The sculpture was of two sets of arms—one male, one female—encircling a baby. A family.
One Abigail somehow still seemed to want him to be a part of, despite everything.
Hutch had suggested Abigail might be a more forgiving, trusting person than Vaughn. That she might still be able to move forward with him even though he didn’t feel whole. His friend was right.
Vaughn had a second chance at happiness. At the life Abigail warned him he was squandering.
He wouldn’t waste this one.
Fourteen
Abigail reeled in her measuring tape as she stood against the east wall of the children’s ward lounge. She tried to imagine what limbs she had at her studio that would work for the treehouse she had planned for phase two of the interactive art installation. The play space would be a raised platform just a few feet off the ground, but it would be surrounded by fabric leaves and a sculpture that looked like a giant nest, enhancing the sense of being high in the air.
The hospital hummed with activity nearby, now that the partition had been removed so patients could enjoy the tree sculpture. She would have to plan her future installation dates carefully, waiting to assemble the rest once she had significant portions prebuilt in her studio. Brandon had left her messages already, hoping to help.
His kind offer had seemed so genuinely motivated by an interest in her work that she couldn’t refuse. And she had fun sharing her craft with someone so obviously intrigued. Even if seeing him would remind her of Vaughn and all that she’d lost.
Blinking away the thought of him that she knew would only add to her heartache, Abigail tried to focus on the work she adored instead of the man she loved. She had promised herself that—for her baby’s sake—she needed to find joy and happiness again. She’d told Vaughn to do that, so she felt like she needed to at least try to follow her own advice, even if it was easier said than done.
“There’s a fairy!” a youthful voice shouted nearby, the thrill of discovery obvious in the raised, excited octave.
Abigail smiled, grateful for the distraction from her sad thoughts. Turning, she spotted a familiar redhead pointing high up in the tree.
Zoe. The patient she’d met when she’d been sculpting the Tree of Gifts. Only this time, the little girl was no longer in a hospital gown or attached to an IV. She held the hand of an auburn-haired older woman whose features were startlingly similar to her own. It could only be the child’s mother.
Abigail retrieved her purse and walked toward the pair. A handful of other children and their families dotted the lounge. A few of the kids were in pajamas or hospital gowns, wearing hospital ID bracelets. Others seemed to be visiting siblings or friends. But it pleased Abigail to see that all of them were interacting with the tree in some way. Admiring it, touching it, searching for creatures or reading the placard the hospital had let her install after the gala.
For Alannah, the brightest bird of all.
It made Abigail happy to think of her sister that way—a part of nature. A continuing presence in Abigail’s art. A joyous aspect of her own perspective.
Arriving near the little girl and her mother, Abigail smiled at the redheaded pixie who had wanted to know if she was really carving a tree from a tree.
“Hello, Zoe.” Abigail tucked her measuring tape in her handbag before introducing herself to the girl’s mother. “I’m Abigail. Zoe and I met when I was working on the tree.”
“I found a fairy, Miss Abigail!” Zoe announced in a very loud, excited whisper, as if she didn’t want to give it away for the other children. “Just like you said.”
The girl’s mother smiled warmly. “I’m Rita.” She stuck out her hand and shook Abigail’s. “Zoe told us all about your tree. She wouldn’t rest until we came back to search for fairies since she was discharged before you were finished.”
Touched, Abigail was very glad she’d made something special for Zoe. After the health scare with her own little girl, she had renewed empathy for the hardship of families with children who battle illnesses. “I enjoyed meeting her. And I’ve been meaning to ask one of the nurses if they had a way to get a small gift to her.”
Zoe had been staring up into the tree, perhaps seeking more creatures. But at the word gift she edged closer.
“For me?” she asked, green eyes bright.
“Yes.” Kneeling down to Zoe’s height, Abigail withdrew a small carving wrapped in a purple bandanna. “You inspired me to add fairies to the tree. They are there because of you. So I thought you should have one of your own to keep.”
Zoe’s eyes went cartoon-wide as she peered up to her mother, as if seeking permission to take the gift. At Rita’s nod, the girl carefully cradled the carving in her hands, peeling aside the bandanna. Her eyes met Abigail’s over the sculpture, her gratitude and wonder the most moving tribute to Abigail’s work that she could imagine.
For a thank-you, the girl flung her arms around Abigail’s neck and squeezed her, still clutching her fairy tight.
“I love her,” she said, still in a whisper, but this time more heartfelt and sweet. “I’m going to call her Abigail.”
“I’d like that.” She wondered if the last statue she’d made—the one she’d sent to Vaughn—had been received with nearly as much enthusiasm.
With an effort, she pushed aside thoughts of him to say goodbye to Zoe and Rita.
Now that she had the measurements she needed for the play area nest, she could leave Royal Memorial, too. Her feet were only reluctant, she knew, because there was always a chance of seeing Vaughn here.
Forcing her way toward the stairs, she turned to see Vaughn leaning against her tree in the lounge. Watching her.
Startled, even though people were coming and going in the lounge all
