“Abigail … Git up!”
Like a surfacing dolphin, but less graceful, Abby’s body arced out of the tub toward the sound of her name. She coughed, fierce and hard, leaning over the edge of the smooth porcelain. Nothing came out of her empty stomach. Lilac-scented water overflowed, soaking the blue rug and spilling onto the white tile floor. Her head pounded, and dark spots danced in front of her eyes. She gulped in the steamy air—redolent with a strange hint of coffee—then retched again.
Flinging one slippery, wet leg over the tub rim, she pulled her body out of the remaining water and onto the soggy mat. Dragging herself into a sitting position, she leaned her head against the side of the tub. Tears and bathwater dripped down her face as she sat there in a puddle, arms wrapped around her wet, naked body.
“Abby, what’s going on? Let me in.” Lisa rattled the doorknob, but the old lock held firm. “I heard a thump. Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m … fine.” Abby cleared her bullfrog throat. “I just tripped getting out of the tub.”
“If you’re sure.” Lisa lowered her voice. “We have our first guests. They stopped because of the storm, and I need to get them settled. Come down if you feel like it, or I’ll be up a little later. I’m making tea. I’ll bring you a cup of Kenyan black with raw sugar, just the way you like it.” Her footsteps faded down the stairs, dull thuds against the oak boards.
Abby shivered. She got up, noticed a blue bruise on her left breast from the bike accident, carefully patted dry, and put on a pair of old pajamas. Grabbing extra towels from the closet, she mopped up the floor, then dumped them in the hamper; they could wait for tomorrow, even if they did stink by then.
She went to her room and collapsed on the bed, shivering in spite of the heat. After tucking her feet under the quilt, she stared at the ceiling and tried to make sense of what just happened. She hadn’t seen a ghost, of course. No way. Not possible. It seemed so real. But in what universe did a ghost soldier know her name? It had been just a dream, fatigue, or pure stupidity. And love at first sight? Lame.
Yawning, Abby burrowed under the multi-colored quilt her great-grandmother had made. In the misty moments right before sleep claimed her, she envisioned the tombstone from her bike accident, the same one she dreamed about in the tub.
“Dreams,” she murmured as she dozed off. “Weird.”
Voices and squealing barn door hinges awoke her early the next morning. She rolled over and groaned; stiff knees, tender cheek, pounding head, sore throat. She peered out her window as three strangers rode away on their bikes, down the hill and out of sight on the bike trail.
Still in her pajamas, Abby descended to the first floor and found her mother in the kitchen. “Hi. I saw our guests taking off. Sorry I fell asleep early and didn’t get up in time to help.”
Leaving the sink full of dishes, Lisa hurried over and hugged Abby. Her arms dropped to her sides when Abby flinched. “I came up to your room last night with some tea. You were asleep, but restless—tossing and turning, moaning. Are you sure you’re as fine as you say you are? I remember your dad giving me the same song-and-dance; he always said he felt fine even when he was anything but.”
“I’m fine. Not Dad-fine, truly fine. If you don’t need me, I’m going to take my bike into town. It blew a tire yesterday and needs some work.”
Lisa went to the sink and kept her back to Abby. “I’m so glad you’re riding again. You can help get the guest rooms in shape later.” She paused, started to speak, then became silent.
“What?”
“Maybe that purple bike is getting a little small for you. If the tire needs replaced, it might be time to consider another one.”
“You mean I can buy a new bike?”
“No, but why not use your dad’s Cannondale? I noticed it’s still in good shape. He used to be so obsessive about his precious bike, even when we were dating. It’s out in the barn, in the rear stall. You said he loved that bike, and he loved you; he’d be happy if you use it.”
Abby stared at her mother. “You can’t be serious. How ‘happy’ can he be about anything? He’s dead. My bike, my purple bike, the bike he bought for me on one of the many birthdays you missed, that’s the one I’m going to use. Personally, I think that would make him happy.”
Lisa grabbed a towel to dry her hands and turned around. “Abby, wait. There’s something I need to tell you. Something important.”
Abby turned away and took two steps.
Lisa’s voice went up a notch. “Come back here. Right now.”
A moment’s hesitation froze her in place, then Abby stomped out the side door of the house, over to the barn, and into the back stall. Finding the Cannondale, she ran her hand across the blue center bar. She wiped dust off the black leather seat with her sleeve. Ready to go, just like always: tool kit attached under the seat, Mt. Zefal air pump on the bar, utility rack complete with bungee cord and water bottle. Even the canister of dog repellent her dad always carried still clipped on the handlebars. She found it hard to imagine a big, strong guy like that being afraid of dogs. Afraid of dogs but not of death.
She hugged the bike, laying her cheek on the seat. It smelled of leather, saddle soap, Dad. Her eyes filled with silent tears that turned to quiet sniffles, then gut-wrenching sobs.
“Um, excuse me.” A deep, unfamiliar voice interrupted.
Abby kept her head down, noting a pair of blue and white leather bike shoes firmly planted on the barn floor. A spicy-woodsy aroma filled the air, clean, not over-powering. She wiped tears from her cheeks with the dust-covered sleeve of her striped pajama top, realizing she wasn’t wearing a bra under the thin material.
She crossed her arms over her chest and maintained eye contact with the shoes. “Who are you, and what do you think you’re doing in my barn?” Heat infused her face, overriding any fear of the stranger or desire to look at him.
“Sorry. I got a room at the house, and Lisa said I could put my bike out here. I didn’t know I’d be interrupting your … whatever.”
Abby mumbled, “Oh, well, okay, gotta go,” and fled.
She ran into her mother at the foot of the third-floor steps. “Could you at least warn me when we have company?”
“I tried to tell you about our surprise visitor, but you didn’t want to hear it,” Lisa said. “Remember, we’re running a business here. You’ll have to get used to people coming and going. The time for running around in your cute little pj’s is over.”
Abby tightened the drawstring on her pants and ran upstairs, tempted to say, “I hate you.” But she knew that as much as she wanted to detest Lisa, it was becoming harder to do so. And that she felt like the real bitch.
After dressing and washing her face, Abby stared at herself in the mirror. Dark smudges underlined powder blue eyes rimmed with nearly colorless lashes. She applied cover-up, blue eyeliner, and mascara. Two new zits had appeared on her chin; she applied acne cream before covering them with make-up. She escaped from the house without seeing anyone and entered the barn, pleased to find it empty.
She pulled her bike out and walked it to the road before climbing on. It took forever to coax the battered metal frame along the narrow road to town. Cars beeped their horns and swerved around her, someone gave her the finger, and a kid in a convertible shouted, “Wear a helmet, you stupid idiot.”
The guy at Sweet Rides agreed to do some basic repairs. “This here your little sister’s bike, Honey Bun?” he said.
Abby frowned at him. “Can you fix it now or not?”
“Yeah, give me a couple hours and check back.” He coughed, spit, wiped his hands on a greasy rag, and wheeled the bike into the repair shop. “You know we got some sweet new rides up front if you want to take a look-see while you wait.”
“I’ll be back.”
Twenty minutes later she had glanced in the old-house-turned-cutesy-gift-shop and the salvage-pretending-to-be-antiques shop. At the drug store she bought a bright duo-pack bronzer; the package said it would give her cheeks a healthy glow, something that had been missing for months. She picked up and rejected several shades of nail polish, none of which would help her ragged nails. That left an hour and forty minutes to waste until her bike would be fixed.
Then she saw a boy crossing the street from Sweet Rides. He looked as if the sun had decided to live right on him. Golden hair and tanned skin topped a compact, muscular body encased in ripped jeans and a blue T-shirt that said: RIDE ON.
Abby’s chin dropped. She pulled her long hair forward so it cascaded over her shoulders and wished she had sampled the new bronzer at the store.
While she tried to think of some reason to meet him, he crossed the street and walked right over to her. “Hi, how are you?”
Abby dragged her line of vision from his biceps to his face—the voice somehow familiar.
Mesmerizing, morning-sky blue eyes rimmed in pale lashes stared back at her.
She tried out a smile on him, realizing it had been quite a while since she had truly smiled at anyone. Looking right into his eyes she said, “I’m great. Do you live around here?”
He seemed puzzled. “No. You’re all right, eh?”
Then she looked down at his blue and white leather bike shoes, breathed in his woodsy scent, and knew. “You’re the guy from this morning, the one in my barn.”
“Guilty.” He smiled, revealing even, white teeth. “My name’s Jack. I thought you recognized me, but I guess I looked different through all those tears.”
Abby’s face heated up; she knew it would now match her red tank top. Her face burned even more at the thought of him seeing her in old pajamas, boobs hanging out and bawling like a baby.
They stood in silence, and then both spoke at the same time. “You first,” Abby said.
Jack gestured across the street. “I have to check on my bike. The guy at the repair shop is installing a part for me. But since I’m staying at your place, maybe we could talk later.”
“Sure, okay.”
He waved and hurried away.
A few tentative drops of rain splattered on the sidewalk then increased to a drenching shower. Abby imagined Jack must have taken the sun with him. When they were together again, would that be the start of a new beginning in her life? Even though he had only stopped at Bikers’ Rest for a visit, it might be a good omen of better things ahead.