Page 95 of Sweet Talking Man


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But she'd made it through seeing Leif for the first time after their breakup without crying.

So there was that.

Leif had looked at her as if he wanted to say some thing more than "I want us to be okay." She wanted him to tell her to stop being an idiot, to give them a second chance, to come over and have makeup sex. But he'd uttered nothing beyond common banalities.

His casualness had been a hot poker plunged into her gut. But what had she expected? Leif knew how to play this game. To him, seeing her was no big deal. He'd used a soft voice, the same sympathetic one she'd heard right after Cal left. It was the "let's be careful with Abigail" voice.

Leif probably used that apologetic voice often. After all, he was a man who bailed when things got serious. Commitment wasn't his thing. Hadn't he used that same voice when the last woman he'd broken up with had appeared wearing a wedding gown?

One day you’ll see breaking things off was the right decision for both of us.

Same voice, same apologetic expression in his eyes.

Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. That's the plan. The ache will dull. You've done this before. Hey, at least this time everyone in town won't see your utter humiliation. You got this, sister.

Abigail redirected her thoughts on what she needed to do that week. She would be busy with the festival gala and ensuing events. Between now and then, she had to see Leif in flippin' art class tomorrow and again at the final committee meeting on Thursday. All she had to do was pretend he was a serial killer or something.

Or she could throw her dignity off a cliff and crawl to him, begging his forgiveness for whatever she'd done... which, as far as she could tell, was refuse to make them an official couple.

And what was so wrong with that?

It wasn't as if she were ashamed of Leif. On the contrary, she still couldn't believe he'd been so into her in the first place. No, it didn't have to do with Leif. It had to do with her.

Why couldn't he understand that she didn't want the whole town to know her business… to watch her fall apart when he left? She couldn't bear glances of pity any more than she could ones filled with censure. Being pathetic wasn't the coat she wore. Not anymore.

The bell rang and classroom doors exploded open as kids poured into the hall, high-pitched laughter mixed with shouts. Nothing like the middle-grade hallway at class change to make a person glad she wasn't a full-time teacher. Abigail caught sight of Birdie at the exact moment her daughter saw her.

And the little turkey did a total about-face and headed the opposite way.

Yeah. Every time Abigail showed up around school, Birdie disappeared. Somehow today it hurt worse.

Like kicking an old dog.

Damn it all. She wasn’t an old dog and was tired of accepting what life gave her. So Abigail wove through the remaining middle schoolers and found Birdie in Mrs. Peavy's English classroom. All the students were in the process of pulling out journals, chatting with one another while Dawn Peavy scratched something on the overhead projector.

Birdie looked up, saw Abigail, and froze.

I am not pathetic and I won't be treated as such.

Something a little evil rose inside Abigail, something that made her give a little wave to the teacher and address her daughter with an overly bright smile."Hey, Birdie, don’t ride the bus today. I’ll pick you up so we can get your dress for the Spring Fling. Girl time! Yay!”

Birdie turned an indescribable color before ducking her head.

"Y'all have a good day," Abigail said, cheerfully, giving a little wave to Dawn. “Especially my little Birdie.”

Her daughter jerked her face toward her mother, her mouth open slightly.

That's right, sister. That’ll teach you to act like I'mgum on your shoe.

Abigail smiled again, waved, and then waltzed toward the office, determined to throw off the man who’d shaken her that morning. Even though she knew she’d be unsuccessful.

20

BARTHOLOMEW HARVEY POURED gin in his glass before topping it off with a dose of tonic. Mixing the drink with a glass stir stick, he took a large gulp and eye-balled Leif. "Sure you don't want a drink?"

Bart leaned back and crossed his legs. They sat beneath the large palm on the patio of his impressive home on the golf course. Evening approached, and though a chill hung in the air, the temperature had been atypically warm for the beginning of March. Bart had called and suggested they skip the last meeting of the festival committee and have drinks at his home instead. Since Leif had ignored the search for his father in order to nurse a broken heart and going to Bart's meant he wouldn't have to see Abigail, he'd agreed.

''Not really my poison," Leif said.

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