Page 81 of Everything We Left Unsaid

“Hello, Abby.” Her voice is silky and lyrical, no hint of the southern accent you’d expect from a fine, proper society lady from Virginia. It makes sense now that Jacob doesn’t have an accent. “It’s nice to meet you.” Her smile is pleasant as is her greeting, even if it feels a bit rehearsed. But there’s no warmth behind it. Her piercing blue eyes never leave my face. They watch and assess, gathering information as I take her proffered hand and shake.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I manage to squeak out in greeting.

Before she can speak again, a robust man in a navy-blue suit approaches us from across the room.

“There’s my girl!” he booms, his focus directed on Chloe. Jacob’s mother takes a step back and clasps her hands in front of her to make room for her husband. I only know who he is from his picture online. I find it odd that Evelyn hasn’t even acknowledged Chloe’s presence, yet Arthur seems to only have eyes for the granddaughter he’s never met. I shake off the unsettling thought. Maybe she’s just nervous and doesn’t know how to approach the unusual situation.

“Hey, Dad,” Jacob greets him and Arthur pulls both of them in for a hug. Chloe snuggles against Jacob’s neck, playing bashful toward the unfamiliar male presence.

“I’m your papaw, Chloe. It’s nice to meet you.” He reaches out with just his index finger, greeting her as if he expects a shake. Unlike his wife, his accent confirms his status as a southerner, most likely born and raised in Virginia. Chloe squeezes in closer to Jacob but she’s smiling now, a sure sign she likes her new acquaintance. He takes her rebuff in stride, unfazed by her obstinance. “That’s alright,” he assures her. “We’ve got plenty of time to get to know one another.”

He turns his attention to me, a huge smile plastered on his face, and I take him in. His dark blonde hair, once the same shade as Jacob’s, is thoroughly peppered with grey. He has laugh lines and crow’s feet, proof of a happy life filled with lots of smiles. Evelyn’s face is smooth, belying her age by at least twenty years. I don’t know if it’s from Botox or the result of never smiling. Either way, Senator Daniels’ greeting is far warmer than the Misses’.

“Abby,” he croons, taking my hand in his. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” His other hand comes up to cup the back of mine, encasing it in warmth and affection. I feel the love radiating off him and can’t help but wonder what draws him to the ice queen watching us disinterestedly. I guess opposites attract. Just look at Jacob and me.

“Are you hungry?” Evelyn asks, surprising me. “You’ve had quite a long drive. You must be famished.” I can’t tell if her concern is sincere or just part of her facade, a courtesy that’s expected to be extended to guests. “Dinner won’t be served for a while yet, but we do have some hors d'oeuvres prepared.” Who the hell just has hors d'oeuvres lying around? “We also have some of Chloe’s favorite snacks. Jacob provided the kitchen staff with a list of what she likes.” Her offer stuns me. Until this moment, she hasn’t so much as looked in Chloe’s direction, let alone speak to or about her. “Would you like a snack, little one?” she asks, smiling at Chloe.

“’Nack,” Chloe confirms, reaching for her. Evelyn’s eyes widen and her arms shoot out to catch Chloe as she dives for her.

“Oh!” she huffs as her arms circle around Chloe, supporting her weight. She looks to Jacob as though she’s never held a small child before and is unsure what to do with her. I resist the urge to rip my daughter out of her hands, ashamed it’s my first instinct. Chloe is her grandchild, and although I don’t have the highest opinion of this woman just yet, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t do anything to harm Chloe.

She quickly schools her features, seemingly caught off guard by her momentary slip, and I’m secretly relieved she’s capable of human emotion. She turns to me, her awkward hold on Chloe morphing into a more comfortable stance as she settles her onto her hip. Maybe she’s starting to remember how this is done. Then I remember that she had a little girl once and my heart starts to break for her. She probably hasn’t held a child in her arms in a very long time, and isn’t used to having little ones around. That could explain her cool detachment. Perhaps her memories are just too painful, preventing her from opening her heart to another.

“Is it alright if I take her to the kitchen?”

She seeks my permission before proceeding, and I’m touched by the respect she shows me as Chloe’s mother. Maybe I judged her too harshly.

“Of course,” I reply, hoping to bridge the Grand Canyon-sized gap between us.

“We’ll come with you,” Jacob offers. “I could use a snack myself. Besides, I want to give Abby a tour of the house. Where better to start than the kitchen?” He smiles down at me and I do my best to return it. If he notices his mother’s odd demeanor, he doesn’t let it show. It’s possible this is her norm and he’s simply used to it.

Reaching for my hand, he laces his fingers in mine and pulls me along as we follow his parents to the kitchen. My eyes rove over every wall and decoration, taking in the delicate fixtures, pristine floors, and gorgeous furniture. This house is a masterpiece, beautiful but cold. Every surface is sparkling clean, but it doesn’t feel like anyone lives here. I’ll take my worn furniture, chipped countertop, and toys strewn across the floor over this sterile, impersonal museum any day.

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