Chapter 9 #2
Her eyes glanced to the wall. “The old family portrait is finally gone, at least.”
I entered the elevator. “I didn’t want to risk Olivia asking questions.”
“Good boy,” Mom said as she joined me in the elevator.
We ascended to the second floor and I almost turned toward the bedrooms, but stopped when I noticed Titus sitting in the middle of the opposite hallway. He looked at me, his tongue flopped out as he panted. Poor boy was exhausted from taking the stairs.
Before I could wonder why he was randomly in the guest wing, I caught a glimpse of a traffic-cone orange sleeve peeking out from the hallway alcove. I quietly walked over to Titus and found him sitting with Olivia.
Olivia was stretched out on the cushion of the alcove bench with an e-reader in her lap, but her eyes were fixed on the hazy sky outside the window.
I nearly made a remark about her wearing her bright orange Plains State hoodie to meet my Lindsay University superfan of a mother, but Olivia’s blank stare made me pause.
I could see my own reflection in the window pane, and yet she didn’t turn to greet me. Titus’s panting was anything but quiet, but she didn’t acknowledge him either.
She was just like she was at the doctor’s office…there but not.
“Adams, my mother is here,” I said.
Olivia turned so quickly that her e-reader slid off her lap. She didn’t even try to catch it as it clattered to the floor and instead jumped to her feet to shake my mother’s hand.
“H-hello,” Olivia said with a sheepish smile and a growing flush. “Pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Fontaine.”
Mom’s face was unreadable as she lightly shook Olivia’s hand. “We’re all adults now, just call me Cheryl.”
Olivia looked down at the striped socks on her feet as her cheeks grew red. “I’m not sure if you know, but I’m—”
“Up in the duff, as our friends across the pond like to say?” Mom interrupted. “I’m well aware.”
Olivia paled and curved in her shoulders, as if Mom were about to send her to a proverbial time-out corner.
Instead, Mom reached into her purse. “Here, I have something for you.” She pulled out a black and white striped notebook—as if that would help Olivia’s prisoner complex—and held it out. “It’s a pregnancy journal.”
Olivia gingerly took the journal. “What am I supposed to write in it?”
Mom shrugged. “Everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly. You have a long road ahead and a journal will help you process.”
I smiled. Though I was certain Mom wanted to wring my neck for getting someone pregnant, she still had grace for the situation. The journal was a very thoughtful gift.
Olivia turned the journal over in her hands and furrowed her brows. “Am I supposed to write like a diary? Or write as if I’m speaking to the babies? Do I write every day? How long should the entries be?”
The constant questions stabbed me in the temple. “Damn it, Adams, it’s not an assignment.”
Olivia sucked in her lower lip and Mom tossed me a look—a look that told me she was about to send me to a real time-out corner.
Mom turned back to Olivia. “It doesn’t matter what you write as long as it’s the truth.”
Olivia nodded and an awkward, heavy silence followed. Her brown eyes darted around beneath her glasses frames. “Um…I love how you decorated.”
The wainscoting in the hallway was painted a glossy maroon. The dusty pink wallpaper looked like random filigrees at first glance, but was actually repeating images of writhing nude women. A long collage of disembodied blue eyes and colored beetles was pasted along the ceiling.
I made it a point to rarely go into the guest wing.
Mom glanced at the horror show on the ceiling. “I was on a coke bender when I did this, but I’m glad someone around here appreciates a strong message.”
She clapped me on the back. “Come on, Beau. Make me a drink so we can let the poor girl nap.”
Before she walked toward the landing, Mom gave my hand a sharp squeeze. The wordless command was clear: “Tell her nothing.”
I glanced back at Olivia as she retrieved her e-reader and settled back into the alcove.
Staying in the manor made her way too close to our secrets.
Mom was right to be concerned that Olivia could pass along whatever she learned to her big-mouthed friend.
Scandal gets attention, and who knew what Ashley and Tyson would do for even more social media fame?
I might have believed Olivia when she said she wasn’t after our money, but everyone else always was.
Bringing Olivia to the house was a risk, I knew that from the very beginning. Weighing the well-being of the Fontaine babies against the security of the Fontaine legacy was a tough decision, but the babies had won. The babies would win every time.
I would just have to keep Olivia at arms-length to mitigate damage. No, further than arms-length. She was both an obligation and a liability, like a dormant fire bomb that could destroy everything.
And I had already been destroyed too many times to risk it happening again.
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans as I headed down the hallway after Mom, hoping Grandpa would still be proud of me even though I put the entire family legacy in jeopardy.