Page 33 of When People Leave
Abby
T he night Abby met Greg again, he smelled musky and floral at the same time. They sat at a table in the back of the bar, had another drink, and continued their conversation where they had left off earlier.
Abby could tell he wanted to kiss her; he’d lean in so close that his lips almost brushed her cheek.
She had never kissed anyone other than Alex, so when she thought about kissing Greg, she felt a surge of adrenaline rushing through her, causing her heart to beat as though it was trying to escape her chest and run to him.
At the same time, the rest of her body tightened up as if she were a frozen waterfall.
The water wanted to move; it just couldn’t.
To be safe, she told him she was getting over a cold.
She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t interested, but she knew there would be no turning back if she started kissing him.
Since Abby had returned to Los Angeles, she had decided to only allow herself to think about Greg right after waking up or right before she fell asleep—as well as when he texted or they talked--so, in essence, most of the time.
She had been sleeping with her phone under her pillow so she wouldn’t miss any time he contacted her.
Even though they had met a couple of days before and lived in different states, he’d been pursuing her in the exact way she’d want if she were single.
Every time her phone vibrated, her heart fluttered like a string caught in a fan.
And when he called, just hearing him say hello in that smooth, sexy voice made her brain become simultaneously focused and cloudy.
She was living in a romantic fantasy that she couldn’t bear to put an end to.
Greg was the exciting secret she kept all to her-self---or that is, Kelsey kept to herself.
For the fourth time since she woke up that morning, Abby read the last text Greg had sent.
I miss you, he wrote, which says a lot since I barely know you.
Abby was grinning when she joined her sisters on the back porch. Charlie was drinking coffee, and Morgan nursed a cup of tea.
The air was crisper and cooler than usual for Los Angeles, and the dew glistened on the grass. Although Charlie had a blanket across her knees, and Morgan had a scarf around her neck, Abby was perfectly comfortable in just her long PJ shirt.
“How are the kids?” Morgan asked.
Abby figured Morgan noticed her goofy smile while holding her phone and assumed Alex had relayed some funny tidbits about the kids.
“They’re fine, surviving without me,” Abby said. She wanted to change the subject before her sisters saw her fair complexion turn crimson. They knew her well and would wonder what was causing her to blush.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Abby asked to distract them.
Morgan blew on her tea, the steam mixing with the cool morning fog. “I guess we should try to call all the Brian Brenners you found.”
“There are twelve, so we can each take four,” Abby said.
Abby divvied up the list, and Charlie went into her bedroom to call the men she was given. Morgan walked into Carla’s office to make her phone calls. Abby stayed in the living room.
After fifteen minutes, Morgan and Charlie returned to the living room, where Abby had just ended one of her calls.
“None of the Brian Brenners I called were our Brian Brenner,” Charlie said.
“Same here,” Morgan said.
“I still have one more call to make,” Abby said. “But on the positive side, one of the Brian Branners was fifteen, and he thought I sounded cute.”
“Is that who you’ve been talking to all this time?” Morgan asked.
“He was such a nerd, I didn’t have the heart to hang up on him,” Abby said.
“Was that heart or ego?” Charlie asked.
Abby called the final phone number on her list for the Brian Brenner in Connecticut. She put the call on speaker so her sisters could listen.
“Hello,” a man said.
“Is this Brian Brenner?” Abby asked.
“Yes.”
“This might sound crazy, but I’m looking for a Brian Brenner who could possibly be my father.” Abby anticipated the answer would be no, so she had her finger ready to hang up.
“Who is this?” Brian Brenner asked.
“Abby Weiss.”
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Thirty.” A long silence followed, so Abby continued, “I’m sure you aren’t used to somebody calling you out of the blue and asking you if you’re her father.”
“It’s not that. I don’t have a thirty-year-old daughter.”
“Okay, then thank you,” Abby said, disappointed.
She was about to hang up when Brian added, “But I did have two daughters I haven’t seen since they were small.”
“What were their names?” Abby asked.
“Morgan and Charlotte.” The man sounded choked up.
Morgan and Charlie were stunned.
“Morgan and Charlie are my sisters,” Abby said. “They’re here too.”
“Hello, this is Morgan,” she said quietly.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“If you’re my father, then you tell me,” Morgan said.
“My Morgan would be thirty-four. And Charlotte would be thirty-two,” he said, his voice cracking.
Abby put the phone down on the coffee table. Morgan’s hands shook as she moved closer to the speaker.
“Where were we born?” Morgan asked.
“Maimonides Hospital in Brooklyn, New York.”
“Yes!” Charlie yelled as if she’d been picked as a contestant on a game show.
“Is that Charlotte?” Brian asked.
“I go by Charlie now.”
“I can’t believe this,” Brian said, sounding both elated and shocked. “I’ve been looking for you two since Carla disappeared.”
Abby moved toward the phone. “What about me?” Abby asked.
“I’m sorry, Carla wasn’t pregnant when she left me. Are you sure you’re mine?”
Abby didn’t say anything. She walked away and let Morgan and Charlie continue to talk to him. Morgan told Brian that Carla had passed away, and he said he was sorry to hear that.
“How did she die?”
“She committed suicide,” Morgan said.
“I can’t believe Carla would do something like that. She was destroyed when her brother killed himself,” Brian said.
Morgan couldn’t stop blinking. “We had no idea,” Morgan said. “We knew her brother had died when she was young, but she never told us how.”
“I wonder if that’s why she thought it was a valid way out,” Charlie said.
“Well, it wasn’t. It only left us with unanswered questions,” Morgan said.
As Morgan and Charlie continued their conversation with Brian, Abby stared out the window at the house across the street.
The fire had eaten the exterior, and most of the front windows were broken or warped from the heat.
The archway at the front door had collapsed, and soot and grime were on the walkway and the grass.
I feel like that house, Abby thought. Abandoned, forgotten, no one wants me. Abby shuddered; her insides felt singed and burned. Oh, Mom, I could really use you right now. Abby stayed at the window and silently cried for all the things she might never have.