Chapter 21 Olivia
“Liv! Call for you. In the office,” Juliette hollers across the almost-empty restaurant.
I stop stacking the last of the dirty glasses onto my tray and wipe the perspiration from the back of my neck, puzzled. Who’d call me at the restaurant?
I bring the tray to the dishwasher and call, “Thanks, give me one second.”
It’s nearly five, the end of my shift, and there’s a tiny lull in customers before happy hour and the dinner shift begins. It’s been a hot and sticky afternoon, even with all the restaurant’s French doors open to the ocean, and I’m desperate to get home for a shower. Not long now.
I slip into the coolness of Juliette’s office, and pick up the cordless receiver from the desk stacked high with paperwork. “Hi, this is Olivia.”
“Hey. Liv. It’s Jake. Sorry to call you at the restaurant, but I . . . I didn’t have your cell. I, uh, wanted to talk to you.”
I freeze for a moment, surprised. Jake? My stomach does a little flutter at the sound of his low, familiar voice. What can he want?
Juliette steps into the office, giving me a sly smile as she digs around a metal cabinet for a pack of napkins. I lift a hand in acknowledgement, all my concentration on the call.
“Uh, hey, Jake. How did you know I was working?”
“Oh. I got home early from work and saw your bike in the stand near my building, so I figured—”
“Right.” He knows which one my bike is. “So, what’s up?”
“I — I kinda, well, wanted to talk some more. When you have time. I’m trying to process all of this, you know.
You being here. I guess I wanted to spend a little more time talking, getting my head around it.
It’s so weird . . . I see you, and you’re so real.
Then I go home and it’s like I’ve imagined you.
I’m having a hard time with it, is all.”
I nod, even though he can’t see. “Sure. I’m just finishing up my shift but I’m free tonight? Or Sunday night, maybe. I’m pulling a double tomorrow.”
“Tonight’s good. There’s a Friday concert at Airlie Gardens tonight, maybe we could check that out and then go for a drink? I think it’s 6 to 8 p.m., ten bucks.”
My insides flutter again. My Jake and I went to several of those concerts last summer, the gardens are really close to our home.
“Sounds great,” I force out. “I’ll meet you at the main gate at six?”
“Sure. Let me get your cell number in case we miss each other, or one of us is late.”
We exchange numbers and I hang up, my pulse racing. Concert in the gardens. Drinks after.
This kinda sounds like a date . . .
What would Savannah make of her boyfriend taking me out on a Friday night?
It’s a fairly safe bet, though, that nobody will be at the concert who would recognize us.
The jazz, folk, and blues music draws a much older and less trendy crowd than the kind of circles Savannah hangs in.
It’s much more likely we’d run into some of Mom’s bridge or book club friends. But they don’t know me in this world.
Anyways, right now, my main concern is how to ride the twenty minutes to my folks’ house, shower, change, and ride the twenty minutes to the gardens, all in just over an hour.
I grab my share of the tips, pack up my apron, and head out, bumping into Deb at the door as she arrives for her dinner shift.
“Hey girl,” she laughs. “Where you going in such a hurry? Hot date?”
I walk backward out of the door. “Kinda. Gotta run. Have a good shift.”
“The cute police detective, is it?” Deb calls.
“Nope. Tell you ’bout it tomorrow.”
“Oh, Lord, is it that hot blond ex of yours?” she shouts.
I laugh, but don’t reply, waving at her as I run down the steps to the beach level and my bike. The heat is overwhelming. If I thought inside the restaurant was hot, it’s ridiculous out here. I’m not even riding yet, and my shirt is sticking to my back.
I pant my way through the humid air on the ride back to my folks’ house, where I slip straight into the pool house to take a quick, blissfully cool shower, and change into the floral playsuit I splurged on last week.
I slick on some red lipstick that goes great with my chestnut hair.
I even manage to blow-dry it. It’ll be frizzy in a half-hour, especially after another ride, but, hey.
Mom knocks on my door as I’m gathering items into my purse. “You eating dinner with us tonight, honey?”
“Can’t, thanks Mom. I’m heading out to meet a friend at Airlie Gardens.” I kiss her lightly on the cheek and usher her away from the door, locking up behind me.
She follows me down the path, watching as I mount the bike. “Which friend? Detective Banks?”
“No, Mom, not Adam. Just a friend. Gotta run. Have a nice evening.”
I swerve out of my parents’ drive, picking up speed to swoosh my way through the wide, manicured streets of Landfall, while cursing my parents for picking the house furthest from the gated entrance.
I pedal harder, and make it to Airlie Gardens with three minutes to spare.
Vanity has prevented me from squishing my newly washed hair with a bike helmet, but nothing can stop the frizzing effects of the sticky evening.
I smooth my hair down, before wheeling the bike through the crowd.
Jake’s already by the entrance pillar. He’s taller than everyone else, his blond crop shining in the late sun. He watches me lock up my bike at the stand, that beautiful smile of his lighting up his face. “Hi. Glad you could make it. I have a blanket and lots of snacks.”
“Great, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten dinner.”
“I figured.”
It’s so like Jake to realize I wouldn’t have had time to eat between the end of my shift and getting here. Always so considerate of others’ needs. Conversations with my girlfriends over the years have shown me how rare that quality is in our boyfriends.
He pays for both our tickets at the gate — “my treat, I invited you” — and we settle on a spot at the back of the crowd, where we can still talk.
Jake spreads out a plaid blanket under a huge tree dripping with moss.
The music hasn’t started yet, and roadies are busying themselves on stage with risers, and at least a dozen music stands.
“I don’t even know what tonight’s concert is,” I tell him. “I saw a few acts here last year. It’s usually jazz, blues, or folk, right?”
Jake pulls a demi-baguette and some ham and cream cheese from his backpack. “Yeah, I think it’s some jazz swing band tonight. The Big Birds Band, or something.”
My hand, which is reaching for some bread, freezes mid-air.
Is he serious?
“The Big Buzzard Boogie Band?” I ask, slowly.
“That’s it. You know them?” Jake’s spreading cream cheese onto a crust of bread.
I suck in a breath. “You could say that. We — that is, you and I — saw them here last summer, about a month after we got engaged. We loved them, and we chatted with them after. They’re, uh, due to play at our wedding next month. In . . . my version.”
“Huh. That’s wild.” He shakes his head. “This is nuts, Liv. I mean, the whole thing is just insane.”
“I know. But I don’t think I’m insane. It’s something else, something most people would consider impossible, but is just simply beyond our comprehension. Something we can’t explain. Like supernatural stuff that people believe in. Or religious faith. You know?”
Jake nods, but slowly.
On the stage, the musicians take their places. I recognize the band leader immediately. But that was in another life — he wouldn’t know me here.
Jake and I don’t talk much as the band plays, choosing to enjoy the music and each other’s companionship, munching our way through Jake’s simple picnic.
Even as the sun lowers behind the treeline, the air remains close.
There’s little breeze to cool us and vast clouds slowly roll in, gathering above the oak tree, creamy and edged in charcoal gray as the light dims.
Jake lifts his ocean-blue eyes to the sky. “Looks like the weather’s gonna break.”
At that, as if to prove him correct, a low growl of thunder echoes the drum solo on the stage.
As the band moves into its final upbeat number, fat raindrops give the crowd a teasing advance warning of what’s to come.
A couple of umbrellas go up, and several audience members lift jackets over their heads.
Under the heavy oak, Jake and I are mostly sheltered, but not for long as the rain starts to pelt down.
Quickly, we gather up the picnic blanket and move closer to the wide trunk, the ground shielded by the dense foliage overhead.
“That’s all for tonight — you folks have a great evening and stay dry!
” the band leader yells into the microphone.
As if mocking him, the sky opens up, and a torrent of rain pours down on the crowd.
It slips through the oak leaves, dripping intermittently onto our hair and shoulders.
I’m already damp with sweat, so it barely matters at this point.
The crowd disperses rapidly while a few others join us under the shelter of the oak.
“You got an umbrella?” Jake asks.
I shake my head. “Nope, not even a jacket.”
“Me neither,” he replies. “Let’s wait for the crowd to clear the gate, then make a break for it. We can head to the bar at the Bradley Creek marina. It’s only a few minutes’ ride. I rode my bike here too, as I knew you’d be riding.”
Damn. I was hoping he brought his car. I laugh as a huge drip lands on my forehead, and glance down at my thin, sleeveless playsuit, the only thing I’m wearing. A bike ride will be interesting.
“We’re going to get soaked, for sure. But it’s quicker than walking.”
We give the audience another ten minutes to clear the gates, then brace ourselves for the deluge.
Jake grabs my hand as we break out into the open lawn, my thin leather sandals squelching in the grass.
By the time we get through the gate to the bike stand, I’m soaked, hair plastered to my face.
“I didn’t even bring a helmet!” I holler at him over another crack of thunder.