Tomorrow's Dream by Janette Oke, Davis Bunn Page B

calm.
    When Kyle gave her fingers a nervous squeeze and started forward, Abigail smiled. Sadly, regretfully, aware of past mistakes. But a smile nonetheless.
    Twice Abigail was stopped on the way to her table by people who wanted to say hello. Kyle tried to hold back, but at the second table a very well-connected lady, whose name Abigail could not recall, gushed, “And who is this lovely young thing here with you?”
    â€œMy daughter,” Abigail said, glancing over in time to see Kyle wince as attention turned her way. It had been a mistake, Abigail decided, inviting Kyle here and trying to draw her out. “Kyle Adams.”
    â€œWhy, Abigail, of course I’ve heard of your lovely daughter. Kyle, I haven’t seen you since you were in crinoline and ribbons. How are you, my dear?”
    Abigail was watching closely enough to actually see it happen. The surprise registered on Kyle with a little start and a blink and a flash of awareness. Abigail felt excitement race up her spine as she realized what had just occurred. Kyle had met someone who did not immediately associate her with a baby who was no more. She was talking to someone who did not probe or offer sympathy or cause her new agony.
    â€œFine,” Kyle said tentatively with a nod. “I’m fine.”
    She did not look fine, Abigail knew. She looked hollow. The baby had been gone only three months now, and her daughter’s eyes were encircled by dark shadows. But the woman showed a Washington society lady’s ability to ignore anything and everything; she gave another exuberant smile and said, “My dears, you really must let me invite you over for tea sometime.”
    â€œWe’d love to, wouldn’t we, Kyle?” Because this society matron had drawn Kyle out, even momentarily, Abigail gave her a heartfelt smile. Then she turned and said, “Come along, sweetheart. Raymond is waiting.”
    Kyle seemed to peer out from the depths of her own personal foxhole as Raymond held her chair, tucked the napkin across her lap, then went through the list of the day’s specials. Abigail normally shooed the little man away, but seeing Kyle’s reaction, she engaged him in conversation, making him linger with remarks about this and that. Always with a warm smile for her daughter, trying to show that here Kyle could be safe and public at the same time. Showering her daughter with attention, pretending there was absolutely nothing to the moment beyond the empty conversation that had filled so much of her life. Only now she was desperate to reach her daughter with something, anything that might draw her from the empty darkness there behind her gaze.
    And because it seemed to be working, at least a little, when Raymond finally departed Abigail leaned across the table and said with an enthusiasm she herself had not felt since the funeral, “Do you know what we should do after lunch? Go shopping and buy you a lovely new dress.”
    Kyle’s nod seemed to Abigail like an incredible victory.

13 
    Harry and Kenneth had taken to walking down by the C&O canal in Georgetown twice a week, threading their way through and around the incredible mixture of people. Young lovers strolled arm in arm, enjoying the soft autumn light and the quiet music of sunsets. Children blew paper boats across the canal’s still water, and Kenneth would often stop to watch them. The smile on his face twisted Harry’s heart, so he could scarcely talk for a while.
    These came to be remarkable times for both of them. They could go for an entire walk without speaking more than a few words. On other occasions they talked so much they would not even notice night’s descent. The unspoken need was for honesty above all else—that and the companionship of friends. Harry found himself planning his weeks around these Tuesday and Thursday walks.
    This evening it was a mixture of long silences broken by disjointed snatches of talk.
    â€œJoel