Chapter 12 Olivia #2
Mom told me earlier today her friend, Juliette, a woman she met at the Landfall ladies’ book club a few years ago, was the owner of this restaurant.
I already knew that, of course, having met Juliette several times at Mom and Dad’s parties.
Plus when we’ve eaten here, many times over the past few years, Juliette has sometimes stopped to chat with us, or just to me and Jake, on our date nights.
“I’ve been trying to be more hands-off, but I had to help with serving tonight,” Juliette replies, still hugging Mom.
“We’re desperately short-staffed. In fact, if you know someone in need of work, we’ll take anybody at this point.
” She releases my mother and throws me a curious look.
“Burt, Charlotte, it’s great to see you.
Charlotte, I know you’re busy at Zara and with little Taylor here, but if any of your friends are looking for serving gigs for the summer . . .”
My sister gives Juliette a half-smile, while blowing on some pasta for Taylor. “I’ll ask around.”
Juliette glances at me again, clearly waiting for an introduction.
Mom’s eyes widen in panic. “Oh, erm, Juliette, this is Olivia. A . . . a distant cousin, staying with us for the summer,” she blurts. Thankfully, Juliette is focused on smiling at me, and doesn’t notice the red flush creeping up Mom’s neck.
“Well, this food looks wonderful,” Mom adds, glancing at me apologetically as she takes her seat. “We’d better dig in. Thanks so much, Juliette. We won’t keep you from your customers.”
Juliette raises an eyebrow, quickly covering up her surprise at Mom’s uncharacteristic abruptness with a smile. “Of course. Enjoy.” She drifts off to speak to another table of customers.
We busy ourselves with cracking open lobster and crab. I have to hand it to Dad — he sure knows which dishes require utter concentration, and not much conversation.
“Maybe Juliette would hire you, Livvie?” Mom says as she digs out a crab claw.
Charlotte scoffs, despite the suggestion being directed at me. “She doesn’t have a Social Security number, Mom,” my sister says, as if I’m not sitting right here. “She can’t get a job. Ever.”
I was about to make the same point. “Charlotte’s right, Mom. I’d love to start earning, and I did some part-time serving while I was at design school, so I’ve got some experience. But I can’t see Juliette willing to hire anyone under the table, even if she’s desperate.”
Mom pulls out a whole claw of unbroken crabmeat, triumphant. “Leave her to me. She already thinks you’re a relative. She’ll help me out if I ask her for a favor.”
Charlotte puts down her fork with a clatter. “And why wouldn’t your so-called relative have any ID or Social Security number, Mom? She’s obviously not an illegal immigrant. It makes no sense—”
“Charlotte, that’s enough.” Dad’s voice is quiet but firm.
Wow. Dad is defending Mom but, by extension — me.
Little Taylor’s brown eyes are wide, trying to figure out what we’re arguing about.
“I’m done.” She pushes her cheesy dish away.
Charlotte digs out a pink-covered tablet from a purse I don’t recognize and sets her daughter up with purple headphones and a videogame.
It’s only when Taylor can’t hear our discussion and is fully engrossed that my sister speaks to me, at last.
“Okay, then.” There’s a chill in her voice I’ve never heard before.
“Let’s get down to it. You say you’re my sister — the sister I barely remember because she died when I was six.
And Mom says you know all the stuff that only Livvie would know.
But I know con artists do their research and can be very clever .
. .” She narrows her eyes and sits forward in her chair, already poised to eviscerate whatever I’m about to say.
Mom and Dad both seem to hold their breath, each staring at their plates. “So my question is, can you prove it?”
I answer slowly, carefully. “I know it sounds impossible. I know it is impossible. But this is what has happened. As for proof, I think I’ve done all I can.
Mom and I have been over so many details, so many memories of our shared history, she now believes me.
I’m happy to do the same with you — I’d love to have the chance.
And there’s the DNA test that proves I’m Mom and Dad’s daughter—”
“That’s just words on a piece of paper,” she interjects. “You could’ve faked that. Bribed the lab.”
What is this? CSI? I shrug. “I guess that’s possible, if I were very smart and resourceful. I’m neither. And I didn’t. I don’t have the money. The results are real. I’m real.”
Oh, how I want Charlotte to believe it. Even though I’m not entirely sure I believe that last part.
My sister glances at Taylor. Her daughter is deep into her bouncing bunnies game.
“What I want to know is, how did you know about Craig Philips?” she hisses. “I never told Mom and Dad about that night at Stacey’s. But you knew. How does that work? You were dead. You were never at that party.”
I take a fortifying glug of my wine before answering.
“Exactly. How do I know about it? How could I possibly know, if there isn’t a version of events where I wasn’t dead.
Where I was at that party. Where I saw you with Craig?
Where Jake and I stopped you going upstairs with him.
You were drunk, and we wanted you to realize you weren’t making a good choice.
You agreed, in the end, and let us take you home. ”
My sister’s frown deepens. “What? You stopped me? But . . . but Craig is Taylor’s father. That,” she glances at Taylor again, “poor choice, as you call it, that was the night I conceived my daughter.”
I suck in a breath. This might not go down well. “I know that. But in my version of events, you don’t have a daughter. You really want to be a mom, but no, Taylor doesn’t exist in my reality.”
Charlotte pushes her plate away. Her face is pale. “Let me get this straight. Not only are you not supposed to be here, but now you’re saying my daughter should never have existed? Because you’ve decided my drunken one-night stand with Craig shouldn’t have happened?”
Mom visibly balks at this, and lowers a trembling hand onto the table.
“I have only a hazy memory of that night,” Charlotte continues, “and sure, there was some regret when I woke up the next day and Craig was gone — and later, when I discovered I was pregnant. But what matters is that I got my baby girl out of it. I wouldn’t change that for a second.”
She leans forward, her lip curled, eyes meaner than I’ve ever seen them.
“As for Jake Johnson, who you claim to have been in a relationship with all these years, well, let me tell you something. He doesn’t even know you. He thinks you’re a crazy woman.”
She points her finger at me. “I know you accosted him on the beach the other day, telling him you and he are in love, and that you’re supposed to be getting married.
And the reason I know that is because his girlfriend is one of my best friends, and he told her all about you going nuts at him on the beach. ”
Girlfriend? Jake has a girlfriend?
Charlotte smirks at my expression. “He’s been with Savannah for three years, and she’s beautiful and amazing, and he loves her.
She’s about to move into his condo, and she’s convinced he’s going to propose on her birthday.
So, no, honey, he ain’t about to leave his incredible model girlfriend for some psycho woman who claims to be a dead girl. ”
She may as well have just slapped me across the face. I grip the table, unable to look at her.
Jake has a long-term girlfriend.
Charlotte stands up, her chair scraping across the floor, as she reaches over and pulls her daughter up from her chair. Mom half-rises, but Dad pulls her back, shaking his head. Charlotte drags the headphones off Taylor’s head, packing them away with the iPad.
“Thanks for dinner, Dad.” Charlotte’s voice is hard, as she zips up the purse, hauling it over one shoulder. “Sorry, but we’re done here. Tay, say bye to Pappy and Meemaw.”
The little girl’s eyes are wide. “Bye,” she says in a tiny voice.
Charlotte drags her daughter away between the tables, before my parents can react. She wrenches open the door with such force that it slams shut behind them. I’m aware of other diners staring at us, whispering. Mom looks miserable. Dad, resigned.
Yep.
That could have gone better.