Page 13 of Penance
With the forced grin back on my lips, I tug on the door handle and step out of the car to greet her.
“Hello, Mrs. Harrison.” One of her perfectly manicured brow lifts, and I wince internally. “I mean, hello, Abigail.”
Her lips tilt up, revealing a row of straight white teeth as she smiles. “Hello, dear.” Lifting my shoulders, I stand a little taller under her gaze. It’s pathetic. “I was planning to find you today,” she continues, “but since you’re here, now is as good a time as any.”
My shoulders fall, and I reach for my necklace—another habit I need to break.
“Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, dear. I’m fine, but the question is, areyou? I saw the paper this morning. Quite the ordeal you went through last night.”
Of all people, Abigail is the last person I want to discuss this with, but she’s here—and avoiding it isn’t an option.
“Yes, it was—something.Our local fire department responded swiftly, though. I’m very appreciative of them,” I say, clasping my hands in front of me and forcing my voice to stay neutral.
Abigail’s lips twitch. “I bet you are. They did their jobverywell, I would say. Some more than others.”
There’s a teasing lilt to her words—even a toddler would understand her insinuation—but to acknowledge anything to do with Theo and me would only fuel the flames of whatever gossip is being cooked up after that news article. And I want no part of it.
“Yes, well, as you said,” I say, dropping my gaze and brushing an invisible piece of lint off my shirt, “they were just doing their job.”
I don’t look up, but I can feel Abigail’s eyes on me, cutting through the layers I try to hide behind. Thankfully, she lets it drop with a dissatisfied harrumph and a change of topic.
“As glad as I am that you’re okay, that’s not the reason I was coming to find you.”
“Oh?” I ask, now a little intrigued. Abigail and I are on several committees together, and it’s not unusual for us to work together on things. I love working with her. I learn a lot.
“Yes. It’s about your Birdie application.”
I try to keep my composure, but a tiny squeak slips out before I can stop it. The Benton Birdies arethecommittee. All other committees pale in comparison. They are the pulse of Benton Falls, but they are exclusive. And I’ve been trying to gain access for months.
“Has a decision been made?” I ask, and thankfully, my voice comes out relatively normal.
Inside is another matter entirely. My heart is beating so fast I fear it may break out of my chest. Wiping my hands on my pants, I will it to slow down as Abigail considers me.
I can’t tell if the look on her face is good or bad news. Considering where I’m standing, I could use some good news, but last night was proof of my luck, so I try not to hold my breath.
“The Birdies have not made up their minds yet. There are several good candidates. You included. But we want to ensure our decision is best for the town.” Abigail’s voice is smooth and calm, and I try to pretend the news doesn’t hurt.
Professional. That’s the mask I’m good at, and it’s the one I need to remember to keep on. Hysterics and pity parties will not get my application accepted. Calculation and planning, however, will.
“Are there concerns about me?”
I wait, willing her to say no. From the moment I stepped foot in Benton Falls, I’ve done everything right, except last night. I joined the right charities. I shopped at the right boutiques. I networked with the right people. I did it all, so the logical answer had to be no.
Yet, in all the time I’ve been here, I have never seen Abigail unable to meet someone’s eyes. Nothing intimidates her, but I can see the reluctance to tell me written on her face from a mile away.
“Some of the members have…concerns.”
My hands tremble, and I hide them behind my back. To most, this is a silly thing to be upset about. It’s just a committee, after all. But to me, it means making it. Proving to myself I’m better than myupbringing. Doing something meaningful.
“May I ask what concerns?”
To my relief, my voice doesn’t come out as shaky as I feel on the inside.
Small miracles, I guess.
Abigail chews on her lip, another thing that’s out of character for her, and again I’m reminded how much she and MJ look alike. It sends a pang through my chest when I think about my own mother. A lot of people said I looked like her growing up, but I never took it as a compliment. She was the example of what I didn’t want to be. It’s why I took such pride in changing my appearance when I got older. Blonde hair instead of the mousy brown I grew up with. Fuller lips, thanks to Botox. And a trajectory in life that looked nothing like my mother’s. MJ is lucky. I’d give anything to share similarities with a woman like Abigail.
