onto a gate-legged table.
“What was your name again? And your number?” she asked as she hurried back to the kitchen, retrieved a pen from her purse, and began scribbling the pertinent information onto a note pad she kept near the phone. “Okay, see you at three.”
Abby hung up and glanced at her watch. The potential buyer would be here in less than four hours.
Not that the place was in too bad a shape. Unless you spied the film of gray cat hair that clumped everywhere and collected in the corners. Despite her best efforts with the vacuum, she could barely keep ahead of the fur as Ansel was in full shed mode. “Maybe what I need is an electric razor for you rather than a vacuum cleaner for the house, hmmm?” She plucked the heavy cat from his perch near the windowsill and held him close to her for a second. Petting his soft fur, she whispered into his ear, “I love you anyway. Even though you and I both know that you can be a real pain in the backside when you want to be.” He rubbed the top of his head against the underside of her chin and purred so loudly that she felt vibrations from his body to hers.
It felt right to just spend a second saying stupid things to the cat.
The last two days had been so hectic, she hadn’t had a chance to catch her breath. She’d gone from sitting to sitting and fortunately hadn’t had time to stew about Luke or his public annihilation of her character.
Abby had decided not to let Luke’s diatribe over the airwaves get to her.
“It’s just not worth it.” She kissed the cat between his ears then set him on the floor and checked his water dish. Still half-full. He trotted to the back door, circled, and cried until she opened it. Darting outside, Ansel made straight for the tree near the bird feeder where chickadees and nuthatches fluttered. The warmth of October, caught on a gentle breeze fragrant with the earthy smell of the swamp, swept inside.
Abby stepped onto the porch. Sunlight was struggling to peek through a wash of gray clouds. For a second she thought she saw the pale arc of a rainbow, but as quickly as the image appeared, it faded.
“Wishful thinking,” she told herself and closed the door behind her as she walked inside. Glancing around, she realized she’d have to spruce things up before the showing.
In her bedroom Abby peeled off her slacks and blouse, then yanked on her “cleaning clothes,” a favorite pair of tattered jeans and a T-shirt that showed off not only old coffee stains, but bleach spatters as well. After snapping her unruly hair into a ponytail, she went to work, polishing tables, cleaning windows, scrubbing counters, and washing the old plank floors.
Turning on the television for background noise, she listened to warnings about a tropical storm forming in the Atlantic, one poised to enter the gulf within days. After much meteorological speculation, there was a break for a commercial, and when the news resumed, Abby, swabbing a windowsill, heard a phrase that always caused her heart to freeze.
“ Our Lady of Virtues …”
Abby’s head snapped up. She turned her attention to the little set balanced on a bookcase shelf. On the screen, a willowy reporter with perfect makeup and short dark hair stood in front of the grounds of the old hospital where Faith Chastain’s life had ended.
“…the hospital has been a landmark in the area for nearly a hundred years,” the twenty-something reporter was saying as wind feathered her hair. “This building behind me has gone through several different incarnations in its long, and sometimes scandal-riddled, history.”
Oh, God, they weren’t going to bring up her mother’s death again, were they?
Abby felt every muscle in her body tense, as if waiting for a blow.
“Originally built as an orphanage, the main building was converted to a full-fledged hospital after World War Two, and has been, from its inception, run by an order of Catholic nuns.” The camera panned away from the reporter
“What was your name again? And your number?” she asked as she hurried back to the kitchen, retrieved a pen from her purse, and began scribbling the pertinent information onto a note pad she kept near the phone. “Okay, see you at three.”
Abby hung up and glanced at her watch. The potential buyer would be here in less than four hours.
Not that the place was in too bad a shape. Unless you spied the film of gray cat hair that clumped everywhere and collected in the corners. Despite her best efforts with the vacuum, she could barely keep ahead of the fur as Ansel was in full shed mode. “Maybe what I need is an electric razor for you rather than a vacuum cleaner for the house, hmmm?” She plucked the heavy cat from his perch near the windowsill and held him close to her for a second. Petting his soft fur, she whispered into his ear, “I love you anyway. Even though you and I both know that you can be a real pain in the backside when you want to be.” He rubbed the top of his head against the underside of her chin and purred so loudly that she felt vibrations from his body to hers.
It felt right to just spend a second saying stupid things to the cat.
The last two days had been so hectic, she hadn’t had a chance to catch her breath. She’d gone from sitting to sitting and fortunately hadn’t had time to stew about Luke or his public annihilation of her character.
Abby had decided not to let Luke’s diatribe over the airwaves get to her.
“It’s just not worth it.” She kissed the cat between his ears then set him on the floor and checked his water dish. Still half-full. He trotted to the back door, circled, and cried until she opened it. Darting outside, Ansel made straight for the tree near the bird feeder where chickadees and nuthatches fluttered. The warmth of October, caught on a gentle breeze fragrant with the earthy smell of the swamp, swept inside.
Abby stepped onto the porch. Sunlight was struggling to peek through a wash of gray clouds. For a second she thought she saw the pale arc of a rainbow, but as quickly as the image appeared, it faded.
“Wishful thinking,” she told herself and closed the door behind her as she walked inside. Glancing around, she realized she’d have to spruce things up before the showing.
In her bedroom Abby peeled off her slacks and blouse, then yanked on her “cleaning clothes,” a favorite pair of tattered jeans and a T-shirt that showed off not only old coffee stains, but bleach spatters as well. After snapping her unruly hair into a ponytail, she went to work, polishing tables, cleaning windows, scrubbing counters, and washing the old plank floors.
Turning on the television for background noise, she listened to warnings about a tropical storm forming in the Atlantic, one poised to enter the gulf within days. After much meteorological speculation, there was a break for a commercial, and when the news resumed, Abby, swabbing a windowsill, heard a phrase that always caused her heart to freeze.
“ Our Lady of Virtues …”
Abby’s head snapped up. She turned her attention to the little set balanced on a bookcase shelf. On the screen, a willowy reporter with perfect makeup and short dark hair stood in front of the grounds of the old hospital where Faith Chastain’s life had ended.
“…the hospital has been a landmark in the area for nearly a hundred years,” the twenty-something reporter was saying as wind feathered her hair. “This building behind me has gone through several different incarnations in its long, and sometimes scandal-riddled, history.”
Oh, God, they weren’t going to bring up her mother’s death again, were they?
Abby felt every muscle in her body tense, as if waiting for a blow.
“Originally built as an orphanage, the main building was converted to a full-fledged hospital after World War Two, and has been, from its inception, run by an order of Catholic nuns.” The camera panned away from the reporter
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