Series: Snapshots of the Past

Story: Say You Love Me Too

Chapter 18

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Previously: Jed helped Abbey with her hand therapy; after Ellie is nearly burned, Abbey yelled at Lizzie; Lizzie overheard Abbey tell Millie that she remembered Ellie; Abbey made califlower for dinner, not realizing that Liz is allergic; Liz lashed out at her mother and her sister

Summary: Millie tells Abbey to talk to Lizzie; Jed remembers what Lizzie went through the night Abbey was missing; Abbey and Lizzie have a long heart-to-heart (and yes, it's just as sappy as it sounds)

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"Abbey!"

Millie snapped at her heels as Abbey walked furiously towards the kitchen. With a good shove, she pushed aside the pots and pans that were still on the stove and reached above for a smaller one.

"Don't say anything. Just don't say anything." She moved to the sink and turned on the faucet, increasing the water pressure in hopes of drowning out Millie's voice.

It didn't work. "You need to talk to Lizzie," she shouted above the echoing sound. "Don't leave things like this."

"You heard Jed," Abbey snapped. "I obviously don't know what I'm doing with her. I haven't been able to get along with her for more than five minutes since this whole thing started."

"Then you need to try harder."

"I don't know her, Millie!" she argued as she walked back to the stove. "Jed was right, she closes up. I knew that. I remembered that about her. But I went ahead and sent her to her room because I didn't know what else to do. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?"

Frustration was just the tip of the iceberg. The myriad of feelings that engulfed Abbey were almost too overwhelming to express. Levels of rage and anger had been discretely cast aside to make room for the stabbing pain that took root inside like a piece of glass ready to pierce her flesh. She was haunted by the notion that mothers are always supposed to know what to do. They're the caretakers. They're the nurturers. They're the counselors and the protectors. She was none of those things. She hadn't been for some time.

Lizzie was strong and willful. And now, she was also rebellious and sad, an eleven-year-old child whose entire world had been toppled. And the one person who should be able to fix it, the one person who was always expected to fix it, couldn't come through. Visible hurt stirred inside. Her carefree demeanor had vanished the night the innocent rose-colored glasses with which she viewed the world had been viciously snatched off her face, violently stomped on and discarded - the night her mother was taken from her, only to return hours later as a completely different person, a stranger who didn't even recognize her own family.

Abbey was confronted with her guilt before. It had consumed her from the second she was introduced to her two daughters like an outsider who struggled to remember a familiar face. In those early days, part of her wondered what would have happened if she had died that night. Would the grief of losing their mother have destroyed Lizzie and Ellie? Would they have been destined to forever relive the trauma of such a devastating loss? Or would they have been better off suffering a temporary heartbreak if they were ensured a happier life, filled with the kind of closure she wasn't sure she could ever give them?

"I can't seem to do anything right when it comes to her," Abbey said softly as Jed gingerly approached.

His hands were stuffed in his pocket and a look of remorse was plastered across his face. "Abbey?"

"I don't really want to talk about it," she said before he could begin the discussion.

"What are you doing?" he asked when she turned from him suddenly.

"I'm making spaghetti."

"You don't have to do that. She really does like chicken."

"She's not going to eat it and I'll be damned if I'm going to let her go to bed without eating something." He stood there quietly, as if scrutinizing her every move, at least in her mind. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied. He wanted to explain his comment at the table. There were things she didn't know, things he had yet to tell her. "Listen, she's been through a lot."

"You don't have to defend her to me."

"The night this happened...when you were missing...you have no idea what Lizzie went through, what they both went through. The fear and the uncertainty. There were times, I'm sure, when she thought the worst. I don't think she ever got over it."

Abbey rested her hands against the edge of the counter and slumped forward, a preventative measure to compose herself. "I said you don't have to defend her to me. I don't blame her. It's not her fault."

"And it's not yours either. We just need to work together to move past this." He approached her when she didn't respond. "I may have been a little harsh. Maybe the best thing to do was to send her to her room." He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed the back of her head. "I'm going to go talk to her."

Millie snuck up beside Abbey as Jed left. "Are you okay?"

"I meant what I said at the table. I didn't know what else to do. I never know what else to do. I don't know how to be her mother and that drives me crazy because I know I once could. I know she and I were close. I remember being close to her."

"You need to talk to your daughter."

"She doesn't want to hear what I have to say."

"It depends on how you start. You could start by telling her that what she heard has nothing to do with your love for her."

"What she heard?"

"Abbey, the last thing she said before going to her room was that if Ellie was allergic to cauliflower, you would have remembered. That didn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothered me. It all bothered me. She's mad at me because I yelled at her when Ellie got hurt."

"Or, she's upset because you remember Ellie and not her. She was standing right here when you told me about the day of Ellie's christening. You told me that you remembered Ellie."

The realization hit Abbey so sharply, it nearly took her breath away. The telling of that story had unveiled such deep affection towards her baby girl. When she looked at Ellie's face, the four-year-olds tear-stained cheeks still rosy from her sobs, she recalled the christening with pride. Elizabeth had been standing right there and never once had she tried to reach out to her elder daughter.

While Ellie had been showered with her mother's love, Liz had been trampled by Abbey's wrath.

"That explains it - why she stood there and said nothing when I apologized for yelling at her, why she was so angry at dinner, why she turned on Ellie, which I don't think she's ever done before."

"You have to straighten this out."

"I will," she replied to Millie as she stared down the long hallway that led to Lizzie's room. "Jed's in there with her now."

If there was anyone Liz would always open up to, it was her father. If everyone else failed to break down the walls she constructed around her feelings, he'd waltz in and somehow, they'd simply collapse with the sound of his soothing voice.

But not this time. This time, even Jed couldn't make things right.

"Just leave me alone!" She begged him several times, dismissing Jed's refusal to leave.

"I want to know what's got you this upset. It's not just the cauliflower."

"Why not?"

"Because something was bothering you before you ever saw the cauliflower. What is it?"

"Nothing!" Lizzie wiggled her way under her blanket and pulled the top over her head.

"Fine. Then you can stay in here until you learn to stop taking it out on everyone else," he angrily replied before he left her room.

The door was left ajar after his hasty exit, providing a perfect-sized gap for a snooping Ellie. She stood away from the frame and peeked through the opening. Lizzie recognized the faint sound of tiny shoes brushing the carpet a few feet away. At first glance, she saw the springy blonde curls and the sparkling aqua-colored eyes staring back at her.

She swung her legs off the bed and grabbed a hold of Mimi, the raggedy bunny that had become a favorite of Ellie's. Ellie had left it in her room when she fell asleep with her big sister the night before. Liz extended her hand in a clear invitation for Ellie to enter. The little girl pushed open the door and ran to retrieve her stuffed animal, her concern obvious in the way she looked at her sister when Liz curled back up under her blanket.

"Don't cry, Lizzie."

She wasn't crying, but the tears were lurking just beneath the surface. If not for her stubborn strength in hiding them, they would have trailed down her face the moment she left the dinner table.

Elizabeth had inherited both parents' fiery tempers. But the more she stewed in her bedroom, the less it became about anger. It was only hurt keeping her in there now and there was only one person who could band-aid the wound that was causing her such pain.

Although the door had been left opened during Ellie's entrance, Abbey still knocked to announce herself.

"Go away!" Liz ordered. Her request was ignored. "I said go away!"

"And I'm saying I don't want this to get any worse than it already is and I don't think you do either, so how about you not talk to me like that?"

Millie followed Abbey, carrying a dinner tray she held out in front of her. "Look, Lizzie. Your mom made you spaghetti, your favorite."

"There's dessert too, Lizzie!" Ellie gleefully noted.

"Yes, there is," Abbey confirmed. "We have chocolate cheesecake, since we all know you actually do like it. But just in case you don't feel like having any tonight, I included a small plate of chocolate chip cookies as well."

"I'm not hungry."

In an effort to excuse herself, Millie handed the tray to Abbey and approached Ellie. "Hey, El, why don't you and I go back to finish our dinner, then I'll play a game of Candyland with you and Chloe?"

That was all the persuading Ellie needed.

Abbey closed the door behind them then set the tray on the desk in the corner of the room. "You're going to have to eat something. And we're going to have to talk. It's your choice which comes first."

"I don't wanna talk." She covered her eyes with her arm to shield herself from her mother's glare.

"Tough." Abbey sat down beside her. "I had no idea that you were allergic to cauliflower. I didn't remember. I wouldn't have done something like that on purpose. You know that, don't you?"

"Uh huh," Lizzie mumbled.

"When I was looking at Ellie's arm earlier, Millie and I were chatting about the christening...Ellie's christening." Lizzie turned to her side, away from Abbey. "Do you remember what I said?" Liz shrugged. "Tell me what I said."

"I don't wanna talk about it." Her voice was small and broken.

"You heard me tell Millie about the baptism, about us getting ready for it, about the fact that I remembered the actual ceremony..."

"You said you can't believe you ever forgot such a special day in your daughter's life," Liz bitterly added, still refusing to look at Abbey.

"I did say that. But you know what you didn't hear?"

"I don't care," she answered softly.

"Lizzie, I'm trying to make us both feel better here. I know you're upset. Just talk to me."

"I already said I don't wanna talk."

Abbey stood up and paced the room, reluctant to leave, but fearful of pushing her. As she faced the door, she whispered, "I wish you would because I really want to talk to you."

Several minutes of silence were suddenly interrupted by the eruption of raw emotion. Liz sat up and looked at her mother, her eyes piercing into Abbey's back, wondering if she was leaving. "I'm your daughter too!"

It wasn't a statement as much as it was a plea. A plea that her mother remember her, that she remember that Ellie wasn't the only one.

The soul-shattering anguish behind her words forced Abbey to spin back around. "Of course you are."

"You didn't even know I don't eat cauliflower."

"That was a horrible mistake." She walked towards the bed and sat down along the edge. "But it doesn't mean I don't remember you. I remember so many things about you, Baby Doll."

Everything else could have been brushed aside as shallow sentiment used to calm the waters between them. But Abbey called her baby doll for the first time since before the attack. The special nickname she was given as a baby hadn't been forgotten. That changed everything.

"You do?" she asked with a few tears pooling around her dark lashes.

Abbey held up her finger to signal that she'd be back. When she returned a few minutes later, she handed Liz a white box, draped in a beige overlay. "Open it."

Inside was a large white book, not really a binder, but more of a scrapbook. A picture of a newborn baby girl was laminated to the cover and above was the name Elizabeth Ann Bartlet. Lace trim lined the square-shaped photograph and other designs shadowed the pink calligraphy.

Liz examined it cautiously, the first page immediately capturing her interest. "Is that me?" she asked, pointing to a picture of an infant cradled in her father's arms.

"Yes, it is. That was the day we brought you home from the hospital. Your dad was so nervous about holding you. Right after you were born, I practically had to order him to pick you up."

"Why was he nervous?"

"He thought he might drop you," Abbey laughed. "One night, when you were sleeping in your crib in our room, I kept staring at you. I wanted to wake you up and play with you, but he told me not to. He said to let you sleep. So I did. And as soon as I left the room, you know what he did?"

"What?"

"He woke you up."

Lizzie chuckled at the humor in her mother's voice. "Did I cry?"

"Yes, you did, and so I made him put you to sleep. Lizzie, he was so confused. He had no idea what to do with you. He left the room and when I went after him several minutes later, he was singing an adorable little lullaby. You were looking up at him completely mesmerized, the same way you look at him even today."

"You remember the look?"

"I remember it like it was yesterday. When I saw your big blue eyes staring up at him, I closed my own eyes and thanked God for blessing me with such a sweet, beautiful little girl." She tenderly tucked a strand of Liz's hair behind her ear. "Everything I put in this book is there because I remember it."

As Liz turned the page, she realized there were many more just like it, all packed with pictures that triggered a special memory in Abbey's mind. But interspersed throughout the book in between all the birthday and milestone photos were a few blank pages.

"What are these?" she asked.

"That's the reason I haven't given this to you yet. I have pictures for those pages, but I haven't put them in because I don't remember them. So I'd like to ask you a favor."

"Me?"

"Some of my memories are still a little hazy. I know you and I were close and I want to know everything about that. You're the only person in the whole world who can teach me about our relationship." Abbey took a breath to allow a short pause. "Will you do that? Will you help me?"

Liz immediately nodded, thrilled that she had even been asked. "When?"

"After Millie and Chloe leave and I put Ellie to bed, I thought maybe you and I could roll out the sleeping bags and camp out in the living room, have our own little slumber party, like we used to, while we finish the scrapbook."

"Will you let me do your hair?" Exactly the opposite of their past slumber parties, Lizzie was the one who wanted to play the hairdresser this time.

"Any way you like."

The 11-year-old glided her fingers over the photos in the book as she continued to turn the pages. "Mom?"

"Yeah?

"I'm sorry." She wrapped her hand around Abbey's neck and pushed herself into a hug.

"Oh Lizzie, I love you so much. I can't even tell you."

She pulled out of the embrace with a smile, the first one she flashed all night. "Beyond the sun, the moon, and the stars, to eternity and if someday it should end, then back again. That's what you used to say."

Abbey's lips were pursed together and a proud grin dominated her features. "See? I knew you'd be an excellent teacher."

TBC