Page 20 of Absolution (Favorite Malady Trilogy #3)

ABIGAIL

M y eyelids are sandpaper, and my tear ducts are dry from crying all night. Dane held me through it, stoic and silent. I know he must be wrestling with his own reaction to the revelations about Uncle Jeffrey, but he’s bottling up whatever he’s feeling for my sake.

I was surprised and almost disappointed when he allowed me to leave the house without him. I’m desperate to keep my husband close, but I can’t lean on him all the time. And he deserves some space to sort through his feelings too.

I take a deep breath and kick off my sandals at the end of the boardwalk. My mother waits for me on the beach, lounging in her chair with her face tipped back to catch the sun.

This is an exclusive, members only stretch of beach, so we’ll have relative privacy for this awful discussion. There are a few couples with children splashing in the surf, but they’re several yards away. No one will hear this conversation over the sound of crashing waves.

I straighten my large sunglasses, ensuring my red-rimmed eyes are covered. The last thing I need right now is a cutting comment from my mom about my appearance.

“Abby!” She smiles when I approach her, and she almost sounds genuinely happy to see me. “I’m so glad you called. I was worried about you when you got sick. That husband of yours is very cold. He was downright rude when he told us to leave your gallery.”

“Hi, Mama.” I greet her instead of responding to her pointed comments.

I settle down into the chair next to her and attempt to lean back in a casual posture. But I’m far too stiff to pull it off, and her keen eyes rake over me, noting my vulnerable state.

“Marital troubles?” she guesses piteously. “That’s what you get when you don’t ask for your mother’s advice in choosing a husband.”

I decide to cut the bullshit. I’m too exhausted to dance around this difficult subject.

I have to know for sure.

“I was sick yesterday because I had a flashback when Uncle Jeffrey touched me,” I say, keeping myself carefully detached from my emotions. After my anguished night, they’re dulled enough that I’m able to talk about this in a calm, rational tone.

“I think he might’ve…” I stumble over the words, but I force myself to continue. “I think he abused me when I was little.”

My mother waves a dismissive hand. “No need to be so dramatic. Your father was hard on you sometimes. I acknowledge that. But children these days don’t understand discipline and respect.

” She shakes her head. “In any case, Jeffrey doted on you. Don’t you remember how often he used to babysit you? He loved it.”

I suppress the worst of my shudder.

“Be honest with me, Mama. I’m not talking about being beaten.”

Her icy blue eyes flare for half a heartbeat, and then her face becomes impassive. She takes a sip of her wine.

I won’t allow her to evade me.

“I think Uncle Jeffrey molested me as a child.” I force the declaration past the lump in my throat. “I have to know if it’s true.”

She stares out at the ocean, her expression disturbingly serene.

I scarcely breathe while I wait for her reply, my chest drawing tighter with each passing second.

“You might want to pretend that we’re not even related, but we have a lot in common,” she finally says, voice eerily soft and flat.

Dread pools in my belly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“My father was a complicated man.” She takes another sip of wine. “I have a very clear memory from when I was twelve. He took me out to the ranch in Montana, just the two of us. My older sister was so jealous. Daddy always spent time alone with her, but they’d grown apart in that last year or so.”

She drinks her Sauvignon blanc and continues to stare out at the horizon. “I was so excited to go on a trip with him. And then I remember…” She pauses, and I’m not sure if she’s going to say anything else for several agonizing heartbeats. “My sister was so jealous when I told her.”

If my stomach weren’t empty, I’d be sick again. My throat burns, but there’s nothing in me to purge.

“Jeffrey takes after him.” The horror isn’t over.

“He always had a sick interest in me when we were children. You know he’s eight years older than I am, right?

” She says it in an offhand tone, as though she’s reminding me of a forgotten, distantly related aunt.

“He was so cruel when we would play together.”

The waves crash, and gulls screech overhead, but the world feels silent in the wake of her horrific revelations—as though an atomic bomb has gone off, and there’s nothing left but a toxic wasteland.

“You knew?” I finally ask, my hands shaking as much as my voice. “And you left me alone with him?”

My mother blinks, and she finally turns to look at me. Her usually incisive eyes are dull, her tone still soft and detached, when she says the most disturbing thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

“I didn’t explicitly know it was happening, and I’m sorry that it did. But I can’t say that I’m surprised. These things run in the family.”

She sips at her beloved wine, almost serene while I’m utterly devastated.

Some part of me recognizes that she’s endured more trauma than I ever realized, and she’s probably disassociating right now.

But she’s my mother. She’s supposed to protect me.

She’s supposed to love me.

My battered heart takes another beating, and I press a hand to the center of my chest in an attempt to dull the pain.

She doesn’t say anything else. No words of comfort. No promise to make her brother suffer for what he did to me.

What he did to both of us.

I get to my feet and walk toward the boardwalk on leaden legs. I feel like I’ve aged a decade over the last twenty-four hours, and my entire body aches.

Dane.

I need Dane.

He can’t fix what happened to me, but as long as I’m in his arms, I’m safe.