The Long Journey Home

Chapter 1

H er?! Seriously?

Heat whooshed into Abby Wilder’s cheeks. Humiliation pierced her. She tried to ease the sudden flash of pain.

The two teenaged girls standing in the drug store aisle giggled. The blonde who just moved to town with her family said, "I can’t believe he married her!"

"I know. Mr. Wilder has to sleep with that," her friend added.

Eeww! they said in unison, and then scurried off and out the door.

Her cheeks burned and she kept her head down.

She should be used to the high school girls coming in to scope her out. After all, her husband was the best teacher and kids were curious about his personal life; most notable was why in the world had he chosen plain Jane her.

With a great deal of difficulty, she shook off the offending, persistent remarks. From years of practice under her belt, she willed the heat from her face and eased her breathing.

Abby returned to flipping lazily through a woman’s magazine. Standing behind the old white pharmacy counter, she tapped the end of a pencil against her lips as she waited for more customers to come in. Customers who actually bought something

It was even slower than normal today. Which left her too much time to speculate on her growing concerns. Cal seemed even more distant than usual. Had she done something wrong again? Or could it just be his end of the school year anxiety? He yearned for his students to do well so he could look even better than he already did.

No, it had to be her.

Try harder. Do more. Maybe then…

Berating herself came easily now. She sighed heavily, shoving the magazine away.

‘Bout getting to be lunch time, isn’t it, Abby? George Goodwin asked as he came out from the cavernous white shelves loaded with the names of drugs she couldn’t even begin to pronounce, never mind understand.

Looking over her shoulder at him, she lowered the pencil and asked, Want something? I don’t mind getting it for you.

His long, angular face broke into a smile as he brushed the steel gray hair back from his brow. Nah, I’m fine. But you go ahead and get outta here for a break. Take a long lunch. He shrugged. It’s not like we’re going to have a rush or anything.

For a brief moment, worry chased across his soft, faded blue eyes. Just as abruptly, it disappeared. Her chest tightened at the revealing glimpse.

You know, Mr. G., that superstore should be outlawed for what it’s done to this town. It’s been stealing business from all the shops along Main Street since it opened six months ago. She lowered her voice. You could always sell. She left the rest unsaid. He didn’t need to be reminded.

But he finished it for her. I know, my Mary would have wanted me to. Just not the same without her, you know?

Abby swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump from her throat. Suddenly, an image flashed through her mind: lonesome Mr. Goodwin wandering through each room of his big, old home with too much time on his hands and no one to care for.

I know, she whispered softly. Her chest tightened even more.

She raised her gaze to meet his. She held it there for a moment, noting the moisture gathering in his eyes that matched her watery gaze. He nodded and she did the same as they both repeated the phrase, I know.

Breaking away from the sad spell, she blinked several times and said, I think I’ll take you up on that long lunch. I could go home and get a few things done. I’ll bring you back something anyway. You’ve got to eat, don’t you?

Yes, ma’am, he said with a chuckle in his voice.

The warm morning sun beat down on her as she walked the few blocks home past a growing number of empty brick buildings. With jerky steps, she drew near the now lightly traveled town square.

Wilder, Texas, she read the placard. If only I knew then what I know now. She shivered and pressed on.

Turning at the last corner, she strolled down her wide side street dotted with quaint neighborhood homes.

Silently, she scolded herself for leaving on the drugstore pale blue jacket. She mentally shrugged, and then swung her purse in her hand and nearly skipped a few steps.

Abby pulled her hair out of the customary low ponytail and shook her head, releasing the long brown strands from the confining style. Breathing in deeply, she savored the scent of freshly mowed grass and the flowery fragrance floating to her on a slight breeze. Lilacs, she guessed.

The sound of a car horn jerked her back to the moment. The red convertible crawled down the street toward her. Behind the wheel, Parker Wentworth drove. His mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes, but she recalled the way he’d look her over in the store, his deep brown eyes finally meeting and holding hers. She flushed at the memory of how it had stirred her.

Now his wide smile brought more warmth to her cheeks. Abby fidgeted with the collar of her white buttoned-down blouse and looked down at her sensible brown loafers.

She wasn’t like the other older women the young man sought out. Romeo, most of them called him after he eventually seduced them and moved on. He was definitely handsome with the long, dark hair and dark smoldering eyes, she admitted.

And his rock hard body wasn’t bad either.

She could only imagine what it felt like, what he felt like. Abby nearly groaned as shame washed over her.

You’re a married woman, for Pete’s sake!

He stopped the car just a few feet away from where she walked.

"Hey, can I give you a ride?" Romeo emphasized the last.

She gulped at the innuendo. Abby clutched the top of the blue jacket. Shaking her head quickly, she walked briskly down the lane.

He chuckled, calling out, Next time, baby. Then he gunned the engine and raced off.

Another conquest, that’s all he wants. Because he certainly wouldn’t want little ol’ nothing me.

Abby brushed aside the dagger of worthlessness that shafted through her.

Rounding the last corner, she caught sight of her two-story house. She forced her mind away from Romeo and focused on the repairs the big, creamy white home needed. Some sprucing up, she thought, glad of a pleasing diversion as she ran through the mental list of supplies that she needed to get next time she popped into the hardware store.

Then her gaze flickered to the half-hidden white ‘57 Chevy in the drive. She sucked in a shaky breath. Her steps faltered. A queasiness settled in her belly.

What’s he doing home? Did he forget his lunch again? she wondered aloud, fiddling with the rubber band and quickly tying her hair back. She brushed a hand over her head, making sure no strands stuck out. Next, she smoothed her fingers over her navy blue knee-length cotton skirt.

A part of her wanted to turn around and run. An image of Mr. G. sprang into her mind. She’d promised him lunch and by the too lean, lanky looks of him lately he’d been skipping meals.

Gingerly, she let herself into the squeaky screen door off of the kitchen. Silence greeted her.

Eerie, she whispered, shivering a little.

Entering the sparkling blue and white country kitchen, she scanned the room for any signs of occupancy. It seemed as if nothing had been disturbed from when she left it only a few short hours ago.

She waited for a sign of relief, but none came. Crossing to the nearby counter, she set her navy purse down. Shrugging off one shoulder of her jacket, she halted. Thinking better of it, she put it back on.

Biting her lip, she wondered if she should just stay here and put together a hearty meal for Mr. G. But what if she’d irritate Cal? Which would upset him more: going to find him and making her presence known or making too much noise in the kitchen and having him storm in because she didn’t tell him she was in the house? Her belly clutched, making her wince.

Pressing a hand to her stomach, Abby wished she’d bought some antacids before leaving the store.

Something held her back from calling out to Cal. Unease grew as she walked through the tidy, sparse rooms on the bottom floor, trying to get a glimpse around each corner before she entered. A part of her seemed to view it all as a stranger would. Disconnected. Emotionless. His book-lined office was the last place on the first floor she checked. Nothing moved, nothing out of place, she said softly, frowning. Strange.

Taking a deep breath, she approached the stairs, reluctant to break this fragile, eerily quiet existence. But something urged her on.

At the top of the wooden stairs, she stood for a moment, hesitant. Still no noise came from anywhere, but her feet appeared to have a mind of their own and she moved to the partly opened bedroom door.

Peeking inside, she gulped. The fresh mint green sheets she’d put on the bed this morning were exposed and wrinkled. The colorful quilt she used as a bedspread lay crumpled at the edge of the mattress.

She spanned the room through the narrow twelve-inch opening. Her gaze landed on the heap of clothes on the floor and she nearly gasped out loud. Her chest felt like a hundred-pound weight had just slammed into her. Blood roared in her ears.

No! It can’t be!

Abby shook her head and blinked several times, hoping to erase the image in front of her. No good. It remained there each time she looked again and again. This wasn’t a dream.

From a distance, she heard Cal’s voice over the spray of the shower. Hey, shake a leg in there, will ya? We’ve got to get back to school. You, of all people, can’t afford to miss any more classes. And I’ve got a meeting with one of your favorite teachers, Mr. Perkins, he snickered. A hint of bitterness clouded it. His laughter continued as he entered the bedroom from the adjoining bathroom.

Classes? Teachers?

Bile rose in her throat.

Frightened she’d be discovered, Abby backed away one slow step at a time.

Did you hear something? His voice lost all its humor. Be quiet. Don’t say a word, understand?

Oh, my God, he’s going to find me.

Gingerly, Abby walked backwards to the guest bedroom a few feet down the hall, increasingly grateful for her sturdy, no-nonsense soundless shoes. Once in the room, she squeezed in behind the open door and the wall. She longed to gulp in some fresh air, but didn’t dare make a peep.

His footsteps were on the landing. Abby, he called. Is that you? Unmistakable anger tinged his question.

She quivered.

Please, God, don’t let him find me.

He moved down the hall and stopped at the guest room doorway. She nearly jumped when she saw his face through the crack near the door hinges. All he had to do was turn his head slightly and he’d discover her hiding place. He scanned the room. His heavy breathing, clenched jaw, and growing red face made the blood drain from her.

Perspiration dotted her brow, and then, in the confined stuffy space, it trickled down her body. Her palms grew sweaty.

Could he smell fear? Please no.

He cussed under his breath, and then marched out of the room and to the next one down.

Abby longed to gasp for a breath or two, but thought better of it. Clutching her hands together, she nearly cried aloud.

My purse! Oh my God! I left it on the counter. What if he finds it?

Her knees began to quiver uncontrollably. Dizziness took hold.

It must have been fifteen minutes while Cal searched the upstairs rooms. He whispered sharp commands to his lover and the sound of rustling clothes and bed linens floated to her. Not once did she hear the lover speak. Hurried footsteps on the stairs rose to her. The screen door squeaked. And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the car roared away.

Thank God he didn’t find my purse.

A mixture of relief at not being discovered and shock reverberated through her body.

Still, she remained motionless while she tortured herself with images of what she’d witnessed and what she could only imagine had happened right before she’d arrived.

She gagged once, and then again. Suddenly she shoved the door away, and then fell to her knees. She gasped in great big gulps of air, fighting the waves of nausea. Her mind raced with the horrible, ugly truth she’d denied for so long. Her husband was having an affair. Worse yet, he was screwing one of his students.

Chapter 2

To Abby, the rest of the day seemed to go by in an odd blur. On the outside, most people thought she was a little distracted or so they said and chuckled at it. But inside, she was a mass of confusion.

Who? How long? Why hadn’t I figured it out before now?

Mr. Goodwin eyed her speculatively when she came back empty-handed a short time after leaving. Is something wrong?

His worried tone registered and all she could do was nod. She remembered the sandwich she’d hastily made for him and dug it out of the large pocket in her work jacket. Her hand trembled as she held it out to him.

He took it, glancing down at the squished sandwich wrapped in wax paper. Want to talk about it? he asked, his lowered voice filled with concern.

She sucked in a painful breath and shook her head, thankful that he honored her wishes not to discuss it right now. They both sensed if she ever needed to, she could always go to him.

When one of Goodwin Drugs afterschool helpers called in sick, Abby hastily volunteered to work a double shift. The longer she could avoid going back home, the better.

Throughout the long day and into the evening, she felt Mr. G.’s quizzical frown follow her on more than one occasion.

At closing time, he scratched the back of his head, saying, I wish Mary was here. She’d know just the right thing to say to you.

For the first time since returning to the store, she looked him in the eye. I don’t think even she could help right now. It ached to even talk.

He sighed loudly. I’ll give you a ride home.

Out in her driveway, she sat huddled in the passenger seat, just staring at the large old house with warm lights shining from the living room. Just this morning she thought of it as a place she belonged. Now, she knew she never really had. How sad for her.

With the car still running, Mr. G. said, You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.

She half sighed, half laughed. Yet on the inside, she quaked. And take the easy way out?

He chuckled. No, you never did that, did you? Lord, when I think of how you first came to town—

Yep, Cal’s bride, she said wistfully, mourning that young girl filled with hopes and dreams.

It wasn’t you. His folks had the apron strings wrapped so tight around him he never could live the life he wanted.

So he rebelled the only way he knew how, by marrying an outsider.

Mr. G. rubbed a finger along his top lip. And no one in this town…his town ever let you forget.

Cal, his parents, their friends, and the townspeople in the small community the Wilder family had founded more than a hundred fifty years ago had made her feel unwelcome from the beginning and not much had changed since. They’d assumed her husband, the last in the long line of descendants, would marry one of their own. Poor Bethany Simcock. The beauty queen had been heartbroken.

You didn’t hold it against me. You and Mrs. G.

I remember the day you walked into the store.

Lonely and at loose ends, she’d wandered through town in those first few weeks of arriving. Going into Goodwin Drugs that day had changed everything. There she’d found Mrs. G. behind the soda fountain and had been immediately drawn to the older, cheery woman, who had taken Abby under her wing. Abby had taken the job they’d offered her and blossomed being around the elderly couple.

For the first time in her life, Abby felt cared for. Being bounced around foster homes as a child, she’d always craved a loving presence. She thought she had found it with Cal, but soon discovered the truth. He’d only married her to get back at his parents. Oh, she was an asset to his teaching career and had been pleasing enough to pass most tests. But still there was this underlying disapproval everywhere she went. Especially having to live under the same roof as his angry parents.

Mrs. G. was fussing at you about something or other. She chuckled and he joined in. But it was all in fun. She could never get mad at you, you know?

Me with her either. She heard the smile in his voice. Yep, Abby girl, I recall Mary telling me later you looked at her with those big hazel eyes of yours and her heart just melted. Aw, how she really loved to giggle with you.

And gossip.

Boy, she could do that, couldn’t she?

Not in a bad way, though.

Nah, my Mary didn’t have a mean bone in her body. Never met a stranger. But you were special.

Fast friends. Forever friends, she whispered hoarsely.

His voice caught, and then he cleared his throat. No one else would have done what you did for us.

You two loved me like no one else ever had. You saved me. Moisture gathered in her eyes at their kindness over the years.

Reaching over, he patted her hand. The warmth seemed to finally penetrate the cold darkness that had invaded her this afternoon. She turned her hand over, clutching his.

I…I may need to talk sometime. But not if it puts you in harm’s way.

When you’re ready.

With great trepidation, Abby left the safe confines of Mr. G.’s old Ford and made her way to the back door.

The strangeness of it all rested heavy on her mind as she opened the squeaky screen door once again.

Was it just a few hours ago that I was here and my life changed? No, just your perception. A voice deep inside hurled the cold, dark truth.

Holding her breath, she stepped over the threshold and back into the lie.

Abby, is that you? Are you finally home? His rich velvety voice oozed through the air.

I wonder if that’s the voice he used to get his student into bed? How long had it been going on? Is that the reason for my unease lately? Had I sensed it? Who is she anyway?

Abby had to know her. She mentally went through the small school’s student body. It could be any number of girls who fawned over Cal. What would her parents say or do if they ever found out? He should be arrested for what he’s doing. As her mind reeled with unanswered questions, a weight as heavy as a boulder sat in her belly.

What the hell am I going to do?

Abby! His tone sharpened.

She pulled up short. Shaking her head, she called out to him.

She cringed at the sound of his heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Going to the refrigerator, she yanked open the door just as he entered the kitchen.

Have dinner yet? Her voice came out high and anxious.

Yeah, I heated up the meatloaf.

It was a perfectly calm answer, but Abby thought she read disapproval in it.

One of the kids called in sick. I didn’t want Mr. G. having to run the store on his own. Defensiveness tinged her voice.

That old coot needs to hang it up. Can’t he see his time has come and gone? You’re not helping by catering to his every whim, either. And I didn’t say anything. Irritation rang in his. You always think I’m attacking you.

That’s because you always do.

Peering over the top of the refrigerator door, she gulped hard, looking at him for the first time. Not very tall, but he had an impressive air about his compact body. His curly light brown hair seemed more unruly than normal, as if he’d been running his hands through it. Nice handsome face with wide gray eyes, she observed, as if just meeting him.

Then it dawned on her as she replayed the last few months over and over again as if she’d turned the knob on a movie projector. His distance, the increased verbal thrashings, the many overnight trips, the frequent grooming, losing weight…it all added up. He’d been screwing the girl for a long time now.

I didn’t say you did say anything, she said, trying to clamp down on the raging sense of betrayal. After all I’ve done. After all I’ve given up.

Good Lord, Abigail, you are such a baby. Childish, inept…shall I go on? When are you going to grow up?

Tension swooped into her body, stealing all semblance of normal movement. She jerked; the glass bottles on the door clacked together, and then she banged the door shut. Her facial muscles stiffened, pain shooting up through her temples.

She wanted to shout out. When are you going to grow up? I am not a child. How many times had she told him and his now deceased parents that?

Could have fooled me, he sneered. Imbecile.

She longed to lash out at him, longed to take the knife from the drawer and just stab that smug look off of his face. Heat rolled through her.

Well, Mr. Holier-than-thou-Professor…no, wait, you’re not a professor, are you? That’s right, the University of Texas wouldn’t accept you, would they? She got the reaction she wanted and knew she’d stooped to being disgustingly childish as his face contorted and the muscle along his clenched jaw jumped. A wave of power washed over her. Coyly, she put a hand over her mouth, and then took it away saying, Oh, my bad.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him ball his hands into fists, the grip squeezing so tight his knuckles grew white. She braced herself.

Stupid bitch! He swore, raising his hands and shaking them at her, and then stormed out of the room.

She’d pushed the limits as never before just so she wouldn’t have to talk to him, never mind look at him any more tonight.

In the distance, the office door slam shut, rattling the glass cupboard doors behind her. She shivered in a mixture of fear and relief.

On wobbly legs, Abby made her way to the nearest chair, and then plopped down. She covered her mouth with her shaky hands, suppressing the bubbling giggle rising in her throat. A part of her rejoiced at her audacity to stand up to him.

I can’t believe I just did that.

He’d spend the night in there pacing, ranting, and drinking. The storm would rage onward. And she wouldn’t have to be in his presence. She had another excuse to move back into the guest bedroom.

She sent up a silent prayer of thanks for not having to sleep beside the son-of-a-bitch with his clammy body and irritating snores. And if her luck held out, it would be weeks before he came near her again. Their little tug-of-wars usually lasted longer and longer as time went on.

If only that could last forever, she thought wistfully. If only she had the nerve to push the limits even more…

God, I wish he were dead.

Chapter 3

Abby leaned her forehead against the cool metal door of her steel gray work locker. Nearly a week later, her head still pounded with questions. No answers came.

No sense of peace.

Only worry.

Trying to ward off another wave of gripping anxiety, she jerked upright.

Abby dialed the combination and popped open the locker door. The metal vibration scraped along her already raw nerves. Reaching in, she grabbed her pale blue jacket off the hook. She stilled.

In the back, she spotted the mirror she kept hanging there. She sucked in a shaky breath, knowing behind it lay her cry for help. A thick letter attached to the back held her deep, dark secrets.

If anything should happen to me, go after Cal Wilder…it began. After each incident she’d note the date and scratch out a few more details.

Tears blurred her eyes. Her reflection begged for her attention. This time she refused to look away. Meeting her own watery gaze in the revealing image, her heart