The Inn At Rose Harbor Part 21

"I wouldn't ask that of you," she countered.

"I'm doing what I can for Richard, but I have my own life, too."

"I understand, Josh, I really do. I guess I just hate the thought of saying good-bye."

He waited a moment, thinking she might be about to add something.

She stayed silent though, and after a moment he realized he hated the thought of leaving her, too. Necessity demanded that he would, but it would be far more difficult than he would ever have thought possible.

Mich.e.l.le was beautiful, but he'd known other women who were just as attractive. Still, she was different. Being with her made his heart light up. He enjoyed simply hanging out with her, which said a lot given the circ.u.mstances of their time together. Another thing he found attractive about her was that she didn't feel the need to fill the silences between them. By the same token, he liked that she spoke her mind. But given his job, he didn't want to toy with her heart when logistically a lasting, meaningful relations.h.i.+p just didn't make sense.

Chapter 22.

Abby sat in her car, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She hadn't left the parking lot of the Rose Harbor Inn yet and already her hands had started to sweat. She'd promised herself she'd do this; promised herself that when and if she ever returned to Cedar Cove, she would visit Angela's grave. Not once since her dearest friend had been buried had Abby found the nerve to actually go to the cemetery.

It was time. Past time.

This would either make or break the entire trip for her. Abby forced her hands onto the steering wheel and sucked in a deep breath. It was now or never.

What made this extra difficult was that Roger's wedding was supposed to be a happy time for their family. Just that morning Abby had told Jo Marie she'd have done anything to avoid returning to Cedar Cove, and that was true.

This was the reason. Years ago she'd promised herself she'd never be back. Because when she returned she would have to go see Angela. Then good ole Roger had chosen to get married in their hometown. It felt as if G.o.d was forcing her to confront the past.

In a flash, Abby was eighteen all over again. It was Christmas break and she was dying to see her best friend. It'd been torture not to tell Angela about meeting Steve. She'd been so crazy about him. It embarra.s.sed her now to think of the horrible way she'd treated him following the accident.

Abby remembered that she hadn't been home an hour before Angela phoned. Christmas was just three days away and Angela hadn't done a lick of shopping. Abby agreed to drive her to the mall. Her dad said she could use his car and that the gas tank was full. He'd warned her on her way out the door to watch for black ice.

They'd had a blast that night; shopping, laughing until they were almost sick, trying on clothes. Abby and Angela had been sisters of the heart, born only a few weeks apart. They'd done everything together from the time they were in junior high; it wasn't unusual for them to spend the entire weekend together, barely managing to sleep, staying up all night.

After shopping that night they ate dinner at Red Robin, their favorite haunt, sharing a burger and fries. While they were inside the restaurant, it'd started to snow. Thick, fat flakes that fell from the sky, creating the most beautiful, picturesque scene imaginable. This was Christmas as it was always meant to be. A perfect Northwest Christmas.

Abby called home before they headed out from Silverdale.

"Drive carefully," her father cautioned her a second time.

Abby had been careful. So very careful. Or so she'd thought. But instead of arriving home with gifts to give her family, instead of decorating sugar cookies with her mother and brother, instead of enjoying the holiday, Angela had died that night on a road just outside Cedar Cove.

Abby was never entirely sure how it had happened. She remembered that they'd been singing a Christmas carol along with the radio, and making plans for all the things they wanted to do while on break from school. Angela had teased her about Steve and insisted she wanted to be the maid of honor at their wedding. As if Abby could imagine asking anyone else! They'd made plans for a ski trip between Christmas and New Year's, and Abby had promised that she would ask Steve to join them so that Angela could meet him. Naturally there would be a get-together with their friends, shopping in Seattle, a movie. Maybe even two. They each had one they were anxious to see.

And while they were chattering like birds on a telephone wire, laughing and singing, Abby had hit a patch of ice.

The car spun out of control, flipping over and over and over. Angela had screamed ... or maybe that was her, Abby couldn't remember. What did stick in her mind was the sheer terror she'd felt as the vehicle started to roll.

When Abby had awoken, she was in the hospital and her mother was standing over her, eyes red and swollen from crying. Her father and brother were there, too, looking so ... sad.

"You're going to be all right," her mother had whispered, gripping hold of her hand with both of her own.

Abby's mouth felt dry and the pain nearly blinded her. "Angela?" she'd managed to whisper her friend's name. This stupid accident was going to ruin their school break and all the plans they'd made.

That was when her mother started to sob for real; heart-wrenching sobs that tore at Abby's heart. Was Angela badly hurt? Why wasn't anyone saying anything? Instead of answering her questions, Abby's mother had covered her face with both hands and turned away.

Abby rolled her head and looked up at her father. He gently took hold of her arm. He, too, she recalled with vivid clarity, had had tears in his eyes. In all her life Abby couldn't remember ever seeing her father cry. He did that night.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he managed in a broken whisper. "Angela was declared dead at the scene of the accident."

Angela dead?

No.

This couldn't be right.

How could Angela be dead when just an hour or two earlier they'd been singing Christmas songs and making plans for the holidays? It made no sense. Abby couldn't imagine a world without Angela in it. Her mind refused to accept what her father had told her.

Angela's funeral was held December 27. That horrible day would forever remain in Abby's memory. Both of her legs had been broken, plus three ribs, but she'd insisted on attending the funeral. Respecting her wishes, her father had gotten permission from her doctor and borrowed a wheelchair. It was the first time Abby would see Angela's parents following the accident. She was terrified to face them, but she knew she had to somehow tell them how sorry she was, how she'd do anything to turn back the clock.

Instead, Angela's mother had gone berserk. As soon as Abby entered the church, Angela's mother had stood up, her red and swollen eyes making her look like a madwoman, and had called her a murderer. She screamed at Abby to leave. Nothing would console Charlene White. Not her husband, not the funeral director, not the priest who was about to say the funeral ma.s.s. Abby had been forced to leave-there was no other option.

She'd missed an entire semester of school her freshman year as she slowly recuperated from her injuries. Physically, it'd taken only a matter of months for her to heal, but emotionally ... emotionally she was never the same again. She'd internalized the hatred in Angela's mother's eyes. Abby felt like a shameful, marked woman who'd committed the ultimate sin; one that could never be redeemed.

Twice more Abby had attempted to talk to Angela's parents. The second time had been the summer following the accident. Angela's father had answered the door and he'd said it would be best if Abby didn't come around again. Their rejection had cut her to the quick-Mr. and Mrs. White had been like a second set of parents to her. Not only had she lost her best friend, but she'd been targeted with every ounce of the Whites' hate and blame.

Every day as she drove through town she pa.s.sed the spot where the accident had taken place. Someone had erected a small cross. Flowers were laid there on a routine basis. It was a constant reminder to Abby of the accident, salt in the wound.

The roadside memorial was difficult to see, but the rumors were the worst. Abby's own mother asked her if it was true that the two of them had been drinking that night. Yes, they'd been drinking hot cocoa at the mall, but nothing alcoholic. Word spread that they'd been speeding, too. If anything Abby had been driving below the speed limit. She'd been a careful driver. Snow and ice were to blame, not drugs, alcohol, or negligent driving. The police had cleared her of any wrongdoing, but none of that appeared to matter.

So-called friends stopped by to ply her with questions about what had happened, eager to learn any information that they could spread. It didn't take long for Abby to refuse to see anyone because she didn't know who she could trust. Even Steve. She preferred to remain in her bedroom to study or read.

The summer between her soph.o.m.ore and junior years of college, Abby had gone on a work/study program to Australia instead of coming home. It was just too painful to be in Cedar Cove, to know that people were staring at her when she walked by. Did they honestly think she couldn't hear what they said? She was the one to blame. Abby had been the driver and now Angela was dead.

Five years following graduation, their high school cla.s.s held their first reunion. Money had been raised for a small memorial in the city park in honor of Angela.

The memories seemed to wrap their way around Abby like a la.s.so, binding her until it became difficult to breathe normally.

Distracted by her memories, Abby had only just started to back out of the driveway when her cell phone chirped. The ring reverberated inside the car until it felt as if she were standing next to a bell in a church tower. She grabbed her phone and checked the Caller ID.

Her mother.

She hesitated and then decided to let the call go to voice mail. If she spoke to her mother now, Abby feared she might break down. Worse, she might confess that she was headed to the cemetery and her mother was sure to try to persuade her to let matters be. This was Roger's wedding day. Abby shouldn't be doing this.

And her mother would be right.

Abby had been in town for two full days. She'd put this off too long already. She should have stopped by on Friday or even Thursday ... but she hadn't been able to force herself.

Her cell chirped again, indicating that her mother had left a message. Abby would listen later.

She checked her watch. It was nine-thirty.

She had plenty of time.

She had no time.

A lump had started to form in her throat. She wasn't sure what she expected, what she hoped to gain. Absolution? Forgiveness? A blessing? Even now, all these years later, she didn't know why G.o.d had allowed her to live and Angela to die.

Considering the crus.h.i.+ng weight of guilt she'd carried since the accident, she would so much rather be the one forever sleeping under six feet of soggy ground. She was so tired of feeling terrible about what had happened.

Taking the long route, Abby drove past the high school. She swallowed hard as she looked up at the window of what had been their homeroom their senior year. They'd been so silly and immature; eager to make their mark on the world. As seniors they'd considered themselves hot stuff. Super cool. Over the top. Silly, yes, but innocent, too. Little did Abby guess the rude awakening that awaited her just a few short months after graduation.

When Abby arrived at the cemetery she discovered two tents on different areas of the graveyard, indicating recent burials. Not until she climbed out of the car did Abby realize that she had no clue as to where Angela was buried. It took nearly forty minutes to locate her tombstone. By then her face was nearly numb from the cold.

A tingling sensation moved up her arms when she spotted the marker bearing her best friend's full name, ANGELA MARIE WHITE, engraved in granite. Even now, after all these years, it felt like a bad dream. Beneath the dates of her birth and death were the words Beloved Daughter. If only she'd been able to add Best Friend.

Not knowing what to do now, Abby continued to stare down at the tombstone. A rogue tear slipped from the end of her nose and splashed against the granite marker. A vase had been added to the grave marker and was filled with plastic flowers. Yellow daisies.

Yellow daisies had been Angela's favorites. Although she didn't know who she'd eventually marry, Angela had said she'd carry a bouquet of daisies down the aisle on her wedding day. And she'd drawn her wedding dress along with her bridesmaids' dresses.

Naturally they'd a.s.sumed Abby would serve as Angela's maid of honor and Angela would serve as hers. Abby had helped design her own maid-of-honor dress, laughing over Angela's sketchbook. They had agreed nothing would ever come between them. Not boys, not other friends, not even their parents. They were true BFFs.

Feeling unbearably awkward she sniffled once. "h.e.l.lo," she whispered.

"It took you long enough."

Abby whipped around-she hadn't noticed anyone close by.

No one was anywhere in the vicinity.

Frowning, Abby turned back to stare at the gravestone.

"Yes, it's me. Did you think the grave would keep me silent? Come on, Abs, you know me better than that."

"Angela," Abby gasped.

"Don't worry, no one else can hear me. My voice is all in your head."

This was too much. The pressure had gotten to her. Now Abby was hearing things. The voice was simply in her imagination. It had to be. Talking to Angela was ... impossible. At least that was what Abby told herself, otherwise she'd need to consider contacting a mental health professional.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" A crisp professional voice would say to her.

"I'm hearing things," Abby would reply.

"What kind of things?"

"Dead people's voices."

"Stay on the line. We're sending help right away."

The entire scenario played out in Abby's head. She could picture the ambulance, siren blazing, rus.h.i.+ng into the cemetery and hauling her off to the loony bin. Not only was she hearing voices, she was answering them.

"Oh don't get all excited. It isn't as bad as all that."

"Angela, please stop, you're freakin' me out."

"I wouldn't if you hadn't taken all these years to come see me."

Clearly Abby was simply talking to herself. Her overactive imagination had stimulated this emotional response. But whether it was real or imagined, she couldn't let this chance to talk with her friend slip away.

"I tried to see your parents after the funeral, but-"

"I know, I know, it's my mother."

"She can't forgive me." That horrible scene played again and again in Abby's mind. She understood their reaction.

"Hey, sweetcakes, you can't even forgive yourself. Don't go blaming my mama."

"I saw Patty Morris; she-"

"I know, Mom told me. Stop changing the subject. Stay on track, okay?"

Abby ignored the comment. "You probably know more than I do then."

"Loads more. My mother still comes to the cemetery every week or so."

"Oh dear."

"Oh, she's much better, actually. It used to be every single day. You wouldn't believe the way she carried on, throwing herself down on the ground, sobbing. It was the most pitiful thing you've ever seen."

Abby covered her mouth and swallowed back a sob. She'd rather not know any of this. "Are you really talking to me, because if it isn't you, then I'd rather this stop, okay?"

"Am I real? Am I real?" Angela repeated, louder the second time. "Hmm ... I think you'll need to figure that out yourself."

"I can't. I want to believe we can communicate, but I know it's impossible."

"Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter, I'm just pleased you found the courage to come. Finally. I've been waiting a very long time."

"I couldn't before ..." Abby whispered aloud.

"And why not?"

Abby leaned her head back and stared up at the threatening gray skies. "My brother's getting married this evening."

"There you go again. Quit changing the subject. I want to know why you didn't feel you could come see me."