48. Liv
Liv
The Sunday after Thanksgiving, I arrived at Grandma Ella’s house to hunt for Charles’s journals. I’d told her I wanted to look for some old family papers, and she hadn’t questioned me. Before I left, I intended to tell her everything and ask her again about the test. It was time.
Theo had emailed me, letting me know he’d learned the girl who’d died of frostbite wasn’t Lily, but that the date of Lily’s disappearance didn’t prove she was Mystery Girl, either.
He’d apologized again, but I ignored it.
I won’t call you, he’d written. I’m trying to respect your wishes.
But I’m so sorry, Liv. And I wish you’d call me, so we can talk.
I knew from Gray how easy it was to say you were sorry after the fact, to try to assuage your guilt with empty words.
I wasn’t falling for it. Theo had already walked away from our relationship before I knew about the lawsuit.
I’d been giving him a chance, and the whole time, he’d been using me, with the full knowledge that his mother planned to sue my family.
My father was right about one thing; I’d been na?ve, and now I was paying the price.
Thanksgiving had been grim. Before we’d driven to my parents’ house, I’d shut myself in the bathroom and recited affirmations to my reflection, the way I encouraged my clients to do: You are enough, just as you are.
Seeking outside approval is giving your power away.
Focus on what you can control and make peace with what you can’t.
It did absolutely nothing to help. If my clients found this technique half as ineffective as I did, I needed to reevaluate my process.
At dinner, my parents and I barely spoke, other than ‘pass the turkey.’ I’d wanted to beg them to take their threat of disinheritance back. To say they loved me, no matter what. That we would always be a family. But no dice.
I’d hated myself for wanting what they weren’t willing to give, even as their stubbornness infuriated me.
If it hadn’t been for Chloe, who’d filled the silence with chatter about her classroom’s new bearded dragon and the hat she’d knitted for me as an early Christmas gift, I might’ve made my excuses and fled before Ruth served the apple pie.
Today, Chloe was hanging out with Tessa’s twins, thrilled to spend an afternoon at the park rather than digging through dusty boxes in the attic with me.
I’d filled Tessa in on everything that had happened, and Theo was on her hit list. Even worse, when I told her about the piano playing and my weird dream, she’d gotten all freaked out and gone on about what her yeye called nü gui—the ghost of a woman who’d died wronged.
It hadn’t done much for my peace of mind.
Hopefully, today would take me one step closer to a resolution.
“Hello?” I called as I unlocked the front door and eased it open. “Grandma?”
“In here, dear.”
I found her on the couch in the den, a mystery novel in hand.
She put it down when I walked in and smiled, as if my presence had transformed her day.
That was one reason I’d always loved spending time with my grandmother.
In a family built on the culture of doing more, achieving something productive every moment, she made me feel special every time she laid eyes on me... like I was perfect just the way I was.
“Hi,” I said, giving her a kiss. The house smelled delectable, like Ruth had been baking. I didn’t hear any pots banging around in the kitchen, though; maybe she’d gone out for a bit.
“Let me take a good look at you.” She lifted my chin, peering into my eyes. “Oh, dear. What’s the matter?”
I’d been here for five seconds, and she’d already seen right through me. “It’s nothing,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”
She tsked. “Olivia Kate, I’ve known you your whole life. I know when something’s troubling you. Is it that dreadful ex-husband of yours?”
I seized on this, grateful. Gray’s revolving door of conquests continued to aggravate me, even though he’d talked to Chloe as promised and she seemed to have adjusted.
“He’s being a bit of a pain in the butt, Grandma.
I think he’s dating every available woman in Wilmington.
Which would be fine, except he introduces Chloe to all of them.
Each time they spend the weekend together, he’s with someone else.
She likes the newest one”—Luna had long since bit the dust—“but it’s the principle, you know? ”
Grandma Ella nodded. “I don’t blame you for being upset, dear.
I never thought he was good enough for you, and not because of that nonsense your mother always spouted.
It’s because he’s selfish. You need a man who will appreciate you.
” She tapped her index finger against her lips, the way she did when she was deep in thought. “What about that lovely piano player?”
I almost choked. “Theo?”
“He’s quite handsome. You don’t need to marry him, after all. You had a husband, and you have a wonderful daughter. He’s very good with his hands; maybe you should look him up for some fun.”
And then my ninety-three-year-old grandmother winked at me.
If she only knew. “Are you suggesting…what are you suggesting, exactly?”
“Don’t look so shocked, dear.” She patted my hand. “I was young once, too.”
Two hours later, I was filthy. I’d hit my head on the attic’s slanted ceiling twice, ripped the knee of my jeans on a nail, and scraped my arm.
I was allergic to something up there and couldn’t stop sneezing.
Plus, Grandma Ella kept asking me to carry boxes downstairs for her to look through.
And I hadn’t found a single dark-green journal.
The last time I came down the stairs, the world’s most awkward box in my arms, Grandma stopped me at the bottom.
“I think that’s enough for today, dear,” she said, reaching out to brush a cobweb from my hair.
At least, I hoped it was a cobweb. “You look beside yourself, Olivia. Put that thing down.”
“Okay,” I said, resting the box on the dining room table. “You win. Let’s open this one and see what’s inside.”
Grandma Ella smiled at me. She was so happy. And I was about to bring up a subject that would wipe the smile right off her face.
But I had to. I wasn’t going to back down. Not this time.
I grabbed the X-Acto knife I’d brought with me and sliced through the tape. An oddly familiar floral aroma wafted out, and Grandma Ella took a deep breath.
“That takes me back,” she said. “It smells just like our living room did, when I was growing up. Isn’t it odd how a scent can have that effect on you?”
It was. Because now I knew where I’d smelled it before: in the dream where I’d seen Elizabeth Carter.
A chill washed up my spine as my grandmother reached into the box and unwrapped a small figurine of a Scottie. “This sat on our mantel,” she said, turning it around so she could see it from every angle. “Right next to an inlaid mahogany clock.”
The chill radiated outward, its cold fingers robbing me of speech, but my grandmother didn’t notice.
She was too busy delving into the box again, pulling out items and exclaiming over them.
“I haven’t seen these things in years. This is the silver ashtray my mother took out for guests, when they smoked cigars with Daddy.
And here, this is the little candy dish we always kept peppermints in.
” She lifted her head, her face alight. “Let’s look in another one. ”
Three boxes later, the dining room table was filled with knickknacks, a scarf my grandmother declared matched my eyes, a miniature painting of my great-great-grandfather Carter, and a collection of recipes that Ruth—who’d come back and wanted to know what all the fuss was about—promptly commandeered.
My grandmother ooohed and ahhed over each item, her gaze misty, as if seeing these objects had somehow resurrected their owners.
“Daddy died when I was so young,” she said, her voice wistful.
“Two years after the stock market crashed. His heart gave out, the night of a ball my parents were set to attend.” She ran a finger over the tape on the final unopened box.
“I don’t have that many memories of him, but in all of them, he’s so gentle.
Troubled and sad, but always kind to everyone. ”
I bent to pick up the X-Acto again. “I’m sorry, Grandma.”
“It’s so strange to think these trinkets are all that’s left of my parents.
” She sighed. “Once I’m gone, there will be no one who remembers them.
My mother died when your father and Jamison were so young.
They don’t recall a thing about her. I guess that’s why I’m talking your ear off with these stories, so there will be someone who remembers. ”
The tape on the final box split and the cardboard fell open. From its depths wafted another aroma: the unmistakable scent of tobacco. My grandmother’s eyes widened, and she reached inside, drawing out an object with reverence.
“My father’s pipe! How on earth did that get in here? After he died, my mother packed up his things, but I had no idea they were in the boxes we took from New York. I thought they’d gotten lost somewhere.”
Charles Carter’s personal effects…and just maybe, the contents of his office. My heart picked up speed. “Grandma, do you mind if I take a look?”
She shot me a quizzical glance, moving aside to give me room. “Of course not, dear. You carried it down, after all. Go right ahead.”
I looked into the box, full of items wrapped in brown paper. Carefully, I lifted each of them out and set them on the table.
And then I saw it: a gleam of forest-green, wedged at the very bottom. Reaching down, I tugged, and the object came free.
I was holding a small book with the initials ‘C.C.’ emblazoned on green leather, exactly like the one in my dream.
My grandmother reached out to touch the book’s cover. “This is one of my father’s journals,” she said, sounding puzzled. “I thought we’d donated them all to the Historical Society. What’s this one doing here?”
My legs shook. I sat down in one of the dining room chairs, clutching the book so tightly, I was afraid I’d leave nail marks in the leather. My grandmother hovered over me, eyes crinkled with concern. “Olivia, are you all right?”
The world swam, and a buzzing sound rose in my ears. I clutched the book even tighter. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice coming as if from far away. “But Grandma? We need to talk.”