The Night Olivia Fell

by Christina McDonald

  Lizzie smiled, her eyes warm. “Okay. Enjoy your run.”

  I waved and continued toward home. By the time I unlocked my door I felt better, the alcohol evaporated from my blood, the groggy thud in my head gone.

  An hour later, I’d showered and dressed and was waiting outside the hospital boardroom when my phone rang.

  “Hello, Miss Knight, this is Detective Samson.”

  “Detective Samson.” My heart sped up, hammering against my ribs so hard I felt they would crack. “Have you found anything?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. I just wanted to let you know I looked through our evidence and spoke to Detective McNally, and we didn’t find a silver bracelet. I’m really sorry.”

  “Did you look at the pictures on Olivia’s iCloud account?”

  “We’re pursuing a number of leads, Miss Knight.”

  I gritted my teeth, knowing that meant they’d done nothing.

  “Can’t you subpoena her phone records?”

  “I know this is frustrating, but it takes time. How are you doing?”

  I frowned, picturing Samson’s icy demeanor, her impassive face, her professional detachment.

  “I don’t . . . I’m not sure . . .”

  “Of course,” she said. “I understand.”

  “Do you?” I replied bitterly.

  Samson didn’t answer for a beat.

  “Some of us never get hardened to other people’s suffering,” she said finally. “Killing, murder, death, it isn’t an easy business. People kill for so many reasons—usually to do with control and power. The one constant we know is that the killer usually knew the victim. That’s where I always start looking: the people the victim knew.”

  My palm felt slick against the phone. I opened my mouth to ask her more about this, but Dr. Griffith appeared around the corner, followed closely by Sarah. I said good-bye to Samson and hugged my sister as Dr. Griffith unlocked the boardroom door.

  Inside, we chose chairs set neatly around a long, oval table that dominated the room. Dr. Griffith sat across from us and laid a handful of skin-toned folders in front of him.

  Soon men and women in business suits and white doctor’s coats began to trickle into the room, quickly filling up the other seats.

  Dr. Griffith started the meeting and the others spoke in turn, reciting the work being done to care for Olivia and her baby. I let my mind drift until a tall man the shape of a cucumber stood and started speaking. He pulled at his pale pink tie as if it was too tight and adjusted his glasses.

  Suddenly my mind snagged on something the administrator had said, and I glanced at Sarah. She looked confused, too.

  “Wait,” I burst out.

  “Yes?” The man seemed startled.

  “What’d you just say? About a donation?”

  His gray head bobbed. “We’ve received a substantial donation toward the costs of intrauterine support and hope you won’t worry at all about the length of time, nor the level of care Olivia will receive.”

  “A donor?” Sarah interjected. “Who?”

  He fumbled through his notes and straightened his glasses. “An anonymous donation.”

  “Anonymous?” I repeated.

  “Yes. The person or persons who made this donation have asked not to have their identity revealed.”

  I clenched my icy fingers together on the table. Sarah reached over and squeezed my hand. Her fingernails were round ovals, smooth and pink against my tattered, torn ones.

  “Who would pay for this?” Sarah asked. “How do they even know about it?”

  “Well, Olivia’s story was initially all over the news,” he said. “There’s a continued interest, and we’ve issued numerous statements to the press, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Will we ever find out who’s donated this money?” I asked, thinking of the mysterious silent phone calls I’d been getting.

  The administrator in the pink tie shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Anonymous is anonymous. All I can say is, if he ever decides to go public with it, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Sarah’s hand tightened on mine; the frown line between her eyebrows sharpened. She’d caught the slip as well.

  The administrator had referred to the anonymous donor as “he.”

  × × ×

  Later that afternoon Anthony arrived with two large paper bags that smelled intoxicatingly of Chinese food.

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got options,” he said, unpacking little white boxes of food. I pulled plates from the cupboard, and he dished out egg foo yong, kung pao chicken, egg rolls, and fried rice. It smelled delicious, and we headed to the living room to eat.

  “How’s your mom doing?” I asked.

  “Really well. Physically, at least. But mentally . . .” He blew out a breath. “I think it might be time to put her in a home.”

  He looked so sad at this realization. I touched his arm.

  “I’m sorry, Anthony.”

  I knew that saying good-bye, even just to what you thought you knew, was a difficult thing.

  “Thanks,” he said. He took a bite of fried rice with his chopsticks. “Tell me about your meeting today. How’s the baby?”

  “Really good.” I smiled. “Growing fast.”

  I showed Anthony the ultrasound picture and told him about the mysterious donation and how it had relieved some of the pressure of paying for Olivia’s medical care.

  “No idea who the donor is?” he asked.

  “No. I wish I did so I could thank them.”

  Anthony scooped up some egg foo yong. “I was thinking, maybe tonight we could talk to Madison?”

  I thought about it for a minute. “Madison wouldn’t have hurt Olivia. They were best friends. Kendall thinks Gavin had something to do with this, and so do I.”

  “We can’t talk to Kendall again just yet. Gavin would have us in jail for trespassing so fast we wouldn’t know what hit us. Besides, I wouldn’t trust that girl as far as I could throw her. And we need to talk to Madison about what Tyler told us. If she and Olivia weren’t talking, we need to know why.”

  27

  * * *

  OLIVIA

  july

  When Derek and I arrived at the address Kendall had given me, I texted her that we were there. A set of ornate black gates clanged open and we drove slowly up the driveway, past a manicured lawn hedged with shrubs to a ginormous three-story limestone house.

  Panic licked at my throat. I was out of my depth. I didn’t belong here. It didn’t matter who my father was—I didn’t need him to complete my family. I already had my mom and Aunt Sarah. I should turn around, go home, forget about all of this.

  But suddenly Derek was opening my door and it was too late to change my mind. We skirted around a white van with some sort of writing scrawled across the far side and walked up the stairs.

  Before I even lifted my hand to knock, Kendall flung open the door. Her eyes were weirdly bright, the pupils sharp and black, and she had a huge smile on her face, like she had a secret she didn’t want to say out loud.

  “Hi! Come in! Welcome! Welcome!” She was talking in exclamation points, her voice high-pitched and creepy. I narrowed my eyes and looked at her, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  She pulled us into a massive foyer accented with mahogany wood and expensive-looking rugs. A tall ceiling soared high above us. The house looked like it belonged in a movie.

  Derek’s eyes widened, and I tightened every muscle in my face. I didn’t want to show how intimidating it was. Fake it till you make it, right?

  “We’ll just wait for your wife to arrive,” I heard a woman’s voice say from behind a set of double doors just across the entrance foyer. Kendall slammed the front door hard behind us. I whirled around, startled, and the same polished voice said, “Is that her now?”

  “I’ll check. Wait here, please,” a deeper voice replied.

  A moment later a man came out of the double doors. His thick blond hai
r gleamed in the afternoon sun. He had a high forehead and very tan skin. He wore chinos and a baby-blue polo shirt with a cream-colored sweater draped casually over broad shoulders.

  “Kendall?” He looked puzzled, but then his eyes landed on me. And that’s when I knew he was my father. His eyes were the same dark green as mine, but the giveaway was the off-center cleft in his chin—just like Kendall’s and mine. And a million other little things: the sharpness of his cheekbones, the curve of his nose. He was like a masculine version of me.

  I think he knew it too. The blood drained right out of his face. He looked totally rattled, but he forced a smile and stuck out a hand to shake mine, and then Derek’s.

  “Oh, hello. I didn’t know Kendall had friends over.” He turned to Kendall. “Honey, I have KOMO-TV in there waiting to do an interview with me. Why don’t you take your friends to the game room?”

  “Don’t you want me to introduce you?” Kendall said, her face bright with deceit.

  Gavin looked taken aback.

  She introduced us with an exaggerated gesture. “Olivia, this is my dad, Gavin Montgomery. Dad, these are my friends Olivia and Derek. Olivia and I saw each other at the University of Washington a few months ago and we were like, ‘Oh my God, we look so much alike. What are the chances of that?’ So I invited her over.”

  Kendall tossed an arm around me like we were best friends. I looked at her, totally confused. What the hell was going on?

  “I thought you especially would want to meet her,” Kendall added, pinning Gavin with a mocking look.

  His smile faded for the first time since he’d walked into the room, and a muscle in his jaw started to tick. He clenched and unclenched his hands rapidly.

  Right then I realized two things.

  One: Kendall had lied to me. Her dad didn’t know anything about this meeting.

  And two: I’d been set up. The blue of the KOMO logo on the van outside should’ve been my first clue. If I’d been paying more attention instead of being so focused on meeting Gavin, I would’ve figured it out sooner.

  Even I knew that if a story about a politician’s illegitimate kid got out when reporters were there, it would hit the news hard and fast.

  Kendall is using me to ruin her father’s career.

  Gavin grasped Kendall’s elbow roughly and dragged her down the hall. The mask was gone and any pretense of being nice with it.

  “Come with me,” he growled over his shoulder.

  We obeyed, following Gavin and Kendall down a long hallway into a grand kitchen filled with stainless steel appliances and state-of-the-art cooking technology. Skylights lined the ceiling, and floor-to-ceiling windows showed a perfectly manicured emerald lawn sloping gently to sparkling Lake Washington. A dock jutted out from the private beach, bumped gently by a luxury speedboat.

  Gavin let go of Kendall’s arm and whirled to face us.

  “Don’t you want to know who she is, Dad?” Kendall smirked at him.

  “I don’t really c—”

  “This is Olivia Knight,” she interrupted, emphasizing my last name, and his eyes swung to mine.

  Derek edged closer to me, grasped my hand tightly in his. I swallowed hard and looked down. I couldn’t meet Gavin’s eyes because I knew if I did I’d feel smaller. I’d feel so small I’d disappear and never finish this mission I was on.

  Gavin was silent. When I finally glanced at him, his face was pinched, as if he were working out a very hard math problem in his head.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know KOMO would be here, I swear,” I burst out. I didn’t want him to hate me. “I’m not trying to get you in any trouble. I just wanted to meet you.”

  My voice wobbled and my throat closed. I was dangerously close to tears.

  Kendall gave me a dirty look, as if I’d just tattled on her.

  Gavin took a step closer, his nostrils flaring. Derek’s hand tightened in mine, his body rigid. An icy claw of fear scraped the back of my neck as I remembered Mom’s reaction to seeing him on TV.

  “Why did you want to meet me?” he asked tightly.

  “Duh, Dad.” Kendall rolled her eyes like the whole exchange was boring. “Because she thinks you’re her daddy dearest.”

  My face blazed with humiliation, and a sudden hurtling anger expanded inside me. I wanted to punch Kendall in the face.

  “Let’s go, Olivia,” Derek said quietly.

  He tugged on my hand, but I refused to budge. I hadn’t done anything wrong. This guy had nothing on me. Maybe he frightened Mom with his size and his wealth and his steely glare, but he didn’t intimidate me. That was the old Olivia, the Olivia who let people get away with murder just to be nice.

  I lifted my eyes and glared at Gavin, trapped his gaze in mine. The air tightened between us, the balance of power wavering just slightly before Gavin burst out laughing.

  The sound startled me.

  “Is that what Kendall told you?” he asked. “That I’m your father?” His voice was filled with such consternation and, worse, pity, that I actually doubted myself for a minute.

  He crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulled out a can of Coke, snapped it open, and took a long sip. He didn’t offer anybody else one. He set the can on the kitchen island next to Kendall and shook his head, tsking.

  “How old are you?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at me.

  “I’ll be seventeen next week.”

  “Well, there you go.” Gavin’s grin widened. “I wasn’t even in America then. My wife and I were in Italy.”

  He took a long pull of Coke and then shook his head. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into my daughter’s little game—Olivia, is it? She tends to enjoy playing out her fantasies. Her latest is a desire to have a sister. It looks like we might need to put her back in therapy.”

  Back in therapy?

  “What the fuck!” Kendall leapt up from where she was leaning against the kitchen island. “That’s such a lie! You were only in Italy later. This girl genuinely wants to find her dad, and you just might be him. You obviously fucked her mom in Portage Point.”

  “Watch your mouth, Kendall,” Gavin said sharply.

  “All you care about is your career!” she shouted, her face mottled red with anger. “Look at her!” She gestured at me. “Look at me. We look the same. All of us do!”

  “Stop it, Kendall!” Gavin snapped, his nostrils flaring. “I have an interview to do, and you will not ruin it for me.”

  He took a deep breath and seemed to compose himself. The pleasant, unruffled smile returned to his face, and he looked at me with unmistakable pity in his eyes.

  “I’m truly sorry if you’re trying to find your dad,” he said. “I’m sure Kendall hasn’t helped with all this. But I’m not your father. Now, I think it’s best you go.”

  × × ×

  I didn’t realize I was shaking until we were back in the car and driving toward the freeway.

  Thoughts scuttled around my brain, too fast to focus on. I couldn’t figure out what exactly had just happened. And why. Only that Kendall had set me up. I felt sick and betrayed.

  “I’m done,” I finally said. “You’re totally right. I’m going to tell my mom the truth. She’ll freak out, but whatever. What’s the point of this anyway? I don’t want to waste another second on that man.”

  Derek glanced at me. “You sure?” Something mischievous glinted in his eye.

  “I think so. Why?”

  Derek pulled an empty Coke can from his coat.

  “I took this from the kitchen.” He darted another glance at me. “Gavin was drinking from it. You can send this in to a lab and get DNA evidence. You’ll know for sure whether he’s your dad or not. And once you know that, once you have actual evidence, he’ll have to tell you the truth. About everything.”

  28

  * * *

  ABI

  november

  It had started raining so Anthony and I decided to drive to the Stokeses’ rather than walk. By the time we pulled up,
night had fallen in earnest, a cool velvety mist blanketing the suburban road.

  Anthony parked across the street and turned off the engine. He scraped one hand over his beard uncertainly, then said, “Do you mind if I do the talking with Madison? I know you’ve known her practically her whole life, but I’ve done a lot of interviews. I know how to get information out of people. Will you trust me?”

  I looked at him, traced with my eyes the lines that life had left on him. Like my own, they were the scars, the residue of loss.

  Hadn’t Anthony proved I could trust him? And anyway, maybe you could never know all someone’s hidden sides—like an apeirogon, a polygon that looked, on the surface, like a circle, but with an infinite number of sides.

  I touched his hand, skimmed the warmth with my fingertips, and raised my eyes to his. I felt the connection between us tighten a notch.

  “I trust you,” I said.

  Anthony smiled, an ironic quirk of his lips. “My wife used to say that.”

  “You’re married?” I drew back, shock rippling through me. There had been no sign of a wife at his house, no picture of domestic bliss. I’d assumed he was a confirmed bachelor and caretaker.

  “Sorry, my ex-wife,” he clarified with a wry grin. “She’s somebody else’s wife now.” He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “She couldn’t deal with my job. Said I was too invested in my clients. And when my mom moved in . . .” He lifted his shoulders. “She wanted me to put her in a home. Maybe it would’ve been better to do it back then.”

  He looked sad for a second, his eyes haunted.

  “You did what was right for your mom at that point in time. You’ll never regret the time you’ve had with her.”

  Anthony smiled at me then, a wide smile. It lit up his whole face, turning his pale eyes an arresting shade of bottle green, like the color that budded on the stems of a winter tree. He pushed a hand through his hair and blew out a breath.

  “Thanks, Abi.”

  We got out of the car and crossed the soggy front lawn to the porch. It was colder than usual for this time of year. Jen opened the door, her face pale and drawn. She was wearing black yoga pants and a form-fitting pink T-shirt. She looked surprised, but hid it well—the poker face of a doctor.