Haunting Olivia

by Janelle Taylor

  “Can you spare some?” she’d asked, tossing a shell as hard as she could into the gorgeous blue water.

  He’d whipped around, that delicious tangle of thick, almost curly hair shielding his eyes. He had brushed back a lock from his forehead, and she had stopped in her tracks, just stopped breathing for a moment. His eyes had held hers in a way she’d never experienced. A green-gray hazel, intense, penetrating, expressive, those eyes were strangely familiar, though she’d never seen the guy before.

  This is what it feels like to fall in love, she had thought crazily. You meet someone, and before you even hear his voice, before you even know his name, know him, you’re enamored. It made no sense, but that was how she had felt. As though she did know him. Inside and out.

  “What are you so ticked off about?” he had asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “What could possibly ruin your day?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she had asked, hands on hips.

  “I’ve seen you around,” he had said, squinting in the sunlight. “You’re a summer kid. You come every summer, litter up the beach for a week, then go back to your ritzy house in Connecticut or wherever.

  Like you’ve ever had a problem.”

  “Judgmental, much?” she had shot back. “How about the fact that my father sees me and my half sisters two 54

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  weeks a year and then can’t even bother spending any of those weeks with us. How about my sisters don’t seem to like me for no reason at all. How about I come here year after year, and it’s always the same thing: my expectations get totally blown.”

  “I know about that,” he had said, skimming a rock into the water. “Though I stopped expecting anything when I was about six, maybe seven. However old you are when you realize your parents aren’t these magical, perfect people.”

  “I’d settle for halfway decent,” she had said, dropping down onto the sand and tucking her knees under her chin.

  He had eyed her. “Yeah, me too.”

  They had sat there on the beach, for a half hour, talking, throwing rocks, talking, throwing more rocks. They had sifted sand between their fingers.

  She had learned that he lived on the “other side” of Blueberry, in what was practically a shack next to a used-parts lot. His father was an alcoholic.

  “And supposedly my mother puts food on the table and pays our bills by selling her body,” he had said, his face twisting. He had squeezed his eyes shut and kicked the sand. “I don’t know if that’s true. I hope it’s not.”

  “Me too,” she had said, her heart squeezing in her chest.

  “Everyone thinks it is,” he had said. “So what’s the difference anyway.”

  Olivia had turned to face him. “It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks. It matters what you believe in there”—she had pointed at his head—“and in here,” she had said, patting his chest.

  He had glanced at her, then down at where her HAUNTING OLIV IA

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  hand rested on his worn blue T-shirt. He had nodded, then looked back out at the ocean. “Thanks.”

  She had nodded too, for want of knowing what else to say.

  “I’m Zach. Zach Archer.”

  “Olivia Sedgwick,” she had said. “So how old are you? I’m sixteen.”

  “I’m seventeen. For another six months. One more year of high school and then I’m outta here.”

  “Where are you going to go?” she had asked.

  “Anywhere. New York City. Boston. San Francisco.

  Chicago. I’m going to try everywhere and see where feels like home.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she had said, wanting him to find happiness but not wanting him to go anywhere without her.

  He had looked at her then as though he could read her thoughts. “I wish I didn’t have to leave right now, but I have to go to work.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Back room of a supermarket,” he had said.

  “Opening boxes, shelving. One day, though, I’m going to be an architect. I’m going to build skyscrapers.” He had glanced down. “That probably sounds pretty stupid to you. Like I’m ever going from shelving boxes of Cheerios to designing glass towers.”

  “I have no doubt you will, Zach,” she had said.

  “You sound determined. That’s what it takes.”

  He had smiled at her for the first time. A smile that completely stole her heart. “Meet me here later?”

  “What time?” she’d asked, grinning.

  A much older Olivia smiled at the memory. She sat down on the plush sofa, recalling how in that moment, that question, they both knew they would 56

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  be together. That something special had begun.

  They’d met that night at nine-thirty, once it was dark enough and late enough for Olivia to sneak out of the cottage. Her father never had anything to do with the girls after dinner, which was the only time he spent with them. They met on the beach, and hand in hand they walked for an hour, talking, kissing, falling very much in love.

  Olivia sighed, barely able to remember that girl she used to be. She closed her eyes, forcing away the memories, memories of a time before. Before she was pregnant. Before Zach abandoned her. A time when, for a few precious days, she was happier than she’d ever been.

  Olivia yawned and headed for the bedroom that had been hers as a girl. The cottage had five bedrooms, one for each girl, one for William, and one for the sour-faced housekeeper.

  Olivia opened the door and gasped. The room hadn’t been changed. Nothing had been changed.

  But that’s bizarre, she thought. Why would William redecorate down to the knickknacks and leave this room exactly as it was?

  It was a pink room. A pink girlie-girl’s room. A four-poster bed dominated, its fluffy pink down comforter so inviting. As she sat on the edge of the bed, she thought she saw something dart past the door.

  She got up and peered out the door way. Yes.

  There. A little girl! She had her back to Olivia, and she was flying a kite, a kite in the shape of a cat. The girl was laughing and running down the hall.

  “Wait!” Olivia called.

  The girl turned around, smiled, and then ran—

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  right through the wall at the end of the hallway. She was gone.

  Olivia opened and closed her eyes. She was imagining the girl, that was all. She’d driven so many hours and it was late. And she was back here in this house.

  Her mind was telling her it was time to go to bed.

  After washing her face and brushing her teeth and changing into comfortable yoga pants and a tank top, Olivia slid under the comforter.

  The running girl was the girl from her dreams, she realized. But where was the boy? She’d never dreamed of just the girl before. Why had she seen only the girl running through the house?

  She darted up. Because the baby was a girl, she knew suddenly. I gave birth to a girl. She knew this with startling clarity. Yeah, right, she thought, dropping back down onto the soft pillows. I know absolutely nothing.

  Olivia darted up in bed again, her heart pounding. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

  It was just after two in the morning. She had the dream again. And again, there was no boy.

  Chapter 5

  Buzz! Buzzzz!

  Someone was pressing on the doorbell. No—

  pounding on the doorbell.

  Olivia glanced at the alarm clock. How had she slept until eight o’clock? She rarely slept past six.

  She got out of bed and put on her warm terry bathrobe as she slid her feet into her favorite sheep-skin slippers, a good-bye gift from Camilla for chilly Maine mornings.

  Buzz! Buzzzz!

  “I’m coming!” Olivia called out, wondering who could possibly be at the door so early on a Sunday morning. Who knew she was here, anyway?

  Ah, she thought, running to the front door. The caretaker. Th
e letter from her father indicated that the house’s caretaker would stop by every morning at eight to ensure she was there and to collect her receipts.

  I’m definitely here, she thought, looking around the living room in the bright light of day. I can’t believe it, but I am definitely here.

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  Buzz!

  Olivia opened the door. This was the caretaker? A very attractive redhead in her early forties stood on the doorstep, wearing a cropped hot pink down jacket, jeans that form fit her sexy figure, and a scowl.

  “Let me make one thing clear,” the woman said, tossing her mane of ringlets behind her shoulders.

  “When I come tomorrow morning to collect your receipts, I will ring the bell once. If you don’t answer in a minute or two, I will leave and you’ll forfeit your inheritance. So I wouldn’t take ten minutes again to answer the damned door if I were you.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” Olivia said. If she weren’t so used to rudeness from working at Glitz, she would have been too shocked to speak.

  “I’ve been retained by William Sedgwick’s attorney to take roll each morning at eight o’clock. You will need to sign this form and date it. Today is day one. Tomorrow, I will begin collecting your receipts.

  You must purchase one item from two different establishments in town for a minimum of two items per day. A cup of coffee counts. So does a cashmere sweater from Johanna’s, which happens to be the store I own and operate.”

  “Is your name Johanna?”

  “Ooh, you’re a smart one,” the woman said, turning to leave.

  “Excuse me,” Olivia said sharply. “Any reason why you’re such a bitch?”

  The woman whipped around, clearly surprised.

  “Maybe it’s because I don’t like greedy opportunists. You broke your father’s heart when you were a slutty teenager, then estranged yourself from 60

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  him for years. Now you’re here to collect your inheritance? Sickening.”

  Now Olivia was too shocked to speak. She took a moment to regain her composure. “Let me make one thing clear, Johanna. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Nothing you said is true. And I don’t appreciate your coming here and throwing ugly false statements at me.”

  “You should be thinking about what your father would have appreciated,” Johanna said, continuing down the path.

  “Just what was your relationship to William Sedgwick?” Olivia called.

  The woman opened the white gate and let herself out onto the sidewalk. “I was his fiancée.”

  Olivia gasped. His fiancée? This was the first she’d heard of a fiancée.

  “We were planning a summer wedding,” the woman said, her voice cracking.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Olivia said. She had no idea what else to say at the moment.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re not,” Johanna tossed back.

  “My loss is your very lucrative gain.” She wiped away at tears under her eyes and hurried away.

  Good Lord, Olivia thought.

  Her father had a fiancée. Strange. Olivia’s sister Amanda had told Olivia and Ivy that she’d met two of William’s “girlfriends” last month. One woman had turned out to be an opportunist much like Johanna made out Olivia to be. But the other had seemed genuinely grief stricken over William’s loss and had said they too were engaged.

  A woman in every port, perhaps. Olivia had no idea what to think about her father’s romances. She HAUNTING OLIV IA

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  knew absolutely nothing about how he conducted his life. She only knew that he had a flavor-of-the-month way of looking at relationships.

  She closed the door against the morning chill. It was forty-two degrees, according to the adorable thermometer attached to a bird feeder in the yard.

  Warm for the start of February in Maine.

  If Johanna is my first introduction to Blueberry, what else is awaiting me in town? she wondered as she headed into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

  What if William was some sort of local hero? He spent every summer in Blueberry, hunting or just to relax. He probably had a lot of friends. Friends who wouldn’t take kindly to the daughter who’d been the “slutty teenager” who’d broken his heart.

  The strong coffee began brewing. Olivia breathed in the delicious aroma, then headed into the bathroom for a shower.

  I wish Amanda were around, she thought as she slipped under the pounding hot spray, which felt absolutely wonderful. Amanda and her new husband, Ethan, lived just an hour or so north, but the newlyweds were still on their European honeymoon and wouldn’t be back for a couple of weeks.

  She suddenly felt very much alone.

  Olivia decided to walk the half mile to the town center. She bundled up in her down coat, hat, and mittens; took a deep breath; and headed out.

  The houses were the same, beautiful old Victori-ans and stately Colonials, and many shingled cottages that were really mansions like her father’s, reminis-cent of those on Cape Cod. Even in winter, with a light 62

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  coating of snow on the ground, Blueberry was beautiful and charming. As she approached town, she could see the stores had changed. There was now a gourmet eatery called Ollie’s Organic Everything and an adorable retro diner with fifties decor and an inviting-looking coffee lounge with free “wi-fi” service. One-of-a-kind shops lined the half-mile stretch of Blueberry Hill Boulevard, including Johanna’s Cashmere Emporium. In the window was a pair of sexy pink cashmere panties. Somehow Olivia doubted they would be comfortable.

  She headed into the coffee lounge. The cozy place was furnished with overstuffed couches and chairs, all of which were taken by people sipping coffee drinks, reading newspapers or books, or talking. Olivia glanced around to see if she recognized anyone—or if anyone recognized her. No one.

  She purchased a small black coffee (she was un-employed, after all), careful to tuck her receipt into her purse. Then she headed down Blueberry Hill Boulevard and stopped at the General Store, where she bought three postcards: two for her sisters, one for her mom.

  Now that she had her two items, all she wanted was to go back to the cottage. One hour in Blueberry was enough for her at the moment. She turned around, trying not to look at the village green, a quaint square in the center of the boulevard, with its gazebo and playground set. Next to it, the town hall—

  Olivia froze and sucked in her breath. Running from the town hall to the gazebo was the girl from her dream. Olivia blinked. No, it wasn’t the same girl. They simply had similar coloring, like Olivia’s.

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  And of course, the smiling, running girl was much older, twelve, thirteen maybe.

  Like my child would have been, Olivia thought for a moment.

  She watched the girl race into the gazebo, carrying a pink folder. A man sitting on one of the benches turned around, scooped her up, and swung her, as if congratulating her.

  As the man turned, Olivia gasped.

  Zachar y Archer. Zach Archer all grown up. A man. He stood at least 500 feet away, but she was sure it was him. As she stared, he met her gaze and staggered backward for a moment. He said something to the girl, who then sat down in the gazebo and began looking through the folder.

  He stomped over to Olivia, his expression con-temptuous. “What are you doing here? It’s not like it’s her birthday. Oh, wait a minute—you don’t care about her birthdays, do you? Just a card every year and a check.”

  Whoa. What?

  She stared at him, unable to process that he was standing in front of her, let alone what he was saying.

  “Birthday?” she repeated, looking from him to the girl sitting in the gazebo. “What are you talking about?”

  He looked at her as though she had four heads.

  “What are you talking about. Her birthday. What part of the word don’t you understand?”

  “What birthday?” she
asked. “Whose birthday?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Why are you here? You suddenly want to know your daughter after thirteen years?”

  My daughter? She glanced at the girl, the girl with hair exactly like hers.

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  “Our baby was stillborn,” she said in such a low voice that she wasn’t sure she even said the words aloud.

  His eyes glinted. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Olivia, but you’d better tell me the rules right now. I decide how to handle this. Got that?”

  Handle what?

  He shook his head. “Your father hands over our newborn daughter and a check for twenty-five thousand dollars, not a word from you, and suddenly you’re standing five hundred feet away from her. We do this my way.”

  Olivia’s hand trembled, and her foam cup of coffee dropped to the ground, splattering onto the fine layer of white snow. Her legs trembled and then gave out. She dropped to the ground, barely registering that her knees were soaking in coffee. Zach immediately helped her up. “Our baby was stillborn,” she repeated slowly.

  He stared at her. “Is that the lie you told everyone in order to live with yourself for walking away like you did?”

  She glanced up at him, unable to speak.

  “I was told our baby was dead,” Olivia said, every breath difficult to latch onto. “The doctor said so.

  The nurse said so. My father said it was for the best.

  So did my mother. Our baby was stillborn.”

  Zach stared at her. “Our baby is sitting right there.”

  There was no processing what Zach was saying. It simply could not be true. She glanced at the blond girl and then at Zach. She opened her mouth to speak, but there were no words.

  “Daddy, I’m freezing!” the girl shouted at the top HAUNTING OLIV IA

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  of her lungs. “And I have to get started on my inner-beauty essay!”

  Olivia’s legs threatened to buckle again. She closed her eyes, the girl’s words echoing in her mind. Inner Beauty essay . . . Olivia had written an essay on inner beauty for the pageant the summer before she’d met Zach.

  “One sec,” he called back. He turned to Olivia.

  “Are you staying at the cottage?”