Summer on Highland Beach

Chapter Seventeen Tell Me Lies

June 2022

Olivia showered, knowing that chaos would soon descend on the Jones household. By the time she showered and changed, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it.” Olivia opened the door, while a shaken CJ paced the floor.

She opened the door, finding Alan with his hands clenched behind his back.

“Oh, hello, Olivia,” Alan said absently while staring over her shoulder.

“Hello, Alan.” Olivia tried to temper her voice. Alan looked as if he had dressed in the dark. As soon as she greeted him, Olivia noticed that although his blue-and-white chambray shirt was ironed to a crisp, he wore a combination that did not match at all—teal shorts, brown leather belt, black shoes, and white socks.

“Are you okay?” Olivia stepped back, allowing him to enter.

He waved his hand. “CJ turned off his phone, so I stopped by. Christine, she’s... not herself. I don’t want to leave her alone for long. Could we move our meeting to our home?” Alan’s voice shook. “She’ll be upstairs, resting.”

“Hey, Alan.” CJ’s tired voice boomed from behind.

Alan exhaled. “Can we speak for a moment?” He flickered his gaze to Olivia. “Alone?”

“Oh, of course. I’ll just finish making my breakfast, Dad.” Olivia jerked her head toward the kitchen to let them know where she’d be.

CJ gave her a wide smile. He did that whenever she called him Father or Dad, and she leaned into it—especially now with everything that was going on.

Alan made a beeline to the living room.

He waited until she rounded the corner to the kitchen before whispering, “We have a problem.”

CJ groaned. “What now?”

“Christine is having an episode.”

“An episode?” CJ shouted. “Christine hasn’t had one of those in years.”

Alan shushed him. “She has. I just didn’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because she asked me not to. It’s... it’s complicated, son. All of this is just so damned complicated.” Alan’s voice broke at the end.

“Okay, I’ll come over and handle it.”

“No. I’ve got my wife. You come over and we’ll figure out your things first. That’s what Christine wants. I’ve given her something to calm her nerves.”

“Okay, we’ll be over shortly.”

“Can it be just you this time?” Alan asked. “Christine wouldn’t want anyone to see her like this.”

“No. Everything that’s going on affects Olivia and Cindy, too. Mom’s sedated, right?”

“Right.”

“We’ll come over for an hour, short and sweet, and then we’ll get out of your hair. I’ll make sure to check on her before I leave.”

“There’s no need.”

“Yes, there is. You know I trust you, Alan, but I want to see her. And I’m mad as all hell that you haven’t told me what’s been going on.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to, but your mother... she’s proud, but she struggles. This type of thing doesn’t just go away. You know that.”

What type of thing? Olivia, who’d been trying to crack an egg for the past few minutes, tilted her head as if that would help her hear the conversation more clearly.

CJ grunted. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” She heard the door squeak open. “Thank you for taking care of my mother.”

CJ entered the kitchen with his head low. He opened the fridge, skipped the almond milk and juice, and pulled out a Modelo.

It was Saturday noon, but even if it had been ten a.m. on a Monday, Olivia was not going to say a word.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” Olivia said in a gentle voice.

“Good. I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to you or your mother again.” He reached into a nearby drawer, pulled out a bottle opener, popped the beer open, and took a deep gulp.

“You heard Alan.”

“I did.” Olivia took the honest route, like her father.

“You have questions.”

“I do. But you don’t have to answer them now. I know we have more pressing matters.”

He took another sip, this time a quick shallow one, swallowed, and then turned around to face her. He leaned against the counter.

“For as long as I can remember, at least back to when I was six or seven years old, Christine would have ‘episodes,’” he explained, using quote marks. “That’s what my dad called them back then. Now, of course, I realize it was just a euphemism.”

“Did she... was she ever diagnosed?”

“I don’t know... maybe? Anytime I broach the topic, she shuts me down.”

Olivia released the uncracked egg and let it roll into the ceramic bowl, then settled on the barstool near the kitchen island.

“If I had to guess, I think she suffers from extreme depression. She’d have these high days, when she was a ball of energy. Cleaning the house, gardening in the yard, volunteering for every organization, be it community or something for me and my siblings. She was Superwoman. And that scared the shit out of us as kids.”

“It did?”

“Because we knew what would come right after. She’d swing back low.” He took another sip, his eyes miles away.

“So low, Olivia. Like... she couldn’t move. She’d barricade herself in her room and wail. Dad would get us out of the way. Send us down to the beach or a neighbor’s house, or off on some civic activity. Then, by the time we returned home, she was out of it. Knocked out by some sedative of the decade.”

He rubbed his hand around the neck of the bottle.

“I didn’t think she’d make it after Indigo’s death. And when... when we got word of Chris, she didn’t come out for months. No one ever questioned her depression back then. I mean, anyone else would’ve reacted the same way if their children died within a few years of each other. But then she and Alan got married. And she seemed to do much better. Or at least that’s what I told myself. I didn’t want to face the facts.” He shook his head.

“I was angry with her for the things she did to us, but I didn’t want to accept that it wasn’t entirely her fault because it would make her seem more human. It wasn’t fair of me to feel that way, but back then I needed someone else to shoulder the pain of losing our family. Because...” He inhaled. “Because I feel responsible for Indigo’s death. For Dad’s death, and for Chris.”

The torture in his voice tugged at her heart. “Why Chris?”

“Because if I’d stepped out of the way and let him go after your mother, he wouldn’t have joined the military, and later the police force. He joined the force because he felt like he had to figure out a way to take care of his family—my family. Or maybe I should’ve just stepped up sooner and this all would’ve been avoided. We could have done many things to avoid his death.”

It’s not your fault! Olivia wanted to tell her father as she wondered whether she should tell him the truth about Chris and Omar and their tragic fate. She was desperate to tell him what really happened, but would the truth comfort him at this point? They were both gone now, and CJ couldn’t fight ghosts.

But his pain was so thick, she felt like she could drown in his misery.

Olivia stared at her father—his drooped shoulders and lowered head were the definition of defeat.

Not right now, she decided. It would be too much and too soon. She knew she had to tell him eventually, but she feared he’d hate Ama by association.

And worse, would he tell Cindy and Christine?

Can I trust him to keep a secret?

“I’m going to get your mother.” CJ pushed himself from the counter. “We’ll leave in ten minutes.”

Alan opened the door and hurried them inside. “We’ll be in the dining room,” he said in greeting to Olivia, CJ, and Cindy, getting straight to business.

After they’d found their seats, Alan whipped on a pair of black-rimmed glasses and picked up his legal pad. “Okay, let’s get started. We need to come up with a plan to counteract the lies printed in the paper. Now I have a few ideas—”

“Alan, wait.” CJ raised his hand. “We don’t know if that letter is a lie.”

Alan removed his glasses and placed them on the table. “Of course it is, CJ.”

“Indigo had a journal,” he added. “She wrote in it all the time. You know this.”

“Okay, then... whether it’s true or not, it’s extremely crude to publish a deceased teenager’s personal letter.”

“That person won’t think that. Not if they’re friends. Not if it’s proving a point,” Olivia argued.

“You’re right.” Alan nodded. “People aren’t focused on decorum. They’re focused on dragging the Jones family name.”

“Not the Joneses. The Douglass family,” someone said from outside the room.

All attention swiveled to the steps from the second floor. Though Olivia couldn’t see who it was, she recognized Christine’s voice.

Alan jumped up from his seat and went to the stairway. CJ followed suit, and so did Olivia.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Alan called to her from the bottom step.

“They want to destroy us.” Christine wasn’t gliding down the steps as usual but leaning against the rail as she shuffled from one step to the next. Alan rushed to support her.

“Come now. We’re going back to bed.”

“I can’t believe they’re bringing this up again.” She leaned into Alan’s arms.

“It’s okay. We’re going to fix this,” he vowed.

“Someone hates us,” Christine said, gripping her nightgown. “Someone thinks they can be us, but they can’t. It’s all a lie.”

“What’s a lie?” CJ frowned. He was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s nonsense,” Alan snapped, his stern attention fixed on CJ. “Can you please go sit down? I’ll handle your mother.”

“I don’t need a handler!” Christine shrieked. “He needs to know,” she howled. Saliva streaks dripped from the sides of her mouth. “There are illegitimates about. Everyone wants to be like us, but they can’t,” she repeated. “So they lie!”

“Mom, it’s okay. You can tell me later.” CJ raised a halting hand.

“You must listen. You must...” she panted. Seeming to lose her energy, she drooped in Alan’s arms and cried like a child. “I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. I...”

“Let’s get your medicine. Let’s get you fed.”

“B-but I have to try—”

“Up to bed, sweetheart. You need your strength.”

Alan lifted his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. His dark eyes were laden with sorrow. “I... I’m sorry, but I need to—”

“Go,” Olivia cut him off.

“I’ll call you later, CJ.”

“You better. Either way, I’ll be here tomorrow, bright and early. No matter what state my mother is in.”

“She wouldn’t want a...” He flicked his attention to Olivia and Cindy. “A crowd.”

“I understand,” Olivia assured him. “We’ll stay at CJ’s while you two... talk.”

“This is the last time I walk away without answers regarding my mother,” CJ warned Alan. “You understand me?”

Christine moaned in his arms.

“Yes. Lock up behind you.” Alan gathered Christine in his arms and murmured something in her ear.

CJ, Cindy, and Olivia stepped outside.

CJ, who had a key, locked the door behind him. “Shit,” he whispered under his breath.

They walked back to his house in silence. Once they arrived, went in, and closed the door, he let out a mighty roar.

“She’s living with a mental illness, CJ.” Cindy rubbed his back and hugged him. “Just like Indigo.”

He hugged Cindy back. “I think the letter is true, and I need to understand why. But how... how can I ask my mother about what happened to Indigo? It hurts her too much to talk about her.”

“I know, baby.” Cindy hugged him tighter.

“I can’t do that to her. It’s not right.”

“Aneesa wants me to work with her,” Olivia said. “Find some people who were around back then and ask what they remember when... when Aunt Indigo died. We can try that way,” she offered.

CJ looked over her mother’s head. “I don’t know if you’ll get anything. But our town trusts Aneesa, and they seem to like you. It’s worth a shot.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

Olivia wasn’t a detective, but she’d try.

She would try for her father, for her aunt Indigo, and even for Christine.