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Page 311
There is a note in your voice when you speak of him. . . . "
Abby sighed, lifting her chin bravely. "I love him."
"Yet you came back to save Arlen," Lucy whispered. "Thank you, Abby. You gave up so much for me."
Abby's laugh was brittle. "You were in my thoughts, of course, but I returned for many reasonsand the most important was selfish. I couldn't live anywhere knowing Mike might never exist if I failed to act."
"I am still grateful. But now why do you not simply go back?"
There was no longer anything simple about it. Abby rose, suddenly aware of the sounds all around: the water's gurgle, the tune of a songbird in the tree above. Above, leaves rustled in the fragrant breeze, and a small bird with a long blue tail took flight.
"I tried," she finally said in a soft, choking voice. "Just now. And I failed. I believe I may be destined to remain here."
"Selfishly I should be glad," said Lucy with a wry lift of her lips. "But for you I am not. Why do you think that?"
"I could not read all of your last journal," Abby explained, "for it had been damaged over the years. But at its end, you say that I am in the garden of your new house with Papa."
Lucy's brow wrinkled pensively. "The way my poor Arlen is working, our house will not be finished for yearslet alone growing its garden.

 
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