Olivia

by Donna Sturgeon

  He opened his mouth to say something, but Olivia held up her hand and turned away from him in her seat. Except for Clete’s heavy sigh when he finally put the key into the ignition, they drove to his house in silence. He was obviously just thrilled to be stuck with her. About as thrilled as she was to be stuck with him. Fuck George. She hoped he never came home from Omaha.

  Clete drove across South and parked in his driveway. He carried her stuff inside, dumped it by the door and said, “I’m sure you know where everything is from all the peeping you’ve done. You can have Allie’s room. She’s staying with her mom while you’re here. You are not to leave the house unless I’m with you and you’re not going to work. I already called Sam so you don’t need to bother. And there is absolutely no smoking in this house. If you must do it, go out to the patio.”

  He tossed his keys into the little pottery bowl sitting on the side table and headed down the hallway. A moment later a door closed, and Olivia was left standing all alone in the middle of his living room. It was a nice room, well-decorated, extremely clean and comfortably homey, but she hated it. It reeked of loneliness and felt like prison, and she still had no idea what the hell was going on.

  “George,” she whispered. She closed her eyes tight and wished for him to come through the door and sweep her into his arms and whisper his love in her ear. But he didn’t come.

  Not knowing what else to do, she carried her bag into Allie’s room and set it beside the bed. The little girl’s room smelled like cinnamon and bubble gum and cheap pop-star perfume. The vivid colors of the linens and walls were comforting, and they brightened Olivia’s mood a tad. Allie was still obsessed with the Jonas kid, but there were also new posters of another teenage boy Olivia recognized from one of those Nickelodeon shows she had watched with Allie at George’s house. The girl was growing up fast.

  Allie’s desk was cluttered with papers and magazines and pictures Allie had cut into hearts and flowers and circles. Olivia looked through the cut-outs and recognized Clete in many of the photos. There was also quite a few of an older couple who were more than likely his parents—Allie’s grandparents—and a woman who looked like an older version of Allie. Clete’s ex-wife was an exceptionally beautiful, statuesque woman with an easy smile, and it was obvious in every single picture that she loved her little girl with her entire heart.

  Olivia set the pictures down as jealousy snuck in, tightening in her chest. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She looked around the room, desperate for a distraction. The bright oranges and yellows and reds that had been comforting only a moment earlier started to close in on her, screaming loud, boxing her in, suffocating her with the vibrancy of someone else’s happiness. She had to get outta here—fast.

  She dug a sweatshirt out of her duffle bag, slipped it over her head, tiptoed down the hallway and carefully opened the front door without making a noise. Her escape started out as a fast walk that turned into a jog, quickly ramping up into a flat out run. She had no idea where she was going, but she didn’t care. She ran to the end of Clete’s street and kept running.

  Her lungs burned and her head pounded and she got a stitch in her side, but she kept going. The director of her life’s movie felt it was a CCR moment, and “Ramble Tamble” poured from the sewers and cracks in the sidewalk and shanty apartment windows.

  The music controlled her feet and her pace and her heartbeat as she ran all around South, past Carla’s where Eugene sat hunched over the dining room table, fixing a blender while Chester slept at his feet, past Izzie’s with its yard full of Mel’s kids’ broken toys and a fall crop of dandelions, past the Get ‘n Go where she’d crashed into Mitch, past Mitch’s apartment building with the clapboard siding and rusted fire escape, past the liquor store where she’d crashed the rolling marquee into half of the drivers of Juliette, past Movie Mania and the dented movie return box.

  She ran past everyone and everything she knew, everything that comprised the world in which she lived, and ended up in Valley View, in her old neighborhood, in front of her burned out trailer and collapsed car port. And that’s where she stopped. She bent over and rested her hands on her knees and raked in air as she looked over her mess of a life and realized she had nothing. Everything she had ever loved she had lost, some of it quickly and up in flames, like her trailer, and some of it so slowly she didn’t realize it was happening, like Izzie.

  When was the last time she’d sat in Izzie’s bathtub and listened to her friend? Was she ever really listening in the first place? Was her life so much more important than Izzie’s that she didn’t have the time to listen to Izzie’s fears? If she had been listening from the very beginning, would Izzie have ever become baby-obsessed in the first place? Would she and John still be together?

  “Good afternoon, Olivia!” Mr. Turner called from across the road.

  She turned and he waved. She crossed the road toward him and his open bathrobe and boxers and black socks. “Hey, Mr. Turner. What’s new these days?”

  “Oh, not too much. Oil’s at sixty-seven a barrel,” Mr. Turner said.

  “Is that good?” Olivia asked.

  He shrugged. “I guess that depends on which side of the barrel you’re standing on.”

  He set his newspapers at the curb and waved goodbye to Olivia as he went back inside. Her forty-seven seconds with him were over. If she thought about it, in the span of a lifetime, did she ever get more than forty-seven seconds with anyone? She looked back over her shoulder at her burned-up old life one last time and, with nowhere else to go, she started the long walk back to Clete’s house.

  When she got there, Clete’s cruiser was gone and the front door was locked tight. She scaled the fence like she had all those long nights ago, but this time when she got to the other side she landed on her feet. Juicy Fruit came trotting up to her and looked at her in curiosity.

  “Hey, big guy.” She sighed and scratched his ears.

  Juicy Fruit licked her hand with his slobbery tongue and panted.

  Olivia led him through the landscaping and they sat on the patio together. Clete’s backyard was even more amazing in the sunlight than it had been under the stars, and she took in the fall colors of the trees and mums. A cool breeze swirled around her as she wondered where she’d be when Christmas rolled around. Her eyes fell upon her stupid lobster tattoo, the one she got with Mitch when they thought they were destined to be together forever. She scrubbed at it with her thumb and wished she had a giant, pink eraser to wipe it away, but it would be part of her for all of eternity—a cartoony, crustacean reminder of her ignorance.

  She should have known better when it came to Mitch. She wasn’t a stupid girl. Or maybe she was. Maybe she was as stupid as they come. She allowed her heart and her fantasies to rule her life, and she made stupid decisions because of it. That was her problem. She was all emotion and no brain. She flew off the handle and did things on a whim. It was no wonder George didn’t trust her to stay by herself while he was gone. She was no more mature than a child was.

  Juicy Fruit looked at her and whined, and she scratched his ears again. Once you got past the sad eyes and big teeth, he was a beautiful dog. He was soft and gentle, nothing more than a great, big, ol’ teddy bear. She hugged him and he licked her ear, making her giggle. She needed a dog like Juicy Fruit in her life. Maybe Clete would be willing to let her borrow him for awhile when she had to hand George over to him. Maybe Juicy Fruit would help dull the pain of an empty heart.

  “Olivia!”

  She jumped out of her skin and whipped her head around as a very pissed-off Clete came flying through the patio doors. He grabbed her by her arm and pulled her out of the lawn chair, dragging her into the house.

  “Where the hell were you?” he demanded, his face so close to hers she could feel the heat of his breath on her nose. Her eyes crossed from his close proximity and her vision blurred.

  “I…” she stammered. She had never been scolded by Eugene, so she wouldn’t know for sure, but Clete’s anger made her fe
el all gooey inside, as if she were being punished by her father. Or yelled at by Mitch.

  “I’ve been driving all over hell and back looking for you! Don’t ever leave this house again without telling me where you’re going!” He let go of her arm and grabbed her hand and shoved something into it. “And keep this on you at all times!”

  He left her standing alone in the living room again, and this time the bedroom door didn’t click closed behind him. It slammed. Her heart hammered and her breath came in little bursts and she looked down at what he had shoved into her hand. Her cell phone. Oh…

  A normal person would have felt bad for worrying him, but not Olivia. Once her heart rate slowed in recovery from its fright, it sped back up again in anger.

  She was an adult, goddamn it! If she wanted to go for a run, she could. She didn’t need his permission. She didn’t need his permission to do anything! Hell, she could stick a fork in a toaster while standing in a tub full of water if she wanted to, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it! She set her jaw and furrowed her brow and burst into his bedroom without knocking. He was standing at the window, glaring out into the yard, and he turned at her intrusion.

  “Fuck you, Clete!”

  “Fuck you, too, Olivia,” he said, his face void of expression, and turned his back on her.

  She slammed the door, then opened it and slammed it again, then stomped down the hallway to Allie’s bedroom and slammed that door, as well. She flung herself onto the bed and cried in wracking sobs for George until she cried herself to sleep.

  * * *

  When she opened her eyes again, it was dark. For a moment she forgot where she was, until she saw hundreds of Nick Jonases smiling down upon her. Her eyes were hot and matted from crying, the bump on her head still hurt like hell, and she wanted to go home. She rolled off of Allie’s bed and cracked open the bedroom door. The smell of food cooking wafted up her nose and made her stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten all day, and now it was night and she was hungry.

  One of the duties of babysitting Olivia was feeding her, and she crept out of the bedroom and down the hallway to remind Clete of that fact. She found him in the kitchen. Pots were simmering and meat was frying, and her stomach growled like a bear when her eyes fell upon a warm apple pie cooling on the counter.

  He looked up from the stove. “Hungry?”

  Olivia shrugged.

  “Grab a plate,” he instructed and pointed to an upper cabinet.

  She pulled out a plate with a pretty pattern on it, and handed it to him. He piled it high with fried chicken and mashed potatoes and something green, added a biscuit and some gravy, then handed it back to her.

  He reached into the cabinet for a plate for himself and said, “There’s beer in the fridge.”

  “Do you have milk?” she asked.

  He looked at her in surprise, then reached into another cabinet and handed her a glass.

  “Umm… How about the chocolate stuff?”

  He crossed the kitchen to dig through the pantry. When he handed her the Nesquik, he was wearing a hint of a smile. “It’s Allie’s favorite, too.”

  They sat across from each other and ate in silence. Clete was a good cook, not as amazing as George, but he was good, and Olivia ate with gusto. She even tried the green stuff. She damn near gagged to death when she did. She pushed the pile of goo as far away from her mashed potatoes as she could get it so her spuds wouldn’t be contaminated by being in the vicinity of the horrible taste. Clete watched her and tried to hide a smile, but she caught it.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Don’t like your kale?” he asked.

  “Is that what that is?”

  He nodded and scooped a big forkful of the slimy green stuff up off his plate and ate it.

  “That’s disgusting,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose.

  “It’s good for you.”

  “I highly doubt that,” she said and resumed stuffing her face on everything except the nasty-ass kale.

  When they finished, Clete cleared the table and did the dishes and Olivia sat at the table and looked at the apple pie. She really wanted a piece of that pie. She’d seen a tub of Cool Whip in the fridge when she’d got the milk out, and that made her want it even more. Mmm…pie and Cool Whip, Cool Whip and pie. Yum. Yum. Double yum!

  She looked at Clete, looked at the pie, looked at Clete, looked at the pie, looked at Clete and tried to control him with her mind to slice her up a big ol’ piece of that pie. But he continued doing dishes.

  Since wishing was getting her nowhere, she tried a more direct approach and asked, “So… what’s for dessert?”

  “Nothing,” he answered and continued scrubbing the frying pan.

  “But… I… But there’s a pie over there.”

  “I know.”

  “Can’t we have that?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You didn’t finish your dinner,” Clete answered. He had his back to her so she couldn’t tell if he was joking.

  “But…”

  “No pie, Olivia.”

  “Seriously?” she demanded.

  “Seriously.”

  “You… you… you suck!” She stormed out of the kitchen, down the hall and into Allie’s room where she proceeded to slam the door. She dug through the room until she found her cell phone, then dialed George’s number. He answered on the fourth ring and, without saying hello, she cried, “Clete won’t let me have any pie!”

  “What?” George laughed.

  “Pie, George. Clete won’t let me have pie!”

  “Why not?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Olivia cried out in exasperation.

  “Well, what did he say?” George asked.

  “He said I didn’t eat all my dinner.”

  “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, there you go.” George laughed harder. “Next time eat all your dinner.”

  “This isn’t funny, you know,” she grumbled.

  “Yes, it is,” George countered, still laughing.

  “When are you coming home?”

  “A day or two,” he assured her.

  “I miss you, Georgie.”

  “I miss you, too,” George said, his voice still holding onto the laughter, but turning soft and warm, like melting butter.

  “Why am I here?” she asked.

  George sighed and said, “Because I love you too much to let anything happen to you, and you’ll be safe with Clete.”

  She pouted. “He hates me.”

  “No, he doesn’t, Liv,” George said with certainty. “He just gets worried about you and sometimes that worry comes out as anger. Believe me, he doesn’t hate you.”

  “He hates me,” she insisted. “He tried to feed me kale.”

  “Eww,” George said and then laughed. “Even I won’t eat kale.”

  “See! If you won’t eat it, then I shouldn’t have to eat it, either! Hang on a second…” Olivia opened the bedroom door and headed down the hall. Clete was still in the kitchen finishing up the last of the dishes, and she tapped him on the shoulder. “George would like to speak to you.”

  Clete took the phone from Olivia with his dripping, soapy hand. He talked to George for a minute, said a lot of “uh-huh’s” and “unh-uhs,” and then handed the phone back to Olivia without a word to her.

  “Well?” she demanded of George.

  “Sorry, babe, I tried.” George sighed. “No pie for you.”

  Olivia snarled at Clete and stuck her tongue out at him then flounced into the living room and turned on the television. She kept George in her ear and talked to him while she flipped through the channels. He said his day was long and dull and plagued by lawyer-speak, and that he missed her and loved her and promised to bring her a surprise when he came home. Olivia lied and said she stayed in the house all day when he asked. Clete leaned out of the kitchen and raised his eyebrow at that one. She threw a sofa pillow
at him and he returned to the kitchen.

  Olivia and George said their goodbyes and she hung up the phone and settled into the corner of the sofa. Clete came out of the kitchen with a huge slice of pile and a mountain of Cool Whip, and had the audacity to eat it in front of her. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of even a glance in his direction while he made a pig of himself. Instead, she tossed the remote at him and even though it was only 8:30 and she had just taken a nap, she went to bed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  At 1:30 a.m., Olivia cracked open the bedroom door and peeked out. The house was quiet and dark. Clete’s bedroom door was closed and no light came from under it. She snuck down the hall and put her ear to the door. Silence. Either he wasn’t a snorer, or he was sleeping on the sofa. A quick tiptoe around the corner revealed he was indeed sound asleep on the sofa, and at the moment not snoring. Crap.

  She really wanted a piece of that pie. Ever since Clete told her she couldn’t have any it was all she could think about. She leaned a bit further into the living room and strained her ears. His breathing was regular in pattern, so he was probably deep asleep. But he was also a cop, which meant he would probably wake up at the slightest sound or movement. And the little sucky noise the fridge makes when you open it would probably be all it would take to bolt him upright.

  What to do, what to do, what to do?

  And then it hit her. Walmart sells pies! All she had to do was get to Walmart. She ducked back into the hallway and into Allie’s room.

  Allie’s room only had one window and it was kind of small, but it faced the street and wasn’t too far off the ground, so it wouldn’t be too hard to slip in and out of. As a precaution, Olivia ran her fingers along the sill and the edges before she opened it. As she suspected, there was a wire.

  Of course Clete would have a security alarm. He was a cop, after all. But she hadn’t seen him arm it when they came home earlier in the day, so maybe it was only Allie he didn’t trust and not the rest of the world. She crept back down the hallway and into Clete’s bedroom. She felt along his window, and when her fingers touched another wire she knew she was screwed. He didn’t trust anyone.