Wishing Pearl

by Nicole O'Dell

  Hmm. Did he mean it? Would he really leave her alone? Doubtful. It would probably be like every other time he made some kind of promise so she’d lower her guard; then he’d strike. He probably only left her alone tonight because he worried Mom might come looking for him. When Olivia had been younger, things with Charles had been much worse for her because she was a scared little girl and he knew it—and loved it. Now, at least he had to stop and wonder what he could get away with. Maybe he figured he’d used up his luck.

  Olivia snatched her purse from where she’d dropped it on the floor and pawed through it like a desperate junkie. Maybe a smoke would settle her nerves, or at least her stomach. She crept to the bathroom, avoiding the creaky spots on the wood floor, and sank onto the edge of her bathtub. Her trembling hands fumbled to pull a cigarette from the pack and strike the match. She brought them toward her lips, the flame flickering as an extension of her jitters. How had she come to this? Olivia opened the window a crack and blew the smoke out, hoping no one would smell it.

  Now what? Hide out forever? Run away? Turn into the perfect good girl? Olivia took a long drag. Why did none of those seem appealing, let alone like real possibilities? She slid into the empty bathtub and rested her head on the inflatable bath pillow. Maybe she could live right here, in the bathroom.

  After Olivia had started on her second cigarette, a soft knock sounded at the door. She jumped.

  “Olivia?” Mom’s voice sounded normal—sunny even.

  “I’m … uh”—Olivia looked down at her fully clothed body—”taking a bath.”

  “Okay. When you’re done, buzz me. I want to chat with you.”

  Chat? A police escort home only warranted a little chat? Olivia shook her head. Not that she wanted to be in trouble exactly. Well then, what did she want? Normalcy. Security. Love. Apparently too much to ask for around here.

  Olivia took her time getting into heavy flannel pajamas, sprayed her room with deodorizer in case the smoke smell lingered, then buzzed her mom. “Where are you?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, dear. I’ll come to you.”

  Dear?

  Olivia climbed into bed to wait and pulled the covers up to her chin. The effects of the alcohol and pot had finally worn off, and she just wanted some blessed sleep. It was three o’clock in the morning, after all. Maybe if Olivia were out of it before Mom got there, she’d leave quietly without trying to have her little talk. Ha. Not likely.

  Mom opened the door and crossed the room to Olivia’s bedside.

  Thanks for knocking.

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  “No. Go ahead.” Olivia shifted over a little bit while Mom made herself comfortable amid the mounds of down pillows, wincing as she leaned back against the headboard.

  Olivia sighed. “Let’s have it.”

  “Have what?” Mom pulled her eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, you mean you think I’m going to yell at you?” She waved a bruised hand. “Liv, I’m past that. You’re sixteen, and you need to make your own choices. I want us to be friends. Friends don’t yell.”

  What? Friends. Where had that come from? No! Olivia wanted a mom, not a friend. “What do you mean?” And where’d she those big bruises on her arm?

  “I mean that I want us to enjoy each other, go places together, and confide in each other. That can’t happen if I’m being a grouch all the time.” Mom’s eyes widened with hope. “Maybe if we’re best buds, you won’t feel the need to hang out with those other friends of yours. They’re nothing but trouble, you know.”

  Best buds? “I guess.” Probably best to say whatever it took to get Mom to leave. It was the only way Olivia would get to sleep. She was already losing the struggle to keep her heavy eyelids from closing.

  “Besides”—Mom fingered the fringe on a throw pillow—”I … I need you.” Her chin quivered for a fraction of a second before she put the mask back on. “I’m going to go now. You sleep.” Mom kissed her on the forehead. “Oh, wait. Friends wouldn’t do that, would they?”

  Olivia murmured something unintelligible.

  “Sweet dreams.” Mom’s singsong voice trailed off as she left the room.

  Finally alone, Olivia tried to let her body relax. Would she be able to sleep, or would she lie there staring at the ceiling for hours wondering if Charles would show up? Her eyes fluttered. She could barely keep them open. Then the relief came.

  “The answer to my dreams …” Daddy sang Olivia’s special song while he rocked her in their favorite nighttime spot next to her big-girl bed. He snugged the quilt around her shoulders and squeezed. “I love you, my sweet angel.” Daddy pressed his lips on the nape of Olivia’s warm neck.

  At four years old, even she knew she had grown too big to be rocked to sleep, but she just couldn’t get into bed without hearing her song. And her neck would tingle all night without Daddy’s special kiss.

  “Now, come on, you little staller, it’s sleepy time.” Daddy patted her on the bottom as she scampered off his lap and hopped into bed. He pulled the covers up to her chin and pressed them tight all the way around her body.

  “You forgot down by my toes, Daddy.” Olivia nestled into the covers while he snuggled the blankets tighter around her feet. “I miss Mommy while she’s working at the hospital. But it’s nice to have our special time together, isn’t it?”

  “It sure is, Livvie Love.” Daddy grinned and tucked the covers around her one more time. “Now, Olivia, I’m going to kiss you good night one more time. I’ll be in the family room and then in my bed. Remember our deal? I know you’re safe, so I’m not coming back if you call out—you need to obey Daddy and go to sleep without yelling for me. “

  “Okay. I love you, Daddy. “

  “I love you, too, angel.” Daddy kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight.” He left the door cracked open when he stepped into the hallway.

  Olivia watched the light flicker from the television down the hall. Would Daddy come if she screamed? He said he wouldn’t. But just maybe …

  “Daddy?”

  What if she yelled two times? He said he wanted to teach her to fall asleep on her own—that she was a big girl. But Olivia didn’t want to be a big girl. She wanted her daddy.

  “Daddy!”

  “Daddy!”

  Maybe louder would help. “Daddy!”

  Olivia bolted upright, scared of the sound of her own scream. She felt her cheeks, knowing they’d be damp. That dream always made her cry. She tipped her head toward the door and waited for footsteps that never came. Apparently no one had heard her cry out.

  Or no one cared.

  “Livvie? Rise and shine!”

  Olivia pried open one eye to a throbbing headache and sunshine streaming in through her already-opened window shades. She propped up on one elbow. Did she hear running water?

  Mom popped out from behind Olivia’s closet door. “How about these jeans with this cute top? It’s purple to match your hair.”

  Olivia waited for the standard sarcastic comment about her streak. Nothing. Not even a roll of the eyes.

  “What’s going on? What are you picking out clothes for?”

  “We’re going shopping to celebrate our new friendship.” Mom grinned and clipped toward the bathroom in her high heels. Hadn’t the woman ever heard of bedroom slippers?

  “The water’s perfect. Come on and shower up so we can hit the stores.”

  Those poor stores. Olivia swung her legs over. No point arguing with Mom when she had her mind set on something, especially when it involved shopping. Might as well go along with it. Besides, new clothes never hurt anyone. She shuffled to the bathroom and stepped into the double shower as big as some bathrooms she’d been in. Maybe the water would wash away her headache. She adjusted the spray nozzle to pulsate and let the hot water beat at the back of her neck until steam filled the room.

  “Where are we shopping?” Olivia called from the shower, positive her mom was still puttering around her room.

  “We’re going into Chic
ago. Shopping for the good stuff on Mag Mile.” Mom’s voice escalated in excitement as she listed off the top designers they’d descend upon this afternoon.

  Didn’t she know no one actually called it Mag Mile except tourists and television reporters? Olivia finished her shower and toweled off. Completely ignoring the outfit her mom had hung on the dressing bar in her closet, Olivia riffled through her racks of clothes to pick out something her mother would hate … best buds or not.

  Frayed denim miniskirt, black tights, thigh-high boots—Mom might not like the outfit, but she’d never complain about Chanel boots—and a tight black shirt, which she pulled down to expose her shoulders and the straps of her purple cami.

  Perfect.

  Olivia blow-dried her hair and even added some touch-up color to her purple streak with the mascara-type wand the hairdresser had given her. Extra-heavy dark eyeliner and sparkly eye shadow. A dozen narrow silver bracelets tinkling on each forearm. Three pairs of earrings and a cuff around the top of her ear. Ready. Oops. She almost forgot. After a minute of rummaging through her jewelry drawers, Olivia found it. A fake lip ring.

  Olivia walked into the bedroom as Mom finished organizing the bookcase. She turned around and managed to not even blink an eye at Olivia’s appearance.

  “Great! You’re ready.” Mom smiled as she inspected Olivia’s outfit. “You look cool.”

  Olivia pasted on a grin, trying to hide her disgust. Daddy never would have let her out of the house like that, but her new BFF thought she looked cool? Whatever. Wonder what Mom would think if Olivia lit up a cigarette. She’d have to try that later.

  Arms laden with packages, Olivia struggled up the stairs to her room. She might be the only teenager ever brought home by a cop and then rewarded for it with an extravagant shopping trip the very next day. About to drop it all, she set everything down in the hallway outside her room so she could open the door. She barely touched it, yet it swung wide open. Huh?

  Olivia crept into her room, leaving the packages where they sat. She didn’t sense anyone in the room, but Charles could be hiding anywhere. What was he up to? Olivia glanced back toward the hallway, and something caught her eye. Her lock dangled from the chain with splinters of wooden door still attached. Her eyes moved to the door handle. The brand-new knob dangled from its hole on both the inside and outside of the door. Useless. Someone had twisted it until it broke—just like the last one he’d destroyed.

  That’s it!

  Olivia stormed down the stairs into the kitchen, where Mom stood opening Chinese take-out containers. Charles sat in the breakfast nook, waiting to be served, no doubt, with a full glass of wine in front of him. Olivia searched the countertops and saw an open bottle on the service bar still three-fourths full. So he hadn’t had much to drink yet. Perfect timing.

  She took a deep breath and stared her mom down, ignoring Charles. “We have to talk. Now.”

  Mom opened her mouth and shot a look toward Charles, who sat back watching the scene unfold with a smug look on his face. He’d gotten to Olivia, and from the looks of things, he knew it … and enjoyed it.

  Olivia held up a hand. “No, Mom. Don’t brush me off this time. I’m serious. If you don’t want to talk, don’t. But I’m not leaving until I’m heard.” Even saying that much felt good to Olivia. But where to start? “First of all … he”—Olivia tipped her head back toward where Charles sat behind her—”ripped the locks off my door. Where does he get off doing something like that again?” She didn’t look back to see Charles’s reaction.

  Mom shot a panicked look at Charles and went to stand right in front of him, forcing Olivia to look in his direction like she always did. Always trying to force peace between them.

  Mom shook her head. “No, Olivia, don’t overreact. He told me about this. He doesn’t want you to lock your doors. What with the cigarettes, the pot, the alcohol, and the cops. He only wants to monitor what’s going on a little better.”

  Charles sneered and winked at Olivia from behind Mom’s back. So much for leaving her alone—Olivia had known that wouldn’t last.

  “Mom!” Olivia pointed at him. “He’s taunting me, and he even winked at me.”

  By the time Mom whipped her head around to look at him, Charles was the perfect picture of a thoughtful and concerned parent.

  “He’s not taunting you, Livvie. He’s understandably upset with all that’s happened.”

  “Okay. Well, then why did he have to rip the locks off the wall and destroy my door?”

  “Honestly, Liv, it’s not your door.” Mom would defend him until her dying day, apparently. Which just might happen.

  “Fine. But there’s more.” Olivia looked at the floor, wishing it would swallow her whole. “This is hard to say.” She lifted her eyes to her mom’s. Just beyond Mom’s body, the camera of Olivia’s brain zeroed in, and Charles’s face came into sharp focus.

  His face held no rage. No hate. No lust. His face promised pure threat. He wasn’t trying to scare her with the dark glint in his eyes and the firm set to his jaw. It was simply fact. Then he mouthed three words. Words she knew she’d never forget. Words that chilled her to the bone. I. Dare. You.

  In the next instant, Charles’s face turned kind and loving as he reached forward for his wife’s hand. He tugged on it until she stepped backward. He pulled her to his lap. “What is it, Olivia?” His voice sounded concerned.

  Olivia gave up. She might as well not even fight him anymore. There was no point. He wins. Mom would never let Olivia get the truth out, and even if she did, she wouldn’t believe her. Charles promised new levels of revenge if she spilled the truth. There was nothing she could do. Nothing. Charles had won yet again.

  Time to backpedal. “Look, it’s just … I don’t think it’s right for a teenage girl not to have a lock on her door. What would it take to get it back?”

  Charles helped Mom stand up then stood and walked to Olivia. He took her hands.

  Olivia cringed at his clammy touch.

  Clueless Mom smiled at her loving family.

  “Liv, if I’ve made my point well enough, I’ll fix the lock. Not the chain lock, only the doorknob. It’s not safe to chain yourself into a room.”

  “You know, that’s true, babe.” Mom nodded at Charles and then turned to Olivia. “I’ve heard stories about people being trapped in a fire because of those chains on doors.”

  Oh yeah? Like when, Mom? What stories? Didn’t really matter anyway. It wouldn’t have kept him out if he’d wanted in. “Okay. When will you fix it?”

  “Is tomorrow soon enough?” The edge had returned to his voice, daring her to push him.

  “Sure. Thank you.” Olivia turned away and shuffled up the stairs. What had she done to deserve this? She’d been a good girl—until lately. But she’d never hurt anyone. She had prayed as a little girl. Daddy prayed. Even Mom prayed. But their prayers never got answered. On second thought, they did get answered every single time. They got answered by God thumbing His nose at them and piling on more and more tragedy. They got answered with a resounding NO.

  Why did she even have to be alive?

  Chapter 8

  The inside of her head clamored like an orchestra during warm-up while Olivia plodded through the hall on her way to first period. Lost in thought, she felt hands clamp over her eyes. “Hey!” Olivia grabbed at some fingers and spun around. Phew. Just Jordyn.

  “What’s got you so distracted? I called your name a bunch of times.” Jordyn furrowed her eyebrows. “Oh, nothing. Just didn’t hear you.”

  “Well, come with me. I’ve got a surprise.” Jordyn pulled Olivia’s sleeve and guided her to the back restroom in the old junior-high wing—the only bathroom in the school without stalls. As soon as the door closed behind them, Jordyn locked it. “Look what I’ve got.” She reached in the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out a little plastic baggie holding four joints. “These ought to get us through the day, wouldn’t you say?”

  Olivia gasped. “We can’t do
that here! Are you crazy?” She fumbled for the door.

  Jordyn pried Olivia’s fingers from the door handle. “I do it all the time. No one ever comes back here, and the smoke detectors are disabled. Can’t you smell it in here? Everyone does it—well, everyone who’s anyone. It’s been going on for years.”

  “Are you sure?” Olivia shook her head. “I don’t want to get in trouble with the police again or get a suspension or something.” Who cared about Mom and Charles? “Look at what happened to Emma.”

  “Trust me.” Jordyn put her hand in the bag just as a light knock sounded on the door.

  Olivia let out a yelp. “See?” she hissed.

  “It’s only Bailey. Let her in.”

  Olivia unlocked the door and opened it a crack, blocking with her foot so it wouldn’t open too far.

  Bailey pushed on it until she could squeeze her body through the opening. “Sheesh. What’s the problem?”

  “Oh, she’s chicken.” Jordyn nodded at Olivia. “Something tells me she’ll be just fine in a minute though.” She giggled and handed a smoldering joint to Olivia.

  “Where’s Tara?” Olivia took a drag and passed it to Bailey.

  Bailey rolled her eyes at Jordyn. “Ever since the thing with the cops, she thinks she’s too good to hang out with us. That we’re a bad influence on her.”

  Jordyn nodded. “I guess her mom smelled pot on her and took her to talk to a pastor. He supposedly talked some sense in her, so now she’s steering clear of us bad influences for a while. She’ll get over it.”

  “Fine with me.” Bailey shrugged. “Less we have to share.”

  “Now, that’s a great point.” After a few long drags, Olivia felt no fear—of anything. That was how she needed to feel at home. Maybe high was the best way to float through her day. And why not? There was no real reason she couldn’t smoke some pot on her own—why wait for Bailey or Jordyn to provide it for her? “Hey, where can I get more of this myself if I want to?”