Chapter 13: Beginning Again

A/N: This chapter picks up immediately where the previous one left off.

"Abby, will you fetch the pie servers for me?" Judith asked as soon as Abby drew within earshot. The older woman was deftly balancing a jam tart in each hand, one with a scalloped crust and another with a floral motif on top. "I forgot them upstairs in my haste to return to the courtyard. There's no rush, since most of the guests are still finishing lunch and we won't be serving the desserts right away, but I promised Sadie I'd have all of the sweets ready to go before she gives the toast."

"I'll take care of it," Abby promised, making a mental note of the tarts' appearance so that she'd remember where to place the utensil later. The spread at the Beckers' tenement parties could rival the best in Cherin Cove, and she had no doubt that it would be difficult to locate the confections once they had been placed among the other delicious offerings. Most of the sweets had been baked by Miriam or Judith, but there were several tenants who were also culinary-inclined and always brought a dish or two to contribute, and it meant that the dessert course was invariably even more decadent than the lunch that had preceded it.

Leaving the courtyard and making her way to the front of the tenement, Abby began climbing the stairs to the third floor. She found her family's apartment empty, everyone else eating or socializing down below, and it felt strange to step into the normally-bustling space with nary a sound to be heard.

Locating the pie servers was easy enough, for Judith had left them sitting on the kitchen table, and Abby quickly procured the utensils as well as an extra stack of napkins and a jar full of spoons. She'd noticed that the latter two items had been running low on the buffet table as she'd passed and was pleased that she'd remembered to do something about it. Normally, she would have left such things to her older sisters, but she was trying to be more helpful and attentive, even if she'd only managed to contribute in small, sporadic quantities so far.

Setting everything into a basket so as to carry it more easily, Abby left the kitchen. She was about to cross quickly through the sitting area to the front door, when her eye was suddenly arrested by an unusual sight.

A beam of afternoon sunlight was streaming through the window, drenching everything that it touched in a gentle glow. The lace curtains added a dappling of shadow, faint shapes flitting across the walls like tiny creatures dancing to the whim of the faintest breeze, and while the effect was striking enough in and of itself, it was the illumination on the opposite wall that had made Abby stop short in her tracks.

A portrait of her father hung there, bathed in golden light.

It was a recent portrait, based on a photograph that had been taken of Philip Becker a few months before his unexpected death. Judith had commissioned it for the funeral, and Abby had never been able to look at it closely, for fear that the guilt would overwhelm her, but now, in the quietness of the empty apartment, with the warmth of the sunlight beckoning her close, she couldn't bring herself to look away.

Setting down her basket, she walked over to the painting.

It was a good likeness. The artist had masterfully captured Philip's appearance and expression, and though the thinning of his hair and the lines on his face told the story of a life of hard work, a life not untouched by heartache, his joie de vivre was impossible to miss.

Abby reached out, running her fingers lightly down the wooden picture frame.

Hello, Papa. It's been a while.

She let her hand drop as guilt and remorse rose within her.

But before she could turn away, words suddenly burst out, like a leaf-clogged gutter swept clean by the arrival of an unexpected squall.

I know I should have come home sooner…but I didn't know that you had so little time left. I thought that I could finish the job I had started - you always taught us that, to finish what we started - but if I'd dropped everything to rush back to Manhattan, I wouldn't have been able to do that. And then you would have been so disappointed in me.

It was an unfair conclusion to draw, for if there was one person who'd regularly expressed affection for his children regardless of their performance, it was Philip Becker, but Abby found a new, unexpected emotion surging to the forefront of her thoughts, and she couldn't stop the deluge of anger that suddenly poured out.

Why did you have to leave us like that, Papa? Didn't you know it would ruin our lives? You were always the one who took care of us - always! How do you expect us to go on without you now? You could have at least hung on a little longer!

Her heart was pounding, and she could feel her hands balling into fists, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the painting or stop the string of accusations.

You were there for my sisters! You saw them find their footing and overcome failure and fall in love, and when they got married, you were there to give your blessing. You held their newborn children, and saw them become good mothers and good stewardesses of their homes - but you weren't there to see me get my interim editor position at the Trib! You'll never see me move into my own place or get married or have children or get to the pinnacle of my career. I didn't even get to say goodbye to you - because you left me! You left!

Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision.

Why couldn't you have held on just a while longer? I only missed you by a few hours! If you'd fought longer, I would have been here, and then you could have told me everything you wanted to say, and I could have said - could have told you that - that I…

She choked back a sob.

I could have told you that I loved you. One last time.

The tears that she'd been fighting for so long finally burst forth, and in the absence of anyone to bear witness to them, she let them flow, down her cheeks and onto the fabric of her dress and into the carpet below.

"Oh, Papa…" Her tear-drenched fingers brushed against the painting, now blurred through her tears. "I'm so sorry." Her voice shook. "I'm so sorry, Papa!"

And as the last word left her lips, grief fully engulfed her, and she sank to the floor and wept, her shoulders shaking and her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she surrendered to the pain that she'd been running from for so long.

She cried for the words that she'd never gotten to say. She cried for the future moments that she would never get to share. She cried for all of the things she'd taken for granted until she'd realized, too late, how very precious they were.

But most of all she cried because she missed her papa. And she knew that he was never coming back again.

Time slowed around her as she wept. The world was a blur of soft color and light, the sun on her back and tears stinging her cheeks and her breath coming in shallow gasps. The party and the pie servers were forgotten, and the faint sounds of celebration in the courtyard below dulled to a gentle hum.

Nothing mattered at that moment. Nothing except for the heaviness in her heart and the portrait of her father with his gentle expression that seemed to offer compassion and forgiveness, two things that Abby knew she didn't deserve in the least.

Abigail…

She pulled off her glasses and swiped angrily at the tears in her eyes, trying to block out the memory of her father's voice.

Abigail…

In her mind, a memory arose, unbidden.

She is eight years old, sitting on the tenement stairs, crying just like she is now.

Her father is sitting next to her.

She is staring at her feet, vision blurred by her tears, noticing how big his work shoes look next to her ankle boots.

"I don't want to go back to school," she sniffles. "Not ever again. Not after messing up like that."

Her father's arm comes around her, warm and comforting.

"I studied so hard, and I knew every one of those words," she continues, still in bitter disbelief. "I thought I'd win for sure!"

"I know," her father gently squeezes her shoulder. "You worked very hard to prepare for the spelling bee. It's disappointing when things don't turn out the way that we'd hoped for."

Abby crosses her arms. "Well, tomorrow I'm going to stay home and just read instead."

Her father chuckles. It's a soft, sympathetic sound, and even though Abby wants to be mad that he's not taking her declaration seriously, somehow she can't manage to do it.

"You still have to go to school tomorrow," he says mildly. "I know it's not fun to go back to something that's disappointed us, but we don't quit just because we didn't get the outcome that we wanted. If we did, there'd be no chance of ever improving."

"I'll never be more ready than I was today," Abby insists. "There's no chance of me winning the spelling bee in the future if I couldn't do it this time!"

"Really?" her father looks over at her. "I don't think so. In my opinion, you have every chance of winning next year if you keep on practicing. It sounds like you just got nervous today and forgot some of your words, which is understandable, given that it was the first competition you've ever been a part of. Next time you'll know what to expect, and it won't seem so intimidating."

He gently squeezes her shoulder. "And even if you don't win next year - or ever - I'm proud of you. You took on a challenge and saw it through."

"And then cried like a baby once I got home," Abby swiped angrily at her nose.

"Sometimes it helps to cry."

"But it's childish."

"It's human." She looks up at him, and he gives her a small smile.

"Abigail…you're intelligent and gifted in so many ways. Don't let a setback like this keep you from trying again. There will be many more opportunities for you to show what you know, and many more times where you'll be happy that you didn't give up." His voice is quiet but full of conviction as he adds, "You're going to do great things with your talents and impact the world for good, my little Bee*. I know it."

The words are simple, but they soothe Abby's heart, and she sighs and leans against him, feeling the comforting weight of his hand on her shoulder as she lets her shoulders droop and her anger uncoil.

"I love you," she hears her father say gently. "I'll always love you, Abigail."

"I love you too, Papa," Abby whispered as she wiped her eyes, the gentle embrace of her memory giving way to reality.

She took in a breath, feeling the floor beneath her and the sun on her back.

Her heart was no longer pounding, her hands no longer clenched at her sides.

The ambient sounds slowly came into focus again.

After a moment, she put her glasses back on and got to her feet.

The portrait of her father was there, gazing back at her with the same open and kind expression.

And this time, instead of anger or tears, Abby managed a small, shaky smile.

"If you were here today, I know you'd be so happy," she sniffled. "This has been one of our best-attended parties so far, and Judith and Sadie are managing it wonderfully. I know a lot of our tenants miss you, and it isn't the same as when you were here…but we're trying. To be happy. And to have hope, the way you always talked about."

Hope - and gratitude - had been regular themes of Philip's traditional tenement party toasts, and though Abby hadn't paid much attention to them growing up, she found the sentiments that she'd passively absorbed ringing true now in ways that they hadn't before. There was something about the bittersweet reality of death that brought the gift of life into focus, and even when the grief seemed to cast everything around in somber gray, it was hard not to be thankful for the little glimpses of color that showed themselves, sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

"Speaking of the party…" Abby glanced around, then located her basket, "I should probably head downstairs. The toast is going to start soon, and I know Sadie's going to make you proud."

Placing the handle over her arm, she reluctantly took one last look at the painting.

"I'll keep trying, Papa," she said softly. "I know I made some bad mistakes, and I'm sorry I never got to say goodbye to you…but I know you would want me to keep trying. To be a better daughter and sister. To be a better person. To impact the world for good." She took a slow step towards the door. "I'm not sure how I'll do it…and maybe it will take me years to find out…but I won't quit. I promise."

She lingered for a moment longer, letting the words of her commitment settle, and as she did, she felt a sense of peace wash over her for the first time since her father's death.

"Thank you, Papa," she whispered.

Then she turned to go, steadying her basket on her arm and making her way out of the apartment and down the stairs to fulfill her errand and rejoin the party.

A/N: Another important milestone for Abby's grief journey. I think she'll find that the sadness ebbs and flows like Skip described earlier in the story…but for now, she's found a bit of closure, and she'll have her family alongside her, and the memory of her father's love, for whatever may come in the future. She is still a young woman in process, but she's learning and she's trying. Thank you for sticking with her!

Our next chapter will wrap up a plot point I promised we'd be revisiting, so I hope you'll return for that. In the meantime, please leave a review and let me know what you thought of this chapter. :) Thank you!

Chapter notes:

*Abby's father had nicknames for all of his daughters, which he used when they were young but dropped completely as they grew up. Abby's moniker comes from both a shorthand version of her given name and from her ability to focus on one particular task (generally, reading), even at a young age.