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Even as the amoeba of people moved between and around them, he reached out, and, like a lodestone, she found herself responding.
“You came.” He had to shout over the melee.
Mute, Abby nodded. Her throat had closed over the words she wanted to say, but this wasn’t the time or place for them, anyway. Instead, she held up her hand, index finger, pinky, and thumb extended.I love you.
Taking her hand in his, he’d gathered it close until it rested against his chest. Dylan still on his hip, eyes shining, he’d mouthed the words she couldn’t say.I love you, too.
Then, sweaty, disgusting, and sticky from the Gatorade that had splashed all over the players as they dumped it on their coach, he’d crushed her to him and refused to let go.
The words had come later: apologies from both of them, shared joy over the outcome of the custody battle and the game. Harder words, too: Abby’s uncertainty for Gen, her inability to hope, the mistruths she believed about herself and about everyone around her, her fear of being alone again.
Since then, Abby had worked hard to change. Going back to therapy had been only the first step; she’d applied for a business license to start a therapy dog school—no matter what happened with Gen; she’d attended Dylan’s most recent concert and sat in the front row, giving him a huge bouquet of yellow roses when he finished; she’d even called her parents.
The road ahead of her wouldn’t be easy or quick, but for Scott, for Dylan, and most importantly, for herself, she’d walk it.
“Scott, are you sure?”
She’d been hesitant to have Dylan in the room when they got Gen’s test results. What if the treatment hadn’t worked? What if she had only days or weeks left with Gen? What if she’d misunderstood the control and Gen had never had any treatment at all? What if she lost it in front of Dylan? What if she scared him? Abby shook her head, forcing the swirling thoughts away.
Quiet, Tom. I won’t believe you.
Her therapist had recommended naming the intrusive, negative thoughts, so she could address them directly. Even if she could never tell the real Tom to shut his trap, she got to do it inside her head a dozen times a day. It was, indeed, therapeutic, especially after the hospital rumor mill churned up the juicy tidbit that it had been Tom Cunningham who’d spoken toThe Charleston Herald, at the behest and payment of some psychologist from New York.
How Dr. Ferndale had dug up Abby’s contentious past with Tom escaped both her and Scott, but rumor soon swirled again, confirming his new supervisor, Dr. Edgerick, had filed a disciplinary warning for workplace gossip and undermining the reputation of the hospital in public. Abby was a colleague, after all, even if she wasn’t a doctor.
“Abby, Dylan loves Gen,” Scott said gently. “We’ve talked about this.”
They had, the two of them and then with Dylan, as well, and Abby had to trust Scott would protect his son, even when she doubted herself.
“Alright. See you soon.”
“I love you, Abby. You won’t be alone, okay?”
“Okay.”
After she hung up, she pulled Gen into her arms and hugged the dog. “No matter what, girl, I’m here for you.”
She whispered the promise but would keep it with every fiber of her being.
If the treatment didn’t work, she’d make sure her dog had the best, most spoiled life of any dog ever. They’d visit the kids, eat cheeseburgers, and swim in Scott and Dylan’s pool every day. If it did, they’d still go visit the kids, and she’d tell them about how Gen, too, had fought a battle, and she’d beaten cancer, so they could, as well.
Either way, Abby swore she would value every day she had with Gen, whether she had only a little time or a lot.
And soon, there would be another puppy to train. Maybe two.
Abby had met with her bank and her accountant in the weeks since Scott’s victory and transferred some of her savings into a new business account. She’d applied to the city for a business license and filed her non-profit business plan with the IRS. Now, she needed to find the right litter.
Abby wondered if Gen would like having a new puppy around the house. Would she want to play with it, or would she be annoyed and ignore it? She supposed, as long as it didn’t compete with her attention from Dylan, Gen would probably be fine. She ran her nails over Gen’s delicate head and rubbed her ears between her fingers. They’d come a long way from a gawky puppy and a woman with nothing more than a few shattered pieces of her heart left to give.
Whatever came next, they’d figure that out, too.
Dr. Singh entered the small exam room and took Abby’s hand, pressing it between both of his, then nodding as she introduced him to Scott and Dylan.
Gen, stretched lazily on the exam table, thumped her tail at Dylan’s name.
“Congratulations on your win, Mr. Edwards. Very exciting for all of us.”
Scott nodded.