Winterbay Abbey Read online

  In a way, I envied Emily. Staying home all the time sounded nice. Even the thought of being a stay-at-home dad was enticing. Too bad paternity leave was an all-out joke.

  I glanced at Emily’s dress figures in the living room. Eight months ago they were always out, hung with new designs, sketches spread across her cutting table, pins underfoot. Now they were stuffed into the corner behind a chair, naked and unused.

  She caught my eye and I quickly looked back and smiled.

  “I had some ideas,” she said, “for a new skirt.”

  I nodded. “That’s great.”

  “But they’re still in my head. I’ll get to it soon,” she said.

  I tried to smile again, but couldn’t. I wasn’t sure she’d ever have the needed dexterity again for any fine work. Emily’s hands had once been supple and graceful. Artist hands. They still were, at least one of them, no thanks to me.

  “Do you want to see the stuff your mom brought?” Emily led me to the couch. A clear zippered bag sat on the middle cushion. Tiny shoes, bibs, and other infant paraphernalia littered the entire sofa. I recognized a couple of toys.

  Did my mom really keep all this?

  I was tempted to throw all of it out, but maybe we could reuse the clothes. We certainly weren’t going to have the cash for new ones.

  “Just look at this,” Emily said, holding up a yellow onesie. The shiny, jagged U-shaped scar on her hand caught the reflection from the recessed lighting above. The skin graft that covered the entire back of her hand wasn’t as angry now, but I still noticed. It looked like the hand belonged to someone else even though the skin came from her hip. At least it hid the crushed bones and ligaments underneath.

  She flexed her fingers. I could see the strain in her face as she barely managed to make a fist.

  She put the onesie down and handed me a round rattle topped with a short blue-striped wooden handle.

  “Your mom said you were worse than a dog. See those marks.” She pointed at the rattle’s handle and smiled.

  Tiny teeth marks imprinted every inch of the soft wood. The indentations formed an odd pattern of wavy bites. Gross. It did look more like a puppy’s chew toy than a baby’s rattle. Why had my mom held onto this? “Uh, huh.” I walked over to the garbage can and dropped the rattle inside.

  Emily’s eyes darkened. “You know, the least you could do is act a little bit excited sometimes,” she said, rubbing her stomach.

  I stared at the toy at the bottom of the garbage can.

  “I think all the time about my dad, up there in heaven with the angels, watching over me,” she said. “Pretty sure he’s looking forward to a grandchild.”

  I swallowed, and my chest turned cold. At first, I hadn’t been excited to hear about the pregnancy. In fact, I’d panicked. Financial fears perched like vultures on my shoulders. Emily and I weren’t even close to paying off our student loans, and her injury set us back that much further. The five months I’d been out of work a year and a half ago almost made us hit bottom. I’d told myself that all of that had put a damper on my initial excitement. Was I also afraid to admit that maybe part of me wasn’t ready to be a father?

  “I’m sorry.” I hugged her. “There’s been a lot of stress lately. How about I go through the rest of my baby stuff with you, and we can figure out what to keep or throw away?” I bent over and pulled the rattle out of the trash.

  “That would be great,” she said, brightening. “You can toss that thing, though. It’s been well-used.” She winked, took the toy from me, and dropped it back in the bin.

  I squeezed her. “How was your day?”

  “It was good. I found some more shirts for you at the thrift store,” she said, beginning to fold my baby clothes.

  I faked a smile. The Takamura account was supposed to get me a raise so we could not only buy new shirts but also get a bedroom decorated and ready for the baby.

  “Ariel actually came shopping with me,” Emily said.

  “Oh, really? How’s she doing?”

  “Still crying a lot.” Emily sighed. “At least I was able to get her out of the house. We talked about going to a new gallery in Georgetown that shows fantasy-inspired works. Opening night is free and open to the public. They’re supposed to have some awesome steampunk outfits and fairy-fashioned clothes.” She dropped her eyes.

  Out of everything Emily ever liked to make, costuming was her ultimate joy. Before the accident, she was trying to secure a deal with a local costume shop to buy some of her designs.

  “Well, that sounds fun,” I said. “Ariel likes fairies. Or maybe that’s just you.”

  “I just wish there was more I could do,” she said, looking down at her feet.

  “You’ll be able to do more someday. Just take it one day at a time right now,” I said.

  She shook her head, “Yeah, someday. But’s that’s not what I meant. I meant do more for Ariel.”

  “Oh,” I said. “It’s not your fault, Em.”

  “I know. I know. It’s just that she’s been so stressed out about her job. If I had just helped her, like, been there for her more. Maybe taken more meals over, then everything would’ve—”

  “Shhhh,” I said, putting my arms around her.

  She put her head on my shoulder.

  “Don’t blame yourself. Ariel’s miscarriage was bizarre, remember? They usually don’t happen in the third trimester. Try to separate yourself from your friends’ problems. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said, nodding.

  “Did you sleep better last night?” I asked.

  “I…” Emily said, wiggling her fingers. “Maybe a little.”

  “Maybe a little” usually meant “no” in Emily’s world. Her hand ached at night, and since she’d gotten pregnant, she tended to have frequent nightmares and very little sleep. My leaving town would probably make her insomnia worse. I had kind of hoped Ariel would make things easier if she came and stayed for a bit while I was gone. I didn’t want Emily alone, but maybe Ariel was a bad choice to keep her company.

  She made her way into the kitchen. “We better have dinner or it will get cold.” The sound of clattering dishes followed.

  I sat down at our desktop computer. When I moved the mouse the screen lit up. Emily’s resume was open. “How’s the job search going?” I asked. I went cold every time I saw a resume, thinking of how long I’d posted mine online with no takers until Lance.

  She sighed. “Nothing yet. I’m still waiting on Microsoft. They have a new work-from-home posting.”

  “Anything else? Project management, maybe?” I asked.

  Emily frowned. “I’m trying. It’s not that easy, you know. It looks like I would need to get some extra training, and it’s expensive.” She looked down at her hand and tried to wiggle her fingers. They flexed an inch but no more. “I was actually kind of thinking…. Um, maybe this isn’t the best time to look for a job.”

  I spun around. “What? What do you mean?”

  “Well, with the baby coming, I don’t know if I should be starting a new job. I’ll be kind of occupied for a while.”

  I nodded. I’d known that was what she meant, but I didn’t like to hear it.

  “I…. Yeah, we just need to get you back on your feet as soon as possible. That’s all I’m saying.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “I want to go back to what I was doing.” She flicked her eyes toward the dress forms. “You know, design. I actually thought I would talk to that gallery director in Georgetown about costumes, displays, you know.”

  My guts clenched. I didn’t know what was worse, seeing her uncovered forms that she couldn’t sew or even draw for, or hearing her talk about trying to set up something she wasn’t capable of doing yet. All because of me.

  I nodded. “I want that too, but…”

  “I tried knitting today,” she said. “You know, that project I told you about. It’s coming along nicely. I’ll be done soon. Maybe if I could sell some things online…”r />
  “That’s great, but does that ever really work? Even if you could make things fast enough, they’d have to sell for a thousand dollars apiece,” I said.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence and support,” she said, her eyes flaring. She slipped her bad hand under the other arm, hiding it from view.

  We both looked away. I felt bad, but I was also trying to be realistic about our situation. An awkward silence formed a cool wall. I hated to admit it, but more and more of these barriers were building. Things just weren’t the same between us. Not since the accident.

  I used to race home to Emily at the end of my day so we could grab takeout and rent a movie. Our legs would intertwine as we sat on the couch, holding our chopsticks and watching the newest superhero or sci-fi movie. She loved to critique the costumes. In the summer we would walk hand in hand for long strolls in many of Seattle’s parks.

  I couldn’t even remember the last time we watched a movie, or even held hands.

  I really wondered if Emily hadn’t gotten pregnant—another accident—if she would have already left me. Thinking about it made me feel sick to my stomach. I had tried so hard to do everything I could to make her happy in the eight months since the crash. It felt like all my efforts fell flat.

  “Anyway,” Emily finally said, her tone chilled, “has Lance told you what Mark thought of your designs yet?”

  I rubbed my head. I’d hoped to at least wait to tell her about Maine until after dinner. “Um, yeah.”

  Emily stared at me. “What?”

  I put my hands behind my head and stared at the ceiling. “Apparently Mark thought my CADs weren’t quite ‘modern enough.’ Lance ended up giving the account to Dustin.”

  Emily dropped an empty bowl and clutched her hand. Luckily the fall wasn’t china-fatal. She let out a curse. “How?! They were perfect. Modern does not even begin to fit that neighborhood,” she said.

  “I know. It just wasn’t what he wanted,” I said with a shrug. I explained how Dustin had sabotaged my drawings.

  “Will, I’m so sorry. What are you going to do?”

  “Well, Lance put me on a different project. But this one involves some traveling,” I said, leaving out the part about Lance giving me one last chance to prove myself.

  “Really? Where?” she asked.

  “East coast. Maine,” I said.

  Emily’s body went rigid. “Maine? But—”

  “I know it’s far,” I said.

  Emily’s face sank. “I feel weird being alone right now, after Ariel…”

  I swallowed, not sure what to say. “I know. I thought about quitting, especially with having to go to Maine.”

  Emily shook her head. “You can’t do that, not again. I can’t believe you’d even think about quitting right now!”

  “I know. I know. I’m not going to. I was just telling you what I was thinking. Anyway, could your mom maybe stay while I’m gone?”

  “Just forget it,” she said, looking away. “I’ll be fine. When do you leave?”

  “Em…don’t…”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Tomorrow,” I said. “I leave tomorrow. I’m sorry about all this.”

  Emily stalked back into the kitchen. “I’m leaving your dinner on the counter.”

  She hurried toward the bedroom.

  After staring into space for a moment, I sat in the recliner.

  I didn’t bother getting my soup.

  chapter three

  A flash of slick road. Headlight glare. A kid. A motorcycle.

  A high piercing wail that punctures my heart.

  Emily!

  I shook my head as Emily merged onto I-5 southbound toward the airport. I grabbed the passenger door grip and took a deep breath. Two flashbacks in two days. Before these recent episodes, I hadn’t had one in a month.

  I didn’t know if the flashbacks worried me more when Emily was driving or when I was. The horror always returned, and the result never changed.

  Thankfully, Emily didn’t notice my state. She was focused on the road. In fact, she’d been quiet the whole drive. Not even the orange gerbera daisies I’d woken up early to run out and buy for her softened the mood.

  After a goodbye hug and cliché promises about staying warm, I made my way toward security with an even fuller stomach of guilt.

  Emily’s mom was coming to stay with her tomorrow morning. Thankfully, Emily had a change of heart at the last minute and decided to call her. That should have made me feel better. But as soon as I got to my gate, that same strange anxiety I’d felt at the office yesterday crept up my chest. It burrowed in to stay, along with my headaches, which seemed to be getting worse. They say that when you become a parent everything changes. Maybe a little of this was part of some new protective separation anxiety.

  Whatever the reason, I didn’t like it, and I hoped visions of the accident dancing in my head remained at bay as well. I took out my Tylenol and chewed two pills.

  I tried to distract myself during the flight by researching the two Winterbay developers. Ted Alderstone and James Spears were from Seattle. They had restored some old buildings in Belltown into posh condos, complete with rooftop gardens and barely noticeable solar panels. Pretty impressive, even for Belltown. The neighborhood was known for its high crime and sketchy nightclubs, although it had experienced a revamp within the past few years.

  I opened the folder Lance had given me and stared at a bell tower looming over the seaside of the abbey. Stately and shabby at the same time, the tower seemed to fade in and out of focus. I rubbed my eyes, wishing I’d gotten more sleep. I hadn’t slept well in months and that was probably exacerbating my troubles. I needed my creativity for this renovation and to hone in on the clients’ wishes for their new building. But no ideas came to mind. I gazed at the tower. It continued to flicker. I blinked and stifled a yawn.

  “Hey, excuse me?” The guy next to me said, tapping my shoulder.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “Well, are you getting up or not?” he asked.

  “Getting up?” I asked.

  I glanced around the airplane. Everyone was standing, grabbing their bags.

  “We’re here?”

  “Yeah. Time flies,” he said, shrugging and raising his eyebrows.

  How could we be here already? I’d just gotten on the plane. Had I really been looking at this photo the entire trip? That seemed impossible. I must have fallen asleep for hours.

  The guy made a move to stand, and I pushed my way out into the aisle. The next couple of hours were a blur. I didn’t have much time to think. I had to run to make my connection to a smaller plane, then after getting stuck next to a man who wouldn’t shut up for the entire flight, finally landed at the airport nearest Winterbay. It was still an hour’s drive away. I grabbed my bag and texted Emily that I was on the ground and would call her soon. It was 9:00 PM local time.

  I found my rental car in the dimly lit parking lot. Slush spilled over the tops of my shoes, soaking my feet. Coming from Seattle, snow wasn’t something I was used to. If it did snow—which was rare—the entire city shut down. Typically we’d abandon our cars and walk home to watch “Snowmageddon” on the local news. Sometimes, for days. I was sure this was the type of town where people walked barefoot in five feet of snow to get to their destinations.

  I typed the address of the hotel into the navigation console. After about twenty minutes of heading north, the highway forked toward the east and my GPS ushered me into the sleepy town. I’d done a quick internet search on Winterbay before leaving. Winterbay’s tourism site said it was founded in the 1740s as a fishing and lumber port. The town sat on a small inlet of the large bay for which it was named. Judging from the map, a mile-long spike of rocky ridge jutted into the bay to separate the town from the northern cove, the site of the abbey.

  Brick shops lined Main Street, and white lights twinkled in windows. The snow around the stores gave an otherworldly shimmer to the picturesque scene, a still shot from a Hallma
rk Christmas card. The village looked quaint and exuded a Craftsman-like all-American charm, albeit covered by a cloudy shroud of mid-fall gloom. It looked like just the type of town that could do with a restored hotel. It already had some of the perfect drawing cards for tourists, including a rugged shoreline with beautiful views.

  My stomach growled. I’d missed dinner. I pulled into the first place I saw, the Rusty Whale, a tavern with a neon burger flashing in the window. A burger and beer sounded just right.

  A couple of red vinyl booths lined the front windows, with several more tables inside. The bar looked more inviting and probably quicker, so I sat there.

  I waved to the bartender. “Could I get a burger and something on tap?”

  The man, who looked in his thirties with an unkempt beard, ponytail, and pierced eyebrow, gave the overly lacquered bar a quick wipe with a soggy towel and nodded.

  “Have your drink right up,” he said in a New England accent, sliding a ketchup bottle in front of me. The local brew was called Winterbay Nor’easter, a rich, crisp dark ale that gave off the scent of a forest after a rain.

  About halfway through my beer, I looked toward the kitchen. I hoped the food wouldn’t take much longer. I still needed to check into my hotel, call Emily, and get to bed at a somewhat reasonable hour.

  I glanced above the kitchen pass-through window. A painting hung there, a track light illuminating the artwork. The scene showed a high bluff above a stormy sea. Wind whipped a froth of gray waves, and a lone figure walked along the beach as if he was the last man on earth. I stared at the painting, suddenly feeling isolated and alone.

  “Hello.”

  I jumped when an older man next to me waved his hand in front of my face. He wore a black pea coat and had long gray eyebrows. I hadn’t even seen him sit down.

  What was with me today?

  I smiled back as the man and the bartender exchanged glances. A full pint appeared before him. The old man looked at me out of the corner of his eye. His face was thin and had a satyr-like quality.