worldly possessions. Some jeans and tops. A pair of shoes. Some underwear and shampoo. And a whole bunch of tattered fabric. This stuff. These bits and pieces were all she had to show for her entire life. Sc.r.a.ps. Don't think.
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