"So we caught her right on top of her boyfriend's other girlfriend trying to choke the shit out of her."

I laughed. "That's fucked up!"

"Oh, it was! I got calls like that all the time back when I was a beat cop."

Manny and I stood outside on a busy sidewalk in front of an Italian restaurant where we'd dined on cheese-stuffed tortellini, fried calamari and drank glasses of imported wine. The Sunday evening had grown brisk and chilly but I barely noticed as we stood face to face in the busy downtown crowd wallowing in each other's easy company.

"Did you like being a beat cop?" I said with an unusually supple voice.

"Not really. The job ranged from crazy boring to horrifically dangerous. I don't even have to shoot my gun too often as a detective. That's a plus."

"So you like being a detective then?"

"I love it." The effortless smile he gave me sent a shot of heat straight through me. "What about you? Do you enjoy Taste Teas?"

"I do. I love waking up every morning and knowing there's something on this Earth that I own. It's mine, you know? Well, mine and the bank's but it's the same thing really-and as a plus I get to boss people around, and that's a huge ego boost."

My heart leaped when he laughed at my joke. "There are a few people I get to boss around too so I know what you're talking about. And I know what it's like to own a little piece of Earth too."

"That's right you have a house on the east side."

"Yeah, nothing that spectacular. Two stories, three bedrooms and a yard."

"Better than what I got," A stronger wind blew over and I shivered.

He smiled as he reached out to pull my sweater closer together and let his thumbs linger for a moment just below my breasts. He's getting brazen but I like it. "You thinking about buying a house anytime soon?" He made no move to step back out of my space.

"You sound just like my accountant. I've been so busy the last few years building up Taste Teas that I haven't had the time to build my life up in the same way. But you gotta let me see the house sometimes. It sounds nice."

"You can see it tonight if you want."

Whoa. "Oh. I, uh-well..."

"I-no, I didn't mean to imply, it was just an ill timed joke." He played it off but I'd already seen the spark of intent in his eye.

"It's okay. The sentiment is welcomed."

"Evie, you're beautiful." His eyes darkened as he inched closer, heating the air between us. "Can I kiss you?"

"You're asking my permission?"

"I am."

"Then yeah. Kiss me."

By the time the word 'yes' came out of my mouth he'd circled his arms around my waist and pulled me firmly against him. He didn't hesitate to crush his mouth over mine as his hands pressed into my lower sides trying to feel through the fabric of my cotton skirt and squeezing when he felt something he especially liked. Instinctively my arms crept up his shoulders and wrapped around his neck, deepening our kiss.

Maybe I could see his house. Just for an hour, you know?

But before I could decide his phone went off. "Shit." He was quick to let me go and dig around in his coat pocket for the offending object. "Juarez."

I watched mildly detached. I knew he was working an active case at the moment and they must have discovered something huge to call him in while he was off duty.

"Baby, I have to go." He leaned back down and gave me a small chaste kiss on my very underserviced lips. "I got a lead on my case and they need me."

"At least we got all the way through the date this time," I said trying to sound as not frustrated as possible.

"We did," he said.

"Call me."

"Oh count on it, Scooby."

He walked me to my car and waited for me to get in and pull off before he started walking toward the lot he'd parked his truck. While I was sitting at a red light on the corner of First and Addams, still imaging what it would have been like had I followed him to his house, I saw Abbey's mom walk into a bar. I wish that was a bad joke but it wasn't.

Dolores Collins walked down a neon-lit sidewalk and stumbled her way into some bar called The Lime among the weekend barhops. When my light turned green I turned down Addams to get a closer look. I slowed the car to a crawl and tried to peer through the bar's large tinted windows but the only thing I could make out were the silhouettes of dozens of faceless patrons.

A loud horn sounded and practically shook the whole car. "Hey! Did I accidently drive up on a parade? Get the fuck out of the way!" Some guy in a pick-up yelled behind me.

"Why? You know you ain't going nowhere in that beat-up shit! Take your broke ass around!"

He honked loudly as he drove around, giving me the finger on the way. People are so rude!

Anyway, now might be a good time to go butting into Dolores' business. It took me no less than forty minutes of driving in circles to find a free no-parallel spot to park and another ten minutes to walk the four blocks back to the bar. By the time I walked through the door I was afraid she would be gone but there she was sitting at some dark table in the back by herself, and nursing about three glasses of what looked like scotch.

I pushed my way through crowds of laughing bar patrons enjoying the last few hours of their weekend until I got to her and sat down uninvited.

"Mrs. Collins hi, you remember me?" Shit what was the fake name I kept giving her? "Amy! It's me, Amy."

"Why are you shouting I know who you are?" her words slurred together as she leaned her head on one elbow like she was Atlas and that head of hers held all the world's weight. Who knows, maybe it did.

"Yeah, uh. I was out with some friends and I saw you over and wanted to say hello. Are you okay?"

"Everything's great, Amy." She tried to give me a smile of reassurance but it fell flat. "No it's not. I miss her."

"Who? Abbey?"

Through her drunkenness she smiled. "I named her after the Abigail in the Bible. It means 'my father's joy'. She wasn't enough joy to make him stay though."

"Your husband?" There were no pictures in her home as far as I had seen and she'd never spoken of him-hell even Abbey had mentioned him once only to muse that she, like me, had never known a father.

"I did everything r-right," she said getting tripped over her own tongue. "I met the guy. Married him. Became his perfect wife-everything God asks of any good woman. Then when we got pregnant everything was fine for a couple months, then he got drunk and came home ranting about how the baby would ruin our lives and how I should get rid of it and we could pretend like it never happed but," her voice began to crack. "I couldn't kill my baby."

She touched one of the glasses to her lips and took a hard gulp. "I made a choice. I chose to be a good Christian woman and he chose to leave us and let us squander in poverty. What kind of man is that?"

"I don't know. Sometimes people just leave." I reached out, and lay one kind hand over her cold one. "But you loved Abbey at least, didn't you?"

She pulled her hand back. "She looked like him, talked like him...but she was a poor replacement. I needed someone to mow the lawn and be the breadwinner. Somebody to take care of me and keep me warm at night. All babies do is eat and cry and drain the youth right out of your soul. No other man would even look at me when she was around." She took another drink. "She wasn't worth it."

Her head hit the table and she began to snore lightly. I could have left her there to wallow in her own ugly grief but the kinder side of me won out and I waved over a waiter to help me get her home.

"She's got a running tab here anyway," he said waving away the credit card I tried to give him.

I left her with the waiter to go and retrieve the car, and then we loaded her into the passenger seat and I drove her drunk ass home.

Once we got to her house I pulled up to the curb and parked. As I stepped out of the driver's side of the rental I pulled my sweater tighter together against the late night chill and looked over at Sarah's yard, which was still a mess from the spray of bullets that had showered the property last week. That reminded me, I wanted to pay her a visit in the hospital.

Ignoring the way my body shivered in the cold I walked over to the passenger side door and tried to guide Mrs. Collins out. She stumbled forward a bit but I caught her in my arms before she could kiss the pavement. I pulled her up and we staggered toward her front door.

"Mrs. Collins you got your key on you?"

The only sound that came out of her was a series of incomprehensible grunts. Great. I half propped her up on the frame of the door, took a breath, and then started to riffle through the multiple pockets of her coat.

I dug in deep but found nothing. Great, I was going to have to dig through her mom jeans. I said a swift prayer to Jesus, let me feel nothing weird on this cold dark night, and then I made the plunge into the pockets on her hips and finally-to my deep resentment-found them tucked away in her back pants pockets along with an accidental fist full of her ass.

I could have been the one being copiously grouped tonight! And by someone a lot better looking. What happened to my life!

I put the key into the lock and stumbled us through the door. Once I found the light I flicked it on and lead her through her plastic covered living room and down a dark hallway that I hoped led to a bedroom. I pushed open nearly every door in the damn house until I found a clean looking bed in the world's most matronly room and finally tossed her on it.

"Mrs. Collins," I half yelled. "You're home."

She didn't reply but the rhythmic breathing of her chest let me know I didn't need to call an ambulance or-God forbid-end my night giving mouth to mouth to an old lady. With nothing left to do I left her there in the dark with every noble intention of walking out of there without breaking the law.

But then again, this is me we're talking about.

I didn't even second guess as I strolled casually through the woman's house, looking into rooms and searching through a creepy amount of organization. Her home was pristine, spotless, and nineteen-fifty's catalog-like. The only unusual thing was the door next to Dolores' bedroom. It was locked. The other rooms in the small house were the living and dining room, the kitchen, a single bathroom, and couple of closet doors, which meant the locked door was likely Abbey's old room.

What the hell, might as well look for a key. Dolores Collins was anal retentive when it came to the order of her house. She probably kept her keys lined up perfectly on some old school key rack-the trick was to find it.

I looked through drawers in the kitchen, finding meticulously stored cutlery, but nothing more. All drawers and cabinets in the house yielded the same results until I checked the back of a closet door that housed the boiler. There she'd labeled and stored all the keys for every lockable thing in and out of the house on perfectly symmetrical nails.

Car. Front Door. Back Door. Bathroom. Utility Shed. Bedroom 1 and Bedroom 2.

I grabbed both bedroom keys and went back to the door. I tried bedroom one first but it didn't work. As I slid the second key into the lock, I heard it click in happy recognition. I turned it slowly and sure enough the room opened without much conflict. I searched the wall for a light and flicked it to reveal an old bedroom that was stacked to the roof with large cardboard boxes. A light sheen of dust lay over an old wooden dresser, a small twin bed with a light pink comforter, and all those boxes cramped inside.

Some of the boxes where labeled as expected. One box read 'Clothes', another 'Linens', and still another 'Christmas'. Over near the bed underneath a couple of smaller boxes was a box labeled 'Abigail'.

I moved some boxes around, stacking them out of the way and pulled up Abbey's box. It was lighter than the others. I sat with the box on the dusty bed and opened it. There wasn't much inside, just the remnants of a teenage girl. There was a simple white jewelry box that had been doodled on with hearts and stars in neon markers. Inside was nothing but jewelry of the plastic and sparkly variety. The rest of the box was full of berets, headbands, and colorful scarves.

Pictures depicted a young Abbey, small and standoffish but pretty even as a chubby child. There were no friends in the pictures save for a lone shot of Abbey and Sara standing together, not quite close enough to be true friends.

At the bottom of the box was a pink stylized notebook locked with a tiny silver heart-shaped padlock. A key was taped to the back.

Maybe I shouldn't. A girl's privacy and everything...Fuck it. She's dead.

I pulled the key off the back and unlocked it. Her handwriting was hard to make out but I was able to decipher most of it:

"Dear Diery,

My name is Abbey. I bout you with my alowence. Dont tell my mom.

Dear Diery,

The hole class went on a feild trip. My mom said I cant go. I wish I coud run away."

I decided to skip ahead a few entries and get to a part where she learned to spell:

"April 14,

Today I got accepted to college! My mom picked the place but it's far away and has dorms so I won't have to live here anymore. I'm soooo ready to get out of here.

October 23,

It's weird being away from home. Just like high school no one likes me. My classes are boring and I don't care for any of the administrators. Except for one. He's very nice and helpful and it's less lonely around here with someone to talk to.

January 13,

I can't believe what just happened.

February 21,

Everyone is talking about us. I got called into the Dean's office because of the rumors. If my mother hears about this she will never forgive me.

March 3,

They're expelling me. I don't belong here anyway, but I'll miss him. I think I might love him.

April 17,

Sarah and me went to the clinic today. It's over now but I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself. I'm relived but still sad. I wonder if they have drugs for sadness. My mom won't understand. She'll just say it's the devil and kick me out. She always said she loved Jesus more than me. Why can't I just be happy? Why can't I just go to church and be happy and normal like everyone else here?

The rest of the pages were blank. I didn't know what happened between the last entry and Abbey getting kick out of the house, but I knew someone who did. Sarah Hoehler.

The next day on an extended lunch break I drove over to St. Theresa's Hospital to speak with the only person who could fill in some of the holes when it came to Abbey's past. Sarah was in a shared room next to a woman who had fallen to sleep on Family Feud.

She was lying back in bed buried under a pile of thin blankets, her shoulder neatly bandaged where the bullet had hit her. When she saw me round the corner with a bouquet of inexpensive wild flowers she smiled.

"Hey. What was your name again?" She asked.

"Evie."

"Oh, I could have sworn it was Amy."

"People make mistakes." I set the flowers on the table and sat in the hard chair on the side of the bed. "How are you feeling Sarah?"

"Much better. They say it wasn't even that bad. Unfortunately I got a small infection from the wound but they got me on an anti-biotic and I should be able to go home in a couple of days."

"Good to hear." An awkward pause followed as I was unsure how to steer the conversation. "Sarah I wanted to ask you something about Abbey."

"I already told you we weren't that close."

"I heard from a reliable source that you were with Abbey when she took her trip to the clinic."

It was just a flicker, but I saw a hint of apprehension in her eyes. "How do you know about that?"

"She told me about it." A little white lie could go a long way in these situations. "She told me about the guy in college too."

"You know about him?" She said clearly bewildered.

I nodded.

"She was so mortified when it happened. I remember. When I came home to visit she was crying on her porch over some guy at Christian college." Sarah tisked; one of the most artificial sounds I'd ever heard. "She said he was some kind of administrator like a preacher or Chaplin or something."

I forced myself to chuckle. "Yeah, pious and stuck up Abbey getting it on with some preacher. She pretended to be such a good girl!" I could tell she didn't really like her. It was something about the way her lip curled slightly whenever her name came up. But I can play petty too.

"I can't believe she would tell anyone else but me about the abortion." That lip of hers curled again over the last word. "Her mother threw her right out when she found out."

"The real question is how did her mother find out in the first place? I mean, she only told you and me." When I stopped talking a different kind of silence filled the space between us. Her eyes bounced back and forth never quite landing but mine stayed focused, and accusatory.

"You don't understand," her voice grew weaker and less steady.

"Why?"

"We were kids. She was always a little bit off, you know? In spite of that everyone thought she was so perfect-stuck up, but perfect. She had the grades and she was more beautiful than anyone I'd ever seen in real life."

"I don't understand what this has to do with keeping a secret. You knew her mom was crazy. Why did you tell?"

"She was just so full of herself! She didn't say anything but you could tell. Pretty people are always like that."

"So you thought you'd knock her down a little?" I barely recognized the anger in my voice. "You call yourself her friend?"

"I was her friend!"

"Bullshit."

"Look, I was a nineteen year old kid. It was immature. I can see that now, but I honestly never thought her mother would abandon her like that. I thought she would just freeze her out like my mother would have...for a while," Her voice grew more frantic and just a little desperate. "I thought at the worse it may get around the neighborhood a little-"

"And people would see her the way you saw her. As some fraudulent good-girl and you could gloat to people about how even though you aren't half as pretty as her at least you didn't kill your baby. Prove that you're better than her."

"No! It wasn't like that."

"Oh? What was it like then?"

She remained quite for a long time; her eyes turned away, searching and settling on the flowers; anything but me. "When I told her mother," she took a slow breath. "It felt right at the time."

Could she have really told Abbey's mother for no other reason than envy? How could there be anyone so, so...callous?

"I have to get out of here," I stood, the chair jerking forward with my sudden energy.

"You have to believe me!" She was desperate for forgiveness for what she'd done, if not from the person she'd wronged then from any casual bystander who could soothe her guilt and let her know she was still good-even if only a little.

But I wasn't the one. "I don't have to do shit." I could hear the crack of emotion in her voice as I left.

I let her cry.