26 #2
“I can make tea, and we can sit by the water, if you’d like.”
I start to resist, but I just don’t have the energy. “Sounds nice.”
She heads inside, and I walk to the row of chairs in the sandy area that is our private beach.
Phillip added the sand once Olivia was walking.
Before, it was all one long rocky shore.
Pretty to look at but not so much to play on.
There’s no need for an umbrella this afternoon.
Overhead, the clouds are still ominous, blocking the sun as if preparing for the evil coming my way.
The enemy won’t be far away now. Acacia has likely warned that I’m growing more and more suspicious. This waiting game can’t go on much longer.
I lean my head back and watch the birds dip down toward the water. I listen to the calls and I smile. If Olivia were here, she would be at the water’s edge, tossing pebbles to make ripples.
Strange how a single tiny stone can disrupt so much of the surface. I had no idea when I made the choice I did twenty years ago that the ripples would span so wide and prove so damaging . . . so life altering.
I was young. Reacting impulsively.
I hear a soft laugh and turn.
She sits in the chair next to me, smiling that wicked smile that promised all sorts of fun.
My heart surges, and I barely resist the urge to reach for her. I remind myself that it’s only a memory. Nothing but my imagination.
“Here you go.” Acacia steps around the chair, and the image of her is gone. Acacia extends a mug to me, then takes a chair and cradles her own.
I cringe. Damn. I cannot drink this tea. What was I thinking? I watch as she takes a small sip, testing the temperature of her own tea. Then I have a thought and extend my cup toward her. “I’d prefer the one you’re drinking.”
She stares, mouth open at me.
“Can you blame me?”
“Fine.” She hands me her mug and accepts mine, then drinks deeply from it.
I relax and drink hers. It’s not nearly sweet enough, but I say nothing. We sit in silence until the sun is dipping below the trees. I can’t help but wonder what the night will bring.
I feel the tension building inside and around me.
On some level I will be grateful to have it over and done. I am so very tired of always looking back . . . always wondering.
Later, when the sun is slipping into the water, she stands and picks up our mugs. “Why don’t we go in?”
I rise from my chair and draw in another big breath of fresh air as I gaze across the water. I wonder if I will have this pleasure again or if it will all go away. I suppose I should be scared. But, really, I’m not. They can’t exactly kill me—at least not right away.
In the kitchen, we both remove our wet shoes. Acacia takes care of the mugs, and I slide onto a stool at the island.
“Would you like me to start dinner now?”
I study her and wonder what is going on inside her head. How can she suddenly pretend nothing has changed?
“Prepare whatever you would like, but I’m not hungry.”
She sets her hands on the counter and leans slightly toward me. “Why are you so afraid of me? I’ve told you the truth—about everything. I’m trusting you. Why can’t you trust me?”
More of that overconfidence. “I’m not afraid of you, Acacia.” Perhaps I should be. “But I do prefer the ability to protect myself from those plotting against me. Being drugged is counterintuitive.”
She sighs. “I wish you would believe me. I’m on your side.
I didn’t see what Phillip was doing as harmful until we talked and things fell into perspective.
I swear I will do all I can to help you from now on.
Total honestly. And if this man who showed up at Helen’s house comes here, I’ll do all I can to protect you. You have my word.”
Which is worth what exactly, I wonder? Not a whole lot, I’ve recently discovered. But I do firmly believe there is a far bigger plan than killing me, at least right away, so she might actually mean what she says on a purely selfish level.
The fact of the matter is, I am the key to everything, and anyone involved knows it. I suppose that’s why I started this. The moment I realized something was up with Eleanor’s death and Acacia’s appearance, I began to prepare for this moment.
It was little things. So seemingly insignificant. Yet I instinctively recognized with each passing day and each small misstep that Acacia was not who she appeared to be. Further, I understood whoever was using her had a much bigger plan in the works.
The trouble with bigger, more ambitious plans is they are quite often like a Greek tragedy where hubris leads to a great downfall.
“Thank you. I appreciate your concern,” I say in response to her plea for understanding. Then I leave the kitchen.
I make my way to the living room and lower myself onto the sofa facing the wall of windows so I can watch the coming darkness. I am so tired. My fingers close around the cross under my sweater. I acknowledge the feel of the gun nestled against my backbone. This is all I can do for now.
That and wait. The waiting is the worst part.
I close my eyes and think about Olivia. Her sweet face . . . her beautiful smile.
She is my everything.