I Love You to Pieces

by Lori Flynn

  “What’s going on? Who’s the woman?”

  “I’m not sure. Can I call you later for dinner?” The distinct click answered his question.

  Dr. Coffield swallowed hard and extended his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “With all that’s been going on, I’ve completely forgotten my manners. I’m Sophie. Would you mind terribly if I call you Sidney? Using your title makes me feel I should be ill.” She stood, shoulders back, at his desk.

  “Call me anything you’d like. How can I help you?” He knew there could be more, readied himself to expect it. His heart beat hard, enough to break through his ribs, making him have to work to steady his breathing.

  “Thank you for your kindness. Olivia has me worried. She’s horribly depressed over Delila’s career choice. She feels violated. I was never fond of it either, but it isn’t as bad as Olivia thinks. You’ll have a hard time convincing her.” Sophie adjusted her glasses and folded her hands in her lap.

  “She’s fearful Ben will run for cover without giving her a chance to explain, not that she can. It’s a shame; we all love him. I hid that picture of her dogs on the nightstand. She misses them so. When she’s not in here speaking to you, she’s in our room crying. Can you see why I’m troubled about her, Sidney?”

  “I can. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

  “May I ask about your treatment plan? I don’t assume to know more about your profession than you. I know her. I can tell you how she’ll react. She doesn’t like taking pills. It’s taken years for me to get her migraine medications into her.”

  He nodded. “I think it’s time for Olivia to get to know Delila, to understand her the way you do. Knowledge tends to make us less fearful.” Dr. Coffield paused to gage Sophie’s reaction.

  “That’s a frightening idea, Sidney, but we trust you,” Sophie said.

  “May I ask you a few questions?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I was waiting for this. Go ahead, shrink my head, and ask away.”

  “It won’t be all that bad. I’d like to know if I should expect any more of you, or have I met everyone?”

  “It’s just the three of us: Olivia, Delila, and I. We’re all harmless. Delila can rip you to shreds if you get her back up but only verbally. The mother was no match for her. Delila would drive her wild with rage calling her Elizabitch.”

  “Is that where you came in, Sophie, as a buffer between Olivia and Delila?”

  “I like to think of myself as a keeper. I keep everything in order between Olivia and Delila. I kept Olivia’s notebooks for her when she wasn’t able and reeled Delila back in, so the mother didn’t kill us. It also falls to me to make sure Delila gets home at a decent hour, so Olivia can wake up in her bed. We’ve had some close calls. It isn’t always easy staying one step ahead of Delila.” Sophie paused and made eye contact.

  “What is it you’re trying not to tell me, Sophie?” Dr. Coffield asked.

  “I may as well mention it now before you hear it in one of your sessions. When Olivia entertained the idea of discontinuing the birth control pills she’d been given to help with her migraines, I got us an IUD. I realize the decision was invasive, but with Delila choosing a promiscuous lifestyle, I had no choice. Olivia didn’t react well when she found out.”

  “Thank you. Olivia also mentioned a problem with shoplifting.”

  “Delila’s quite skilled at it, or we would’ve had legal problems long before now. I can usually return the items before Olivia sees them, sometimes even before we leave the store, but not always.”

  Dr. Coffield studied the woman sitting in the same chair by his desk Olivia chose earlier. Perched on the very edge, with her spine perfectly straight and hands folded in her lap, she was a drastic contrast from the way Olivia curled there earlier. In her eyes, he saw concern rather than anguish.

  “I’ll let you get back to your work, Sidney. I trust you’ll do the right thing to help with Olivia’s depression. In the future, the restraints won’t be necessary. I will step in. It’s been a pleasure to meet you. If I can be of further assistance, you know where to find me.” Sophie stood, took several quick steps, and opened the door, where Nurse Connie waited to escort her.

  *

  Dr. Coffield lost track of time working at his desk. He documented his findings, studied his notes and listened, again, to his tapes. By the early hours of the morning, he was certain of one thing. The battle for Olivia Harding’s life hadn’t started that fateful night at the Biltmore Hotel. It began the day she was born.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Abigail

  Kate Smith’s rendition of God Bless America erupted from the phone Abigail had tossed under her pillow, jolting her upright in bed. Keeping her cell near her ear allowed her to sleep easier than the strongest sleeping pill. God knew she desperately needed it. Dead-of-night disruptions normally sickened her. Missing timely information was worse.

  “Matthews.”

  “It’s Ben Thornton, Abigail. I’d offer an apology for calling at this hour, but you won’t want one after you hear what I have to say. There’ll be a full report on your desk later this morning, but I wanted you to hear this from me. Are you sitting down?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Did your investigator find something I can use?”

  “You mean your new best friend? It looks like Delila’s instincts were spot-on about this creep,” Ben answered.

  Abigail blinked hard. She questioned which had brought her to full consciousness: the hopeful tone of Ben’s voice or his new ability to casually mention Delila’s name. Be it acceptance or denial, she listened intently.

  “My investigator went to Gloversville, NY, and spoke with Howard Welker’s widow. Gloversville is somewhere between Utica and Schenectady, right off Route 6. Mrs. Welker said the mortgage and both kids belong to her. She has three documents that bear Howard Welker’s name—all restraining orders she obtained after he’d beaten her senseless. The police notified her of his demise but never took her statement.”

  “You’ve got my attention. A violent man careful not to leave a paper trail behind sends up all kinds of red flags in my book. My Spidey sense tells me he has something to hide.” Abigail crossed her fingers.

  Ben’s voice intensified. “You’d hide too if you’d claimed you were over one hundred and fifty years old. According to public record, the real Howard Welker was born in 1847.”

  “Then who’s our victim, if we can still call him that?” Abigail asked. She’d gotten out of bed and paced in full stride, mowing her toes through the plush carpet.

  “I called in a favor, had a friend of mine run his prints. You were right. The police are so determined to pin this on Olivia, they overlooked pertinent information.”

  “Hot damn, Ben! That’s why she has us. Now tell me what you found before I rupture a blood vessel.”

  “Howard Welker is Henry Wheeler. He was serving three life terms for rape and murder in Virginia. He began his crime spree with his first wife and then moved on to target escorts and prostitutes. They didn’t believe his insanity defense, hence the life terms.”

  “This just keeps getting better. Who was the liberal cupcake who let him out?” Abigail asked.

  “He escaped three years ago while working in the prison laundry, along with two other inmates, both of whom were later apprehended. My investigator came up with an old FBI Wanted Poster on file in a post office in Virginia. There’s a reward for information leading to his capture. I included it in your packet.”

  “Why is it that felons always pick a name with the same initials as their own?” Abigail asked. “This jerk broke out of a high security prison and began a whole new murderous life but held on to his H.W. I’ll never fully understand the criminal mind.”

  “Is this new information the help you needed?” Ben asked.

  “You’ve all but handed me the smoking gun. Have you ever considered adding criminal law to the many titles afte
r your name? You’ve got a flair for it.”

  “Thanks, Abbey. I may have a flare but not the stomach.”

  “Well, if you ever change your mind. There’s one more thing. An abbey is where nuns live. That’s something I don’t have the stomach for. You sound as if you’re doing better than the last time we spoke.”

  “I keep myself buried in work.”

  “Have you thought about speaking to Dr. Coffield?” Abigail asked.

  He hesitated. “Is there anything else I can do for you in a legal capacity?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to badger. You’re the first and last thing Olivia asks about every time I see her.”

  “Tell her I’ve told you everything I know.”

  She’d tried to help, calm the turbulent waters between him and Olivia. The sound of the dial tone silenced her reply.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Olivia

  Olivia paced the hardwood floor before the lone window in her room; her heart drummed against her ribs. The view provided the only reminder that the outside world lived on.

  I miss my grandmother, pray she’s all right. Maybe Abigail will call her for me again. Has this been in the newspapers? God, I hope not. Her mind raced. She tucked her hands around her waist to stop them from shaking. How long have I been here—three weeks, a month?

  In Palm Haven, they measure time in moments of clarity, rather than hours or days.

  Her battle with Dr. Coffield concerning antidepressants seemed as daunting as the depression itself. She needed a clear head to decipher the secrets of her past. Her present and future depended on it.

  She’d have no patience for self-pity or the desire to sit and wallow. She walked. Dr. Coffield supplied solutions to mysteries unanswered since early childhood. He made her realize why her monsters disappeared when she closed her eyes, only to wake with bruises and, on occasion, broken bones.

  In return, he asked she make an effort to accept both Delila and Sophie.

  He told me to walk it out—like I’m considering something as simple as having a mole removed. I could walk the circumference of the earth and find it just as terrifying. She did as he asked while considering the fragmented charade which was her life.

  *

  “Morning, Dr. Coffield.” Still wrapped in her arms, she entered his office.

  He glanced at his watch. “Have a seat, Olivia. Connie tells me you aren’t eating.”

  Olivia sneered over her shoulder at her nurse. “She reports how often I blink.”

  Dr. Coffield curbed a grin. “Your weight’s become a concern.”

  “Not my biggest problem. I’ll work on it. You said I had to accept Sophie and Delila. I’d like to begin the process with Sophie.”

  He slid a yellow legal pad across his desk. “I’m big on lists. This one details Sophie’s contributions. Read it, give it some thought, and put a check beside those you’re grateful for.”

  She nodded, tucked her knees beneath her and picked up the pad.

  The lacey writing you found in your notebooks. I always wondered who’d taken those beautiful notes when I couldn’t.

  Sophie reels Delila in and makes sure she gets home after her wild escapades.

  Sophie attended your father’s funeral, as well as other functions when you couldn’t.

  The IUD. No further details.

  Olivia raised her head. Dr. Coffield seemed braced in his roomy chair. “Tell me,” she said.

  He folded his hands before him and guardedly recounted Sophie’s reasoning for making her decision and taking extreme measures regarding the IUD.

  Olivia listened, tears filling her eyes. New anguish seared her heart. “She must’ve been desperate. She couldn’t trust either one of us.” Her voice was strained.

  “Bravo! Now that’s what I’ve been waiting for.” Dr. Coffield clapped his hands. “Have any idea what just happened here?”

  “You’ve lost your mind, too?” She held her hand over her heart.

  “No, you used the word us. It indicates that the coping mechanism responsible for preserving your brilliant mind and keeping it from shattering is capable of accepting a repair. One word, but to me, it resonates like church bells on your road to recovery.” His normally strong voice broke.

  Olivia shook her head. “You need to get out of here more than I do.”

  “No time for negativity. We’re on a roll. Are you ready to talk about Delila? It may be easier now.”

  She leaped to her feet. “Easier for you, maybe—you’re not the one vomiting tequila. She tattooed me. She used my body like a whore, a prostitute. Then there’s almost getting me murdered. Any chance Ben’s mother would call us perfect now? Pardon me if I have a problem deciding where to put my check marks.”

  Dr. Coffield leaned back and grinned as his patient dropped back in her chair.

  “Forgive me, Dr. Coffield. I’ve no idea where that came from. You certainly didn’t deserve it. Are you smiling?”

  “This is the first display of anger I’ve witnessed from you. I found it enjoyable. You’ve also brought me to my next point. We’ve determined facing Delila will be difficult. Acceptance is important; so is blame and where to place it. Do you believe your problems result from Delila’s behavior?”

  The realization came slow, lighting her eyes as it did. With the clarity she’d been searching for since childhood, Olivia answered, “No. It’s not that simple, is it? Delila exists because of my mother. The fault begins there.”

  The moment the words left her lips, scatterings of memories crowded her mind. By acknowledging where the responsibility belonged, she remembered Delila challenging their mother, head on, whenever she clamped her eyes in fear. If not for Delila’s fearlessness climbing from the window in the small attic room, she’d have perished as intended. And when the drunken man cornered her as she protected the little white dog, it was Delila who took control.

  Amazed and shaken, Olivia clung to her chair. A new understanding began to take hold. Fragments of chilling flashbacks bombarded her mind. Her mother’s hand, grinding her face in the dirt beside the bodies of her murdered lovebirds was clear. She could taste the rich soil in her throat.

  Olivia’s heart beat in her chest faster than she could count. As her panic rose, she tried to blink away her blurring vision. “Dr. Coffield, help me. I’m scared.”

  “Stretch your left hand out in front of you, like a star, Olivia,” Dr. Coffield said, his voice low and calming. “With the pointer finger on your right hand, trace upwards along the outside of your thumb while breathing deeply through your nose. Count to three as you round the top of your finger, and exhale through your mouth as you slide down the other side. Now, inhale again and slide up your pointer, hold it, and count to three, and exhale as you slide down. That’s right, Olivia, keep going.”

  She completed all five without incident. “Try it again?” he asked.

  “No, I’m better. I can breathe. Thank you.”

  “It’s a technique that I’ve found works well. Keep it in your back pocket.”

  Tears ran her face. “You don’t fit. I’ll need to.”

  “Delila’s tough. She told me she never allowed your mother to see her cry,” Dr. Coffield said, “no matter what evil she delivered.”

  Olivia rose quickly and paced the room with impatient strides. “Maybe so, but explaining away her shoplifting, excessive drinking and, most importantly, her career choice as a struggle for control doesn’t make it any easier. Her choices have compromised everything I’ve worked to accomplish, including my safety, our safety.”

  He nodded. “You’ve come a long way in a short while. Give yourself more time. You’ll make your peace with Delila. I’ll be here to guide you. Has the depression lessened since the last time we discussed it?”

  “I’m dealing, but it’s maddening. There are subjects I can’t allow myself to think of, like how desperately I want my life back. I’d donate a kidney to wake up at home and go to work. My poor grandmother has to be worrie
d sick, and my dogs must think I’ve abandoned them. And I don’t know if Jill and Melody even know where I am. It’s more than I can bear.” Olivia bit her lip and then continued.

  “Then there’s Ben. Missing him hurts like physical pain, more than a broken bone. But I have to be realistic. He has reason to steer clear of me, even if I don’t spend the rest of my life in prison. Who can blame him?” She paused to swallow a sob. “Other than that, I’m fine.” Olivia feigned a smile.

  “I’d love to calm your fears, tell you your life will return to normal, without repercussions. We both know better.” Dr. Coffield pursed his thin lips. “I promise I’ll continue to work with your DID, and Abigail is fighting hard on your legal issues.”

  “Thank you.” Olivia wiped her tears with the palm of her hand. Can you convince me the life I get back will be worth living?

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Ben

  Ben traveled the lush grounds of Harding Towers, navigating into a visitor’s parking space. Winter had cooled the tropical temperatures to moderate yet sweat rolled freely down his back. Summoned by the matriarch of the Harding family, he’d no choice but to attend. Maintaining a normal gait, he fought the urge to haul his ass back to his car.

  “Welcome, Benny.” Catherine stood in the foyer of her elegant home with Nanny at her side. “Come in; make yourself comfortable. I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”

  He nodded and dropped into a fabric-covered chair, holding her stare.

  “I’ve information to help you better understand my granddaughter’s situation.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’re aware when I took over the reins from Jonathon Tate, I familiarized myself with Olivia’s full medical history. I know of every emergency visit, stitch, broken bone, and hospital stay recorded.”

  “Yes, and I’m grateful for your dealings with Elizabeth on her behalf. You know that.” Catherine dropped her eyes. “There’s more.”