The Bequest
Chapter 59—Abigail

Better than anyone, I understand that those memories cut both ways. They console when I miss the thought of Nate, but they hurt when I feel his loss most keenly. It's almost like everything around me is mocking me for the light that used to be present.

Gabe nearly slices his finger off, but he successfully dices his first tomato for the salad. Whitney's a pro at baking Rhodes rolls. She always pulls them out when they're perfectly golden. Not doughy, but not a bit overcooked, either. They don't really go with enchiladas, but it's Whitney's thing, and I couldn't tell her no. She's rubbing butter on the tops of them when Izzy whimpers.

"What's wrong?"

"These chips are stale. They're gross."

I text Steve immediately.

-CHIP EMERGENCY. CAN YOU PICK UP NON-STALE CORN CHIPS?

-MANILA'S FINEST. GREAT TIMING. WAS JUST PASSING THROUGH TOWN.

Which means he's close. Will he stop at his house first? Probably.

He arrives right on time, his truck parking out front at 6:14. His hair's still wet when he walks up the steps. The kids may be more excited than I am. Izzy's humming, Whitney's rocking back and forth, a picture she drew of him on top of Farrah, clutched in her hands. Ethan's been asking me rodeo questions all afternoon. Apparently he has some interest in trying some of the events. If Steve can maneuver him away from that, I'll be forever grateful. Ethan needs a broken hip like I need a bullet to the head.

The kids are almost too delighted that we have a visitor. I can't decide whether it's because we're in such a rural location now, or whether it's because they like Steve so much. I suppose it could really be either.

"Mr. Steve!" No matter how many times I've told Gabe that his name is Mr. Archer, he has started calling him Mr. Steve and I can't get him to budge. He races across the room and barrels into Steve, hugging him so tightly, I worry we'll have to scrape him off like a barnacle off the hull of a boat.

Steve meets my eyes over Gabe's little body and makes an "aww" face. At least I know he's not annoyed.

"I made you a picture," Whitney says.

Not to be outdone, Izzy rushes off to grab a drawing she made of Steve's barn and house. I hope he knows he can toss those in the trash when he gets home. I'll be sure to tell him later. Some people might keep them out of obligation, but the sheer volume of precious art generated by my darling children would probably cause any normal person to shudder.

"Hungry?"

"Starving," Steve says. "I usually pick something up on my way home."

"I'm sorry," I say. "You could totally have done that-"

He bumps me with his hip. "I'm way more excited about enchiladas here, made by Texans. I assume you guys really know what you're doing."

"The pico is fresh," Ethan says proudly. "Made it myself. But we usually just buy sauce at H-E-B, so we're all a little nervous about how this will taste."

"Me, the most," Gabe says. "I'm the pickiest."

"That's true," I say.

"I eat the most things," Whitney says. "Other than Ethan, but he doesn't count because he's so old."

"If Ethan's old, what does that make me?" Steve cringes.

"How old are you?" I realize I've never asked him.

"Are you going to answer the same question?" His eyebrows rise.

"My mom's thirty-eight," Gabe says.

"And her birthday's October 5," Izzy says, "the same month as Halloween."

"That's true," Steve says. "And I'm afraid your mother has me beat. I'm thirty-nine as of June 15th."

"You turn forty soon," Whitney says. "When my dad turned 40, my mom threw a huge party for him. Everything was black, and he got a cane, and everyone sang a funeral dirge." She giggles. "It was super funny."

I wonder how he'll deal with the kids talking about Nate. I've been worried about how I would take things. I hadn't much considered how much baggage I come with he's really doing this the hard way. First a "baptism" by water-a dunk in the lake, then one by fire-dinner with all the kids, and discussions about my deceased husband.

"I think that sounds really fun. I bet your dad felt really loved."

"He did," Izzy says. "He told me that."

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"Mom does really cool parties," Whitney says.

"The food is good, but sometimes the decorations aren't that great," Gabe says. "Like one year, I wanted to have a Last Airbender party with a sword like Sokka and real boomerangs, but Mom only got balloon swords, and the boomerangs were made out of styrofoam."

Ethan snorts. "Mom always makes the best food, though."

"How are you only thirty-eight, with a seventeen-year-old son?" Steve asks.

"She was super duper smart," Izzy says. "She graduated from high school early and finished college at nineteen."

"Of course she did," Steve says. "I should have known."

"Hey, what are we going to do about my birthday?" Whitney asks. "It's in August. We'll still be here, but I don't have any friends."

"You have me," Steve says.

Gabe scrunches his face and looks at Mr. Steve for a moment. I wonder what's going on inside his head. I'd usually ask, but I can't really do that right now. One of the first rules you learn as a litigator is to never ask a witness a question to which you don't already know the answer. It's too dangerous. I already feel like this meal is akin to navigating an active minefield.

It kind of zaps some of the excitement. It's like meeting someone's parents on the second date-too much real world, not enough stomach flutters and little thrills. But this is what my life is. I'm not a twenty-two-year-old with nothing on her mind but education and meeting my happily ever after. I've gotten one happily ever after and discovered that nothing is guaranteed to last. Plans change and what makes us who we are is how well we navigate the choppy waters of the unexpected.

"Abby?"

"Let's eat." I wave the kids forward and they stampede, rushing to grab plates and load them with food. Enchiladas, rolls, chips and pico, beans and Spanish rice, and honeydew melon. "We should tell Mr. Steve the house rules," Whitney says.

He's holding a plate, his hand on the spatula to scoop up an enchilada, but he sets it back down. "Oh, you really should. I'd hate to go to detention on my very first day." He looks at her intently. "First, you have to eat at least two bites of everything." Whitney looks so serious that I have to suppress a laugh. "Even lima beans, when we have those." Gabe makes a blech sound.

If you're loving the book, nel5s.com is where the adventure continues. Join us for the complete experience-all for free. The next chapter is eagerly waiting for you! "Don't worry," Izzy says, "Mom hardly ever makes them. Only if we've been real stinkers."

Steve chuckles.

"Rule two," Gabe says, "if you make your own plate, you have to eat everything you serve, so start small and go back for seconds."

"Very good tip," Steve says.

"And last, no singing at the table." Ethan glares at Whitney, who has a tendency to sing whenever she's happy. Loudly, and sometimes a little off-key.

"I'm not stupid," Whitney says. "I know it's a rule."

"We don't use that word," I say without thinking.

"Sorry," Whitney says, "but I was using it about myself."

"That might be worse," Ethan says.

"Are there any rules about what utensils I use, or how I sit or hold my fork?"

Gabe shakes his head. "No, but once I tried to eat like a dog, and that is not okay."

Steve laughs. "Another gem. Keep lobbing those at me. I'd hate to upset your mother on our first real date."

"Wait, this is a date, and we're here for it?" Ethan pulls a face. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Steve says. "I don't know your mom that well yet, but I've noticed that for her, it's kids first, then work, and then everything else." "You're smart," Izzy says.