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Thirteen
Abby turnedoff the car and leaned forward, looking through the windshield at the three-story building in front of her. It looked unassuming enough, but her heart was still hammering in her chest, every instinct in her body telling her torun.
She leaned back and took a deep breath. There was nothing that could hurt her here. It was something she was choosing to do — something she wanted to do. It was just the proximity to her past that was terrifying, the possibility of being surrounded by kids like the one she’d been that was dredging up all her oldfeelings.
She’d found the organization — City Lights Mentoring — online one afternoon in late summer. With no job and no schedule to keep, every day had started to fade into thenext.
She’d tried to keep busy, reorganizing Max’s cupboards and cleaning even when Nancy, his housekeeper, said the place was so clean there was nothing else for her todo.
Abby had taken up cooking next, experimenting with different recipes, making elaborate dinners that took up space in the fridge for days, then moving onto baked goods, which Max said would make himfat.
She even made good use of his in-home gym, expanding her yoga practice and adding cardio just to extend her timethere.
Eventually she’d had to admit that it wasn’t working. The activity quieted her mind while she was doing it, allowing her to set aside everything that had happened with Jason, the fire at her house, the danger Max was in night and day even though he acted like nothing hadchanged.
But it was never enough. The moment always came when she was alone with herself. Then her thoughts came crashing back, and she would find herself pacing the house, tempted to run, to keep running until she ran out of breath, until there was no room for anything but her physicalexhaustion.
It was almost laughable. She felt like the last person in the world equipped to mentor adolescents. She’d had a rotten, dysfunctional upbringing, hardly knew what good parenting looked like, had been offered no guidance beyond the advice of Max’s father before he’ddied.
But the more she’d thought about it, the more it made sense. She’d figured things out mostly on herown.
Maybe she could help someone else so they didn’t haveto.
She’d contacted City Lights and ended up meeting with their volunteer coordinator, a warm-eyed woman named Lydia Diaz. It had been less like a job interview and more like a conversation with a new friend, and Abby had found herself opening up about some of the challenges of herchildhood.
She’d received a call three days later inviting her to the next orientation session, but now that she was here, she couldn’t help being nervous. What if she didn’t know the right thing to say? What if she did more damage than good? What if helping some other lost kid opened up too many of her ownwounds?
On the other hand, wasn’t that what she wanted? To deal with everything that had happened to her instead of pushing through it? Instead of working so hard and fast that there was no time to think aboutit?
She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of her phone. She reached inside her bag, surprised to see that it was her dad calling from hislandline.
“Dad,” she said. “Is everythingokay?”
“Everything’s fine,” hesaid.
“Shouldn’t you be atwork?”
It was just before eight a.m. and her father usually liked to be on the ranch early to help move thecattle.
“Heading out now,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you that I heated up that frozen broccoli in the frying pan — with the butter, like yousaid.”
“Yeah?” She was half expecting him to tell her he’d started afire.
“Wasn’t half bad,” he said. “Little chewy, but not bad with a lot of butter andsalt.”
She laughed a little. “I’m glad. Did you have any trouble withit?”
“Not a lick,” he said. “And I have leftovers fortonight.”
“I’m glad it worked out. Is there anything else you need?” sheasked.
“Don’t need nothing,” he said. “Just thought I’d say thank you for therecipe.”
She smiled. “Not much of a recipe, but I’m glad you likedit.”
Her gaze strayed again to the building where City Lights was headquartered. She doubted there were any kids in there now — it was a school day — but eventually there would be. What would she tell those kids when they asked about dealing with their past? To pretend it didn’t happen? To hide from it? Or to face it headon?
“Hey,Dad?”
