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“So look pretty and keep me company.”
For months they had attended classical concerts, eating at places with outside seating where Abby could be shown off. These dates, or whatever they were, consisted of Randall talking about his day and Abby propping herself upright, picking at her food, nodding at the appropriate moments.
As time went by, her college wardrobe began to get in the way. He started bringing her the right clothes to wear. “Here. Why don’t you wear this nice dress?” he’d suggest when he came to pick her up.
“Oh, sure. It’s pretty,” she’d tell him. And she’d put it on, feeling like it made no difference to her, and if it made him happy, why not.
Months of this went by before he kissed her goodbye on the cheek a few times, and once awkwardly on the mouth. And then he invited her on a trip to the south of France. Abby’s friend Celeste recognized the enormity of this even if Abby did not.
“The south of France” she’d said on the day when Abby had phoned her to get her opinion on it. “Oh my God, Abby! That sounds amazing. You’re so lucky. But do you even like him?”
“Does it matter?” Abby had asked.
She had just come back from Orlando, having made a special trip there to drive past her old house. A new family lived there now and she’d had a sick need to see what the house looked like with someone else in it. There was an American flag flying beside her old front door and a long, ugly plastic bench on the porch. A white truck was in the driveway. She’d worn sunglasses and had hoped that none of her old neighbors recognized her. She hated how their houses all seemed exactly the same. It felt like a betrayal.
It had been a five-hour drive, roundtrip, and she had cried the whole way back.
“But Abby, are you seriously considering going with him?” Celeste had continued.
“Maybe.”
“You’ll have to have sex. He’s obviously expecting this to be a romantic getaway.”
“I won’t have to have sex. He’s not like that. He’s not pushy. He’s really nice. Not like guys our age. He understands I lost my entire family and that I can’t even think about stuff like sex right now.”
“It’s been months and he probably thinks you’re ready to move on.”
“I’m not though. And why would I want to with him?”
“I don’t think you should go if you don’t like him.”
“I like him well enough to go on a trip.”
“You shouldn’t go if you don’t love him, I mean.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone again.”
“You will too.” Celeste had sounded exasperated, like Abby was being overly dramatic. It was fall now, going on six months since she had lost her family, and the few friends still lingering on wanted the old Abby back. The fun Abby.
Abby wasn’t being dramatic, though. She was telling the truth. “I need to get away from here,” she told Celeste.
“Why don’t you go somewhere with me then? We could drive someplace and go camping.”
“I don’t know.” Abby thought about it for a second. Camping sounded terrible.
“How are you going to afford it? Is he going to pay for everything for you?”
Abby didn’t say that now that her parents and grandmothers had all died within a few months of one another, she had close to a million dollars in the bank. Lawyers told her it wasn’t as much as it sounded like, and that she should get help figuring out how to take care of it so it lasted. On the other hand they said, it’s a lot of money, protect it.
Randall had helped her invest it and she had been glad for his help. She’d given him complete control of how it was invested, but it was still hers. That was another thing no one would have believed: that she hadn’t married Randall for his money.
“He’s so generous. He’s paying for everything,” Abby told her friend. It was the simplest answer, and true.
“Suit yourself,” said Celeste.
“It’s only a trip. He even said we’d have a
suite with separate bedrooms if that’s what I wanted.”
