I Love You to Pieces
Page 1
I Love You to Pieces
Lori Flynn
Austin Macauley Publishers
I Love You to Pieces
About the Author
Dedication
Copyright Information
Acknowledgments
Part OneChapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part TwoChapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Part ThreeChapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
About the Author
Born into a large Italian, New York family, Lori Flynn began writing at a young age rather than vie for talk-time with her numerous siblings. She currently resides in South Florida, is a mother to two, a wife to one, and a protector to a very special-needs Beagle named Pennington, who fears most things, including thunder, wheels, and tinfoil. This is Lori’s second novel.
Dedication
To Joe.
Love you always, and to pieces.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Lori Flynn (2019)
The right of Lori Flynn to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528928762 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528928779 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528928786 (E-Book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgments
I’d like to acknowledge the Royal Palm Beach Library’s Critique group who, twice every month, listened to my words, and sent it home for me to revise. Thank you.
Part One
Chapter One
Elizabeth
“Since your mother’s away from the manor, why don’t we go skinny-dipping? It’ll be sexy under all those twinkle lights,” Elizabeth Harding whispered, moving behind her husband where he sat by their infant daughter’s cradle. She encircled his neck, while her lips seared a wet path to his earlobe.
“Regretfully, I have to turn you down.”
“Why? Are you afraid the lights will trigger a seizure?”
He faced her as he answered. Alexander’s eyebrows rose with amusement.
“While you were out back earlier, my office called. We finalized the deal in Milan. The jet is fueled and ready to go. Harris is upstairs packing my bag.”
“You informed your valet of your plans before your wife? Why can’t I go with you? I’d love to see Milan. I’ve never been.”
“It just happened, Elizabeth, and I’m telling you now. This is a business trip. Perhaps you’ve forgotten your job, the welfare of our daughter.”
Her eyes dropped to the floor, her tone quick to follow. “Of course, Alexander, I was just disappointed you were leaving.”
Elizabeth had devoted her day to supervising the preparation of the Harding estate for the Christmas edition of Your Florida Home Magazine, even if it was only early October in Florida’s southernmost region. That was until her dismissal by the official head of the family, her mother-in-law, Catherine Harding.
“Alexander, I was planning on talking to you about your mother. Her approval is unobtainable.”
“Why would you say that?” His eyes narrowed.
“The woman treats her houseplants better than me. If you were home more than a few days at a time, you’d see it yourself.”
“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
“No, I’m not. Just last week your mother held a dinner party in this very house. Not only was I not invited, but she posted her maid outside the door to keep me out. And the look she gives me when she disapproves of my clothes, starting at my shoes and working her way to my neck. I feel like one of us should burst into flames! Then there’s my name—your mother never uses it. She calls me ‘that girl.’ We both know she’d be happier if I weren’t here.”
“But you are here.” Alexander’s hands caressed her shoulders.
Elizabeth’s marine-blue eyes studied her husband, and she held her tongue. She’d been looked down on as penniless trailer-trash out of high school, being taken advantage of by a less-than-reputable producer. He’d promised to whisk her away to Hollywood and teach her more than an alluring way to toss her hair. In a way, he’d held his promise, taking her as far as Hollywood, Florida, and then leaving with her innocence. The memory caused her to shudder.
Alexander was different, cultured. When her practiced ways sparked his obsession and enticed him to offer a weekend in Vegas, it had culminated in a small wedding chapel. It wasn’t until she announced her pregnancy, not long after, that her mother-in-law had awarded her permanent gold digger status.
Harris appeared in the doorway and, with a simple nod, alerted Alexander it was time to go.
“I hate to leave my two girls. You take good care of each other while I’m gone.” His kiss was warm and sweet.
Left behind, alone in the massive room, Elizabeth fought the urge to throw her head back and scream; only, she wasn’t alone. Smiling up at her, nestled in mounds of pink blankets, was Olivia. Oh, how she’d detested every moment of her calculated pregna
ncy and loathed the hard work it was taking to return her sleek body even more. The baby didn’t even look like her. Its resemblance to Alexander, down to the dimple in its right cheek, was uncanny. Elizabeth smoldered thinking of the deviant deeds she’d performed to procure Alexander’s attention. All Olivia had to do was grin and leak.
Elizabeth paced the room, plucking a crystal angel ornament crafted with pointed wings from a carton of family heirlooms. Before she could reach to place it on the Frasier fir, in the room and waiting for its decorations, she was breathless with rage.
“I can’t come up with one good reason to stick around and play nursemaid when Nanny’s already paid to do it. A few days at the spa will do more for my morale than staying locked in this mausoleum with that succubus—my baby.”
Without thought, she dropped the sharp-edged treasure into the cradle and then turned to take her leave. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nanny hurrying to respond to Olivia’s thundering cry. Elizabeth offered a sudden, arresting smile and then pushed through the door without looking back.
Chapter Two
Olivia
Olivia raced to the front door. With her third birthday just days away, she smiled, happy to have her daddy home from his business trip. She held her doll’s arm tight as he lifted her.
“Let me take a good look at you. You’ve grown so much in just a few weeks.” He kissed her cheek while holding her close, stroking her long hair.
“Sally fell. She got a booboo here. But Nanny fixed it, see?” Olivia held the doll to her father’s face. “Can we get a big girl bed now?”
“You’ve been busy while I’ve been away. Does Nanny agree with you about the new bed?” He looked over at Nanny.
“I think it may be warranted, Mr. Harding.” Olivia’s doll had fallen through the short railings of her baby bed, making it difficult for her to retrieve it. The repairman, nevertheless, reported the injury to the doll’s porcelain face hadn’t occurred from a fall but blunt force. Elizabeth’s stiletto heel came to Nanny’s mind.
“There’s a big birthday party planned for you at Grandma Catherine’s beach house on Saturday. I promise to think about the new bed idea before then,” her father said.
Olivia’s eyes widened as a workman placed an antique white, two-foot high birdcage on the foyer table. “Daddy, are the birdies for me?”
“Those are lovebirds, and yes, Olivia, I bought them for you.”
Her mother entered, still wet from the pool, dropping water onto the hardwood floor. With strands of gold hair held loosely at her crown, she walked as though she were modeling a designer gown. The snippets of neon green that gloved her oiled body could hardly be considered a swimsuit.
“Welcome home, Mr. Harding,” her mother said, stepping into his arms, kissing him. “I must have lost track of time.”
As Elizabeth arrived in the room, Olivia’s breathing increased. She panted in short, labored gasps. Her body trembled, shaking her, stealing her voice. She squeezed her eyes shut before forcing them open to search for Nanny. Rubbery legs moved her to where she could disappear into the pleats of her protector’s long skirt—her sanctuary.
“Are those for me?” her mother asked, eyeing the birds from over her father’s shoulder.
“They’re for our daughter. I’ll give you your gift later.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Elizabeth broadcast before tossing her head back to laugh, cackle, at his startled expression. She stopped abruptly, taking note of the puddle pooling about Olivia’s feet. “I thought that woman had her potty trained.”
Nanny lifted Olivia and carried her from the room. In their wake, Elizabeth berated a maid on her method of mopping the floor, her shrill voice echoing through the house.
*
At last, it was Saturday, and Olivia had come to the beach house for her birthday party, her third. There wasn’t any place she’d rather be in the world. She hurried from the car to search for Grandma Catherine.
Olivia liked the back of the house the most. There, long white columns stood like guards watching over the veranda. Sometimes she’d just sit and watch the wavy blue water. She would sink her feet into the wet sand and have the waves try to knock her down. Some nights, Grandma Catherine let her sleep in her big bed. They’d leave the windows open, so the warm breezes blew in.
What Olivia loved best were the shells. The supply never ran out. She’d walk the beach filling her bucket with as many as she could find. She couldn’t wait to collect them now.
“Is that my birthday girl?” Catherine said when she spotted her.
“It’s me,” Olivia answered, running into her grandmother’s arms.
“I love you. Are you excited about your party today?”
Olivia nodded before asking, “Can I get shells now?”
“Not yet, sweetheart, first we’ll celebrate! There’s food, decorations, presents, and a strawberry-frosted cake that cook made in your honor.”
“Strawberries make Mother sick.”
“Is that so?” Catherine grinned.
The party table, surrounded by sand, occupied a fair distance from the surging white-capped waves. A festive pink tablecloth with tiny dots covered its length. Matching balloons fastened with colorful ribbons, secured to the backs of chairs, swayed with the breeze ushered in from the water. Plates, napkins, and cups, all sporting the words, ‘Look at Me, I’m Three!’ took flight with each wind gust, if not weighted down.
Sitting beside her daddy, across from her disinterested mother, Olivia ate her food and blew out her candles on her strawberry-frosted cake. She did her best not to fidget in her seat until she’d opened the last of her presents. After getting a nod from Grandma Catherine, she raced from the table, pulling off her shoes and socks as she ran. Olivia grabbed her bucket and headed toward the water. She stayed there until she noticed her father waving to her. Dragging the heavy bucket behind her, she went to him.
“It’s getting late. I think it’s time to go home, Olivia. That’s where your big present is waiting.”
“She’s not getting in that car covered in sand,” her mother said.
“It’s my car, and I don’t believe you’ve ever been asked to clean it,” her father answered.
“No, Alexander, but you won’t be spending the rest of the night with sand up your ass. It’s everywhere. That’s why I hate the beach.”
“Honestly, Zander, does she have to be so crass?” Catherine scolded. “And you, Elizabeth, should consider proper undergarments.”
“Thank you, Catherine. Maybe we’ll go shopping sometime. We can go to Matrons-R-Us, and you can show me what you wear.”
“Yes—it’s time to go,” Alexander said with a forced smile.
They drove home in relative silence. On arrival, Olivia’s eyes were like saucers when she pushed open the door to her room where a canopy bed had replaced her baby bed. A vanity, as well as a dresser, completed the suite. The lovebirds sat on a perch by the window. Olivia had named them Zander and Miley, names Grandma Catherine sometimes called her and her father.
“Thank you, Daddy.” Olivia climbed into bed and then nestled under her covers.
“You’re welcome. And you’re covered in sand, but no bath tonight. It’s your birthday. You know I love you to pieces.” Alexander kissed her forehead gently. “I’ll send your mother in, so you can thank her too.”
Olivia’s muscles clenched. “No, I’m sleepy. You do it, Daddy.”
“Of course, you just rest now.”
With a yawn, Olivia’s eyes closed, but not before she watched as Nanny straightened her covers and dimmed the lights in her room. She knew when she woke Nanny’s face would be the first she would see.
Several hours later, the morning began as bright and balmy as the one before. Olivia sat curled on the floor of her bedroom, fighting sobs as tears dripped from her cheeks.
“Olivia, why are you crying?” Nanny asked. It was then she noticed the antique birdcage, its door open, as was the window. “Where are y
our lovebirds?”
“I think they flied out the window,” Olivia sobbed.
“You’re not responsible for this. Even if you left the cage open, sweetie, you aren’t strong enough to open your window.”
“They’ll fly back like the birdies you read to me, right, Nanny?”
Nanny pulled Olivia to her lap, knowing the book had been about homing pigeons. “You never know, child, maybe they will.”
Olivia said her prayers many times through those days. Seeing the empty birdcage made her sad. Nanny let her keep the window open for their safe return.
*
In a week’s time on a sunless morning, the familiar click of her mother’s heels on the garden pavers interrupted Olivia’s flower picking. She knew she should run, but her frozen body wouldn’t move.
“There you are, squatting in the dirt.” Elizabeth grabbed her daughter’s wrist, pulling her to her feet. “Come with me.”
“No, I’m picking flowers for Nanny.” Olivia winced. “You hurt me.”
Her mother ignored her plea as she continued to drag her along the path. When they reached the last garden, their journey ended. Olivia’s eyes went first to her mother’s sneer and then to where she pointed. Nestled between the rows of radiant flowers were her lovebirds. Their small bodies were partially covered in dirt and crawling with ants. They looked as if they, too, were planted.
“No!” Olivia screamed so loud she could no longer breathe or see the decayed bodies of Zander and Miley staring back at her. She heard the tap, tap, tap of her mother’s stiletto heels, like an echo, lingering in her ears.
“Your father should see how you treat the special gifts he gives you. You may have him fooled, but I know how bad you are. I should leave you out here to rot with your little friends,” her mother said before pushing her face in the dirt.
She woke in her bed with Nanny rubbing her bruised wrist while her family talked to her doctor. She stared at her mother until her mother looked back. Her grandmother’s worried face caused her to press her eyes shut. Something had happened, but she couldn’t remember what. Had Dr. Perry come to the house because of her bad headache?