I Love You to Pieces

by Lori Flynn

  “No, but it may be enough to get a few court-ordered sessions. Consider it, Ben.”

  *

  Ben was still parked behind his desk when the night janitor pushed his cart in to straighten the spacious corner office for the following day. He’d fully intended to change into his workout clothes and sweat out his demons in the state-of-the-art gym on the second floor. He didn’t make it before it closed.

  His next thought was a long jog but discounted the idea when the memory of running with Olivia and her dogs along the beach proved too painful. Paperwork, awaiting his expertise, stared back at him untouched from his desktop. With little doubt, if he focused to give it the exclusive attention it required, deserved, his head would explode.

  He realized the thought was bizarre when it crossed his mind, but part of him envied Olivia. If only he could rid himself of his pain and anger through dissociation, he’d try. Instead, he drank from the bottle of aged scotch he kept for special occasions in the bottom drawer of his desk. It wouldn’t make him forget; nothing would. He’d just have something to do while he remembered.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Abigail

  Abigail barreled toward her office, arms weighed down with files, mind crowded with empathy for pack animals. Rush-hour traffic from the courthouse had screwed with her schedule and blood pressure. She shoved open the door with her hip and heard the shrill of her ringing phone. For the love of God, this had better be Publisher’s Clearing House.

  “Abigail Matthews,” she answered, dumping everything onto her desk.

  “One would think with high-profile clients like Olivia Harding, you could afford to hire someone to answer your phone.”

  Abigail shut her eyes and exhaled. “My assistant’s gone for the day. Fortunately, I’m a woman of many talents, and answering the phone is one of them. Something I can help you with, Detective Baker?”

  “No help required. The prosecutor has decided not to pursue the case due to unforeseen developments.”

  Contempt and disappointment rang loud and clear in Detective Baker’s anguish-filled voice, emotions he did not attempt to mask. Abigail resisted reminding him that his unforeseen developments had been evidence she’d handed him. She pictured fighting afternoon traffic to his office where she’d playfully put on his trademark sunglasses, and then slide them down the bridge of her nose, all while she performed her I told you so dance around his desk.

  She took the high road. Next time, the decision might not go her way. That’s a pile of bullshit. Unless I develop a drug problem or get lucky enough to represent George Clooney and go totally off the rails, that won’t happen.

  “I appreciate the call, Detective Baker.”

  Abigail lingered while the news washed over her. Her tears caught her off guard. She couldn’t recall when she’d last allowed herself to get emotionally involved in a case.

  Alone in her quiet office, she savored the moment, made a mental note to call her travel agent and book that trip to Milan. When she closed her eyes, she could feel the skilled hands of the handsome masseur as he oiled her naked body. She smelled the fragrant Mediterranean breezes and smiled as tiny bubbles from the Prosecco played on her tongue. Life was good.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Olivia

  Olivia shuffled the cheesy scrambled eggs around her breakfast plate, too distracted to eat. Her next therapy session, minutes away, promised its share of new memories and emotions. And where sleep and maintaining a balanced diet were constant obstacles, embracing integration remained her priority.

  She refused to wallow in her depression, had pressed through every wall no matter how difficult. She still had miles to go on her journey to normalcy but felt stronger. I guess I should, after six weeks of intensive gut-wrenching therapy.

  “You don’t get credit for the nutrients if you don’t eat,” Nurse Connie said.

  Olivia swore Delila nudged her. “If I rubbed them through your hair, I’ll bet they’d do wonders for those dry ends.”

  “This’ll go on my report to Dr. Coffield. He’s ready to see you now,” Connie scolded.

  Olivia followed her nurse. With deliberate strides, she entered the room. Her heart raced in her chest seeing that Dr. Coffield wasn’t alone.

  “Abigail.” Olivia braced for the worst. Her voice sounded hollow, as if in a tunnel. She’d been so deeply involved in her therapy that she’d put aside the reality that, at any moment, it could all come to a screeching halt: her progress, freedom, and her life. Fear rushed in and shortened her breath. The comforting voice of Dr. Coffield kept her in control.

  “Olivia, Abigail has good news for you.”

  Her lawyer faced her with a wide smile. “The lead detective assigned to your case called. They’re not going to charge you. You’re free.”

  Olivia staggered to the loveseat and sank slowly into the center, cradling her face in her trembling hands. Her soft sobs echoed through the room. Abigail dropped beside her and gathered her into her arms.

  “How can I thank you?” Olivia said her voice a whisper.

  “Having the truth on my side made my job easier. And I had help. Ben and his crack-shot investigator supplied valuable evidence and destroyed their case.”

  Eyes wide and glowing, Olivia beamed. Ben’s face was clear in her mind. “He helped? Tell me about it.”

  Abigail turned, seeking Dr. Coffield’s approval.

  He nodded. “Ms. Matthews can fill you in on the details of your case, and then you and I will discuss where we go from here.”

  Olivia acknowledged Dr. Coffield, discreetly shuffling papers at his desk, allowing her the time to absorb the details Abigail disclosed. Afterward, she pulled her lawyer close and hugged her while rubbing tears from her eyes. When Dr. Coffield escorted Abigail to the elevator, Olivia curled on the loveseat. She thought of her grandmother and dogs.

  Closing her eyes, she felt drained of emotion, except one which emerged and made her smile. Olivia let it sweep through her, surround her, as she welcomed optimism for the first time.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Abigail

  Abigail shielded her eyes as the sun drifted from behind the cumulus cloud in the otherwise blue sky just as Ben pushed through the double doors of the courtroom. His straight posture and long, confident strides broadcast the day’s outcome. She thought him cavalier, ready to celebrate before he spotted her on the wooden bench.

  “Called your service,” she said. “They told me I’d find you here.”

  He leaned over her, hands firm on his hips. “There are strict stalking laws in Florida.”

  “It’s been a few weeks. Still tall, dark and pissed off, I see. How’s that been working?” She watched his face contort into a scowl. “If I were twenty-five and gorgeous, you’d be flattered instead of quoting laws.”

  “Why does everyone think I’m angry? Do you need me for something, Abigail?”

  Ben’s emotional response caught her off guard. He’s wound tighter than Spandex on a sumo wrestler. He must be living hell. She took his hands and pulled until he dropped down beside her.

  “I thought you should know. Olivia’s legal problems are over. They won’t file charges. That mountain of evidence you uncovered opened their eyes. Some detectives are like puppies. You have to show them the stick before you throw it.”

  Ben pressed his palms to his eyes and let out a huge breath. “Does she know yet?”

  Abigail nodded. “I told her about your involvement. She’s grateful. Are you all right, Ben?”

  “I will be. I’m gonna sit here awhile. Thanks for what you did. Your name’s first on my list if I ever commit a crime.”

  “Not to trip over a dead horse, but with your temper, sweetie, you may want to keep me on retainer.” Abigail grinned. She kissed his cheek and left him with his thoughts.

  Chapter Sixty

  Olivia

  Olivia woke with a start. Lifting her head from the loveseat, she glanced at the clock on Dr. Coffield’s desk, am
azed at how long she’d slept. She stretched, feeling better than she had in months.

  “Dr. Coffield, tell me Abigail was here, and it wasn’t a dream.”

  “I walked her out myself. Your legal problems are over.” Dr. Coffield smiled from behind his desk. “When you first began therapy, I never knew who’d greet me. I might’ve heard Delila’s ‘Hey, Doc,’ or Sophie’s polite ‘Pardon me, Sidney.’ Today, I had every confidence it would be you. As soon as you’re ready, we can talk about what comes next.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  Dr. Coffield nodded as he cleared his schedule with a phone call. “Let’s get started.”

  “I should be scared, but I’m not.”

  “Good,” he said, watching her. “You’ve spent weeks acknowledging the strengths of both Delila and Sophie. It’s time that you incorporate them into your life.”

  Olivia abandoned the loveseat for her favorite chair across from Dr. Coffield’s desk. “Incorporate? Are you sure you don’t mean integrate?”

  “Integration is our ultimate goal. I believe you’re right on the verge. The question is, do you believe it?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I do, more so every day. What happens next?”

  “I’d like to keep you here a bit longer and then continue your therapy as an outpatient.”

  Olivia raked her hand through her hair. “The thought of leaving both thrills and petrifies me.”

  “That’s expected. Make a list of what you feel about the pros and pitfalls of outpatient therapy,” Dr. Coffield said, sliding a yellow legal pad across his desk. “We’ll start there.”

  After several minutes, she raised her head. “To start, I have my appetite, insomnia, and depression improving on the pro side. Not having you at the end of the hall evens out the con.”

  “I’ll be a phone call away, Olivia, for as long as you need me. And we’ll continue our daily sessions. Your commute will be longer.”

  "I thought of more for the pro side, my grandmother for one. I can only imagine what this has done to her health. I want to spend time with her, and Nanny, so I can explain what happened in my own words. Then there’s Jill and Melody; being with them is just like therapy. And I can’t forget my dogs or going back to work and seeing Gretchen.

  “I’m not sure where Ben is on the list. My mind tells me to prepare to live without him, but my heart—that’s a different story. I’d hate to come this far just to succumb to suicide.”

  “You’re too strong for that, Olivia. This is something that requires time. You’ve survived worse.”

  “I know you’re right; you may need to remind me a few hundred times.”

  “I’m curious, which side did you put Nurse Connie on?” Dr. Coffield said, provoking Olivia to giggle. The amiable sound filled the room.

  “Level with me, Dr. Coffield. Is she human or one of your science projects?”

  He laughed. “If I didn’t know better, Olivia, I’d think I was speaking with Delila.”

  His response made her smile. “Not so long ago, a comment like that would’ve horrified you.”

  “I would’ve puked my guts up! Now I’m cautiously optimistic, scared but motivated. Most of all, I’m not afraid to feel.” She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

  Dr. Coffield sat back in his chair. “Sounds like progress to me.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Olivia

  Olivia rolled from her bed, carefully maneuvering around warm, sleeping bodies. I’ve been home two weeks, and my dogs still hover as if they’re begging me to stay. At least they don’t treat me like a chandelier, ready to break at any minute, like everyone else.

  Grandmother Catherine arrived with Nanny the day of her homecoming and stayed a week. They bundled up, bracing against the late January wind that rolled in off the water while they walked the beach. The trio talked, and the sea-gulls screamed. It felt like the CliffsNotes of mental illness and recovery.

  Numerous calls from Jill and Melody offered the promise of a reunion. Gretchen stopped by to welcome her home and assure her that her job was waiting.

  Maria approached Olivia’s recovery like a warrior, appointing herself health coordinator. She spent her days assisting the cook, planted a vegetable garden, and even threatened to have the dogs debarked to assure tranquil naptimes. Maria’s husband did things his way. Christian waited to see if there was anything Olivia desired, before moving heaven and earth to get it.

  Olivia’s life fell into a comfortable routine. She walked her dogs on the beach and never missed her daily therapy sessions. Her leather-bound journal, a gift from Dr. Coffield in which he’d inscribed with a quote from Cicero, “Memory is the guardian of all things,” rarely left her sight.

  Everything had returned—almost everything—except for Ben.

  She stared at the phone, willing it to ring. I remember when he admitted he loved me and later added forever and always. It plays on a loop in my mind. But that was before words like murder, mental illness, and escort service.

  Two months at Palm Haven had cured her of covering what she didn’t want to see with lies and excuses. Ben knows I’m home. Everyone knows. I read it myself in the paper my first morning back. He hasn’t called because he doesn’t want to.

  She discussed it with Dr. Coffield. He said she’d have to suffer through rejection like everyone else. She’d have to cry herself to sleep on nights she could sleep at all.

  After breakfast, Olivia herded the dogs for their usual outing. “Christian, can I ask a favor?” She placed a small unwrapped box in his hand. “Deliver this to Ben Thornton’s office this morning.”

  “I’ll leave immediately.”

  “Thank you.” She bit her lip to hide the pain from her voice. “I need to walk the dogs before they start without me.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Olivia

  Olivia shivered, stifling a yawn as she handed the valet her key. She’d had a long day with Jill and Melody arriving at dawn for a spa day and now, dinner. As a brisk February breeze rustled her hair, she pressed on, following Dr. Coffield’s stern instructions to end her self-imposed seclusion from society.

  The women strolled to their reserved table at the trendy Breakers-inspired restaurant. Rich hardwood floors with marble accents, Brazilian Teak furnishings, and low ambient lighting created a welcoming atmosphere. Their waiter, who came just short of backflips toward pleasing them, suggested the restaurant’s signature appetizer, the Margherita pizzette. Olivia reached to where her necklace had been—and then remembered. She counted her blessings instead.

  She took a deep breath and Melody’s hand. “I missed your engagement. So, he’s the reason for Boston? You told me once you’d never live any place that couldn’t grow a palm tree.”

  Melody nodded. “This guy’s solid. We decided on a prenup, and because of our trust issues, he suggested couple’s counseling. I’ll come here for my palm tree fix.”

  “You’d better.” She gets couple’s counseling, and I get dropped like a bad idea!

  Jill cleared her throat. “My relationship’s less messy. Vice free, except for me. He’ll pass your father’s background check with flying colors, Melody. The pepper ricotta primavera looks delicious. Let’s get a bottle of wine.”

  Melody shook her head. “I’m driving, but you two enjoy.”

  Olivia covered her face with her hands. What the hell! Even Jill’s latest junkie parasite seems to love her more than Ben allegedly loved me. She listened while her friends joked with the waiter while placing their order. They look so happy. I ping-pong from anxiety to guilt and can’t remember happy.

  Melody rubbed Olivia’s arm. “Heard anything from Ben?”

  “Not a word. I returned his locket last week.”

  Dr. Coffield promised she’d find talking about her issues with her trusted friends cathartic. Her story unfolded with ease.

  “That answers a lot of questions. Like your shoplifting problem. So unlike you,” Melody said. “I thi
nk we met Delila at my graduation party. She danced like a showgirl and cursed like a sailor.”

  “I remember,” Jill said. “She kept saying she wished we were her friends. Was it Sophie who took those beautiful notes for me?”

  Olivia nodded. “She took them for me, too. You may know more about Delila and Sophie than you think.”

  “I know one thing, Olivia. If we’d known how many people you had living in our apartment, we would’ve charged you more rent,” Melody smiled.

  “Who made us suffer through that God-awful Italian opera?” Jill asked. “I drank a bottle of cooking sherry once to drown it out.”

  Olivia raised her hand. “That’s me. I still listen to it. No one complains anymore.”

  Jill narrowed her eyes. “Are you eating, Olivia, or just moving the pasta around the plate?”

  “Did I invite the pasta police tonight?” Olivia snapped back.

  “That pissed you off but not Ben’s rejection?” Melody asked. “The bastard told you he loved you and then walked away when things got rough.”

  Olivia sighed. “I’m more sad than angry. I put the guy through hell; he left me. I wish he would’ve fought for me or had the guts to tell me to my face.”

  “You mean the balls!” Jill snorted.

  “What I don’t need is to see him living his life without me—like I never existed.”

  Melody cursed under her breath. “Maybe Delila and I need to go kick his ass. We’ll find out what he wants.”

  As they perused the dessert menu, a large party made their way toward a table across the room. Jill lifted her chin, signaling their obliging waiter, and requested the check.

  Melody’s head jerked back. “Feel all right? You know I need cake.”

  Jill leaned close to Melody’s ear and lowered her voice. “Forget the cake, Ben’s here.”