Chapter 14 Olivia
I change positions on a rattan lounger by the pool, trying to keep all my exposed skin under the shade of the turquoise umbrella. I’ve left the sunscreen inside the pool house and I’m too lazy to get it.
I’ve been very lazy this last week.
Unmotivated.
Sluggish.
Ever since Charlotte told me about Jake’s gorgeous girlfriend.
Savannah.
Ugh.
I flip over the page of Mom’s book club novel, a literary fiction title that’s a bit heavy for me. Not exactly a summer beach read.
The door slips open behind me, and Mom steps out.
“Honey? You’ve got a visitor.”
I sit upright, blinking in the bright sun. There’s a man standing behind her.
Jake?
Mom steps aside as I shade my eyes. Detective Banks. I try to hide my disappointment. Of course it’s not Jake. It was foolish to think otherwise.
He’s out of uniform, in a gray T-shirt with aviator shades hooked over the neck, navy shorts, and flip-flops. His sturdy, muscled arms and legs are exposed, and covered in dark hair. There’s no doubt he’s good-looking, if a little stocky and swarthy for my usual tastes.
“Oh. Hey. What are you doing here?” I’m wearing only a black bikini top and white shorts. Detective Banks will have to take me as I am.
“Hi, Olivia,” he replies, not answering my question.
“Do you both want sweet tea? Or I could make you some lunch?” Mom asks, evidently thrilled I have a handsome male visitor.
Of course she’s excited.
It would be ideal for Mom and Dad, wouldn’t it? Some knight in shining armor — or uniform — to rescue and take care of me. Happy ever after, with no inconvenience to them.
“Sweet tea would be great, thank you, ma’am.”
Mom practically melts at the ‘ma’am’ and scurries inside.
The police detective sits on the low chair beside me as I raise the back of my lounger.
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” I tell him, recalling our last conversation.
He nods. “I know. I was just . . . concerned about you, I guess. I didn’t know whether calling your parents would be a good idea, but I wanted to know how you were getting along with them, considering .
. . everything. I was in your neighborhood and figured I’d stop by.
” He looks around to see if Mom’s about.
“I’d hoped you might be here alone, and I could check on you without your folks realizing. ”
“Well,” I laugh, “you showed up at my parents’ front door, and they’re here, so they definitely realize. But that’s okay. We’re getting on fine.”
He grins, looking relieved, his smile wide and relaxed. He really is good-looking.
“Mom’s been great,” I add, “and Dad’s definitely softening up. I think he was in a fight with himself about how to treat me, and the side that loves having his daughter back won out. My sister is another matter — she’ll take some convincing.”
Mom arrives with a tray bearing a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses. Evidently, she plans to leave us to catch up. “Let me know if you get hungry,” she says sweetly to Detective Banks, before departing.
“Thanks, Mom!” I call after her. I turn to him, quirking an eyebrow. “She seems excited to see you, detective.”
He smiles again. “Well, that’s sweet. But it wasn’t your mom I came to see. And please, call me Adam. I’m not the detective on your case anymore, just a concerned person — a friend, I hope.”
I pour the tea, ice cubes clinking into the tall glasses. “Thank you. Adam. It’s good to have a friend.”
Adam looks out over the pool toward the creek. “Is that your dock? It’s about the longest I’ve ever seen.”
I laugh. “I know, isn’t it ridiculous. There’s a lot of marshy mudflats to get over before the water is deep enough for the boat.” I hesitate. “You wanna take a walk along it?”
He nods, picking up both our drinks as I scramble off the lounger. His gaze travels momentarily across my body before he resumes eye contact and passes me my glass. “Lead the way.”
We stroll across the lawn and step down onto the wooden jetty. The mudflats glisten in the early afternoon sun. I pause for a second, laying my hand on Adam’s firm, tan arm, the hair soft on my palm. I lift it again, and point. “Look, there.”
A heron dips its beak between the rushes, seeking its silvery prey.
Adam smiles, his gaze sweeping across the creek toward Parmele Island. He breathes in the salty scent of the creek. “It’s really beautiful. So peaceful.”
We amble along the jetty. “Do you have any plans now?” he asks, his eyes still on the landscape. “Figured out anything for the future? Or are you taking it day by day?”
I fall into step beside him. My legs are as long as his, and our pace matches exactly.
“Day by day, mostly. Not much else I can do. I haven’t been able to figure out anything in terms of ID and Social Security.
I can’t get a passport, which would normally be the first step.
I mean, Mom has my birth certificate, so I’ve thought about applying with that.
She even still has my expired passport from when I was a kid.
But she also has my death certificate, which is on record. ”
I shrug, trying not to look too disheartened.
“I’m a non-person. And we have no desire for further investigations that I know won’t help.
Last night, Dad was talking about how looking into what really happened could potentially involve digging up my childhood grave, and Mom just about lost her mind at that idea.
So, it looks like I’ll stay a non-person for the foreseeable future, which leaves me kinda stuck.
” I blow out a breath and focus on the swaying grasses.
I don’t want to get tearful in front of this guy.
“You’re not a non-person. You’re definitely real.” He nudges me sideways, making my step falter. “See?”
I smile, recovering my balance. “Physically real, sure. Just not in the eyes of the law. And, I guess, you’re the law, so . . .” He chuckles at that.
We’ve reached the end of the dock, which is wide and covered by a sturdy roof. Half of it is taken up by the boat lift that has Dad’s prized possession raised out of the water from a hoist hanging from the rafters.
We sit in the shade of the roof, our legs hanging off the side, my bare feet brushing some of the taller grasses reaching for the jetty.
“I mean, it’s great living here,” I continue.
“Obviously. It’s a wonderful place, and I love Mom and Dad, even if Dad’s hesitant about me.
But Mom treats me like . . . It’s not only like she has her daughter back, but also like she has her twelve-year-old daughter back.
” I scoop my hair up from my neck and take a breath.
“I’m totally dependent on them for food, clothes, a roof over my head, anything else I need.
My only freedom is the bike I’m riding around on, and even that’s borrowed.
I have to find a way to be financially independent, somehow.
I’m starting a serving job next week, which Mom landed as a favor from a friend who owns the place.
But it’s only for the summer, as it’s all cash—” I stop abruptly.
Crap. Adam is a police detective, and my new job is illegal.
I turn to him with a grimace. “Any chance you didn’t hear that?”
He waves it away, his gaze on a group of squawking seagulls fighting over something in the water. “I’ll look the other way. Got bigger criminal fish to fry than someone with no options taking a job under the table.”
I smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that. It’s temporary, anyways.”
“Right.”
We sit in silence for a few moments, drinking our sweet tea. The heron we spotted earlier swoops before us, scattering the unruly gulls. It lands in the reedy shallows beside our dock, eager to land the spoils of the seagulls’ squabble.
“Herons always look like they’re from another time, to me,” I say to Adam. “Pterodactyls.”
He smiles, watching it. “Right? Prehistoric.” He heaves another breath, parting his lips as if he has something else to say, but stops. Maybe he’s thought better of it.
“I guess I’d better head out.” He swings his legs up and rises, helping me to my feet and picking up our drained glasses. “I have a racquetball game with a buddy to get to.” I follow him down the dock, wondering what he was going to say, before I catch him up.
We walk slowly back along the dock, the boards creaking beneath us.
“Well, thanks for coming to check on me,” I tell him as we cross the lawn.
Mom is on the terrace, clearing away the half-drunk pitcher of tea.
She’s watching us, clearly analyzing our body language for any hopeful signs of intimacy.
“No problem. It was my pleasure,” Adam replies, his voice soft. He touches my arm lightly. “Hey, I’m glad you’ve found a source of income, even if it’s something I shouldn’t know about. Might help you feel a bit more independent, right? Then maybe the rest will fall into place.”
I have doubts about that, but he’s being sweet. “Hope so.”
We approach Mom, who is beaming, the pitcher suspended in her grasp. “How are you guys doing?”
“Fine, thanks, Mom.”
Adam reaches out, smiling charmingly as he shakes Mom’s free hand. “Thanks for the tea, Mrs. Grainger. I have to get going, but I’ll see you again soon.”
“You’re welcome, detective. Come back any time.”
She’s positively cooing at him. I snort and Mom shoots me a wide-eyed look as if to say, what? Before I can say anything, she turns and disappears through the doors into the house.
“I really appreciate you taking the time today, Adam. It was kind of you. I don’t really have any friends, so . . . you know. Thanks.”
He nods. “Happy to.” He heads for the side gate, hand on top as he pauses. “If you need someone to talk to, you—”
“—know where to find you,” I finish for him. “Thanks. I may just take you up on that.”
Adam flashes another warm smile. “I hope so. See you around, then. Don’t be a stranger.” He lets himself out of the side gate.
Don’t be a stranger.
But that’s what I am. Isn’t it?