Summer on Highland Beach

Chapter Two Bon Appétit

May 2022

Olivia tried relaxing against the lounge chair, her eyes closed, head tilted toward the sun, heartbeat rabbit fast. In a few short hours, they would have dinner with Christine. She’d called her boyfriend, Garrett, to get a boost of serotonin, but he was out crabbing with his daughter, Zora, and the signal had been poor. She missed him and could have used his powerful arms right about now to hold her body—and sanity—together.

CJ’s backyard had given her ideas for her own yard in Sag Harbor. The heated square-shaped pool was surrounded with natural stones. A few feet away stood a large picnic-sized wooden table with long benches. Her backyard was close to the bay waters; if she had a pool, she could have the best of both worlds.

“Olivia, it’s about time to get ready for dinner.”

She jumped at the voice, although she recognized who it belonged to before she opened her eyes.

CJ made confident strides down the steps and sat on the lounger closest to Olivia. Something like worry or fear clouded his eyes.

Does he think Christine will run us away again?

“Where’s my mother?”

“She’s getting ready for our family dinner.”

Family dinner?Olivia wouldn’t have labeled it that just yet. She would meet her grandmother, but it wasn’t going to be some kind of cozy affair.

“You mean the meeting with Christine and Alan.” Olivia pushed up, straightening her posture as much as she could in the curved lounger. She glanced at her watch. “It’s not for two hours, correct?”

“I know, but I... just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been out here all day. I hope you applied sunscreen.”

Olivia twisted her lips at this man who barely knew her, taking on the tone of a concerned father. They weren’t at that point just yet. “It’s beautiful here. Quiet.”

“It’s just a backyard. But if you really want to be impressed, why don’t I take you to Black Walnut Creek sometime this week? We can take out the kayaks.”

“That sounds lovely.” Olivia reclined into the chair and stared at the pool. “I guess I’ll take a shower,” she said before reluctantly rising from the lounger.

CJ nodded and led her back inside. He stopped when they entered the kitchen, pivoting to face her. “Are you nervous?”

“I’m ready.” Still, she was nervous.

Stopping short of buying a pair of binoculars and hiring a private detective, Olivia had done all she could to prepare for dinner with the Christine Douglass-Jones, her grandmother. Between online research and primary resources—namely her mother, CJ, and Ama—there seemed to be a tale of two Christines.

The online Christine Douglass-Jones persona had been edited, filtered until it was ultimately flawless. Philanthropist Christine supported children by donating to hospitals and various charitable organizations. Civil rights activist Christine was quoted and interviewed in newspapers like the New York Times and the Washington Post. Ebony, Black Enterprise, and Essence magazines had interviewed her about Black wealth and political participation.

On paper, she exuded perfection. Despite a desire to hate her grandmother, Olivia found herself admiring her activism.

But to her mother and Ama, Christine was a fire-breathing dragon who had no qualms about burning anyone who crossed her.

Earlier in the day, her mother sat Olivia down and gave her a rundown of all the “wonderful attributes” of Christine that she wouldn’t find online.

“You must be in a certain tax bracket to be important to Christine,” Cindy schooled Olivia while tossing salad in a bowl. “She despises anything she perceives as less than. Christine graduated top of her class at Spelman, then went to Yale Law. She wanted to be a corporate lawyer, but she met your grandfather in law school, got married, and had the twins. Daniel, your grandfather, convinced her to stay home and take care of his boys. Together they would create a little dynasty in their hometown, Highland Beach.”

“Why does she do all the charity work if she’s mean to her own family?” Olivia asked.

“Clout. Prestige. You’re an accomplished businesswoman... have you never met someone who donates to various organizations but has the morals of a jackal?” Cindy asked, raising her eyebrows.

Olivia knew this was the story of many millionaires and billionaires.

“I’ve seen the worst side of Christine. And she has plenty of minions to spread dirty rumors, though I don’t think they realize that they’re tools. Like once she lied about her husband’s opponent for public office, said they’d cheated their way through college. Oh, or that time she blocked a young woman from getting a recommendation to a prestigious college because she dated Chris without her approval.”

Olivia’s mouth dropped. “She really ruined someone’s chances of going to college because of her son?” The woman was quoted in Ebony about the critical importance of education in socioeconomic mobility.

Cindy tsked. “Yes, but to be fair, the girl broke his heart. That was before he dated another girl. That one Christine approved of, and she paid the girl’s tuition her first year of college. She clearly has control issues.”

She stopped whisking the salad dressing and stared at Olivia. “I think she’ll like that you graduated from Yale and then went to business school at UPenn’s Wharton School. Whether she wants to admit it remains to be seen,” she muttered to herself. “And there’s no denying your career accomplishments on Wall Street.” Cindy gripped the handle of the whisk. “Better than a single mom and public school teacher.” Insecurity shook her mother’s typically measured tone.

“I received an excellent education, thanks to you and your public school teaching job. And besides, I’m not interested in impressing Christine.”

Cindy’s downturned lips shifted into a stilted smile. Her mood bothered Olivia. She didn’t recognize the anxious woman in front of her. Cindy should be proud of ensuring that she raised Olivia in a stable environment. As a widow and mother, it couldn’t have been easy. It was what she admired about her mother. Olivia also admired her godmother Ama, who faced difficult odds in climbing the corporate ladder on Wall Street in the 1960s.

Facing hardships yet having the resilience to overcome them was the unsung story of many Black women.

But Ama and Cindy had taken different paths. Ama hadn’t allowed children to stop her dreams. She’d given up her daughter Edie for adoption, knowing that she would face difficulties raising a child alone as an unwed teenager. Edie later gave birth to Billie, Olivia’s godsister. Though Ama stood by her choices, Olivia knew her godmother also held some regrets.

As for Cindy, until last year Olivia had thought she’d hated being a mother. She wasn’t loving, but she’d made sure Olivia did well in school and had every advantage she could afford. Now Olivia had learned that her mother was guilt-ridden and broken-hearted while raising her. Cindy had just now begun the journey to mend her broken parts.

“Don’t let Christine or anyone make you question your worth,” Olivia said in a firm voice. “It’s even more impressive for all the things you’ve accomplished without a silver spoon.”

Cindy smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes—it rarely did. Cindy murmured her agreement and fixed their plates for breakfast.

After eating eggs and toast, Olivia dashed to her room, ready to find the perfect outfit.

She hung two options on her closet door: an emerald summer dress and a pink vintage Chanel blazer with matching pants.

Olivia lifted the summer dress in the air. “Casual?” Then she raised the pink blazer. “Or business?”

“I’ll ask the girls,” she decided. Olivia put on each option, snapped pictures of herself, and sent them to the Omar Ama’s Girls group chat, which included her godsisters Billie and Perry.

Meeting my grandmother tonight. Which one should I wear—business casual or springy elegance?

Olivia attached the pictures and sent the text.

Billie: I never thought I’d live to see you ask me for fashion advice but... I’m saying yes to the dress. Dulce says you look hot in anything... and I’m processing my feelings right now with ice cream.

Olivia laughed at Billie’s reaction. Being pregnant and having a child had brought out what their godsister Perry called “Big Feelings” in the normally aloof Billie.

Just as Olivia sent a wink smiley, her phone dinged with Perry’s choice.

Perry: Go with business. That hag doesn’t deserve cute and approachable Olivia. As far as I’m concerned, this is a business meeting.

“Business it is,” Olivia decided. Perry was right—she needed to be all business with that woman. Her new grandmother would not welcome her with open arms and warm apple pie. She likely had an agenda—to get the illegitimate child far away from her family as quickly as possible.

A little seed of nervousness bloomed in the pit of her stomach. Olivia clasped her hands over her flat abdomen, closed her eyes, and imagined the seed fizzling into oblivion. The prick of worry disappeared, and she mentally infused herself with strength. After a quick breathing exercise, she showered, moisturized from head to toe, and then artfully applied her makeup. With the pink power suit on, Olivia twirled in the full mirror installed near her door.

“I’m smart, capable, and independently wealthy. Thank you very much.”

She thought about who her mother had been thirty years ago. Young, pregnant, scared, and poor. She imagined how big and intimidating Christine must have looked to Cindy in her small apartment. That check probably felt like a million dollars instead of a few thousand.

“May I enter?” Cindy asked and then followed with a soft knock on her door.

Her mother looked gorgeous, and her deep red lipstick popped against her bronze skin. Her stylish bob had grown just past her ears. She wore gold stud earrings, a paisley gold-and-black blazer, and wide-leg pants. Olivia noticed with delight that her mother wore a gift she’d given her last Christmas—red Louboutin pumps that tied at the front with a bow.

“You look—” they spoke in unison.

Cindy gave a rueful smile. “Beautiful,” she finished.

“Stunning,” said Olivia, adding her own compliment.

Cindy dropped her smile. “Now remember to keep your wits about you. Christine is... a lot. She’s a master at finding weaknesses and then exploiting them.”

“Mom.” Olivia placed a comforting hand on Cindy’s shoulder. “I’ll be okay.”

Olivia dealt with both top executives and spoiled young millionaires. Each type required handling with finesse, and Olivia had it in spades. Besides that, she was schooled in the house of Amelia Vaux Tanner. And Ama never suffered fools.

Cindy exhaled. “I forget how competent you are.”

Olivia didn’t think she forgot, only that Cindy had had limited interactions with Corporate America Olivia.

“You know, before we left, I snapped a few pictures of your awards and achievements in storage to share with CJ. You’ve always been a high achiever.”

“You kept my awards?” That bit of news surprised Olivia. Cindy had cleared out her room the summer after she graduated from high school and turned it into her reading room.

Cindy nodded. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. But it’s all packed and stored in the garage if you ever want it.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Oh, it’s the least I could do.” Cindy stepped back into the hallway.

CJ walked toward them wearing a navy blazer, light blue shirt, and dark slacks. It looked like the entire Jones family had the same thought—this dinner was all business.

“Are we ready to go? I promise you I’ll make sure no one makes you uncomfortable tonight,” he vowed.

“Even your mother?” Olivia’s tone dripped with cynicism. And she had every right, as Christine had clearly sabotaged their relationship.

“Especially Christine,” he answered in his confident mayoral voice. “I won’t ever let her or anyone else disrespect my girls again.”

Girls?Olivia opened her mouth to correct, or rather tease, CJ, but her mother looked gobsmacked. Moved.

And much to Olivia’s dismay, turned on.

“All right.” Olivia clapped her hands to snuff out the sexual tension. “To Grandmother’s house we go.”

CJ opened the passenger doors to the Audi and ushered in Cindy and Olivia. “I’ll give you a tour on the way there.”

He partially rolled down his window.

“Our founder, Charles Douglass, the son of Frederick Douglass, named each of the six streets at the time after Black leaders. We live on Douglass Avenue—”

“You live on Douglass,” Cindy quickly corrected.

He exhaled, seeming to lose steam for a bit, but then continued. “Then you have Langston Avenue. Many visitors think it’s for Langston Hughes, but it’s named after John Mercer Langston, the US congressman from Virginia and founder of Howard University.” While CJ talked on, Olivia noticed a small white banner wrapped around the street pole with a picture of Frederick Douglass.

“Can you slow down?” Olivia interrupted CJ’s street history lesson. “I’d like to read that sign.”

“Of course.” CJ pumped the brakes and backed closer to the banner. A quote was centered under the picture.

Once you learn to read, you will forever be free.

“We have lots of banners honoring our famous residents and frequent visitors. Next time you go running you should bring your camera and take pictures.”

And have the neighbors stare at her and ask for her name? No, thank you.Olivia mentally shook her head. Only forty-eight hours in and she could already tell Highland Beach was as intimate and tight-knit as Sag Harbor. And from her experience, whether people were kind or not, tight-knit neighborhoods gossiped.

CJ slowed as he pulled up to the sidewalk in front of a rather sizable white cottage with black shutters.

“We’re here.” Cindy’s voice shook, though not with fear but partly with weariness and partly with sadness.

Olivia had forgotten that the house CJ now lived in had been given to him by his father. However, Christine’s house was the one in which he grew up. CJ bent over and slid the lock on the white picket fence that surrounded the two-story white cottage. The lush yard just to the left of the three-step porch, with a garden bursting with bold colors, was well maintained.

“It’s beautiful.” Olivia couldn’t hide the admiration in her voice. She could see herself lounging on one of the rockers that flanked either side of the door on the wraparound porch, which was adorned with window boxes full of beautiful flowers.

CJ’s childhood home.

She imagined that her mother remembered the last time she was here—when she gave her ultimatum to CJ about her pregnancy. A lump rose in her throat just thinking of her father’s rejection.

CJ must have sensed the rising emotions because he reached for a hand from both of them. Olivia flinched, surprised at the quick and sure way he held it, but she didn’t let go. In fact, she squeezed.

Cindy huffed and strode up the pathway, marched up the three steps, and then stood at the side of the door. CJ and Olivia walked close behind.

After letting go of Olivia’s hand, he pulled out a key and unlocked the door.

Once the door opened, Olivia heard a voice.

“Welcome.” Olivia’s attention traveled to the top of the stairs. While Olivia, CJ, and Cindy were all about business in their clothing, Mrs. Christine Douglass-Jones made a splash. In her ensemble—a black lace pantsuit paired with a matching jacket that flared out like a ballroom gown and fell to her ankles—she could easily have glided into a five-star restaurant, a debutante’s ball, or an intimate family dinner and outshone everyone.

Christine Douglass-Jones was a diva, and by design, not because of age, the diva took her time descending the stairs.

“Still a flair for the dramatics, I see,” Cindy said.

CJ cleared his throat, but Olivia didn’t need reminding to keep her cool. Christine’s growing smile at Cindy’s visible irritation was reminder enough.

A full ice age later, Christine had finally descended all twelve steps. Her sharp, light brown eyes landed on Olivia.

“My oh my. You look just like our Indigo.”

Christine came closer and lovingly cupped her cheeks. Where was the woman who pushed her mother away? The woman who savagely cut Chris Jones out of her will when he didn’t get in line with her plans and instead married the woman he loved?

“Doesn’t she, Charles?” Christine asked her son.

“I rather think she looks like me.”

Christine chuckled. Her nude nails scraped Olivia’s cheek.

“Her skin is darker than mine and Indigo’s, but she has the same almond-shaped eyes. I haven’t seen it yet, but I bet you have a beautiful smile. You’re a Jones all right.”

Olivia flinched. She’d never put much stock in her last name. The possessive way Christine said it, the name felt like a brand.

Olivia stepped away from Christine’s icy hands. “Nice to meet you.” Olivia softened her lie with manners.

“You as well. I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time.”

A snort sounded from behind her, but Olivia didn’t turn away from her grandmother—she couldn’t.

Perhaps it was because of the strong family resemblance. Had she known as a child that there was someone who was her spitting image but who had fair skin, she wouldn’t have felt so alone. And maybe she wouldn’t have ever questioned her appearance because Christine Douglass-Jones was drop-dead gorgeous. Olivia had quickly done the math, and this woman did not look her age, but rather perhaps a decade younger. The mirror image stopped at the nose.

That she got from her mother, Cindy, who had an upturned nose. That upturned nose tipped even higher as Olivia stared at Christine’s antics.

“Come.” Their host broke into Olivia’s silent reverie with a smile that highlighted her sharp cheekbones.

“Welcome home, son.” She pivoted to CJ to give him a quick kiss. “Oh.” She patted his face. “You need to shave.”

Cindy cleared her throat. Christine pivoted on her heel to face her. Her curved eyebrows, which were not sharply pointed but rounded, enhanced her almond-shaped eyes. “Well, hello, Pumpkin. You look well.”

“Don’t you ever call me that name again.” Cindy’s nails curved into her palm. Her jaw seemed welded shut.

The heat in her tone worried Olivia and made her step in front of her mother.

“I... okay.” Christine clutched her pearls. “I thought that was a nickname.”

“It was.” Cindy’s voice rasped. “From a beloved person, and that person is not you.”

“Fine.” Christine’s fingers fluttered, as if shooing an errant butterfly. “I’ll refrain from calling you a lackluster vegetable whose only importance is in October.”

Olivia’s mouth dropped open. She wondered if she should’ve worn chain mail instead of a pink pantsuit.

Cindy shook her head. “What a shame. I hoped you’d grown up by now, but you’re just the same evil woman.”

Christine’s eyes glittered like a pair of Swarovski crystal earrings. “Hm. Perhaps a tramp is more befitting—”

“I ask that you stop disrespecting my mother.” Olivia’s tone held a do-not-proceed warning, the kind she’d use for a misbehaving but important client. Patient, but willing to walk away, because not all money is good money. “We’ve been here for less than five minutes, and you aren’t off to a great start.”

“Mother.” CJ’s voice was hard-edged. “Embrace civility or we will leave.”

Christine nodded. “Of course.” She turned to face Olivia, who stood in front of Cindy with an arm outstretched in front of her mother.

“My apologies. Sometimes old habits die hard. We’ll dine in the formal room today. Leigh has prepared a delicious seafood linguine for us.”

Christine led them to a long black lacquered table with upholstered emerald chairs. The walls were a dove gray, and the art took center stage, from miniature black bust statues by Woodrow Nash to a vibrant colored portrait of Christine in a white flowing gown with pink, green, and yellow flowers surrounding her.

“Is that... a painting by Kehinde Wiley?” Olivia whispered in awe.

“Yes.” Christine looked at the painting of herself with pride. “And I’ll have you know I had this commissioned before President Barack Obama’s official White House portrait.”

On the opposite wall, a black-and-white oil painting titled Generations, by Olivia’s good friend Kara Warren, caught her attention. The painting featured grandmother, mother, and granddaughter.

Although Olivia loved the picture, it was certainly an interesting choice. Christine hadn’t exactly claimed her own granddaughter.

A table against the back wall held platters of food, including linguine tossed with scallops, shrimp, and mussels; crusty bread; and a colorful salad. A woman, Leigh, Olivia presumed, stood near the narrow table and plated the food on the bone-white dinnerware. “Where’s Alan?” CJ asked, pulling back seats for Cindy and Olivia.

“Alan is finishing up a business call and should be along shortly.”

“He’s not working the campaign at this hour, is he?” CJ asked. His stepfather had come on board as his campaign manager.

“Of course. You are running against a respected elder and experienced contender. You best not rest on your laurels, or you’ll find yourself jobless.”

CJ rolled his eyes like a teenager. “Surely my law degree isn’t useless.”

“Of course not. Best money I ever spent at Yale School of Law.”

Cindy flicked a look in his direction. “You did it?”

“Yes, I graduated from Yale Law.” CJ smiled at her. He leaned in close and whispered, “So you don’t have to worry about my gainful employment. I’ll always find a way.”

They soon heard Christine’s husband marching down the creaking stairs. Alan Easton waved at the group, then made a beeline for CJ and gave him a hard pat on his back.

“Hey, son. I just got off the call with Tim. He’s going to host the fundraiser at his hotel. With him on our side, I think we’ll finally be able to shake that nonsense regarding Riley for good.”

“And good riddance to her,” Christine muttered.

Her?Olivia wondered if Riley was another woman Christine ran off, like she’d done in the past, according to Cindy.

“Who’s Riley?” Olivia leaned over and whispered while Alan and Charles continued their conversation.

“No one of importance.” Christine swatted her hand in the air, then pivoted her attention to her husband and son. “No business talk, gentlemen,” Christina said with a syrupy glaze to her voice, “this is a family dinner.” She glanced at Cindy. “Plus guest.”

Cindy’s harrumph was overtaken by Alan’s boisterous laugh.

“Of course, dear. I know you love your rules.” Alan pulled her close and kissed Christine’s cheek. She slapped his chest lovingly and laughed. The sound tinkled like bells.

He turned to face Cindy. “Well, you are a sight for these old sore eyes.” Alan smiled from ear to ear. “Welcome back, Cindy.” He opened his arms, and Cindy stood to step into his embrace.

“Thank you, Alan. I almost forgot how kind and hospitable you can be.” She cut her eyes toward Christine, who offered a strained smile.

Alan pivoted toward Olivia. “And you look just like your father.”

Olivia smiled. “Christine told me I look like my aunt Indigo.”

He tilted his head, squinted a bit, as if to focus on her face. “I suppose so.”

“You suppose so?” Christine’s voice pitched high. “She’s Indigo’s spitting image. No offense, Charles. She’s just darker.” Christine’s lips turned down at the corners. “That’s why I got rattled when I saw you, dear. You gave me a fright.” Christine waved toward the table. “But no matter. Olivia, why don’t you sit to my right? I’d love to get to know you.”

Cindy, now seated across from Olivia, stretched her eyes as if mentally conveying, Don’t forget the plan.

“Certainly,” Olivia complied. “But I would love to know more about you and the family. I’m told you’re related to Frederick Douglass?”

The diversion proved effective. For the next thirty minutes, Christine reviewed their family tree. Olivia couldn’t pretend she wasn’t fascinated. She took occasional bites of salad as she listened to Christine.

“We are cousins, twice removed. Once Charles and Laura Douglass established the resort, they invited family and friends. Naturally, my family transitioned here, and what began as summers became year-round. It was my grandmother, Lucilla, who decided that Highland Beach would be our forever home. I was born here. Your grandfather Daniel’s family lived in Washington, DC, and had a summer home here. It’s the one CJ now owns.”

Olivia nodded. “Did you date as teenagers?” Olivia asked.

Christine smiled and released a soft sigh. “We’d known each other all our lives. You know, same church, at least when they stayed for the summer. Our families were quite close, but we didn’t really become romantically involved until college. He attended Morehouse, and I attended Spelman. We were well matched.” She exhaled, and a brief smile flitted across her face. “Once our friends and family pointed that out to us, well, things really clicked.”

“Daniel was a good man,” Alan agreed. “We met each other at Morehouse.”

“You met me, too,” Christine teased.

“That I did. But Daniel and I became close. Your grandfather was a special man. A man anyone would want to follow. A natural leader, like your father.”

“Did you have a home here growing up?” Olivia asked Alan. As she understood it, Christine and Daniel had lived in this home, which Christine had inherited.

“My aunt had a home here, so I’d visited a handful of times before I moved to Highland Beach. But when I became Daniel’s campaign manager, I would drive from DC on the weekends and camp out at my aunt’s home.”

“Oh, what was your trade?”

“I thought I wanted to become a lawyer, like your grandparents, but I quickly found out that wasn’t a good fit. So I put my law degree to good use, and with the full support of my parents—”

Christine’s tinkering laugh cut in. Alan looked at his wife and joined in on the laughter.

“Oh, okay. Not the least bit of their support, but I successfully pivoted to communications in the government sector. And the rest is history.” He forked a shrimp, swallowed, and smiled. “Now I’m mostly retired, but I help CJ here and there with his reelection and communication strategy. Besides, this is the last hurrah.”

“Until the Senate,” Christine quickly added.

“Right,” Alan nodded. “If you run for Senate, you’ll need to have all your ducks in a row. No vices. No more skeletons.”

The delicious seafood linguine thwapped like lead in Olivia’s stomach.

I’m the skeleton.

Olivia grabbed her wine and swallowed. “Well, I certainly don’t want to impede your future. We can keep this quiet. I won’t confirm our association.”

“Association?” CJ said in a gruff voice. “I’m your father and I’m the one who messed up. If I run for Senate in a few years—and that’s a big if—we’ll take a proactive approach, as I’ve discussed with both of you more than enough times,” he said, pointing at his mother and stepfather, “and focus on the messaging before the spin can happen.”

Christine dabbed the corners of her lips with a white linen napkin. “Of course, dear. You’re a proud father and Chris—”

“Is a hero.” Cindy cut in. “I won’t stand by and let you slander his name or mine.”

“I would never insult my son.”

“You insulted your son,” Cindy jerked her head toward CJ, “when you offered me a check to stay away from your boys.”

Christine’s fork clacked against the dinnerware. “And yet the check cleared.” Christine’s voice went haughty and high.

“Instead of worrying about who Chris or Charles dated,” Cindy retorted, “you should’ve been a better mother to your daughter.”

Christine’s shoulders jerked back as if she’d been shot. Tears deepened the hazel in her eyes.

“I can’t believe I stooped down to your level again,” Cindy whispered harshly to herself. “I need to get out of here.” Cindy sprang up from the table and rushed out of the room. CJ threw his napkin on the table and followed.

At the sound of the slamming door, Christine became unstuck and glided upstairs.

Watching his wife like a hawk, Alan waited until Christine had made it upstairs, then turned his attention to Olivia. “For what it’s worth, welcome to the family.” Alan stood, moving away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my wife.”

For the first time in over an hour, the house was quiet. Olivia unclenched her jaw and hands and let her shoulders slump. She wanted to follow her parents outside, but she knew Cindy and CJ needed to talk about those early days when Chris had died.

Cindy never let on how lonely she’d been. That would’ve required her to acknowledge her feelings and let them flow. And Cindy Jones rarely, if ever, emoted. Until now. If Olivia could find her mother’s therapist, she’d give her a gold medal.

Alan returned to the table. “Christine is retiring for the night.”

Olivia stood. “I wanted to give CJ and Cindy some time to speak, but I’ll check on them now.”

“Please sit for a while. Christine... she’s been through a lot. But there is no excuse for what she said. I don’t blame Cindy for her feelings. For saying the things she said.”

Olivia nodded.

“Christine lost so much. Daniel, Chris, your... your father. And Indigo. Is she a proud woman? Yes, and that’s what I love about her. But she bleeds like the rest of us.”

Everyone from Ama to Cindy had advised her about Christine’s witchy ways. But she’d witnessed the blood draining from Christine’s face. She was a mother with a broken heart who’d had not one but two children die before her.

“How did she... how did Indigo die?”

“She drowned.” Alan removed his glasses with shaking hands. “Can you do me a favor?” Alan asked out of nowhere.

“What is it?”

“Can you allow Christine to make amends? To get to know you? I think she would like that very much.”

“I...” She thought of her mother and hesitated. Exhaustion had already overtaken her from just one hour of dodging Christine and Cindy’s crossfire.

“You don’t have to do anything special. Just come over and have lunch.”

“O-... okay. Maybe next week?”

“Yes, of course.” Alan pulled out a piece of paper and pen. “Could you write down your number and email? I’ll give your information to Christine.”

Olivia took the paper and pen and wrote her number.

“I’ll see you later, Alan.”

She walked outside and exhaled. The dinner weighed heavily on her soul.

She found CJ and Cindy near the sidewalk. Cindy was staring at the moon.

“Are you okay?”

Cindy shook her head, her attention shifting to CJ. “I won’t stop either of you from seeing Christine, but I never want to come back here again.”

CJ and Cindy stared at each other, a silent communication Olivia could not decipher.

CJ broke the silence. “I should have listened to your concerns earlier today. I’m sorry.”

Her mother gave him a sad smile. “You should have listened to me a long time ago. Now look at us, walking around and still hungry.”

They’d stuck it out for only a third of the meal, never mind dessert.

“I can fix your hunger,” CJ answered in a hoarse voice. “I’ll order some takeout. If you’re craving seafood, I can order something from Boatyard and pick it up.”

They nodded their assent and moved toward the car.

What a day.

But the hardest part hadn’t been the war of words between her mother and grandmother. It was Indigo who stayed in Olivia’s mind and heart. She recalled her aunt’s image, the picture of her dripping in gold medals from swimming meets that she’d seen in CJ’s photo album earlier that morning.

“Huh,” she said out loud to herself. Not that it wasn’t possible, but it was quite unsettling to learn that a Junior Olympian swimmer had drowned.