They were her two favorite words. In the three weeks since she and Nick had started their email correspondence, she had heard from him every day. He would usually send one in the evening and she would get it when she got up the next morning. Her daily routine changed. She would get out of bed and turn on the computer. While it was booting up, she’d go into her bathroom and have a shower. She’d stand under the water and wonder what weird question Nick would have for her today. There had been one every day…what was her favorite movie, when was her birthday, did she have any pets? Abby was tempted to ask him if he just wanted her to write an autobiography but she was afraid he would say yes and not write every day any more.
Nick was busy in Atlanta working on the album. They had a lot of material to sort through and progress was slow. But he reported that they were all getting along. No one was getting bent out of shape over little things, like they did when they were finishing up the Black and Blue tour.
He was working out and watching what he ate and he’d lost eight pounds. His trainer told him that muscle weighs more than fat, so even though eight pounds didn’t sound like much, it was a good start.
Are you still whining every step of the way? Abby had asked him.
Oh yeah! Every step.
Abby reported on her life. She found that she didn’t have much to say. School was out so she wasn’t working with the children. The summertime was a bad time for cultural events, so there wasn’t much to organize in the way of fundraisers. Mostly she was playing tennis and bridge. And it sounded so awful to her. So empty and shallow. She called the administrator of the local hospital and asked if they needed any volunteers…to read to children or something like that. They did and so Abby got to have her heart broken two afternoons a week.
I’m crying as I type, she wrote to Nick one day. It’s so hard to see them so sick. And they are so grateful for anything that breaks up the long days of monotony, broken only by medical procedures which are often agonizing. They’re so happy to see me, it’s heartbreaking.
I know what you mean. We’re always doing these things for the Children’s Wish Foundation. It’s kind of humbling and also a little bit scary to know that these kids are dying and their biggest wish is that they could see us.
There were no LOLs that day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Abby was able to keep Nick a secret for over a month. After all, one email a day, answered before breakfast, wasn’t difficult to hide. And the fact that Abby came to breakfast smiling every day was attributed by her parents to a good night’s sleep. And the fact that she seemed to have gotten over Philip.
When Abby retired to her rooms at night, they assumed she was reading. They had pretty much forgotten that the computer was there. Abby certainly hadn’t. It was her new best friend. She allowed herself one hour a night only. She explored the World Wide Web for exactly sixty minutes and then she stopped.
She started with the websites for the organizations she worked with…the Art Institute and the Symphony. She went to other sites of similar organizations and compared them. She made notes.
She researched deafness in children and enjoyed reading a spirited debate on cochlear implants on a message board connected with one of the sites. She found an on-line sign language dictionary, which she carefully bookmarked.
She sought out Fremont Corporation. She wondered how much information was out there and what it was like. She hated the corporate website and decided to have it changed as soon as possible.
She checked on the Cubs when they were out of town.
She checked the latest headlines, making sure the world hadn’t ended while she was surfing the Net.
She checked her email one last time and went to bed.
But she never checked on Nick. After her initial foray through the Backstreet Internet Jungle, she never went back. She didn’t need to. The man she had met was not the person she found there. She read a biography of him on one of the websites she visited. It made her kind of sad. Surely someone who had brought so much happiness to so many deserved a little of his own.
He seemed happy these days, she thought. You couldn’t tell all that much from one e-mail, she realized, but she knew he was glad to be back with the group. He shared anecdotes from the daily sessions and described his evenings out. And of course, asked her the daily question.
So Abby was able to keep Nick a secret and she assumed that he was doing the same. He wasn’t.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Nick would have kept her a secret, if AJ would have let him. He was happy to let the others think there was a girl but he never brought her name into the conversation, and in fact, tried to change the subject if he thought it was headed that way. But every so often, AJ would ask, “So…talked to Abby lately?”
Nick would nod and smile and relate the contents of the latest email. “She’s volunteering at a children’s hospital. She says it’s hard…not hard work, but…you know…hard.”
It was only after the third or fourth conversation like this that Nick realized AJ thought Nick was talking to Abby on the phone. He thought about correcting the impression, but then decided, what the hell! it didn’t make any difference really and sometimes there was such a thing as too much explanation.
The Boys decided to take a long weekend off in the middle of August. Howie was headed to Orlando to do a Lupus charity gig and visit his family. AJ was going to Seattle to play in a celebrity golf tournament and check out the music scene there. Brian was going to take Leighanne and the baby to Kentucky to visit his mom. Kevin and Kristin were going camping with some friends. Nick decided he’d go to L.A. and check on the house. He hadn’t really been home in nearly two months.
“I’ll guess you’ll be going to Chicago,” said Howie to Nick, when they were discussing their plans.
“Huh? Why?”
“Because of Abby,” said Howie. “Won’t you want to spend the time with her? I mean, you guys have been really hitting it off.”
“Yeah, sure,” said Nick, “we’re hitting it off.”
“I just figured you’d use this long weekend as an opportunity to go see her,” said Howie.
“Oh, yeah,” said Nick. “I am. I just didn’t understand what you were getting at.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Hey, Abby!
Have you got AIM?
Dear Nick,
Anti-insurgency Missile?
An Imbecilic Mind?
American Institute of Mud?
Nick explained what an Instant Messenger was and told her where to go and download it. So she did. She had a terrible time trying to get a sign-on name. She started with ‘Abby’ and was told that that name was already in use. Pick something else. So she tried numerous other things and got the same message. Finally, the machine suggested one for her. She clicked on okay and it came back and told her that that name was already in use. She was getting very frustrated.
Another email came in from Nick asking if everything was in place and what was her screen name. She explained the problem. He wrote back and told her to go out of the program, wait five minutes and go in and try again.
Things went better that time and she was able to report that Abby411 was now on-line.
A moment later, she heard a loud ping and a new window popped up in the middle of her screen.
Hey, Abby!
It was from someone named Monty. It took her a couple of seconds to figure out how to answer.
Nick?
Yeah, it’s me. I have to keep changing my screen name.
Because of the fans.
Yeah. So, how’ve you been?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~And now Abby couldn’t keep Nick a secret anymore. She couldn’t hide the clicking sound of the keyboard and the peals of laughter that came out of her. They talked every night for a week, sometimes just for a minute or so, sometimes for an hour. Her parents sat downstairs and wondered what she was doing.
Her mother held out for three days and then could stand it no more. She took to prowling the hall outside Abby’s rooms, listening to the clicking and the laughter. She brought it up at breakfast.
“Are you getting good use out of your computer, Abigail?” she asked.
“Yes, I am, thank you,” replied Abby. She turned to her father. “Daddy, the website for the Corporation is awful. You should get it changed.”
John Fremont looked at his daughter. “Okay, Honey, I’ll look into it.”
“How is your story coming?” Sharon Fremont dragged their eyes back to her.
“My story?”
“I thought maybe you were writing a story. You seem to be doing a lot of typing…and laughing.”
“Oh…no, Mother, I’m IMing.”
“Pardon me?”
“IMing. Instant Messaging. It’s a conversation. You type it and it pops up on the screen.”
“Oh my, you’re not in some dreadful chat room, are you?”
“No, Mother, it’s just one person.”
“But talking with a stranger? Abigail, do you think that’s a good idea?” Her father stepped into the conversation to express his concern.
“It’s not a stranger, Daddy. It’s someone I know…who doesn’t live in Chicago.” Abby paused. She could tell they were waiting for more information. “We met when I was at the Lodge.”
John nodded. “Oh. Okay, dear.” He was satisfied.
His wife was not. “And where does your friend live?”
“L.A. mostly, but right now Atlanta,” said Abby, carefully working her way around a pronoun.
“What’s she doing in Atlanta?”
Abby had a split second to decide. Should she lie?
“It’s not a ‘she’, Mother,” she said quietly and then she concentrated on her grapefruit sections while her parents digested the information.
“I see,” said Sharon, after a moment. “I guess he must be…reputable…if he stayed at the Lodge.”
“He was in Rose Cottage,” said Abby, giving him the ultimate seal of approval.
“What is his name?” asked John. Sharon hadn’t been to the Lodge lately. John had. Fremont Corporation held regular meetings and seminars there. He had seen some interesting behavior from some of the men. He’d seen the Techtronic-type guys in action.
“Nick,” said Abby, softly. “His name is Nick.” And she smiled at her father, who knew that was all he was getting out of her for the moment and that it would be rude of him to push for the last name.
Her mother still had some leeway. “Nick what? What does he do for a living?”
“We’re just friends, Mother. Relax. He’s not after the Fremont millions. He has his own money. And we’re just friends.”
Sharon had painted herself into a corner. Now it would be beyond rude to ask for more information. And Sharon Fremont would never stoop to that.
