Chapter 13
I snap awake to a sliver of sunlight cutting through the curtains. My head throbs, a dull beat pulsing beneath the haze of Benadryl and booze. What was in those bootlegs? A knot of anxiety twists in my stomach—memories of yesterday tangled with fragments of dreams. I’m not sure which is which.
I hold my breath, listening. No gravel crunching underfoot, no strange rustling outside. Just silence. The mist has lifted, and golden light washes the room in a soft glow.
I drain the glass of water on my nightstand and rub the sleep from my eyes.
Slipping into a long-sleeved gray T-shirt and gray shorts—a “groutfit,” as I like to call it—I crack the door and peer out.
The hallway is still. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator buzzes from the kitchen.
No sign of Heathcliff or anyone else. The coast is clear.
I pad into the living room to start my morning routine, past the new built-in shelves lined with dated family photos, Laelynn’s favorite motivational business books—Good to Great, How to Win Friends and Influence People, Secrets of Closing the Sale—and Eric’s ancient collection of Agatha Christie: The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, And Then There Were None.
I try to imagine the house before its facelift—before the polish, before the pretense. Before Marjorie Neuman was murdered.
In the kitchen, after tidying up the pans drying on the counter, I rummage through the hunter-green cabinets and find an espresso machine that looks like the Parkers plucked it from an Italian café.
I twist knobs until it sputters to life, spitting out a stream of caramel-colored brew.
I drown it in cream, take a sip, and absorb the view.
The lake shimmers beyond the endless window.
The mums in the garden reach for the sun in a rainbow of yellow, orange, red, magenta, and white.
Three deer move quietly across the lawn, nose through the grass, then vanish into the trees.
This was the vacation I wanted.
But it’s not.
I perform my standard morning stretching routine in the living room, and my thoughts drift to Marjorie, alone in this house before the renovation, peering out through the mist, wondering what was out there. To the note impaled on the door last night. To the noises outside my window.
Something here feels discordant.
I wonder if I should just cut my losses and ask Eric to take me home.
A splash from outside severs my thoughts. My eyes jump to the lake, where water ripples by the shore. Someone’s awake.
I open the door and step onto the patio. The screen creaks and snaps shut behind me. The cool morning air hits my skin. Another splash echoes across the shoreline. I scan the water and spot a rope swing hanging from a crooked cottonwood to my left.
Olivia.
I watch as she pulls the rope swing as far back as it will go and leaps onto it, careless and free.
As she flies through the air, I smile. She wears a soft-purple bikini that highlights her glistening dark skin.
Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her curly black locks fan out behind her, a halo in the morning light.
The rope swing curves inches from the ground and then up into the sky.
She holds on to it until it reaches its peak, and just as I fear she’ll hold on too long, she releases the swing and soars, arms spread wide, feet pulled together like she’s flying.
As her body approaches the water, she brings her hands together and stretches her legs into a perfect diving position. Zero splash.
I walk toward the lakeshore to meet her, sixty-three steps in all. I step into a depression in the lawn and my ankle rolls, but I catch myself. Nice job, Char-klutz. As I reach the crescent of beach, Olivia surfaces, shakes the water from her face, and spots me.
“CharBar!”
“Good morning,” I say, my arms wide.
“Stay right there,” she calls, and within seconds she’s cutting through the water in an Olympic-level swimmer’s crawl. She emerges like a Bond girl, water cascading from her hair.
She shakes herself dry and sits on a beach chair, tapping on the chair next to her. “Come sit. Now that we’ve finally got some time alone, you have to catch me up on what you’ve been up to.”
“How much time do you got?”
“As much as you need. I’ve got nowhere to go and all day to get there.” She smiles her familiar smile, nose crinkling, a sea of big, white teeth. I notice she’s got a wad of bubble gum wedged in her cheek. She blows a brilliant pink bubble and snaps it with her tongue. Same old Olivia.
The two of us spend the next half hour swapping stories about our lives. I tell her about Boston, about college, business school, becoming a consultant, my checkered dating history. She asks about my family.
She tells me about her life. She’s a documentary filmmaker now. Lives in Venice Beach. She’s done a few small films. Nothing I’ve seen. Her dating life is nearly as bleak as mine. But she’s happy. And I’m happy for her.
I want to ask her about that night at the State Fair. About why we drifted. But it’s not the right time. Right now, I just want to enjoy this moment.
My phone pings. I sneak a glance. A message from Carlos sent at 9:12 p.m. He sent it last night and I’m just getting it now?
Hey Mami! Sorry to harass you, but I’m just checking to see if you still want me to come up, or if I can stop doing all the ab exercises I’ve been doing to prepare? ??
I try to put the phone away, but Olivia catches me.
“Ooh. Who’s Carlos? Your Latin lov-eh?” A soft chuckle, like her dad.
My face burns. “Ha, no. He’s a bartender back in Chicago. After one too many tequilas, I may have invited him up here, even though this isn’t my house and I had no business inviting him. I’ve been stalling, trying to figure out a nice way to rescind my invitation.”
Olivia rubs her hands together like she’s trying to start a fire. “Now we’re talking. This is spicy. You definitely need to tell him yes.”
“What? No. I don’t want to invite a guy I barely know to your house.”
Another bubble snap. “You are doing it. And that’s an order. Don’t make me take that phone from you.”
What kills me is, knowing Olivia, she will take my phone from me, and God knows what she’d write.
“Okay, fine. I’ll text him.”
Sorry for the delay, Carlos. Just got the confirmation. Come on up! Just let me know your ETA.
He responds immediately.
??Great. Should I bring my sexy swimsuit? Or my super-sexy swimsuit?
I grin.
LOL. Definitely super-sexy.
I figured. Cool. Need to finish up a few things with school/work, but will let you know when I’m on my way.
I stuff the phone back in my pocket. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. You happy now?”
“Very.”
We both stare at the lake, a moment of contented silence passing between us.
“How’s your dad?” she asks.
I rub my hands together and stall, not wanting to ruin the moment. “He passed away.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“No, really, it’s okay. It was for the better.”
“Really? I remember him being so much fun. What happened?”
“It’s a long story. I’d rather not go into it.”
She wraps her arm around me and leans her head on my shoulder like she used to do. “No problem. I understand. If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”
I lean my head against hers, and it’s like we’re kids all over again. My chest fills. Memories of our childhood flood back like lake water spilling over the dock. For a moment, I’m speechless.
“This house is pretty incredible, huh?” I ask, trying to nudge our conversation back to the present.
Olivia’s smile fades. “It’s all right.”
“All right? Look at all the chrysanthemums your mom planted for you.”
“Yeah, she just planted those because I’m never here. She’s hoping it will bring me home.”
“What about this view?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. We’re very lucky. This view is pretty, the flowers are gorgeous, and the house is cool. There’s just something about the island that’s never felt right to me.”
A current runs along my skin. Hearing someone else verbalize what I’ve been thinking sets me on edge. “What do you mean?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.
Olivia bites a nail and spits it out. “I don’t know. Ever since Mom and Dad bought the property, it’s creeped me out. I hear odd sounds at night.” A pause. “Did they tell you about the amusement park?”
“Yeah, my mom told me about it.”
“People say there’s a ghost.”
My lips curve into a crooked smile. “Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts. That’s not the Olivia I know.”
Her eyebrows slant together. “Normally I don’t, but I’ve got to tell you. I’ve heard strange noises at night here. And they’re not animal noises.” She holds my gaze, but behind it something quivers.
“Well, at least you’ve got me now. And I’ve got you.”
A screen door behind me slams shut, and I flinch. I turn to see Laelynn. She waves. “Breakfast is served,” she shouts.
I turn back to Olivia. “I guess it’s breakfast time.”
She pats me on the knee. “You go on ahead. I’m going to swim some more.”
“What? We were just getting started. I want to hear about the documentaries.”
She flashes her phone and starts recording me. “I might make you my next subject.”
I cover my face with a groan. “Okay, okay. I’ll go.”
“And don’t eat all my dad’s doughnuts!”
“No promises.”
I start walking away.
“Hey, CharBar?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Make sure…just…” She swallows. “Be careful around here, okay?”