Burned Bridges: Oliana Mercer Series Prequel (Crossing Series)

by Marguerite Ashton

  “Trust? Let’s not go down that road.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “But you can tell Norman?”

  “Goodbye.”

  “You’re choosing Olivia over our relationship.”

  “Yes.” I stepped into my home and closed the door.

  Even with our wonderful date, another burden had been added. The secrets that we were keeping from one another were tearing at the very fibers of our relationship. But how could I trust him with my secret when he was hiding something equally important from me?

  Chapter 21

  Norman picked me up just before my lunch so I could attend Olivia’s hearing. We stopped at a small diner located on East Colfax Avenue near downtown. It was a quick stop and go spot that employed only two waitresses; the owner, Charlie, was the cook.

  I enjoyed hearing Charlie holler out orders as they were ready to be served. I ordered a ham and cheese omelet with potatoes and Norman ordered coffee.

  I was still reeling from the news I had learned during my late-night phone call to Stephanie, though I made every effort to put it behind me for the time being. Olivia needed me, and it was important that I kept my wits about me.

  “Are you going to eat something?” I asked.

  “Food does not settle well in my stomach when I’m nervous.”

  “Ah, I see. How are things at the hospital?”

  “I’m back full time and reveling in the thought that I’ve been sober going on almost six months.”

  “That’s awesome. Are you dating?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You will.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve moved on.” Norman turned the coffee cup in his hands. “When Nina died, it tore my world apart. The good thing is, I’m finally able to visit her grave without a flask of brandy in hand.”

  “How long ago did she die?”

  “Two years ago.”

  “I think it’s safe to move on, now. From the things you’ve told me, I believe she wouldn’t want you to be alone.”

  “You’re right, Traci. I love that calm, positive attitude that you have.”

  “You’ll find someone.”

  “I think I already have, but this gal’s unavailable.”

  As I ate my food, I felt Norman’s eyes lingering on me. “Something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Norman said. “Just admiring you. You’re still pretty and pregnant.”

  I looked up from my food, and he winked at me.

  Warmth filled my cheeks. “Very pregnant, but not so sure about the pretty part.”

  “Traci, I value our friendship. So, I hope I’m not stepping out of bounds when I tell you what I need to say.”

  I could tell from his expression that I wasn’t going to like the words that came next. “Go on.”

  “I saw Marc the other day at the hospital. He was with a woman who’d been admitted through the emergency room.”

  My throat formed a tight knot. “What did she look like?”

  “Blonde, tall—.”

  “It’s fine. I know who it was.”

  “I don’t think Marc realizes what a good woman he has.”

  “Thank you, Norman, for the kind words, but today is about Olivia,” I said, standing up. “We need to go.”

  Norman’s sweet attempt at comforting me was nothing I had ever experienced, but I knew that whatever strength I had mustered up until that moment would break if I didn’t get moving.

  Downtown was a bit more crowded than usual. News teams from different cities huddled outside the courthouse. At one point, we were in bumper-to-bumper traffic traveling on a one-way street.

  “Trying to find parking downtown is madness,” Norman said.

  “It seems all of the meters are taken, at least by the courthouse anyway.”

  “I’ll drop you off in front and find a place to park.”

  “Let’s find a parking garage. The walking will do me some good.”

  He looked at me for a moment. “All right, but don’t you go into labor on me,” he said, pulling into a parking garage.

  “You’re a doctor.”

  “I’m a neurosurgeon. Not a baby doctor.”

  “A doctor is a doctor. In the 1800s there was only one doctor per town, and they did everything from diagnosing diseases to delivering babies.”

  Norman laughed. “Allow me to welcome you to the twenty-first century,” he said, pulling into a parking space.

  “Let’s go before we miss the hearing,” I said. “You know how slow I walk.”

  He opened the passenger door. “Like a turtle.”

  When we entered the courtroom, we looked for a seat in the gallery and were soon ushered by the bailiff to the last two remaining seats in the far corner on Olivia’s side.

  As we took our seats, Norman squeezed my hand. “It’s almost over.”

  Olivia sat next to her lawyer wearing a blue blouse, her hands in her lap.

  Philip wore a look of confidence. Maybe he should since he only took on clients that he believed in and had a record that surpassed Marc’s. Still, I couldn’t help wondering what this session had in store for Olivia.

  “This is the sentencing hearing for the case of People vs. Durning. Before I make my ruling, there are a few things that I would like to say.” The judge turned and faced Olivia.

  “I’ve read the presentence investigation report four times, and I have to admit this case left me perplexed at how this type of abuse could happen with the parent’s knowledge, if not consent. Something should’ve been done to put an end to this atrocity.

  “First, I do not condone what you did, no matter what state of mind you were in. Second, I can’t say that I understand what you felt all these years. To grow up thinking you had a decent childhood only later to have suppressed memories come rushing forth, changing your life instantly, is a great tragedy.

  “I’m not a doctor, but I am a mother, and you should have never had to endure the emotional and physical pain that you experienced.

  “Originally, you were charged with a Class Three felony. After further investigation and witness testimonies, it was understood that you were threatened, stalked by the victim and under mental duress. The charge was reduced to a Class Four felony, which carries a sentence of two to six years.

  “According to the pre-sentence report, you have been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder by a licensed psychiatrist. He also wrote that you have a history of being in and out of psychiatric hospitals due to two suicide attempts and severe bouts of depression. His report further states that you have a history of substance abuse and no prior convictions.

  “Does everything that I’ve read satisfy the state?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Olivia bowed her head and reached out blindly for her attorney. Philip took her hand in his, squeezing in silent support.

  “Does it satisfy your client, Attorney Jenkins?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Does Ms. Durning have anything she would like to say?”

  Olivia stood. “Thank you, Your Honor. Sorry will not take back what I did. My actions have hurt my mother, and I ask that she forgive me for breaking her heart. I understand that I’m at your mercy Judge. Thank you for allowing me to speak.”

  Norman grabbed my hand again. We held on to each other as if to a lifeline.

  “With everything being on record and thoroughly considered, Olivia Durning, I sentence you to seven years of strict probation. You will not be credited for time already served, and your official start date will commence on the day of your discharge hearing.

  “You’ll be required to see a psychiatrist four times a week, and you are prohibited from having alcohol or drugs. Your probation is conditional upon your willingness to submit to periodic random drug testing.

  “For the charge of carrying an unregistered handgun, you will be fined seventy thousand dollars. You are furthermore prohibite
d from having or owning any firearm for the remainder of your probation.

  “If you fail to keep your appointments or violate the terms of your probation in any manner, I will have you remanded to a minimum-security prison pending re-evaluation of your mental state. At that time, you may be placed in a secure mental health facility for long-term treatment or, if prison is warranted, the term will be for twelve years with the first chance of parole after three years.

  “Do you understand the sentence being placed upon you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Court adjourned,” the judge said, slamming down her gavel.

  And with that, it was over.

  Murmurs filled the courtroom. People from the press ducked out quickly while Olivia hugged her lawyer. As soon as she saw Norman and me, she motioned for us to come to her. Norman went over to her as I wobbled my way through.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around.

  “Take care of my daughter,” Linda said. “I wasn’t a good mother to her before. Help her out.”

  With her dry eyes and blank facial expression, it was hard to sense if her statement was genuine.

  “I will do all that I can.”

  Linda fled the courtroom without saying so much as a peep to her daughter. I wondered if her attendance at the hearing was just for show or did she come to see Olivia in good faith?

  “Traci,” Olivia said.

  “I’m moving as fast as I can,” I said, stretching out my arms.

  We all hugged.

  Philip said, “You can go home after your final hearing this afternoon. I will arrange to have all of your personals sent to you.”

  “Can my stuff be sent to a shelter? There is nothing I want from that jail cell, except for my memory box.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Where will you stay?” Norman asked.

  Olivia shrugged, idly twisting a piece of hair around her finger. She looked lost. So alone.

  “You can stay with me until you get back on your feet.” The words left my mouth before I had a chance to think them over.

  Olivia was mugged by news reporters with question after question as we exited the court building. She made me proud as she looked at the cameras and said, “I want to go home and hug the three people that mean the most to me.”

  After Olivia’s discharge hearing she asked Norman to pull off the road near a small bridge that arched over a stream. Anxiety filled me, but Norman agreed.

  “Traci, will you walk the bridge with me?”

  I looked to Norman.

  “I’ll be right here,” Norman said.

  Slowly, I got out and followed behind Olivia on the narrow sidewalk, littered with loose rocks. She reached for my hand to help steady me as we came to a stop near the railing that looked over the stream.

  Like an idiot, I looked down at the water and felt as if I was going to faint. “I don’t do so well with heights.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  There was no traffic off this road; the area was desolate. My mind zoomed over the countless cases I helped to research where a body was dumped in an area such as this and was never found until months, sometimes even years later. This place would be the perfect spot to hide or throw a person who trusted her best friend over the railing and no one would ever know. I was the remaining link that could destroy Olivia’s case.

  She grabbed my shoulders. “What you did for me, I will never forget. I love you for it. I’ve walked this bridge many times after being hurt; it was the only place that I could feel safe.”

  “I’m sorry for all of your pain.”

  “You’ve taken care of me. Somehow I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “I wanted this to be our secret place. This bridge, like my journal, has heard many stories. I wanted to share this place with you as a thank you.”

  I smiled, genuinely touched by her faith in me.

  We walked back to the truck, got in and we were on our way.

  I was glad I had not betrayed her trust. Now we could all move forward and put this mess behind us. I prayed that I had made the right decision, and hoped with all my heart that the truth I had helped bury would stay buried.

  Chapter 22

  When we got home, Olivia curled up on her favorite spot on the couch, where Sam joined her. I searched the house for any sign that Marc had been home, but found none.

  Calls to his cell phone went straight to voicemail. When I tried his private office number, the automated message told me he was on the other line. I left a brief message about Olivia staying at the house and hung up.

  I went about fixing up the guest room and unboxed some of my old clothes that I had stored away from college.

  When I came back into the front room, Olivia was up and snuggling with Sam.

  “I hope Marc won’t be too upset about me staying here.”

  “It won’t be a problem.”

  “I’ll move out as soon as I can.”

  My phone vibrated. I retrieved it from my pants pocket and read the text.

  “A.”

  “Just tell me what you want.” I texted.

  The response was quick and unnerving. “Since Olivia is free, she can take care of her responsibility.”

  “What’s the matter?” Olivia asked.

  I tossed my phone to Olivia. “The texts are from the same number that stated the gun was untraceable. What the hell is going on?”

  She collapsed back against the couch. “Oh, my God. Tell me this isn’t happening.”

  “I’m risking my freedom to keep you out of prison. I want the truth.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “When did you take the gun?”

  “The night before the party. I had to go to the linen closet to grab a towel for my shower.”

  “Did you know that Reginald was going to be there?”

  “No, but after I found the gun—”

  “You were searching for the gun?”

  Olivia moved across the room and started humming what sounded like a baby’s lullaby. I watched, concerned, worried about upsetting her and afraid of making things worse.

  “When Reginald arrived, he teased me. He kept bringing up our past. Mom overheard him and separated us.” She went and sat back down on the couch. “I was afraid that something like that was going to happen. So, I took the gun. I wanted to be in control.”

  “I feel like a fool. Why didn’t you confide in me?”

  “There was nothing to tell. It’s not like I planned this.”

  I remembered Kevin’s words of warning, giving me renewed bravery, pushing me to confront Olivia, hoping she would prove his statements as nothing but conjecture and theories.

  “Kevin offered to get you to leave, and you refused,” I said.

  “If you don’t believe me then I can’t live here. I’ll go stay with my ex.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m just stressed. I feel responsible for you.”

  “I’m sorry that I’ve dragged you into this.”

  “Who does the number belong to?”

  “My husband, Bruce.”

  “Why would he send the texts?”

  “I doubt that it’s him.”

  For some reason, I couldn’t find it in my heart to trust her words. “Are you sure?”

  “He’s the one that got me the gun.”

  “Then it wouldn’t do him any good to tell on you.”

  “I swear I don’t know who’s sending the texts.”

  “We’re going to have to pick this up later,” I said, looking at the clock. “I have to get ready for a party, and I’m the hostess.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Get dressed. I’m not leaving you here by yourself.”

  “I have nothing to wear.”

  “Check your closet. I gave you some clothes.” I left abruptly and hurried to get dressed. I chose an oyster and black sophisticated maternity dress wi
th a deep v-neckline and pleated shoulders.

  I exited the room, got dressed and hurried into the living room to grab my purse and keys. “Olivia, it’s time to go.”

  “You can’t go without an escort,” Marc said, straightening out his bowtie.

  Marc was dressed in his tux and looked as handsome as he did when he took me out on our first dinner date.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to take you to the party.”

  I was steaming inside. I wanted to pummel Marc emotionally and let him know how much he had hurt me.

  “I’m ready,” Olivia said, striking a pose.

  My black sequined dress with the sweetheart neckline fit Olivia like a glove. “You look fantastic. That dress looks better on you than it ever did on me!”

  She chuckled. “Hi, Marc.”

  “Olivia.”

  Determined to enjoy the evening, I sucked it up and played nice during the car trip over.

  Tiny white lights decorated the outside trim of Mr. Edwards’ Tudor home. Valets took keys and gave tickets for the cars they parked. Marc pulled up to the curb, and we got out.

  On our way up to the door, I noticed Dana, accompanied by an unknown gentleman, glaring in our direction.

  “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” Olivia said.

  “It will be over before you know it,” I said, tugging on her arm. As long as you didn’t bring a gun.

  The event was in full swing when we entered. Laughter, politics and business deals penetrated the smoke-filled room. Tasteful, posh decorations graced the interior.

  Place settings had name cards with the best china and crystal positioned for use. Fan-folded, crisp ironed napkins graced the tops of the plates.

  Flat garden bowls held floating candles that served as centerpieces while Bossa Nova jazz set the mood. Its samba rhythm and sexy vocals made me want to tilt my head and dance in the warm evening and gentle breezes.

  As guests filtered in, several people congratulated Marc on winning his latest case as he moved between the crowds.

  I observed the approving nods that we received from others. Marc maintained a firm, proprietary grip on my hand, keeping me close. Not wanting to suffer any more humiliation, I played the dutiful pregnant girlfriend, admiring her popular criminal defense attorney who is the father of her child.