A Scene

This is a scene from a possible story that I am thinking about continuing. Any advice or direction for where to go? I kinda like the start; it works, I think, because it starts in the middle of the scene, makes you wonder what they are talking about.

“You don’t really mean that.” Abby said as she sipped the red wine from the bottle by the sink, her hip leaning against the counter.

“I know I don’t. I just wanted to see your reaction.” Riley glanced up from the photographs on the polished wood table. “Just as I suspected.”

Her eyes flashed him a glare. “What do you mean by that?”

“You built a wall again, Abby. You shut me out. You don’t want to share your emotions because you feel the irrational need to put up a strong front, to be strong for me.”

“Who gave you a degree in psychology, Dr. Phil?” She drained the remnants of the wine from the bottle and set it on the tile counter with a bang. “I’m going to bed.”

Riley rose from the kitchen table and crossed the room to catch Abby by the waist. He gently touched her cheek to make her look at him.
“You should talk to me about this. You are not the only person in this house who is upset.”

“I know that, Riley. I just have to deal with this by myself first.”

He stepped away from her. “You are doing it again.”

“Doing what?” She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation.

Riley moved back to the table and picked up a picture. His voice was calm and slow when he spoke: “Just talk to me, Abby. Like we used to talk. We could tell each other everything about everything. Now, you never say anything.” His hands shook as he handed her the picture.

Abby’s breath caught in her throat. “I’m angry,” she murmured. “I know it wasn’t my fault and that I couldn’t have controlled it. I know that. But I’m angry that it had to happen to us. What did we do to deserve this?” A silver tear rolled down her cheek and hung on her chin for a moment before dripping onto the front of her black dress.

Riley wrapped his arms around her. “I know, baby. I know.”

Abby began to weep, tears and sobs shaking out of her like wind rattling through a broken window. Her tears soaked the front of Riley’s dress shirt, staining black mascara on the white fabric. Neither one of them cared.

Riley wept too, drenching Abby’s dark curls. They both wept for what they had lost and what they had never known.