Chasing Abby(43)

Normally, I ride my motorcycle everywhere during the summer, but there’s a chance of rain today, so I’ll stick to the Jaguar. Last thing I need is to have my bike slide over a slick road and into a busy intersection just hours before I’m supposed to go to the beach house to spend the summer with my firstborn.
My Abby.
I park the Jaguar next to Tristan’s new Tesla and head straight into the pub. He’s sitting on the second to last stool at the end of the bar, as usual, and nursing a draft beer while laughing about something with Link. Link bought the bar about ten years ago when the previous owner retired. So, naturally, Tristan Pollock has spent the last ten years getting drunk on Link’s dime.
His shoulder-length light-brown hair flies all over the place as he points his finger in Link’s face and laughs. “Ha! I knew it was you at that f*cking show. You don’t have to pretend with me, bitch.”
Link shakes his bald head. “I don’t know why you’re talking shit. You were at the same f*cking show.”
“Yeah, but I was there with my daughter. You were there with your girlfriend. That’s some sick shit.”
I take a seat on the last stool. “What show are you talking about?”
“Defy This show at Walnut Creek last Sunday.”
I shake my head. “I’m glad Jimi is past that stage.” Link slides a draft beer to me and I down a few big gulps. “So what happened with Xander? Did you talk to Estelle?”
Estelle Greenway is Xander’s sister. Xander was my manager for twelve years until we parted ways over a contract dispute. We’ve stayed in touch for the past eight years, though we hadn’t spoken to each other in about five months when Estelle contacted me last week. Xander has been in the hospital for three weeks with persistent pneumonia and, despite the doctor’s best efforts, his condition continues to decline. I visited him in the hospital on Friday afternoon, but he was in a medically induced coma and on a ventilator. Tristan was supposed to visit him yesterday to see how he was doing.
Tristan shakes his head. “It’s not good, man. Estelle said they’re taking him off the ventilator on Wednesday if he doesn’t improve.”
I grit my teeth against the anger. “It’s a f*cking lung infection. You’d think they could just give him some f*cking antibiotics. This is no way for him to go.”
Tristan shrugs. “I don’t know. Estelle looked pretty relieved about it. She’s been watching him suffer for weeks. That’s no way for him to live.”
I don’t want to get into an argument about life and death with Tristan, so I change the subject. “I’m going to the beach house tonight.”
Tristan downs the rest of his beer and grabs the new one Link just set down for him thirty seconds ago. “I know. You told me that on the phone.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t tell you who’s coming with me.”
Tristan squints his eyes as he stares at the pint glass in front of him. “Wait a minute. Are you saying…?”
I nod and let out a sigh. “She came to our house yesterday.”
Link sets another beer down in front of a customer a few seats away then rushes back to join the conversation. “Who came to your house?”
“Look at this nosy hen,” Tristan remarks.
“Abigail, my first daughter. The one… we gave up for adoption eighteen years ago.”
I’ve told Link about Abby before, but it was at least a decade ago. I wouldn’t expect him to remember. And as much as it pains me to say that we gave her up for adoption, I’ve always stood behind Claire’s decision. Because I know her decision to give Abby up was made completely out of love for me. I can’t show my gratitude to her by blaming her every chance I get.