Burned Bridges: Oliana Mercer Series Prequel (Crossing Series)

by Marguerite Ashton

  I grabbed my cell phone. “I’ll try to reach her.”

  “I’m sick and tired of lying on the couch reliving those awful memories. Then I have to hear my psychiatrist tell me that I need to learn to forgive. I swear, if I hear that one more time, I’m going to scream. No one knows what it was like for me.”

  Jessie’s line rang and rang. I hung up.

  “The one thing I regret is going to see my mother today. All we did was argue about our dirty family secret. Then she tells me she never told Dad and it was best that I forget about it and move on.”

  Olivia went back to biting her nails while water dripped from the ends of her hair onto my grandmother’s antique oak farm table.

  I was almost tempted to dry her hair for her, but I didn’t want to seem rude during her time of need. Instead, I fixed myself a cup of tea and leaned back in my chair.

  “It’s as if she’s more worried about my brother than me. He can continue living his life with no consequences.”

  Hearing her pain left my mouth dry. I couldn’t come up with words of comfort and tell her that everything would be okay. It didn’t seem fitting. I figured it was better to keep my mouth shut rather than add to her despondency.

  “Knock, knock, ladies,” Norman said, walking into the kitchen.

  “Oh, no, I forgot to bring the food in,” Olivia said, rising. “I’ll be back.”

  “Is she okay?” Norman asked.

  “There was a crisis, so dinner will be a little late.”

  “Did she take a drink?” Kevin asked, putting a six-pack of cola on the table.

  “I’ll let her tell you.”

  “Let us know if there’s anything we can do,” Norman said.

  Olivia came back in with the groceries and sat the plastic bags down on the counter.

  “I’ll take these,” Norman said, stepping between us and picking up the bags.

  “I’m going outside to have a cigarette,” Olivia announced.

  “Want some company?” Kevin asked.

  “Nope.”

  Norman and I started preparing our meal. I pulled out my wok, turned on the burner and put a drizzle of my favorite herbed olive oil in the pan.

  “What’s this supposed to be?” Norman asked, pointing to my baked catastrophe.

  “It was supposed to be a German Chocolate Cake,” I replied, tossing the new cookbook in the drawer.

  “Wait. What did that say?”

  “Nothing.”

  Norman chuckled, opened the drawer and lifted the book up to read. “‘How to Bake Your Way Into His Heart.’ You’ve never baked before?”

  “Not really. I’d rather do laundry than cook.”

  Kevin’s phone rang and he answered. “What?” A scowl was etched on his face.

  Norman rinsed off the chicken breasts and placed them on the cutting board in front of me. As I extracted a butcher knife from its silver block, my hand hovered above and contemplated the best way to dice up the chicken. I couldn’t help thinking how much they resembled little hearts.

  The smell of the liquid gold heating up in the wok pressed me to make a quick decision. I sliced against the grain and sprinkled the chicken with garlic and parsley.

  “I’ve got it from here. Tonight’s my turn to cook,” Norman said.

  Grateful, I went back to my chair and sat down. “How does it feel to be back on staff at the hospital?” I asked.

  “How do you think?” Norman placed the meat in the wok. It sizzled and popped for a couple of seconds before it simmered down.

  “We all make mistakes.”

  “My mistake could have cost someone his life.” Norman turned the chicken over. “I’m just glad that I’ve been given a second chance to redeem myself. Losing my fiancée to cancer was like being kicked in the gut. I’d never touched a drink in my life, so when I started it was like giving the tractor keys to an eight-year-old and saying ‘drive.’ I had no clue what I was doing.”

  “When was your last drink?”

  “The day I blacked out with the scalpel in my hand.”

  “Was that when you hit bottom?”

  “That was my bottom.”

  Kevin hung up the phone and exhaled. “Her voice is like steel scraping steel.”

  “The ex-wife?” I asked.

  “More like the devil.”

  I turned the burner down underneath the chicken. “When will the custody battle be over?”

  “Next month.”

  “Gotta be tough,” Norman said.

  “The day my girls turn eighteen is the day I will celebrate because that means I won’t have to deal with her.” Kevin dropped his phone into his pocket.

  “Enough about us. How are things in your life, Traci?” Norman asked, pulling up a chair.

  “Oh, you know. I’m wildly happy.”

  Wind chimes rustled outside.

  “Have Marc, and you talked marriage?”

  Numbness infused my body. “He’s not big on discussions with the word ‘commitment’ or ‘marriage’ in them.”

  “Probably because he knows leaving a sock on the floor might land him in trouble,” Kevin said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your house is never dirty.”

  “And it never will be.”

  The front door slammed.

  As I looked to see Olivia coming in, I caught Norman watching me. His eyes were warm and intense. Heat crept into my cheeks as I quickly averted my gaze.

  Norman went to finish cooking dinner.

  Olivia turned and said, “Traci, I want to ask you a question.”

  “Sure.”

  “The guys already know, so that leaves you.”

  I reached into the cabinet, clanging plates as I retrieved them and helped set the table. “What is it?”

  Olivia clutched her stomach. “My parents are throwing me a small party. Can you come?” Her eyes dropped to the floor.

  I felt a rush of guilt. Something was wrong. I wanted to ask Olivia why she was upset. I wanted to believe it had to do with her recent encounter with her mother. But knowing almost nothing about my new friend, I didn’t want to assume.

  To me, Olivia was an enigma. I wasn’t sure if any of us would learn the trigger behind her drinking. Even during our meetings with Jessie, she sat in the back row, refusing to participate. The best I could do was accept her invitation. “Um, certainly, I think.”

  Soon the food was served, and the four of us were sitting at the table eating.

  Olivia pushed a pea across the plate with her fork. “Thank you. The whole party thing was my stepfather’s idea. My mother wanted to be sure I knew that.”

  The sautéed garlic filled my nostrils as a weight settled on my heart. “Are you sure you want to go to this party?”

  “Of course,” Olivia forced a smile. “Besides, this is the first time I’ve ever had any kind of party thrown for me. I might as well take advantage of it.”

  Norman winked at me. “Let it go,” he mouthed.

  Clear juices leaked from the chicken as I cut a slice and shoved it into my mouth. “Whatever will make you happy.”

  “Wonderful. My best friends will keep all the ugly away.”

  After we finished dinner, I pulled Norman aside. “Can you call Jessie? Olivia needs to talk to someone.”

  “I’ll call as soon as I get in the car,” he promised.

  After the guys said their goodbyes, Olivia helped me clean up and put things away. Then we stepped out on the porch. The rain had slowed; thunder could be heard in the distance.

  Porch lights set to timers clicked on, piercing the darkness that began to surround us.

  Olivia pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and lit up a used one. She inhaled as the orange tip singed the paper, closing in on her fingertips.

  “Marc asked if I wanted him to move in,” I said.

  “You mean he hasn’t already?

  “No. Call me old school, but I want a family, marriage, kids, the whole traditi
onal nine yards, but I’m not sure how he feels about it.”

  Jessie’s blue Wagoneer pulled up in front of the house.

  “Olivia,” Jessie called, getting out. “I found you. When Norman called, I thought he said to meet Olivia at Duran’s. I went there first.”

  Jessie tucked her gray hair behind her left ear and hiked the braided purse over her shoulder. Her preference for cargo shorts revealed stout thighs and firm calves which betrayed the many miles that had passed under her feet. Jessie’s smile reminded me of a china doll, but it was nonetheless warm and genuine.

  “I’m sorry for the mix-up,” I said.

  “You can make it up to me by letting me take a rest on your porch. Lord knows I’m too old to be chasing after you young ones.”

  Jessie eased herself into the porch swing, patting the seat next to her. “What’s wrong?”

  Olivia plopped down next to our counselor and explained what happened. When she finished, she put the cigarette out on the bottom of her shoe and became quiet. Eerily quiet.

  “You need to look at this as another episode that brings you closer to healing,” Jessie said. “As a recovering alcoholic, you have to learn to deal with real life without falling back into the bottle. Pat yourself on the back for not taking a drink.

  “I’m proud of you. Your relationship with Traci is blossoming. It helps that you have supporters that understand.”

  There was no response. Jessie looked at me, and I looked at Olivia. Her face was blank. It was as if she had left us mentally to be somewhere else.

  Jessie took Olivia’s hand. “Please, dear, don’t do this again.”

  My skin tingled. What was Jessie talking about? Had she witnessed Olivia doing this before? I thought back to our private discussions, but couldn’t recall Olivia mentioning blackouts.

  Frustrated, I stepped off the porch and into the wet grass, soaking up water with my tennis shoes. Sam. That’s the last hole you’ll ever dig.

  Soon, Olivia was back with us. She smiled and continued the conversation as if she had never stopped.

  “Just stay strong, dear,” Jessie said.

  “That’s all I have been,” Olivia cried. She stood up and stalked into the house.

  The storm had tapered to a drizzle.

  “Thanks, Jessie, for coming by,” I said.

  “Don’t thank me. You’ve made things better for Olivia by just being her friend. Before you, she didn’t trust anyone else. After the memories had come flooding in two years ago, the relationship with her mother soured—”

  Jessie eyes watered. She took a tissue from her purse and dabbed at the corners. “I’ve said enough. I’ll call and check on her later.”

  After Jessie left, I went inside to check on Olivia. She was in the living room, lying on the couch with her eyes closed. Sam was resting on the floor nearby. Not wanting to disturb her, I turned to leave.

  “I’m not asleep. Please stay and talk to me.”

  “It’s been a long week for all of us. You should try to rest.”

  “Why did you ask if I was sure about going to my party?”

  I straddled the arm of the couch. “Just looking out for you.”

  “Are you afraid that I’ll run into my brother?”

  I put my head down and massaged the back of my neck.

  “Maybe if Mom would’ve spanked or grounded him after what he did to me. All I remember is her sending him to his room. After dinner, he was allowed dessert. I even remember them laughing at one point.

  “I’ve fantasized about inflicting similar pain on him like he did me, as if that would make him eventually apologize and make things better. Do you know how hard it is to forgive someone for hurting you?”

  “Not in the way that you’ve been hurt, no.”

  “Traci, you swore to me that you’d be there for me,” she said, sitting up. “I cannot face my family alone.”

  “None of that’s changed,” I replied.

  “Good.”

  A bell sounded on Olivia’s cell phone. She retrieved it from her jean pocket and started texting. “Shoot, my phone’s dying. Would it be okay if I used your phone to finish texting?”

  “Sure. My cell is on the dining room table.”

  “Thanks,” she said, rising off the couch.

  Sam watched Olivia leave, walked towards me and nudged my hand with her snout. I stroked her golden coat.

  For a few moments, it felt like old times when I had her to myself. “I’m glad you’ve found a new friend. Just remember who pours the food in your bowl.” I continued to pet her. “It’s probably too late to teach you to stop digging holes in my yard.”

  Sam whined as if she understood what I was fussing about.

  A knock at the front door brought Sam to her feet. She followed me, ready to unleash her “please pet me” face on the person who dared to come by without calling.

  As I hurried to answer the door, my foot caught in the straps of Olivia’s bag, spilling out pill bottles, make-up, and gum. “Crap.”

  To my shock, Marc stood on the porch with his briefcase in hand.

  “Where’s your key?”

  “I can’t find it,” he said, stepping inside the house.

  “Did you lose it?”

  “That’s the thing. It was on my key ring earlier. You saw me put it there. After dinner, I noticed it was missing. Dana went back to the office to look for it, but couldn’t find it.”

  Dana, Marc’s paralegal, openly flirted with him before we got together. It didn’t take long after the two of us started dating for her to drop strong hints of disapproval which she made sure got filtered into the firm’s rumor mill.

  “I can bet she didn’t look very hard.”

  “Be nice.”

  “Olivia is in the other room.”

  “So, we’re not going to be alone tonight?”

  “I’m sure she’ll be leaving shortly.”

  He gave me a peck on the cheek and went down the hall to our room. Sam followed at his heels.

  “I’ll be there in a bit.”

  “I might be asleep by then.”

  “Love you?”

  Silence penetrated my ears. Seconds later, I plodded over to clean up the mess from Olivia’s bag and caught a glimpse of something silver at the bottom.

  For a minute, I was uncertain about what I saw. I checked the bag once more.

  My breath hitched in my throat. It couldn’t be. I set it upright and reached inside the bag, moving items to the side to get to the bottom. Then, my fingers locked on a cold piece of steel.

  “Traci?”

  I snatched my hand back. “Holy shit, Olivia. You scared me.”

  Olivia’s eyes darted to her bag. “You went through my stuff?”

  “I tripped over it when I went to let Marc in and your stuff spilled out,” I stammered.

  She snatched the bag out of my hand. “I better go.”

  “Wait, we never finished our talk.”

  “It’s okay. See you later.”

  Without saying another word, she was gone. My concern for her had deepened. Although I’d never held one before, I knew what sat at the bottom of that bag was a gun.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, I awoke to a wave of nausea and Marc snoring like a bear. Neither were appealing.

  As I turned off the television, my cell phone chimed. I scrolled through the notifications until my eyes zeroed in on a cryptic message.

  “The item is untraceable.”

  What? I checked the sender but didn’t recognize the number.

  Another wave slammed my insides. I rushed to the bathroom, hovered over the sink, making it just in time. Not again. I splashed cold water on my face, crawled into bed and laid down.

  “Is this the first time you’ve been sick?” Mark asked, turning off the alarm clock.

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I’m afraid.”

  Marc rolled over to face me. “I’ll admit that
the idea of being a dad scares me. A son might be okay.”

  “Or a daughter?”

  “That, too.”

  “What about marriage?”

  Marc’s temple pulsed. “We don’t even know if you’re pregnant yet. So, get a hold of your doctor and let’s find out.”

  I looked at the suitcase propped in the corner. “We’ve never discussed having kids or marriage for that matter.”

  “Look, we’ve been dating for a bit, and this was bound to happen.” Marc leaned over and kissed my lips. “I’ve gotta get ready for work.”

  Anger rolled through me while I watched Marc head for the shower, refusing to talk seriously about our relationship. Was he going to do this every time I wanted to see where we stood as a couple? Here he was living in my house, contributing nothing but great sex.

  I grabbed my phone and put in a call to the women’s clinic for an appointment. “Do you have anything for this morning?” I asked the receptionist, after I filled her in on my reason for calling.

  “I’ve got an eleven o’clock.”

  Anxiety pummeled my stomach as I held off asking the receptionist questions she couldn’t answer. “I’ll take it.” I hung up and got dressed.

  Mark strutted back into the bedroom naked, glistening with his favorite body oil. He opened the closet door, stood back and poked at a few of his suits with a smug smile on his face. “I should move more of my clothing over here. It makes sense, right?”

  “Yeah.” I snatched up my belongings and fled to my appointment.

  Marc’s notion was confirmed, right along with my worst fears.

  “You’re about ten weeks along.”

  Rather than feeling a moment of joy, I felt more like the Grim Reaper had reached in and taken my soul. What kind of mother would I be? Would I be able to provide a stable home if Marc decided one day to abandon his responsibility? Now was not the time to bring a child into my world without at least an answer to one of my questions.

  I left the clinic, finished the remaining hours at work and made my way over to Duran’s. Olivia called and said she was running late, but the guys should be there.

  When I arrived, I scoured for an empty table among the crowd. In the far back, I spotted one with four chairs by the window and claimed them. Not long after, Norman arrived, then Olivia.