The Night Olivia Fell

by Christina McDonald

  Gavin didn’t answer. He pushed the check toward me. I peered at it. The zeros at the end made my spit stick in my throat. It was enough for college. Enough so my mom wouldn’t have to scrimp and save so much, always worrying about my future.

  “Go on, take it,” he encouraged me. “I know you’ll be smart about it. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders.”

  I scowled at him. If I had a good head on my shoulders, it was because of my mom.

  And right then I realized that whatever had happened between her and Gavin must’ve been really bad. She must’ve hidden the truth to protect me.

  I ignored the check and leaned back against the cherry-red vinyl. It was cold against my bare neck.

  “Is this what you did to my mom when she got pregnant?” I asked. “Did you pay her to ‘take care of it’?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Take the check and leave this alone.”

  “Fuck you,” I spat, leaning forward sharply. The words felt foreign on my tongue, poisonous, fizzing like a chemical that belonged under the sink.

  Gavin looked surprised, but covered it well.

  “You know when I met you last week,” I said, “you were drinking a can of Coke. Well, I took that can, and do you want to know where it is now?”

  Gavin looked confused, so I barreled on: “It’s at a DNA lab along with a swab from my mouth. So you might as well tell me the truth now. Otherwise, when I get the results back saying you’re my father—and they will say you are—I’ll take them straight to KOMO-TV. I wonder how that would look for your precious image? Especially since it’s an election year.”

  Gavin’s lips tightened.

  “Or is it your wife you’re really worried about?” I taunted him cruelly. Somewhere inside my brain I was wondering who this new person was. She didn’t sound like me at all. “That’s what Kendall thinks. She said you’re scared of losing her money. Either way, she’ll find out too. So why don’t you just cut the bullshit and tell me the truth.”

  Gavin’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. The smarmy smile he’d had on his face since I first arrived dropped and I realized it was a mask, a façade disguising the real Gavin Montgomery, who wasn’t as charming or as powerful as he liked to think.

  “Fine. You want to know the truth?” His lip curled slightly. “Yes, you’re my daughter. But it doesn’t change anything.”

  I sagged back in my seat. Suddenly, surprisingly, I wished he’d said no. It was much easier to love the father of my imagination. There was nothing to love about the man in front of me.

  “Look,” he continued, as if he hadn’t just cast my childish hopes and dreams into a pile of nuclear waste. “I had an affair with your mom right before I got married and I didn’t want my fiancée to find out. So I gave your mom some money to get an abortion.”

  I looked at him and felt empty inside. I’d wanted to find my dad, to fill this dad-shaped hole in me. And instead I’d found him. He’d ruined the image of a dad I’d built over the years: a hero who might be capable of loving me. In reality, he was much smaller, more imperfect than what I’d created in my head.

  “What happened then?” I asked. “What’d you do?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing. She told me it was done. She said she’d gotten the abortion, and I went back to Seattle. That was the last I heard of her until you showed up on my doorstep.”

  The pieces slowly slotted into place. Mom must’ve told him she’d get an abortion and then, lucky for me, changed her mind.

  He’d underestimated her. People did that a lot. But my mom was strong, stronger than people gave her credit for. And she was remarkable. Raising me all by herself was remarkable. She gave me everything she never had just because she loved me. Every single day of my life I’d always known that she was proud of me and that I could do whatever I wanted with my life.

  “You sent her a card,” I said. “‘Sorry.’ Why’d you send her that?”

  “I sent her flowers after I thought she had the abortion. I knew she didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t risk her having a baby. It could’ve messed everything up. My career, my future, my relationship with my fiancée. I did feel bad, but . . .” He shrugged, a dismissive “what other choice did I have?” movement.

  He was arrogant enough to believe a five-letter word could make up for what he’d tried to force her to do. I made a sound of disgust in the back of my throat.

  “You make me sick.”

  “Look, I was sorry then, and I’m sorry now. I can’t be your father. I’m offering you a lot of money, Olivia. Just take it and walk away.”

  Gavin again pushed the check toward me, smiling that smile that I knew was supposed to charm me. His voice was kind, but it was as fake as the tan staining his cheeks.

  I stared at him, repulsed.

  “What did you say to make her lie to you about the abortion? You must’ve said something to make her hide from you,” I blurted. “Did you say you’d take the money back? Did you tell her that you’d hurt her? That you’d hurt me?”

  His eyes flashed, and I knew I was right.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?!” I shook my head, horrified. “You threatened to hurt me, your unborn baby, if your fiancée ever found out. So Mom told you she’d done it, and then she hid from you because she was scared of what you might do. She never told me about you, by the way. She said my dad died in a car accident when she was pregnant with me. I only started questioning it when I met Kendall. Mom was protecting me from you.”

  I pressed the tip of my pointer finger onto the check and pushed it back to him, a bitter, metallic loathing rising in my throat.

  “I don’t want your money.”

  I swallowed back an unexpected rush of emotion. I suddenly wanted to tell my mom everything. I’d tell her about the mess I’d caused and this useless, exasperating truth mission I’d been on to find this waste of space of a man. I never should have hidden it from her anyway.

  “My mom is worth a million of you.” I scooted out of the booth and glared at him. He looked suddenly small and insignificant, disbelief creasing his face. I wondered how often people stood up to him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your wife or the media. I’d be mortified if people found out we were related. Poor Kendall, having to grow up with you. No wonder she’s so messed up; you’re a monster.”

  And with that parting shot, I grabbed my bag and speed-walked out of the diner.

  × × ×

  In the car I refused to talk about it with Derek. I needed to make sense of it in my own head first. I was angry, but also really, really sad. I would never have a relationship with my dad; not the one I wanted anyway. Real or imagined, I’d lost something today.

  Fortunately, Derek seemed to understand and he didn’t press me for more information. He dropped me off at home, and I promised to call him later.

  I didn’t have much time to think about Gavin before Mom came home, and we rushed to get ready so we wouldn’t be late for our reservations for my birthday dinner.

  Mom parked across the street from Marché Marché, Seattle’s iconic French restaurant, so we wouldn’t have to pay for valet parking. She made me stay in my seat while she opened the car door for me.

  “M’lady.” She doffed a pretend top hat and bent in a grand sweeping bow.

  I giggled. “Why, thank you,” I joked with a little curtsy.

  We crossed the road and climbed the sweeping steps to Marché Marché. The restaurant was housed in a stunning stone building just outside of Seattle. It overlooked Puget Sound, the lights of Bainbridge Island twinkling like a pearl necklace in the distance.

  “Mom, this place is amazing!” I whispered.

  She chuckled. “So good they named it twice.”

  Uniformed men in funny black berets held the front doors open, and a pencil-thin hostess with blond hair pinned back in an elegant chignon greeted us. While Mom gave her our name, I looked around the restaurant.

  Off to the right, a sign saying
ComCore Tech Republican Fund-raiser pointed toward a hallway that disappeared into what I presumed was a private dining room.

  I swung my eyes to the left and gasped. The main dining room was absolutely gorgeous. A high, intricately coffered ceiling soared over a mosaic floor, detailed moldings, and floor-to-ceiling Renaissance-style murals. Elegant chandeliers dripping with hundreds of tiny crystals cast a soft light over the polished mahogany tables and cream linens. I felt like I’d walked into a painting from the nineteenth century.

  We followed the hostess to a quiet corner table in the main dining room. Just a few feet away, a fire cheerfully sparked in the pale stone fireplace.

  “Seriously, wow!” I said once we were seated.

  “It is pretty spectacular,” Mom agreed, looking around.

  “I didn’t think we’d really come to Seattle,” I admitted.

  “You said you wanted to go somewhere else for your birthday.”

  “I know, but you’re always, like, kinda scared of going to Seattle and all.”

  “Is that what you think?” She looked dismayed.

  “Well, yeah.” I bit my lip, afraid I’d hurt her feelings.

  She put a hand to her throat, then her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything.” Her eyes were glossy and damp, her chin trembling ever so slightly. “For all the wrong things I’ve done as a mother. Being a parent is one long process of daring yourself to let go. It’s like I always have this instinct to never let you out of my sight, but I know I need to teach you to be confident and independent on your own. Sometimes it feels like an impossible tightrope to walk. I’m not very good at it.”

  “Mom! Don’t say that!” I reached across the table and grabbed her hand, as upset by her words as by her display of emotion.

  I didn’t think I’d ever seen Mom cry. She just wasn’t a very emotional person. It was why I hadn’t told her about this crazy, complicated thing with Derek and Tyler. I didn’t think she’d understand.

  “When you have a baby”—she swallowed hard and looked at our hands—“you just want to do everything right.”

  Her words looped around my heart, pulling so tight I could barely breathe.

  “You did great, Mom. I promise. You’ve done everything right.” I tried to smile, but my throat was closing and a tear rolled down my cheek. She wiped away the moisture with the pad of her thumb.

  She inhaled deeply and said, “Okay, I’ve got a good one.”

  I sniffed. “Go on, then.”

  “Knock knock.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Britney Spears.”

  “Britney Spears who?”

  “Oops, I did it again!”

  “Ha!” I snorted loudly, and a handful of diners turned to look at us.

  “Shhhh!” She giggled and squeezed my hand. “My girl. I can’t believe you’re going to be a senior. Pretty soon you’ll be leaving for college!”

  “I’ll still be around,” I said. “You know you’re going to be fine on your own without me, right?”

  “I know. I’ll miss you like crazy, though.”

  “Maybe you’ll start dating.”

  “Ha!” She laughed. “Not likely!”

  “Why not? You could date. You’re not old. You’re pretty. Even Tyler thinks so.”

  “Not MILF pretty. Just regular pretty,” she joked.

  “Eww! Mo-om! How do you even know that word?”

  “I’m hip with the lingo.”

  “Oh God, make it stop,” I groaned, but laughed too. “Well, at least the house’ll be clean. You’ll love that. No dirty tennis shoes in the living room, no milk rings on the counters. You’ll be in OCD heaven.”

  She laughed, and the clot of worry in my chest eased a bit. She’d be fine.

  “You deserve your happy ending, Mom.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.” She touched my hand. “You too.”

  Maybe it was because I’d met Gavin and learned the truth, but right then I felt ridiculously grateful that things had worked out the way they did. Knowing what I knew now just made me appreciate Mom even more. I didn’t want to ruin our evening with talking about that jerk.

  We talked about everything else late into the evening, the light gradually changing to an aubergine-pewter color that draped around the restaurant as we ate. Waiters scurried around, lighting candles in small crystal bowls, dropping off bottles of champagne with giant buckets of ice, and chatting easily with the customers.

  “All right, one passionfruit crème brûlée with two spoons,” our waiter announced, placing the decadent-looking dessert in the middle of the table.

  “Yum!” I exclaimed. “Mom, look, there’s a little flower on it!” I plucked the exotic purple flower up and held it out for her to see. But her gaze was fixed on a spot over my shoulder near the restaurant entrance. Her face had drained of all color.

  “Mom?” I glanced over my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  It took me a second, but then I saw what she was looking at.

  Gavin.

  He was with a tall, beautiful blond woman wearing a tailored, fire-engine-red business suit, the skirt slim and knee-length. She had very white teeth, milk-pale skin, and almond-shaped eyes above a straight, Grecian nose. She looked like she could run companies, compete in triathlons, conquer nations. She had to be Gavin’s wife.

  The woman smiled and said something in Gavin’s ear, then rested her arm on his as they followed the hostess past the fund-raising sign to the private dining room at the back of the restaurant.

  A sharp pain skewered my stomach. What were the chances of him being here? I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Maybe he’d followed me. But I couldn’t imagine why. Seattle wasn’t that big of a city, and he was obviously going to a fund-raiser. It must be just a weird coincidence.

  Maybe this whole time that’s what Mom was afraid of: not that Seattle was so dangerous, but that here she ran the very real risk of running into him. This was Gavin’s turf, after all. If he saw her, she risked her lie being exposed, and coming here wasn’t something Mom would ever have done if it weren’t for me whining like a baby to get out of Portage Point for my birthday.

  I felt desperately guilty, my mind a washing machine of muddled thoughts.

  “So, I’m thinking about breaking up with Tyler,” I babbled, trying to distract her. “I mean, what happens when we go to college? We might not even go to the same one. And he’s being totally weird since his parents split up. He’s, like, scary mad about it.”

  That seemed to do the trick. Mom’s eyes swung to mine, and she pinned me with her sternest look.

  “Wait.” She held a hand up and shook her head. “He scares you? Why?”

  “Well, not scares exactly,” I backtracked. “You know, just, he’s not as fun or laid-back as he used to be.”

  That was all the permission Mom needed. She chatted away about the pros and cons, mostly cons, of being with Tyler at this point in my life, and how my future was the most important thing and tying myself down to a boyfriend would limit my options.

  I’d heard it all before, but I pretended to listen as if it were the first time. It appeared to be working. She seemed to have completely forgotten about Gavin. But I certainly hadn’t.

  I suddenly realized I couldn’t tell her about Gavin. She’d stuck around, no matter how real shit got. She cheered me on at swim meets and washed my dirty socks and made sure I did my homework, and she scrimped and saved so I could go to a good college. She drove me to my friends’ houses so I’d stay safe, and she never, ever judged me about anything.

  I’d rewarded her utter love and devotion by looking for my dad. I couldn’t tell her. She might think she wasn’t enough for me. It was my turn to protect her.

  I looked at her face, as familiar as my own. She was my family. Family, I realized, was like a box of puzzle pieces. They filled all the holes of your life with little pieces that all together made you whole. I didn’t need my dad
to do that.

  So I sealed the truth and kept it buried deep inside my heart. The truth, after all, only mattered as much as you allowed it to.

  31

  * * *

  ABI

  november

  The tires of Anthony’s car crunched on the gravel as he pulled up to my house. We hadn’t said a word since he’d told me the Seattle police chief wanted to meet to discuss allegations he’d been impersonating a police officer. We were absorbed in our own worlds.

  “I’m going back to the Stokeses’,” I said as the car rolled to a stop.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Jen lied to us. Derek’s light was on, and I need to talk to him.”

  Anthony blew out a breath and rubbed his forehead. “I need to go home, check on my mom. Call the chief. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what’s going to happen now. Gavin’s obviously gotten to everybody. I have to stop him.”

  “It’s gonna be okay. I can fix this.”

  “You can’t fix everything, Anthony.”

  I moved to get out of the car, but Anthony touched my arm.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with?” His eyes scanned my face, concerned.

  “Absolutely. You need to call the police chief. I’ll be fine.”

  I shut the door and walked to my car. I’d gotten Anthony in enough trouble. I could do this on my own.

  The inky cloak of night covered the sky as I drove. The road was clear. Only the odd car passed me, its headlights sweeping a path in the darkened sky. Jagged trees lined the road, pointing into the night and casting patchy shadows around the orange orbs of the streetlights.

  I flicked my headlights off as I pulled onto the Stokeses’ street, parking a few houses away. I shut the door quietly and ducked into the shadows along the perimeter of the house.

  I felt in the dark for the gate latch, which lifted easily, then followed the curvature of the yard to the back, my shoes squelching in the sodden grass.

  I tapped lightly on the back door. When Derek answered, he looked awful. His face was devoid of all color, unless you counted the black smudges under his red-rimmed eyes. His clothes hung off his already lanky form. A sour smell came from him, as if he hadn’t showered in weeks.