34. Olly
THIRTY-FOUR
OLLY
I suppose I really ought to have come for the full reading of the Will and not arrived late and then bailed early to go to Shepard for comfort, because at breakfast, which Clark invited me to at his place, he informed me that apparently now I was richer than Midas.
He correctly assumed I didn’t want the new job or board position at Rose Financial now that I knew what it really was, and instead gave me a payout in restitution for my nine years of suffering under The Organization’s thumb.
Eight as a child, and six months as an adult—he said he was entitled to round up a few months if he saw fit.
Holy hell. It had just struck me again as I was lathering up my hair and realizing that I could now get that custom shampoo I saw on the internet.
I mean, I wasn’t broke without this windfall, but money had been something I’d worried a lot about in the past when I was as poor as the mice that shared living space with Shepard and myself.
I had done not bad, landing a job at Rose Financial, but I still had student loan debt and credit card debt from everything I needed as a student but couldn’t afford.
Paying all of that off was priority number one.
I stepped out of the shower and towel-dried my poofy hair, and continued getting ready for the day.
I know it was kind of weird, getting ready after breakfast, but Clark had surprised me at the time I used to get up, so I ate at his place in my jammies.
I had this game I used to play, when I was a kid in the foster homes.
I used to dream that my abilities were strong enough that I could pick out of each kid’s head what they really wanted for Christmas and then poof!
make it happen. Let them get up in the morning to something other than the usual, and instead get everyone Playstations, ponies, and parents.
Now that I was rich as hell, and I didn’t want to squander my time with The Organization. I was getting out—but only after some major changes were in the works. And I wanted to manage what I had, and spend it making other peoples’ lives better.
The painting arrived around noon on that first day of me simultaneously crying and
making lists of what I wanted to do and people and organizations I wanted to help.
I wiped my face and put the list on hold when I got a call from Lawrence, our front desk man, saying there was someone to see me, claiming he was family.
I told Lawrence I’d be right down, and swallowed most of my squawk of surprise to see Shepard standing there.
I hadn’t expected to see him until...well, I didn’t exactly know.
My knees were aching, my lower back hurt like crazy, and I was generally uncomfortable from carrying around my tummy, but I shut it out and got to him as soon as possible, wrapping my arms around his middle and tapping my cheek for a kiss.
“I actually have a seat on a plane to Toronto tonight which is going to then take me to India, but I just kept thinking about this.” He stepped back from me so there was enough room to put his hand on my belly.
“I want to be around, during your last weeks of pregnancy if you’ll have me.
And before I go to the other side of the world, I want to meet my daughter.
The second I clicked ‘confirm’ on that plane ticket, I knew I was making the worst mistake of my life.
You said I have five years, well, I don’t think India is going anywhere today, tomorrow, or a year from now.
As for Montréal? We’ll talk about it, later. ”
“Thank you, Shep.” I said, and just let the tears flow this time, as did he.
Just then, I heard the front door buzzer go off, and I saw Clark.
Other than the quick breakfast today, we hadn’t really had alone time together since my status as a mental patient on the run had begun—though I’m sure that Clark and The Organization cleared that up when they were cleaning house at that hospital.
This morning, all we’d really accomplished over French toast was to sort of stare at each other, and we held hands at one point.
There was awkwardness there, but how could there not be?
If I hadn’t had PTSD already, I sure as all hell would’ve developed it from what happened to me over the last few months.
I didn’t know when or how I would process it, but I was a wee bit wary about Clark, starting from last night when we arrived back at the apartments and he gave me a brief kiss and said goodnight at my door.
I think he knew I wasn’t quite ready to forge ahead with the relationship we had been building, four months ago.
I mean, how do you pick up the pieces of a former life that was nearly destroyed, and make it whole again?
After a quick debrief as to why Shepard was staying, Clark suggested he and I check out the Halifax house.
There were some grand dames in that section of town, and I had a feeling we had been given one, though I continued to hope for something intimate and cozy.
We took Becky, because any place that didn’t have the ability to accommodate her, wouldn’t accommodate us.
Us, I thought, as if we were moving in together, which I knew was ridiculous.
I was happy in the apartment I had been given by Rose Financial, but I knew Clark’s interest was piqued at the thought of having his own house with a yard for Becky and a place that he could really call home, permanently, or at least for the foreseeable future.
Okay, so maybe it was weird that a psychic with foresight was talking about the ‘foreseeable future.’
We pulled up into the drive of the house, and of course it was the largest on that street, that had a mix of mansions and houses ranging from medium to large.
The land it sat on was already surrounded by fence, so we had to enter a gate code that Mr. Boutillier provided.
Even with the fence, with Becky’s apparent love of digging, Clark said she would be allowed outside to run and play only supervised and then tied up to a long lead if let out alone.
I could tell Clark had fallen in love with the house at first sight, because he was radiating waves of happiness and surprise, and kept playing in the yard with Becky, tossing a tennis ball and saying that this was even better than the dog park, because she wouldn’t have to worry about some other asshole dog attacking her for her ball.
He then called her over, snapped a fairly long lead on her, and said, “Time to check out this monster of a house, girl. I know, we’d need a housekeeper. No way could I keep this place dust-free on my own. Let’s just hope it’s not a wreck inside. He could have been a hoarder, for all I know.”
He did strike me as the unorganized type, but maybe that, too, was part of the act he put on to lull me into that false sense of security I always felt around him.
I need not have worried about the state of the house, however: inside, it was immaculate.
It was obvious that this was his Halifax home when he wasn’t fucking with my head and taking over my Clark’s apartment.
The house was decorated in shades of soft butter yellows and ivory, and the wallpaper looked like the fancypants cloth kind.
The furniture was surprisingly modern, mostly cream coloured, and the art was an eclectic mix of very old, through several major movements in art over the years, to contemporary.
I couldn’t begin to imagine the financial value of each piece, about half of which I was able to recognize the artist just on the style.
I hoped that Clark never wanted to divest himself of them, because they made this house feel homey.
The kitchen had obviously been redone in the last five or so years, because it felt super modern and had exciting things like a wide window right over the sink looking into the backyard, a wine or soda refrigerator, and a pot filler at the stove.
I silently thanked HGTV for all of those renovation shows that taught me the basics, enough so I could say things like ‘subway tiles’ and ‘engineered hardwood.’
Clark looked around like he was expecting thin halls, dusty gold curtains, and elaborate antique furniture all covered with two inches of dust or old sheets.
His smile grew bigger as we wandered through the dining room, the great room which had two seating areas, one of which was centered around the hugest flatscreen television I’d ever seen, and every new generation of gaming system neatly arranged in a cabinet below the TV.
We then moved on to what we thought was the last closed room on this level, which turned out to be a large library, complete with a book ladder!
My Beauty and the Beast fantasies were popping to life right in front of my eyes.
At the large wooden desk, Clark became very quiet, and said, “This was his office. There are folders here about different ‘Assets’ that he had, all over the world. I don’t know what to do with all this. ”