Chapter 17 Olivia
I climb into the back seat of my parents’ car, a child again.
“It only takes twenty minutes to drive downtown, but parking will probably be a nightmare,” Mom says, getting into the passenger seat, tucking her new floral sundress under her.
“I’ll drop you ladies off on the boardwalk while I find a spot.” Dad’s voice is gruff as he pulls into the street.
Mom claps her hands excitedly, overcompensating.
“Oh, it’ll be so fun to see the fireworks.
We haven’t done that in years, have we, Burt?
” He says nothing as she turns her head back toward me.
“We usually have a Fourth of July party in the backyard, and your father sets off fireworks from the end of the dock. And before we moved to Landfall, we would have parties at our big old house, with fireworks from the next field.”
I know, Mom. I’ve been at every one of your summer parties since I was a child, and Jake’s been helping Dad set off the fireworks for ten years.
I smile at her, saying nothing.
“But it’s good to have a change,” she adds. “And no mess to clear up after!” She laughs, a little forced.
The community’s luxurious homes and generous front gardens glide past us as Dad cruises the smooth, curved road to the gates.
“Charlotte’s still meeting us there, with Taylor?” I ask Mom.
“Yes. It’ll be a big crowd, so we’ll meet her at six by the information point and then grab a spot in Riverfront Park. Burt, I’ll come get you at the information point after we’re settled.”
“Fine,” Dad grunts.
He remains quiet on the drive to downtown Wilmington as Mom rambles nervously about her upcoming charity fundraising dinner. She’s probably worried about me and Charlotte tonight, after what happened at dinner the last time.
She’s not the only one who’s nervous.
I pick at a tab of plastic on the cooler containing our picnic on the back seat beside me.
Is Charlotte even going to be civil to me?
Maybe the crowds, the side entertainment, and the fireworks will be enough to distract from our issues.
Little Taylor will no doubt need a lot of attention in order not to have a total meltdown that far past her bedtime.
Dad drops us off as close as he can get to the heaving streets that have been closed off for pedestrians, while he heads off to find parking.
I lug the heavy cooler with me, as Mom walks in front, carrying two picnic blankets through the crowds to the information desk on the riverwalk.
Charlotte is already there, in a wide-brimmed hat and cute gingham playsuit, holding onto little Taylor, who is tugging at her hand, eager to visit the cotton candy machine.
It must be a nightmare to keep hold of a kid in an environment like this.
“Hey, honey . . . hi, Tay!” Mom squeals, overdoing the enthusiasm as she hugs them. I know she only saw them a few days ago.
“Hi, Charlotte,” I say, when Mom is done fussing.
My sister looks at me. “Hi.” Her face is expressionless. An improvement on last time, anyways.
I crouch down by Taylor. “Hey there. Remember me?”
Taylor ignores me, pulling at her mother’s hand again. “Now can we go to the cotton candy, Momma?”
“Oh, alright, Tay. Don’t pull me, okay?”
We make our way over to the stall, adorned in Stars ’n’ Stripes, and displaying cotton candy in all colors of the rainbow.
“This reminds me of when we were kids,” I tell Charlotte, persisting despite her chilliness.
“We were at the state fair when we were . . . I dunno, I guess you were maybe five? I would’ve been around eleven.
I was supposed to be old enough to mind you for a minute.
We were at the coconut shy, and Jake and some other kids from school were playing, I got distracted.
I turned around and you were gone, and I was terrified.
I couldn’t tell Mom or Dad I’d lost you, so Jake and I hunted for you, me in tears the whole time.
Eventually, we went to the first aid desk and found you, totally happy, sitting on the counter with a huge puff of pink cotton candy somebody had given you.
I never did tell Mom and Dad I’d lost you. ”
“What?” Mom asks, eavesdropping as she pays for Taylor’s cotton candy. “When was this?”
“Back when we were little. No harm done,” I reply.
“Do you remember that, Charlotte? You wanted to give me your cotton candy to cheer me up, I was crying so hard. You were totally chill, having a lovely time with the nice people who were looking after you, but I was a mess, so you ended up comforting me. You were such a generous kid.”
My sister hands Taylor the cloud of pale pink sugar, twisting her mouth.
She nods, just once. “Yeah. That’s an early memory of mine.
Not of you crying, but the kind people who gave me cotton candy and looked after me, after I wandered over to the stall.
You were busy with the big boys. I didn’t think you’d miss me. ”
I smile at her. “Well, I did miss you.”
A familiar crease appears above her nose, but she turns away. “Let’s find a spot to have a picnic, or Taylor will eat nothing but sugar.” The comment is aimed mostly at Mom, but it’s sort of to me, as well.
Progress, maybe?
We settle between several large families in the park, spreading out our blankets and food.
Mom fetches Dad from the information kiosk while Charlotte focuses on feeding her daughter.
I watch them, as I munch silently on a sandwich.
Okay, so Charlotte isn’t exactly being friendly, but at least this time she’s not overtly hostile.
Maybe Mom had a talk with her when they saw each other earlier this week.
Charlotte can be gruff like Dad, but she’d do anything for Mom, and if Mom asked her to accept me, she’d try.
Taylor eats a couple of sandwich triangles and some carrots and hummus, followed by strawberry yogurt, and then she’s done.
Instantly, buoyed by the combined sugar content of yogurt and cotton candy, she’s desperate to run around and explore.
There’s a host of game stalls and food trucks lining the park, and the live country band has started on the stage at the other end.
They’ll play for a couple of hours until it’s time for the fireworks.
Poor Charlotte hasn’t eaten yet, and looks exhausted. She’s already done an eight-hour shift at Zara today, and even now she can’t relax with Taylor trying to drag her to her feet. I pour Charlotte a plastic cup of the wine I smuggled in a steel water bottle.
“Drink this, it’s rosé. And eat something.
Let me take Taylor for an hour.” She looks like she’s going to protest. “Come on,” I coax.
“What can happen? We’ll play whack-a-mole, get Taylor’s face painted, listen to the band.
And you can chill out here, just relax. Okay?
” I get to my feet, not intending to give her a chance to refuse.
At least now I have a week of restaurant earnings in my wallet so I can pay for this stuff.
“Momma, I want to go with yoo-oo-uu,” Taylor whines, tugging at her mother again.
Charlotte winces. Then, tempted by the wine, she gives in to my suggestion. “Okay. I’m trusting you,” she murmurs for my ears alone.
She raises her voice to her daughter. “Honey, go with your Auntie Livvie. I haven’t eaten my dinner yet, and she’ll be able to take you to all the fun stuff that I’m too tired to do. Okay? You go have a fun time, and come back and tell me all about it.”
Auntie Livvie. She didn’t make eye contact, but she referred to me as Auntie Livvie.
A major breakthrough.
I hold out my hand to my little niece. “Come, it’ll be great. Which first, whack-a-mole or face painting? We could do your face like a butterfly. You like butterflies, don’t you?”
Taylor nods, her pout diminishing. “Pink and yellow?” she asks in a small voice, brown eyes wide.
“Absolutely, pink and yellow. And maybe with some swirly patterns.” I keep my hand outstretched and this time, she takes it. Without another word to Charlotte, who is digging into the picnic cooler, we stroll over to the face painting station and get in line.
“Hi Taylor,” a mom calls from in front of us, her hand on the shoulder of a small boy. “Archie, say hi to Taylor.” The boy smiles, not removing his thumb from his mouth. “Who’s this? Where’s your Momma?” the woman adds, narrowing her eyes at me.
“My Auntie Livvie,” Taylor replies, still holding my hand. She points over to our blankets. “Momma is there with Meemaw and Pappy.”
The woman nods, not breaking her gaze from mine. “I’m Blair, I know Charlotte and Taylor from playgroup.” She holds out her hand. “I had no idea Charlotte had a sister. Auntie . . . Livvie, was it?”
“Just a term of affection,” I reply, confident that Taylor wouldn’t understand my response. “Olivia, or just Liv. Friend of the family’s. Good to meet you. And this is Archie?”
“Yes.” Blair seems satisfied with my explanation.
“We’re going to have his face painted like Spiderman, aren’t we, Archie?
He’s obsessed,” she adds, in a confidential tone.
“It’s Spiderman everything. He wanted to wear the entire costume tonight, but that thing is so hot and synthetic, especially on a warm night like this, I had to tell him it was in the laundry otherwise he’d have been complaining all evening. Kids, huh? You got any of your own?”
I shake my head as little Archie is called to have his face painted.
“It’s nice to get moments like this with other people’s, and then get to give them back when they get overtired,” I reply with a smile.
“It’ll be a late night for this one tonight.
” I nod my head at Taylor, whose face is alight with excitement.
The other face-painting artists calls us over. “Nice to meet you, Blair.”
Taylor and I bond over butterflies, whack-a-mole, and silly dancing to the funk band for over an hour. Eventually I bring her back to our picnic spot, where Mom, Dad, and Charlotte are relaxing. I even get a slight, but discernible, smile of gratitude from my sister.