Where We Are: Abner, #1

Prologue

The old cedar store sat on Main Street, covered in moss and vines. A yellow sign hung over the front door. Black shutters trapped large windows, and inside were the newest toys and outfits—begging window shoppers to spend their money. It always worked on me. All the money I earned from allowances and birthdays, I’d spend here. My daddy would pick me up from school on Fridays and walk me down here to make sure I would have all weekend to play with my new toy. I pressed my face to the window and peered at a doll with rosy cheeks and red curly hair peeking out beneath a bluebonnet. She came with a little doggy. Her name was Candice, which sounded a lot like candy to me.

I wanted that doll more than anything in the world.

One time, as I was peering through the window, I saw the owner. He was a tall black man with overalls and a dress jacket. He noticed me looking at the doll, so He came to the window and pointed to it. He knew I wanted it, but He wasn’t going to give it to me for free. I would have to save up my money until I had twenty-one dollars. I came several more times. The store owner always came over and picked the doll up so I could see it better through the window. Never once did He bring it outside or invite me in.

One day as I walked by with my mother, the owner happened to be outside sweeping His porch. My mother was sobbing over some news that she had received about my father. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but she told me when she picked me up from school that we had to hurry to get my sister, who was at a local restaurant with her friends.

I had been waiting on my mom, sitting on the brick wall that informed everybody of the small-town school’s name, Jefferson City Elementary School. She arrived in her car, hitting the curb and causing me to jump. She crawled out of the driver seat and used the hood of the car to balance her as she approached me.

Amelia, she said. We’ve got to get your sister.

She took a few steps and fell in front of me—sobbing.

Come on, baby, she said through tears. I gripped my backpack tighter, pulled up my sleeves, and jumped off the wall. She pulled me in for a hug, but it felt like she was using me to balance herself.

It’s your father, she said.

That’s all she said for the moment. She turned around and began down the street from the school. I wondered why we didn’t get back in the car, but I figured the distance was short, and my mom’s nerves were probably a wreck.

As we passed the toy store, the shop owner noticed us. He saw the pain my mother bore on her narrow face. Her mascara had messed itself across her cheeks, looking like large ink blots on wet paper. She stopped and fell to her knees so instantly that the man must have thought she fainted. He tossed the broom away and knelt to help her up, patting her back.

Please, Lord, she said.

It’s goin’ to be okay, He said in a deep southern voice. His large hands placed softly on her back to steady her. There was something about His hands. They had holes in them.

My husband, she said.

I stood back and went to the window, hearing my mother’s heartbreak in her voice as she told a perfect stranger what happened to her husband. I stared at the doll for a long time before my eyes refocused on my reflection in the store window. In my eyes, my soul stared back—the lost reflection of a little girl who had just learned that her daddy died in a car accident.

The man helped her to her feet, protecting her in His strong arms. The neighboring store owners came around to hold her. Through the kindness of these strangers, we found ourselves at the hospital. I was sitting in the waiting room as my mother went to see what happened to daddy. It was years later that I found out she had to confirm it was him by a birthmark on his hand as the accident had rendered my dad unrecognizable.

The funeral was closed casket. There were pictures of my family hanging on the wall and placed on tables. There was one picture of me sitting in my daddy’s lap and holding a bear. I took it, slid it in my bag filled with candy, toys, and pretend makeup. I went outside to sit by myself as my mother greeted the family and friends that loved my daddy.

Why, God? I asked. Why, God? Why did You take my daddy away?

Miss, said a voice that I barely knew. I turned and wiped my tears away and looked to see the toy store owner. He approached me with His hands behind His back. How are you feelin’ this evenin’?

I wasn’t okay. I just lost my father. My mother had already discussed with my sister and me about the upcoming plans due to this new adjustment. She said it was probably for the best if we moved in with our aunt for the next few months so my mom could sell the house and get settled into a neighborhood three hours away. We didn’t even have a say in it.

I’m fine, I said. Just sad. That’s all.

Oh, your sadness is not a hindrance to Me, the man said. He pointed to a spot beside me. Can I sit with you? Keep you company? It’s pretty cold out here.

We sat there for several moments. I was comfortable around Him. There was something peaceful about Him. Something about His presence seemed to make the world feel smaller than it was.

Why, God? He asked, looking over at me. He gave me a small smile that almost made me wonder if He thought my question was a joke. Why God, indeed, He said one more time. He smacked his lips. God cares about you and your broken heart, Amelia.

How would You know me? I asked, jumping from the cold ground.

He reached into His jacket pocket and pulled out a lollipop. He unraveled it, put the trash back in His jacket, and placed it on His tongue.

I know you, He said and then grinned. Because I’m Abner. Father of light. That’s what my name means.

How do You know me? I asked again. I could have sworn I hadn’t said my name in front of Him.

Abner didn’t bother to explain further. He got back on His feet and pulled from behind Him the doll I had been wanting. Candice. She smelled like a strawberry muffin. He handed it to me, and I took it without hesitation. I cradled it like a baby and felt the peace and comfort extend from the porcelain figure.

I love bringin’ comfort to people who hurt, He said. I almost wanted to fall into His arms for a big hug, but I didn’t. Instead, like He knew my thoughts, He pulled me in for a hug. He patted my back and hummed a tune I’d never heard before in my life. Do not be afraid. Your daddy is in Heaven dancin’ and singin’ praises. Don’t be afraid, for the Lord is with you, Amelia.

I sniffled, and when I walked away, I looked back. Abner was gone. I hung my head low and went into the funeral home. My mother and sister never noticed the doll, and, to this day, my mother doesn’t remember the black man who cradled her on the street the day my father died.

A few days later, I went by the store again, holding my doll. I looked to see that a new doll replaced the position Candice held, and a new worker peeked through the window. I had never seen him before. When I went into the store, he looked at me.

You got the last Candice? he said, pointing to my doll.

I looked at it. Abner gave it to me. Is he working today?

Abner? he asked, peeking through round glasses.

Yeah, He works here, mister.

He swayed his hand and went around the counter. Ain’t no Abner here. Never been one.

The owner could see the perplexed look on my face. I swore I had seen Abner. I turned and left the store, coming out onto the street. I looked up to the sky, and for the first time, I questioned if God had sent an angel to comfort me in this time of terrible sadness.

If only I knew then who Abner really was.

Chapter 1

I first met Jasper on a chilly Friday night. He stood in the parking lot, rocking back on his heels. His forehead was sweating, and his hands were just as wet when he took mine in his for a formal greeting that would have better been served between close friends, not blind dates. Afterward, when he walked around the car, I wiped my hand on my jeans. As he opened the door, he mumbled that he forgot.

Forgot what?

He sprung around the car and opened the door for me.

Where are my manners? he asked.

I grinned and got in. I didn’t have many dates where the gentlemen opened the door for me. I didn’t know many gentlemen either. Most of the guys that I had dated had either been childhood friends that got bold enough to ask me to prom or co-workers back when I was working through college.

Jasper tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs to the beat of a Dave Matthews Band song playing gently underneath the loud hum of his vehicle. He drove cautiously. He checked every mirror twice before making a turn. That’s when I noticed his handsome features. He looked to the rear-view mirror on my side, and a headlight from an oncoming car caught his face. He had a round face, stubble that he called a beard, deep grey eyes, and messy curly hair—like an early nineties rugged band rocker.

The car rattled as it came up the exit.

Whoa, he said, slapping the dash. He looked over at me. My car is made from leftover parts from NASA. Every once in a while, it tries to take off.

He eased back into the seat as I snickered. How corny, I thought, but also how boyish. His innocent charm and long smile informed me that he was masking something deep inside of him—some sort of pain. I had heard from other people that knew him that he is quiet and reserved.

That there was always something dark and mysterious about him.

* * *

I had to remember that as I stood in front of him now. Eight years and two kids later, we’d been going strong, but when he turned thirty—he became a bit different to me, almost like a stranger living in my house at times. It started in waves at first—the arguments, but then his response was always explosive. A slammed door—a loud voice. Wheels were peeling out of the driveway.

Tonight’s argument was about how absent he had been from home. For the past three weeks, he stayed to work late. Every so often, his agency goes through an audit, and everybody stays late and catches up on their files, but he said it would be done after only one week. He placed his hands on his hips, collected a warm breath, and blew it back out in a gust so strong it moved his hair.

What do you want from me! he yelled, loud enough to send the kids running up the stairs and crying.

Jasper respected me. He never hit me, never threatened to either—he hardly ever rose his voice, so when he yelled tonight, I was caught off guard. I inhaled only to collect my thoughts, but he must have thought I was about to say something harsh. He pushed past me in anger and slammed the door shut. After just a few seconds, I heard the wheels peel out of the driveway. It was then I wished I hadn’t said anything.

I looked over my shoulder as I heard little feet thumping back down the staircase. The slammed door must have told them the fight was over—for now. My seven-year-old and five-year-old were both in their pajamas. Lincoln, the oldest, was holding a Captain America doll in his arms while Kristie had a blanket. Their little faces were puffy with the frustration of wanting their daddy.

Is daddy coming back? Lincoln asked.

I shrugged at first, catching myself with the fear that I harbored on my shoulders. I dropped my shoulders as if I felt the weight and knelt between them, scooping them both into my arms. I kissed their faces, holding back the same tears that I had cried over and over for the past month.

Your daddy is coming back, I said. He loves you guys.

But the truth was, I didn’t know if he’d be back or not. I was tired of the petty disagreements. They seemed to happen a lot. Sometimes I started the arguments, and sometimes he did. The little nitpicking drove us both insane, and it was as if we wanted to argue sometimes. The lack of attention and affection was wearing me thin, so that was my excuse for starting it.

I’m not sure what his was, though.

Sometimes I wanted to peel out of the driveway. Sometimes I didn’t want to even come back. I’m hoping that feeling is normal. Now, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to come back if he was only going to yell. Since when did we upgrade to screaming?

Surely, he would come back; I mustered the courage to think. I had a tendency to create excuses for him. That alone helped me to grieve quicker and move forward, but it might have been hurting us too. I don’t know.

If he did come back, would there be a make-up session afterward? An apology. Would he think about his actions and bring back flowers to make up for it? Probably not this time. We often simmered on our disagreements and would go days before looking at each other. We’d never fail at making snide remarks behind each other’s back, though. Just loud enough for the other to hear it and engage.

Our marriage was becoming unhealthy.

But deep down, I wanted it back to how it once was. I wanted the romance to take charge again. I wanted the late-night cuddles while we watched movies. I wanted the bedtime stories we told our kids to be a part of both our routines. I’d read, and he’d act it out. I wanted to share in the excitement of each other’s days. Now, we only talk if it is regarding the kids.

Who would take Lincoln to the dentist?

Did Kristie sneak snacks back into her room?

Can you pick up the kids from my mom’s?

There just seemed to be a long pause in the life we had together.

My skeptical sister tried to diagnose him. He could have Borderline Personality Disorder, she’d say. Or maybe he is Bipolar. He did have these moments where he was caught up in such joy that you wouldn’t want to be with anybody else, but then there were these darker moments where all his mistakes seemed to haunt him. He couldn’t let it go even if he tried. There was guilt in him that I had not seen in many people.

Above all, he wouldn’t talk about it. If I tried to bring it up, he would retreat down into the basement, his man cave, with his home desk, his artwork, and pictures of old friends. He had spent his extra money to fix it up.

You two don’t need to worry about the arguments your father and I have. Adults argue, but it’s more important to work it out, I explained to my children as I walked them into their bedroom. I tucked them beneath superhero and princess comforters. Light in their room showcased collectible action figures and models that Lincoln and his father had built on many Sunday afternoons. Half of the room portrayed what the inside of a paper castle would be, with glittery animated princesses and a cardboard chandelier hanging over the bed.

You guys fight a lot, Kristie said.

Lincoln rolled over away from me.

You okay?

He looked back over his shoulder. Are you two going to divorce? There was a boy in my class that said his mom and dad are divorcing.

No, I said. I bent down, smelling his hair as I kissed him. Your hair smells good.

Lincoln rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket up to him.

Who’s my little boy? I asked, forcing a painful grin.

He looked at me. I am.

And don’t forget it. I lifted his small hand over his head and tickled him softly before jumping to Kristie’s bed and doing the same thing. She laughed hysterically, kicked her blankets off, and warned me to beware of the man-eating dragon that protected little princesses. I looked to the foot of the bed to see Snowzer, looking at me with blue buttoned eyes. Snowzer was the stuffed dragon Jasper won at the county fair. She propped it up at the foot of her bed.

When I made my way back to the door, I looked around one more time. My children had rolled over to their comfortable sleeping positions. I turned off the light, pulled the door shut, and slumped against the wall in the hallway.

Across from me was a picture of Jasper and me on our wedding day. His arms were wrapped around me, and I looked up over my shoulder at his smile. I remembered that picture in particular. He stepped in cow dung as we went up the field to take that shot. He was so mad, but I laughed so hard. He wore tennis shoes for the rest of the reception.

Good day. 

The hallway was haunted by the remains of dirty clothes that the kids took off and threw on the floor as they made their way to their room. I picked them up and made my way down into the basement to the laundry room. The pool table had folded towels on it already, and the dry bar was filled with clutter that came from upstairs; books, magazines, old mail, and the kids’ art supplies.

Ouch! I stepped on a mess of dinosaur toys. The migrated plastic reptiles had informed me that Lincoln was playing downstairs when he shouldn’t have been.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

The sound came from Jasper’s office. It came again quickly. I opened the door and on his desk was a flip phone. I looked at it for a moment, and when I picked it up, I saw a name on the small dark screen. Shelia.

Jasper doesn’t have a flip phone, I said aloud to myself.

I held it firmly in my hand for a moment. Overwhelming anxiety settled in as I took another look at the phone to see if it was real. What would be the need for a flip phone? I took a deep breath, pulled the top up, and saw—what I already thought—was a text from another woman.

I miss you, it said.

The bubble below indicated that Jasper had texted her back. I miss you too.

My stomach churned as I dropped the phone down on the desk. Falling back into his chair, I covered my mouth and began to cry. Sadness. Loss. Despair. Grief. My body trembled with the impending fear of losing my husband and my children losing their father.

I forced myself to pick the phone up. My hand shook like the colliding of waves as I brought the phone to my face. When will you tell her? she had replied. I’ll tell her next Saturday as I’m leaving, he texted back. The only text after that was a