Nicholas smiles at Owen with a smug expression of satisfaction.
“Nicholas, you made me an offer I couldn’t refuse but that doesn’t mean that you get to tell me what to do. We are partners and if I don’t want to do a particular job then I won’t do it.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Owen, you can stay here for as long as you want and nothing that Nicholas says will change that. But if you want to stay in my life,” I say, pointing my finger at Nicholas, “you have to accept the fact that Owen is my brother and you can never change what we have.”
Now, it’s Owen’s turn to smile at Nicholas with a look of self-righteousness.
I choose to ignore both of them for a moment and focus on the pain that’s manifesting in my shoulder.
I open the freezer and take out a bag of frozen asparagus.
I pull down my long sleeve shirt and place the cold packet as close to the point of impact as I can reach.
Seeing me struggle, Owen and Nicholas both offer to help but I give them each a stern “no, thank you.” I don’t want to side with either of them in order to appear as neutral as possible.
When my shoulder not so much gets better but just goes numb, I put the bag back into the freezer and pour myself a new cup of tea.
I want to ask Nicholas to leave but I’m afraid that doing so would only make me look like I’m siding with Owen.
In reality, I am glad that he’s here.
I hated the way we had left things and I wish that I could broker some sort of peace between the two most important men in my life.
As that thought crosses my mind, I pause and give it some consideration.
When I was a little kid, I was really close to my father. He was a competitive swimmer in high school and he used to take me to the YMCA pool all the time.
Being in water relaxed him like nothing else and he was the one who taught me how to swim with goggles on when I was only eighteen months.
He did so with Owen and our older brother, too, but I was the one who really loved being there as much as he did.
For months after my dad walked out of our lives, I went to the pool to mourn him.
He wasn’t dead (as far as I knew) so he didn’t have a gravestone or another place I could mourn his passing.
He did have a favorite bar but they didn’t let in kids so the YMCA pool was all I had.
I would take the bus and then swim laps until my arms and legs and lungs were physically exhausted.
Then I would swim some more.
After Dad left, I had no more male figures in my life. My brothers were strangers to me and I was only glad when my mom’s fleeting boyfriends didn’t take an interest in me.
They always moved in on their second date, they rarely had jobs, and they left as soon as our electricity or cable got cut off, which was pretty often.
Eventually, I learned how to disconnect the lights myself to get the ones who hit her to leave early.
But now things are different, aren’t they? I have two men in my life who want to be here.
They want what’s best for me even if they don’t agree to what that is. I would be lying if I said that it didn’t feel good.
The only problem is that if they don’t get along then I won’t have them in my life for long.
I will have to choose between them and that’s not a choice that I want to make.
The doorbell buzzes.
I stare into the foyer wondering who that could be since it’s well after six.
“Ms. Kernes!” A deep voice accompanies the loud knock. “Ms. Kernes, it’s the police. We have a few questions for you.”
9
Olive
When they ask questions…
Something gets lodged somewhere in the back of my throat. I try to breathe in or out but I can’t do either.
My eyes open wide as I stare at the door.
Don’t open it.
Just pretend that no one is home.
But they continue to knock.
“Ms. Kernes, please open the door,” the cop says.
There is no urgency in the tone of his voice.
It’s calm.
Direct.
Confident.
“What does he want?” I whisper to Nicholas.
He shakes his head.
“I don’t know,” he says under his breath and walks toward them.
“Where are you going?” I leap over to him and grab his arm. “No, we’re not home,” I add in a loud whisper, loud enough for the man on the other side of the door to hear.
“We know you’re there, Ms. Kernes. We just have a few questions.”
My hands drop to my sides and all the blood pools somewhere in between my toes.
“It’s going to be fine,” Nicholas says inaudibly. “Just follow my lead.”
When he touches his hand to the doorknob, he pauses for a moment and looks back.
But he’s not looking at me.
Instead, his gaze focuses entirely on Owen who is as white as a sheet.
“Are you ready?” Nicholas mouths to him.
Owen waits a second before giving him a nod.
“Hello, officers. How can we help you?” Nicholas asks in a sing-song almost chipper voice.
“Nicky?” one of the officers asks, leaning closer to him.
Nicholas’ shoulders tense and rise an inch before he relaxes them.
The officer is in his early thirties but looks older.
He is overweight with sallow skin and big black circles around his eyes.
His hair is somehow both dry and oily and unkept.
“My God, Docky!” Nicholas says, wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders.
I glance over at Owen who looks just as confused as I do by this turn of events.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Officer Docky says. “Benji, this is Nicky. He was one of my best friends growing up.”
The taller, thinner officer who is clearly no stranger to the gym introduces himself as Benjamin Inglese to not only Nicholas but also to Owen and me.
“So, how did you know each other?” I ask Nicholas, hoping that this connection is something that will make whatever reason they are here to see me go away.
“We knew each other when we were, what, eleven? We were pretty inseparable then.”
“Yeah, and then this son of a bitch moved away and I never heard from him again,” Officer Docky says.
“Hey, that wasn’t my fault, we got evicted, remember?”
“They had phones across town, too, you know,” Officer Docky says with a tinge of sorrow.
“Yeah, but we didn’t,” Nicholas says, patting him on the back. “Seriously, I’m so sorry that we lost touch. I had your number for a while and then I lost it and, it’s not like there was a Facebook or anything back then. And I was just a stupid kid.”
“Yeah, I get it…it’s so good to see you again, man!”
Officer Docky is smiling from ear to ear.
Nicholas is, too, but he’s not pretending or playing along as I had thought.
He is smiling with his whole face.
Even his eyes shine.
“Hi, I’m Olive Kernes,” I say, extending my hand.
Nicholas makes the introduction. Officer Docky’s real name is Carillion Dockery.
“Please call me Dockery, everyone does,” he adds, shaking Owen’s hand after mine.
“Not Docky?” I joke.
He shakes his head from side to side.
“No one has called me that since I was in middle school.”
“I’m not so sure how true that is,” Nicholas says with a smile at the corner of his lips.
“Would you two want to come in and have something to drink?” I offer.
Nicholas flashes a disapproving glare in my direction, but I ignore it.
The history that has flooded into the hallway makes it impossible for me to not invite the two officers inside.
I have nothing to hide so I have to act
like it.
Besides, I don’t even know what they are here to ask me.
“We’re technically on the job,” Dockery says, “otherwise I’d love to have a drink and catch up.”
“Tea or coffee then?” I offer.
Officer Inglese and Owen agree to coffee and I start to make a fresh pot.
When I hand out the cups, the casual chitchat starts to die down.
Dockery finishes his story about how skinny and uncoordinated Nicholas was as a kid and doesn’t start another one.
Instead, he and Inglese exchange glances and give each other a knowing nod.
“Okay, so the reason we’re here,” Dockery starts, “is that we had some questions for you, Olive.”
I take a sip of my tea.
“Do you know a man by the name of Louis Prang?”
I shake my head no.
“Are you sure?” Inglese asks.
I think about it again, but the name doesn’t ring a bell.
“Where were you on Thursday, the 19th?” Dockery asks.
“What is with all of the questions?” Nicholas asks, buying me some time to think about the answer.
“I don’t know. I was home I guess, but I’m not sure.”
Dockery and Inglese exchange looks.
“Can you tell us what’s going on?” Owen asks.
“Louis Prang was seen going into your building and one of your neighbors saw him knocking on your door,” Inglese says.
He is leaning over in his seat and peering into my eyes, trying to get a read on my reaction.
I have an urge to make fists out of my hands but I know that I have to remain as calm and unfazed as possible.
“I don’t know why,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “I have no idea who he is.”
“So, you had no one come to your door that evening? No one at all?”
I run my tongue over the roof of my mouth.
“Um…actually, yes,” I say.
Nicholas places his hand on the small of my back in an effort to shut me up, but I know what I’m doing. “A woman came by to buy a rug. I don’t remember her name but I think I have her card here somewhere.”
Nicholas’ hand relaxes and gives me a pat.
“A woman bought a rug from you?” Dockery asks, looking over at Inglese. I nod.
“Yeah, so what? Why? Who is Louis Prang? Did something happen to him?”
“Yes, his body was recently found in Boston Harbor,” Inglese says and my head starts to pound.
10
Olive
When I ask questions…
If the police officers are examining my face for a look of surprise, they are going to see it.
I try to hide it as much as possible but I’m not sure that it’s effective.
Suddenly, a spark of an idea hits me.
“I’m sorry I’m just a little startled by this whole thing,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. If I can’t hide my state of shock I can just lean into it.
“This has been quite an emotional day with my brother getting out of prison…so, I guess what I’m saying is that…what does this have to do with me?”
“Well, your neighbor did see someone knock on your door,” Dockery says.
“I really have no idea who he is or why he was here,” I say, shrugging so demonstratively that I feel like my shoulders are going to touch my ears.
“If he was even here,” Nicholas says.
Dockery narrows his eyes.
“Well, you know, eyewitness reports are wrong all the time. He might have been the delivery guy or someone from the moving company.”
Nicholas goes on to explain that the woman who bought the rug brought along two moving guys to help her transport it.
He gives them an accurate description of them along with the woman’s card, which he fishes out of his pocket but makes it look like it fell out from under the magazines laying on the coffee table.
This seems to satisfy them and they leave on a high note.
“So, what was that about?” Owen asks, glaring at Nicholas. “You did something to get her in trouble, didn’t you?”
Owen doesn’t know the details of any of this, but Nicholas doesn’t need to tell me to keep my mouth shut.
He killed a man who tried to attack me but we never called the police and reported it.
The less Owen knows about any of this the better.
Nicholas lets out a deep breath in exasperation and walks toward the door.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“You need to get some rest, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
I bite my lower lip, wanting more than anything to ask him to stay. But the timing is all wrong.
Owen is here and they don’t get along.
The best thing that can happen now is to just let him go for the moment.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Owen and follow Nicholas out into the hallway.
The walls are thick but I don’t trust that they are thick enough to keep us safe from prying ears.
It’s best not to even take the chance.
“You don’t have to leave,” I say, taking his arm. “I know that we both said some things that we regret last night.”
“I don’t regret anything.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You really meant to call me a spoiled brat?”
He clenches his jaw.
“I didn’t think so.”
When I turn around to walk back to my door, he leaps in front of me.
I want to let him off easy but I don’t dare.
If he wants my forgiveness he has to give me an actual apology.
I am not going to be one of those women who just accepts that the man’s ego is too big to ever say that he’s wrong.
“What do you want from me?” Nicholas asks after a moment.
My eyes meet his and I stare at the specks of gold that form around the edges of his irises.
“I want you to apologize,” I say.
He looks away for a moment and then takes a deep breath.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I give him a knowing nod.
“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset and I shouldn’t have called you an asshole.”
“Thank you,” he whispers, taking another step closer to me.
I inhale the scent of his skin and my fingers tingle as I fight the urge to touch him.
He doesn’t fight his.
Instead, he puts his hand on the back of my neck and pulls me closer to him.
Our lips touch.
Our mouths open.
Our tongues intertwine.
He buries his fingers in my hair and I run mine up the back of his spine.
Nothing else matters at this moment but us. Nothing else exists but us.
“Olive!” someone yells my name in the distance.
When he says it again, he is suddenly much closer and louder.
Reluctantly, I pull away from Nicholas and look at Owen.
Standing in the doorway with his hands crossed, he taps his foot on the floor waiting for me to come inside.
He interrupted us on purpose and he does not want to take no for an answer. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell Nicholas, admitting defeat.
He gives me another long passionate kiss before saying, “It was a pleasure to meet you Owen!” And disappears down the hallway.
“What was that all about?” I hiss at Owen and push him back inside.
“You need to stay away from that guy,” he says. “You have no idea who he is.”
11
Olive
When we fight…
Back inside, Owen and I have the conversation that I have been dreading to have ever since I learned about his parole.
We had spent a fun day together laughing and catching up, all the while ignoring the one topic of conversation that we both knew was off limits.
When Nicholas s
howed up, that changed. The elephant in the room became visible and he started breaking shit.
It’s late.
The cops just came and rattled me to my core and the alcohol is still coursing its way through my system making my eyelids heavy.
But watching Owen pace back and forth in the kitchen, I know that I won’t be able to put this off until tomorrow.
I walk over to the sink and turn on the water.
Waiting for it to warm up, I stare at the stream and the way it bounces off my fingertips.
“Olive, you can’t be with that guy,” Owen insists. “He’s dangerous.”
I wash a plate with the sponge and place it upside down on a towel by the sink.
I have a dishwasher right underneath but I never had one growing up and I find washing dishes to be relaxing.
“Olive, you realize what’s going on here, right?” he says. “Those cops were here asking about some guy coming into your place. That means that in all likelihood, Nicholas probably killed him.”
I turn toward him, glaring.
“Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right.”
Nicholas didn’t probably kill him.
He killed him for a certainty, trying to protect me.
I want to tell Owen this, but I can’t.
Now, it’s my turn to protect Nicholas.
“You know that he made up that whole story about the rug, Olive? Right? They’re going to check up on it and they’re going to find out the truth.”
I look up at Owen, shaking my head.
Where does he get all of this confidence?
Was he always this cocky and self-assured even if he knows absolutely nothing about my life?
“Olive, say something,” he demands. “Say something so I know that you’re listening.”
I take a step closer.
We are only a few inches apart and I can smell the stale alcohol on his breath.
“Who do you think you are?” I say after a moment of staring into his eyes.
“What makes you think that you can speak to me as if I need your advice?”
“You’re my little sister,” he says.
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