Burned Bridges: Oliana Mercer Series Prequel (Crossing Series)

by Marguerite Ashton

  “My brother hurt me on my thirteenth birthday.”

  Unexpectedly, Olivia confessed her tragic experience that happened over ten years ago. The jubilation that had once danced in her eyes now smoldered like ashes after a fire.

  “That day messed with my head, and I never felt whole again. In between hospital stays, I’d drift to solitary places to reconnect with the world. To fill the void, I’d take my journal and write songs.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I told my Mom, and she never did anything about it. He’s still her amazing son who can do no wrong.”

  “Is he going to be at the party?” Norman asked.

  “I hope not, but he probably will be. Mom usually has him there even during my pre-planned visits.”

  “That’s not cool,” Kevin said.

  “In group, you’ve mentioned your step-dad. Does he know?” Norman asked.

  Olivia let out a small laugh. “Dad lives in a liquid haze. He wakes up in the morning drinking and goes to bed with it. I doubt if he knows.”

  “The important thing is you’re getting better,” I said.

  “Yeah. Would you mind if I took a shower?”

  “Sure. There are fresh towels in the bathroom.”

  Olivia hurried out.

  “I’m concerned there will be drinking going on at this party,” I said.

  “How do we handle it?” Kevin asked.

  “The way we’ve been doing it,” Norman said.

  Kevin flipped over on his back, pulled the blanket up to his neck and closed his eyes. Before long, he was asleep.

  “Norman, can I get a ride with you to the party?” I asked some time later.

  “Sure. It would be a pleasure to have a beautiful, pregnant woman ride in my truck.”

  “Thanks. How are you doing?”

  “I’m a lot better. I’ve started dating again.”

  “You have?”

  “Yep. I’m trying online dating,” he confessed.

  “Dating on the internet can be tricky.”

  “Humph. It’s not going so well. My matches are not matching.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had two goals in life. They were to become a doctor and get married.”

  “Those are good goals.”

  Olivia beamed a huge smile as she came back in to join us. “We have a big day tomorrow. I’m going to turn in.”

  “Goodnight,” Norman said.

  Olivia took her spot on the couch and pulled the covers over her head.

  Norman gazed at me intently and asked, “Why are you scared of thunderstorms?”

  I considered not answering him. Then I realized I wanted to. I sat up and zoomed in on the lava rocks. “When I was fourteen, my mother drove our car head-on into a light pole, with me in the front passenger seat. It was storming, and she was drunk. I could smell it on her breath when she picked me up from my soccer game.

  “Anyway, I remember lying in the hospital bed with my eyes closed and hearing Mother refusing the doctor’s suggestion for one last surgery.

  She said, “‘My daughter’s a strong girl. She’ll be fine. I need her home with me.’”

  I exhaled.

  “All Karin Collins wanted was someone to cook and clean up behind her while she partied with her men every night.”

  He stroked the top of my hand and said, “I’ve got something that might help you see thunderstorms in a different light.”

  “You do?”

  “Back home, we’d call storms similar to these toad-stranglers.”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious. Mama, bless her heart, every time it got to stormin’ my brother and I would go hide out in the well house, peek out the window and pretend we were storm watchers. She’d come find us and chase us back in the house with a broom. Boy, she was mad as a hornet.”

  I laughed. “Mad hornets sting.”

  “You know it! Traci...” As if suddenly self-conscious, he took his hand from mine. “What do you want?”

  I didn’t even have to think before I answered. “To be loved and have a family of my own.”

  I snuggled under my blanket and rubbed my belly. I wondered what my baby was doing inside his temporary home. Was he sleeping or sucking his thumb? Did he sense my trepidation about being a good mom?

  For once I was grateful for the storm and could log that moment as a new memory.

  Exhausted, I closed my eyes and welcomed the darkness.

  Chapter 6

  Morning sunshine beamed in through the bay window as we folded up our blankets. Norman made us all a quick breakfast.

  “Did you want me to put the blankets up?” Norman asked.

  “No. I’ll put them up later.”

  “I’m going to go home and change. I’ll be back to pick you up.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  After breakfast, we went our separate ways. I sorted through several skirts and blouses before finally deciding on a charcoal ruffle top and capri leggings.

  An hour later, I riffled through my contacts in search of Marc’s hotel number. I wanted to let him know about my plans, but when I called his room, it rang back to the desk.

  “Hollington Suites,” a male voice answered.

  “I was trying to reach Marc Drake.”

  “Yes ma’am. Let me check. One second...Mr. Drake and his assistant are in a meeting and have asked not to be disturbed.”

  “I’m his girlfriend. I’m sure he’ll accept my call.”

  “I’m sorry ma’am, there’s nothing I can do. Perhaps you can try his cell phone.”

  “Sure,” I said, ending the call.

  I didn’t bother calling his phone. Instead, I wrote an email to Dana informing her of my plans and asked if she could pass the information along to Marc.

  Some more time passed as I surfed the internet for no bake recipes. It was easier for me to accept that I’d never master the art of cooking from scratch. Besides, it beat checking my email every five seconds, hoping to hear from Marc.

  Not long after that, a notification crossed the top of my screen. I clicked on the email. It was from Dana.

  “You have to be desperate to contact me regarding your boyfriend. Since it’s obvious you have no clue, I’ll update you. I’m still in Colorado, catching up on work from home. A family member is sick. She was in bad shape for a while, but she’s doing better. As for the trip, I asked Marc if he needed me to go with him and he said he would be fine without me. Guess he’s fine without you as well. I suggest you call our staffing agency. They’re open until one on Saturdays.”

  Why would I call the agency? Wait. If Dana’s here, then who’s with him?

  I typed in Naughton’s Legal Staffing in the search engine, found the number, and placed the call. As the on-hold music played, I wondered if Dana had taken pleasure in agitating my fears. What better way to get back at me for snatching away her next climb-up-the-corporate-ladder victim than hint about who he had with him?

  A female voice came on the line: one I had talked to often whenever I would train a temp for the week.

  “Carly. It’s Traci.”

  “Hey there.”

  “I had a quick question about one of our temps by the name of Stephanie. I forgot her last name. When is her contract up?”

  “I believe she’s done. Let me double check. Stephanie… Stephanie. Yes. Her contract expired yesterday.”

  “I appreciate you checking.”

  I hung up the phone, seething. Son of a bitch!

  Pounding on the door brought me to my feet. On my way to answer, it was as if someone had hit the pause button and the imaginary images on my brain of Marc and Stephanie together were embedded there permanently. The words “expired contract” flashed in front of the picture. Fury engulfed me like an inferno.

  When I opened the door, there was Norman dressed in a pair of brown dress shorts and a matching shirt. Grinning, he gestured towards his truck as if it were a limo.

  S
everal miles into our thirty-five-mile drive, Norman turned down the volume on a discussion about the upcoming presidential election that played from his radio. “I am not sure, but there is something different about Olivia,” he said as we merged onto the I-25 highway.

  “Yeah, she’s sober.”

  “Traci, I’m serious. Are you going to tell me you haven’t noticed anything? You spend more time with her than Kevin or me.”

  “Not really,” I said, pretending to think. I had my concerns about Olivia, but I didn’t want to add to Norman’s questions if mine were baseless. “I am worried about her going to this party, though. I asked her again if she was sure about attending. She told me it was what she wanted.”

  The last words of my sentence just hung in the air, like thick cigarette smoke. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why Olivia wanted to put herself at the mercy of her family like this, but who was I to deny her the support we promised one another at our meetings?

  Soon, we pulled up behind a small boat attached to a pick-up truck. Before we had time to exit the truck, Kevin parked behind us. The sound of pop music blared through the open windows as we came around the house to stand on the sidewalk out front.

  “This is it. My mother’s house. Of course, it is not where I grew up,” Olivia’s eyes tightened.

  Norman nudged me.

  “Come on in,” yelled a male from the front porch, motioning to us with gangly arms. He reminded me of Mr. Riley, my high school science teacher, who was very animated when he taught. As we got closer, however, I could tell that this man, with his slow, deliberate speech and overly friendly mannerisms was a far cry from Mr. Riley.

  “Hey, Pop.”

  “Hey, Babygirl. There is plenty of food and drink to go

  around. Tell your friends they can have anything they want.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come on in and enjoy yourself.”

  I wrapped my arm around Olivia, and we went inside. Once we were in, you had the choice of going up a flight of six or down a flight of four. We went up.

  The tri-level home was spotless. Cleaner than my home. Olivia had always warned me what a clean freak her mother was, but this was beyond clean. The little dust bunnies that I had to chase out of my corners did not exist in this home. One would have thought she had paid servants to help keep it clean, but Olivia believed her mother cleaned to rid her guilty conscience.

  Her mother, Linda, played hostess, introducing her husband and a few of his friends.

  “Mom,” Olivia said, “These are my good friends, Traci, Norman, and Kevin: people who I would never have to worry about them leaving me in some alley to die. They’d protect me.”

  Linda straightened her posture. “Feel free to make yourself at home. There’s plenty of food and drink in the den.”

  We thanked her and tried to settle in. More people showed up, including some of Olivia’s high-school friends. They crowded around her, bumping the three of us out.

  I looked around the room at the other attendees and was disturbed at how quickly our surroundings were being filled with an atmosphere that would be uncomfortable for any recovering alcoholic, seasoned or new.

  “Do you think Olivia knows everyone here?” Kevin asked, gazing longingly at a margarita passing in front of him.

  “I doubt it,” I said. “She told me she didn’t have much of a family.”

  “Come on guys,” Olivia said. “I want to show you around.”

  We followed Olivia throughout the house among the chain smokers and a delicious aroma of barbecue traveling in from outside. Finally, we came to a stop outside a door located across from the den. She opened it and I was greeted with a musty smell, an assorted collection of dream catchers that hung from the ceiling above, and a dirty floor, all except for the bed. It was a twin, made neatly with some throw pillows and small stuffed animals that decorated the wooden headboard.

  “This used to be my room.”

  “Your bed is neater than the rest of the room,” Kevin said.

  “It’s where my troubles began. This is one room my mom refuses to clean. It has been this way since my last incident.”

  “Must have been a long time ago,” Kevin said.

  Olivia said, “Enough about that. Look at these cool tattoos Kevin, that I’m thinking about getting.”

  “We did a good job going with the wildlife figurine for your present.” Norman pointed at the serial pictures of humpback whales lining the four walls.

  She nodded her head, and the guys went over to look at her collection.

  I leaned in to rub one of the glittery stuffed animals and snatched my hand back as if I had just touched a hot burner. I looked to see if the others had seen, but they were engrossed in what Olivia had to say.

  I touched the stuffed bunny again and ran my finger over the head of a nail. It was lodged in the rabbit’s groin area. I checked the other animals, and they too had nails pounded through their stuffed little bodies.

  As trivial as it seemed, all I wanted to do was get out of the room. Who nails their stuffed animals to their headboard? I guess one could come up with lots of answers, but for Olivia, there was only one.

  Chapter 7

  Thank heavens for the outdoors. It felt good to be outside. I took three deep breaths of the barbecue smoke and tried to calm my nerves.

  I had barely gone from “nearly freaking out” to “I think I can do this” when Linda rounded everyone up and herded us inside to stand in the buffet line. The main course started up on the high-rise deck. Dessert was served on the opposite side of the house, near the stairs.

  There was picnic style seating spread around in the yard and comfort seating inside the kitchen. I chose the inside.

  The candles on the sheet cake remained unlit as it sat on the table against the far wall. Before everyone had been served, a tall man who barely cleared the chandelier walked over to the table and swiped his middle finger over the icing. He placed his finger into his mouth, sucked it clean, and returned for more. “Coconut! My favorite.”

  Olivia walked by her ruined birthday cake. “You’re such a jerk.” She reached for a paper plate.

  He laughed and walked out the patio door. My heart broke for my friend.

  “There will be no drama today, young lady. You got that?” Linda said, grabbing a plastic knife and hurriedly patching the scarred frosting.

  Olivia shrugged.

  “I’m throwing you a party. Least you can do is pretend to be happy about it.”

  “Like you care,” Olivia said.

  “I heard that, Missy.” Linda snatched the plate out of Olivia’s hand. “Sighing like a pathetic princess who has to sleep on a pea. So we didn’t light candles and sing. So what? You got a cake. Coconut. Your favorite.”

  “No, Mom. It’s Reggie’s.”

  In desperation, I began searching for Norman and Kevin. I couldn’t believe I had ended up separated from the guys. Well, we’d done our time; we’d made an appearance. Now I was ready to leave.

  The loud music bumping in the house left me feeling like it was beating in my body. Just as a song ended, the stereo was turned off.

  “Eh, everyone listen up. My babygirl is going to sing one of her songs and you damn well better listen.”

  “Pop, I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” Olivia’s stepfather handed her a guitar, pushing her up front on the upper deck.

  Whistling erupted from the crowd. “Sing, sing,” they all chanted.

  “Go ahead, girl,” said a lady sitting at a picnic table.

  She closed her eyes, shutting out the distraction of the people crowding her. Then, as if a wand waved over her, her anxiety vanished. In beautiful notes that streamed as rich and clear as a church chime, her satin voice sang us a song she had written. She sang about sorrow and loss and fear and betrayal. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

  The whole party listened, spellbound.

  As Olivia’s song ended, I realized that No
rman and Kevin had returned.

  I turned in my chair to face Norman. “My stomach’s queasy and I’ve had enough of this place. Olivia deserves a happier birthday.”

  He offered me his soda. “Will this help?”

  I sipped the lemon-lime soda and recounted the incident between Olivia and her mother to the guys.

  “When is that little girl gonna catch a break?” Norman asked.

  “Are you enjoying yourselves?” Olivia asked, coming up to us.

  “We are having a ball,” I said.

  Olivia’s eyes burned with concern.

  “Great song,” Kevin said.

  “Olivia, we all want to take you out. This is not a healthy environment for you,” Norman said.

  “Yeah. Let us make this day up to you,” Kevin pleaded.

  “All right, guys,” she said. “Just give me a few more minutes.”

  A surge of morning sickness churned in my stomach. “Soda didn’t help. I’m going to be sick.”

  “You want a cracker?” Norman asked.

  I hurried to the bathroom, dropped to my knees just as my stomach contracted. Moments later I heard screaming and a popping sound.

  My blood ran cold.

  “Traci! It’s Olivia,” said Kevin, pounding on the door.

  I stumbled to my feet and barreled out the door.

  As I entered the den, an acrid, burnt odor stung my nose. The smell reminded me of Fourth of July fireworks. Off to my left, I saw Olivia’s body trembling as she stood with her arms pointed in front of her.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  The man who I’d seen earlier hacking up Olivia’s cake stared down the barrel of the gun. He was six feet tall, with dark hair and a sadistic smile etched across his face.

  “Come on, Olivia. You already shot at me and missed.”

  Olivia said, “I won’t miss next time.”

  “Yes, you will. You know why? Because you don’t have the guts to move on.”

  Tears streaked Olivia’s face. “Shut up, just shut up.”

  Some guests charged out the front door, while others remained, taking a few steps back to distance themselves from Olivia.

  “Apologize for what you did to me.” Olivia said.