“He killed his partner. Everyone knows it. Do you want to be with someone like that?”
“I don’t know what happened between him and his partner, and I won’t believe anything until you show me some actual proof,” I say sternly.
He shakes his head.
“Fine,” Owen says with exasperation, walking toward the front door. “If you want to ruin your life, fine.”
“Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to tell me what to do?”
“I’m your fucking brother. I care about you. I don’t want you to make a mistake.”
“I haven’t seen you in years,” I say. “You don’t know anything about me. And you come into my house and start telling me what to do? Keep your opinions to yourself, Owen.”
This finally shuts him up.
He finishes his coffee and washes the cup.
He grabs the set of spare keys I gave him last night and walks out of the door.
Once he is gone, I jump up to my feet and ball up my fists.
The caffeine that is making its way through my veins amplifies my anger. I’m so angry I want to punch something.
Why does he have to be so difficult? Why can’t he just get along with him?
When Nicholas showed up, he was making an effort. He was trying to be nice.
But Owen is just being so…unreasonable.
I let out a visceral, bellowing scream of frustration that originates somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
Once, I get that out of my system, I grab my iPad and flip on the last show that I was watching on Netflix. I can no longer tolerate the commercials on regular television, and streaming channels fill the void.
I subscribe to Netflix, YouTube TV, and Amazon Prime giving me an array of old and new shows as well as movies to feed my appetite.
I start a comedy but I don’t laugh. I start a drama, but their problems seem inane.
My thoughts continue to swirl around in my head and the pictures and the voices on the show are not enough to quiet them.
In the kitchen, I pour myself a cup of caffeine-free mint tea and leave the bag inside.
I go back to my favorite spot and open the Kindle app. When all else fails, this always does the trick. Books.
I love to read and I devour a few books a week. Reading seems to activate a whole other part of my brain.
With the right writer, the words just leap off the page and I have to keep turning them until I’m done.
I always liked to read growing up but I never read this much.
I never knew that there was this whole other world of indie books and indie writers until I discovered the Kindle.
Suddenly, I was able to read the kind of books that I have always looked for.
In traditionally published books, the sex is always cursory or non-existent. The intimate parts of the story, the ones that you really want to read about suddenly fade to black.
The few authors who do depict it, often do so using crude or clumsy language and end their novels on low notes. At least, that is my impression of contemporary literary fiction.
But with independent authors who mainly sell eBooks, the stories are completely different.
They don’t shy away from private details, in fact, they lean into them. They discuss what was never discussed before and the traditional publishing success of Fifty Shades of Grey, the series that E. L. James first published independently, are proof that readers do want to know what happens between the sheets.
What else do I like about these books? The authors publish often and they are accessible to their readers.
If you find a favorite author, make sure to write to her and look her up on social media. She will probably write you back and she will likely even have a Facebook group for you to join so that you can find out more about her, her new releases, and about any giveaways she’s having.
The book that I’m currently re-reading for what feels like the tenth time is Charlotte Byrd’s Lavish Lies, which used to be called House of York. It’s a trilogy about a girl who is kidnapped and forced to participate in a Bachelor-like competition for the hand of the King. The setting is present-day but with a twist. There is no international cabal that trades women like property and controls the world, right? Or is there? I hope you get that I’m being sarcastic.
Charlotte Byrd is probably one of my favorite authors, not just indie but of all time.
I love how simple her language is and I love how fast the story progresses. I also like her wicked sense of humor.
Someone once left her a bad review that said she writes like “Hemingway and Dr. Seuss with sex” and she took it as one of the biggest compliments she ever received.
In one of her blogs, she wrote, “The point of language is to convey exactly what you mean to keep the story going and that’s exactly what I aim to do with each of my sentences.”
I spend the morning consumed in a book with other people’s problems, and once I read the last page, I feel better about my own.
Reading gives me perspective on my own life.
Nothing that I’m going through is as difficult as what I just read and it’s a nice escape into a reality that’s not my own.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long.
15
Olive
When I get him a present…
Owen returns from his appointment with his parole officer with an eagerness to get back to our previous conversation.
Given that I just spent a few hours trying to cleanse myself of it, I refuse to engage.
I try to change the conversation to something more palatable but whatever we talked about before just doesn’t click.
Our sentences don’t connect well to each other and the pauses are big enough for trucks to drive through.
We eat lunch in silence with only the television flickering in the background. After we do the dishes, finally an interesting topic of conversation arises.
After years in prison, Owen isn’t exactly up to date on any technological advancements. The few cell phones that people have managed to sneak behind bars are old and have limited functionality.
I show him what my phone can do and he examines it as if it were a bomb. He is afraid to press any button out of fear of making it blow up.
“You know, nothing is going to happen,” I say over and over again but it doesn’t seem to register.
“What if I push this?” he asks my permission for each command.
“Yeah, you can do that,” I say with a nod.
As he plays around with it more and more, he finally starts to relax.
I show him how to go on to YouTube and how to read the news.
Then I show him how to set up a private email account (he needs one that’s not monitored by the Department of Corrections) and some social media profiles. He immediately wants to look up his old friends and smiles from ear to ear when he is able to scroll through their pictures going back years.
“Okay, if you’re going to do this, you’re going to have to get your own phone,” I say.
The T-Mobile store isn’t crowded and an associate sees us right away.
I help Owen pick out his phone, trying to explain the differences between Android and Apple operating systems even though I hardly know a thing about Androids.
He examines each available phone carefully while I wait and start the next book in the Lavish trilogy on mine.
A text appears on the screen.
We have a job tonight. You free?
Given that I’m no longer employed and I don’t really want to spend the evening fighting about him with Owen, I would say that my schedule is wide open.
Pick you up at seven, Nicholas texts.
Owen finally decides on the iPhone, the latest model and we go through the motions of adding him to my plan.
“I’m going to pay you back as soon as I get a job,” Owen promises.
“It’s no problem, really,” I say. “It’s not like you rack up any minutes or anything like you could years ago.”<
br />
“What do you mean?” he asks and I explain the limitations of phone plans past.
When I’m signing the receipt, my phone dings again.
It’s laying right next to me on the counter and Owen leans over and reads the message.
“Wear something nice,” he says. “You going out tonight?”
I nod and thank the associate for his time.
I start to walk toward the front door, but Owen doesn’t follow me.
He just stands there next to the cash register, as if he is frozen in space. I wave him over but he still doesn’t budge.
“You’re going out with him again?” he asks.
He doesn’t even try to lower his voice.
“Yes, I am,” I whisper loudly. “And it’s none of your business.”
Three teenagers pile into the store speaking loudly and laughing. For a second, I hesitate and debate whether I go should back there and try to physically escort him out.
That will just make a scene.
Instead, I open the door and walk outside. A few moments later, Owen is right next to me.
“You can’t go out with him,” he says, grabbing my arm.
“You know what? I’ve had enough. I will date and see whomever I choose. It’s none of your business and you need to stay out of it.”
“You’re my sister, Olive. I love you.”
The word love cuts me like a razor blade.
I didn’t grow up in a family where people ever used it and I’ve never said it to anyone before either.
I don’t know if Owen is telling me the truth, but it sort of feels like a pile of garbage.
“You don’t mean it,” I say. “Stop saying things you don’t mean.”
“Don’t tell me how I do or don’t feel. I do love you. That’s why I’m so upset about this.”
I take a deep breath and walk toward the car. He follows me down the parking lot.
“I know you two have a past,” I say and then I have a lightbulb moment. Maybe if I were to pretend that I knew more than I knew he would actually tell me the truth.
“Nicholas told me everything…“ I start to say before he interrupts me.
“What did he tell you?”
“Everything,” I say, looking him straight in the eye.
It’s a bluff but he can’t know it’s a bluff if I want him to believe it.
I am no stranger to lying but this is the first time I’ve ever lied to my brother and it makes me feel dirty.
Still, there are things you must do to get what you want.
“Whatever he told you is a fuckin’ lie, Olive.”
I shrug and get into the car. I start the engine but don’t move it from park. I want to give this my full attention.
“What did he say?” He prods me but I seal my lips. “Okay, well, if you don’t tell me what he told you, I’ll just tell you what he did.”
I nod and wait.
“He told you that this whole thing is about Nina, right? That girl I was seeing who he slept with? Well, it’s not.”
I keep my face as stoic and expressionless as possible.
So, this whole thing, this whole beef is just about a girl?
Of course, wars have been started over women so it’s not exactly a little thing.
“I loved her, Olive. We were going to be together. We had our whole life planned. And then he just swooped in and acted all arrogant and cavalier, just like he is acting with you…and she…she told me she didn’t care about him but then she slept with him.”
“When did this happen?”
“Two days before the shooting.”
“Oh, shit,” I whisper. “I’m really sorry,” I add, putting my arm around him.
He is trying to hide it but there are tears bubbling up to the surface. He puts his head in his hands and turns away from me.
Now, I get it. Now, I understand why this is still affecting him so much.
If he had been on the outside then he would probably not even remember her name now. She would’ve been just an old girlfriend who cheated on him and who wasn’t worth his time.
But time stopped for him when he went into prison.
That is his last memory of his life on the outside and no matter what he does he can’t wipe it clean.
“But, Owen, this was years ago. I mean, that was a really shitty thing to do but…I can’t stop seeing him just because of that.”
He slowly lifts up his head. His eyes focus on mine, no longer ashamed of the tears.
“That’s what he told you, right?” he asks. I nod.
“What about the rest?” he challenges me.
I shrug.
“What about her ending up dead?” he asks.
I inhale and my breath gets lodged in the back of my throat.
“Oh, I see,” Owen says with his lips forming into a smile. “He didn’t mention that, huh? Her body was found in Connecticut. He was the last person to be seen with her, but he had an alibi and the police could never quite get enough evidence to bring charges.”
16
Olive
When I see him again…
Later that afternoon, Owen’s story hangs in the air above my head as I get ready. I try to cancel but Nicholas texts back that it’s impossible.
When we talk on the phone, he makes it clear that if I back out then the deal is off.
It’s not so much a threat but a statement.
After sharing the story with me, Owen spends the day playing with his new phone. He doesn’t push me any harder and he doesn’t mention another word about it.
Climbing into Nicholas’ Mercedes, I am consumed by a sense of dread.
He gives me a kiss on the cheek and cold shivers run down my body.
How much of what Owen told me is true?
His tears were spot on and nothing about it felt like a lie.
But then again, I have a lot of experience lying and that’s the whole freaking point to it.
“Are you okay?” Nicholas asks. “You seem…off.”
I shrug. “I told you, I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Yeah, I know but I really can’t cancel this meeting.”
I want to ask him about it. I want to know what I’m getting myself into. I need to know everything I can in order to play a part well. But I can’t even bring myself to pose the questions.
“Tell me about Nina,” I say instead.
The words just slip out of me without my consent but once they are out I don’t regret them.
“Nina was Owen’s girlfriend,” Nicholas says with a sigh. He has been dreading this conversation but he is not surprised by it. “It was stupid. We met a few times. We flirted and then one night…we slept together.”
“Did you know that they were a couple?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond for a moment but then gives a slight nod.
“Nina and I ran into each other at a bar. We were friends. They had a fight about him flirting with this other girl. She was jealous. She had a few drinks and she started to play with my hair. I liked her. My girlfriend had just dumped me and I liked the attention,” he says, stopping at the red light.
“Go on,” I say.
“We had more drinks and then I told her that she couldn’t drive home. I didn’t want to drive either and there was a motel right next door. I offered that we split the cost of the stay. When we got there…I kissed her. She kissed me back and we ended up spending the night together.”
I take a deep breath. This story I can handle, but not what is going to happen next.
“And then?” I prod. “What happened then, Nicholas?”
I turn my body toward him and wait for the answer. His eyes remain fixed on the road as he shrugs his shoulders.
“I didn’t hear from her for a while. We both had regrets in the morning and we promised each other that we would never tell anyone what happened.”
“And then?” I ask again.
He bites his lower lip, finally sliding his eyes toward mine.
> “What happened to Nina, Nicholas?” I demand to know. He takes a deep breath. I grab onto the arm rest as if I’m bracing myself for impact.
“She was killed,” he says slowly as if uttering the words are causing him pain. “Someone murdered her. They found her body in Connecticut. She had been shot.”
I shake my head and look away from him even though I don’t want to.
“Did you… shoot her?” I ask quietly.
The car comes to a sudden stop as he pulls into a parking spot on the side of the road.
“Is that what Owen told you?” Nicholas asks. His eyes are bloodshot and full of anger. “Is that what he said? He said I killed her?”
When I give him a nod, he grabs onto the steering wheel and shakes it so hard that the whole car quakes.
“I didn’t kill her, Olive. She was my friend and we had a good night together. I wanted to see her again but she wanted to make things right with Owen. I gave her the space to do that.”
“So what happened to her then?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.” Nicholas shrugs. “I wish I knew. The cops came to see me. They took my DNA and they confirmed that we did have sex. But that was it. That was all. I had an alibi for that night when they think it happened.”
I narrow my eyes.
“I was at the movies. They have me on camera. That’s why I’m not in prison right now. That’s why the case is still open.”
I stare out of the window and at the guys standing at the corner pointing and laughing about their sneakers. I can’t hear what they’re saying due to the sound of blood pounding through the veins in my head.
“What else do you want to know?” Nicholas asks. “Anything. I didn’t do this, Olive. I was an asshole and a cheater but I never hurt her.”
He keeps talking trying to get me to believe him. The words come into one ear and out the other.
He talks for some time and then he stops. We sit in silence as I try to figure out who to believe.
We arrive at the restaurant with everything that had just transpired between us still there. He wants me to believe him and I want to as well but wanting and believing aren’t the same thing. Owen wants me to believe him, too, and a part of me does.
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