Chapter 9 Olivia #3
Mom clears her throat. “She knows. I called her this morning to tell her we’d be bringing you home.
But . . . it’s too soon, for her. She’s very concerned about all of it.
As you can imagine. We showed her the DNA results, but she’s not convinced, said you could’ve bribed someone at the lab, or something.
So, it might be a while before you see her.
And she’s very busy, of course, with Taylor, and her shifts at the store. ”
I furrow my brow as I finish my mouthful. “Taylor?”
“Yes, she’s a handful. We love having her here while Charlotte’s at the store, but it’s a lot.”
I shake my head. “Sorry. Who is Taylor?”
Dad looks up for the first time since starting his meal, and Mom puts down her wine glass.
“Honey,” she says. “Taylor is Charlotte’s daughter. Our granddaughter. Your niece. She just turned four.”
What?
“Wait a minute.” Dad’s tone is dark. He puts down his fork.
“You want us to believe you’ve somehow been alive this whole time, that in your version of events you see us regularly, and you’re engaged to Jake Johnson, and we have dinner every week.
And yet somehow, somehow, you don’t know your own niece?
” His voice is rising. “Bit of a hole in your story, don’t you think? ”
“I . . . I can’t explain it,” I stammer. “In my version of events, Charlotte is single and doesn’t have any kids. I mean, she’s only twenty-two. Wait . . . who’s the father? Are they together?”
Mom purses her lips. “Craig Phillips, that quarterback from her year in high school. She’s never had a relationship with him — it was a one-night stand at a party, she said.
She was determined to keep the baby, even though it cost her a place on a fashion degree.
Now, we sometimes look after Taylor while Charlotte works at Zara downtown.
She rents a one-bedroom in the historic district. ”
“Huh. That’s funny. In my version, she earned that fashion degree, but still came back here and works at Zara, and lives downtown. Guess the degree didn’t make much difference.”
I take a bite of salmon, stunned. Wow. A four-year-old. My niece. I have a niece.
“Hold up,” I add, glancing up. “Her daughter just turned four, you said? She’d have been conceived around .
. . early fall, five years back. Man.” I shake my head.
“I remember a house party around then, at Stacey’s.
Charlotte was still living in the big house with you, and I was in that rented loft downtown, where Jake would stay when he was home from law school.
Charlotte would’ve been seventeen, about to go into her senior year at high school, I guess. And I was twenty-three.”
I frown, trying to recall that night. “It was Labor Day weekend, that’s right.
Stacey’s place was miles out of town, and Charlotte had persuaded Jake and I to come pick her up and bring her back to yours, as we’d already all planned to stay the weekend at the house for Labor Day.
I remember, because when we got to the party, it was totally out of control — Stacey’s parents’ house was trashed. ”
It’s all rushing back to me now — I haven’t thought about that night in years.
I put down my wine glass. “When we went in to find Charlotte, I saw her going upstairs with Craig Phillips. She was totally wasted, probably drinking for the first time, and didn’t seem like she was making good choices.
She had a huge crush on Craig — all the girls did — but Jake and I followed her upstairs and persuaded her to come home.
We drove out to the old house and snuck her in without waking you.
” I shake my head. “If we hadn’t been there that night, it could’ve turned out very differently. ”
Mom nods. “I remember that Labor Day weekend, too. Charlotte was supposed to come home after a party, but she ended up staying out all night. She didn’t return our calls and didn’t turn up until later the next afternoon.
” Mom turns to Dad. “She was in a state, totally hungover — do you remember, Burt? — and we grounded her for two weeks. I always figured that party was where she got pregnant.”
I sip my wine. “Yep. I guess in my version of events, I was there to prevent it. So, for me, Taylor was never conceived—”
“That’s enough.” Dad’s voice has a bitter tone I don’t recognize.
“That’s enough. You’re still a stranger in our home, and you’re talking about underage drinking, intoxicated one-night stands, and that our darling granddaughter should never have existed?
Enough. No, Til—” he holds up a hand as Mom starts to object.
“That’s it.” He rises, his plate of half-finished dinner in one hand, wine in the other. “I’ll be in my study.”
I open my mouth to speak as Dad pushes past the bifold doors into the house. “I’m so sorry.”
But he’s already gone.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat to Mom. “I didn’t mean that Taylor shouldn’t exist. I was only trying to explain why I don’t know her, why she doesn’t exist in my world.
It’s not a hole in my story.” I grip the table, the aroma from my barely-touched plate of salmon making me feel nauseated.
“I’m telling you both the truth, I swear. ”
Mom forces out a thin smile. She rises, pulling together the dishes. “I believe you. Your father will come around.”
“And Charlotte?”
Mom’s eyes meet mine. She says nothing.