Olivia climbed out of the used Honda Civic her mother had given her for her sixteenth birthday, hauling her dance bag up on her shoulder, and approached the house, looking forward to her evening with Zach.
He’d told her he had a surprise for her and that she should put on her best dress and not plan on coming home tonight.
Her stomach performed a tour jeté at the thought of spending an entire night in Zach’s arms. Maybe ordering room service and having breakfast in bed in the morning. So romantic, she thought with a sigh. She couldn’t fathom what he had planned, but she was on board with whatever it was.
But first, her mother had the traditional cupcakes and presents.
Dropping her bag by the door, she called out, “Hi, honey, I’m home,” giggling at her own silliness.
Her mother bounded down the stairs, two boxes wrapped in colorful paper in her arms. “Happy birthday!” She held out her arms, presenting the packages to Olivia.
“Does one of these boxes contain the name of my father?” Olivia had meant it to come out in a light, teasing way, but instead, it came out accusatory.
Exasperated, her mother sighed, set the gifts down, and just stared at her.
Olivia returned the stare, daring her mother to look away. With all the pent-up, rebellious teenage hormones in her arsenal, Olivia stood her ground, all cheerfulness evaporating.
“Not this again.” Her mother cast a glance at the ceiling and threw up her hands. “How many times do we have to hash this out?”
“Until I have an answer.”
Her mother then tried placating her. “Olivia, I love you more than you will ever know. Why isn’t that enough?”
“Let me ask you, if you didn’t know who your father was, wouldn’t you always wonder?”
Carly licked her lips, folded her arms across her chest, and looked away.
“You would.” Olivia confirmed.
Her mother shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Why?” Her voice rose in defiance at the familiar refrain. “Is it Marshall? Is he my father?”
“No!” Reaching for Olivia’s arm, grasping her by the bicep, she continued. “Please tell me you haven’t been going around speculating out loud about Marshall.”
Olivia pulled out of her mother’s grasp. “No. Give me a little credit.” She paused, gnawing on her lower lip. “If it’s not Marshall, who is it then?”
“You’re relentless.”
“And you’re obstinate.”
Carly’s mouth settled into a thin, unyielding line.
“I’ll hire a private detective.” Olivia lifted her chin.
Carly snorted. “With what?”
Olivia drew herself up. “With my salary from The Joffrey.”
Carly barked out a laugh. “Sweetheart, you’ll be lucky to buy food on an apprentice’s salary.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care how long it takes to make enough money. I’ll hire a private investigator. And when they find my father, I’ll go see him. Tell him I’m his daughter.”
Carly’s face blanched and she sank into the chair behind her.
“I’m sorry if that upsets you, but I deserve to know my father. And he deserves to know me.”
“Don’t do this,” she muttered. “Please. Don’t ruin this birthday.” Carly stared out the window, her expression miles away, and something in her mother’s face gave her a chill.
“Mom?”
Carly rubbed her arms as if she, too, were chilled and spoke on a shuddering sigh, “Oh, honey.” She faced Olivia and a tear spilled down her cheek. “You can’t see your father.”
“And why not?”
“Because . . .” she drew in a shaky breath, “because he’s dead.”
A wave of nausea washed over Olivia, and the room seemed to lurch first right, then left. “What?”
“He died about a year ago.”
All Olivia could do was stand there and shake her head as if she could shake off the words that sent despair shooting up her spine.
Carly rose and reached for Olivia, “Come here.”
Her mother’s touch was like an electric shock, jolting Olivia out of her stupor. Olivia recoiled. “No. Don’t.” Wrapping her arms around her body as if she could protect herself from the cold hard truth.
A year ago. Twelve months. Her father had been alive. All these years, Olivia could have found him, met him, maybe formed a relationship with him. And her mother had denied her that.
Then Olivia’s anger turned to guilt. If she’d only pushed harder. If she’d only forced her mother to tell her. Gone on a hunger strike, or run away, something, but she’d been so focused on dance that she’d often pushed those feelings of restlessness aside. There was time. She’d eventually wear her mother down.
And now it was too late.
Tears filled her eyes, blurring her mother’s horror-stricken face, as a sick hollow feeling settled into her chest. “How could you? Was he sick? Did you know he was sick?”
Carly shook her head. “It was an accident.”
“Did he know? About me?”
“No,” Carly’s voice came out in a harsh whisper.
“He died never knowing he had a daughter,” Olivia said to herself in disbelief.
“You have to understand. It was for the best.”
Olivia’s head jerked up. “How can that be? How can it be for the best that a father never had the chance to know his daughter, and a girl never had the chance to know her father? What could be the possible reason?”
“Oh, Olivia—” Carly began, but Olivia interrupted as realization struck.
“Oh my God. He was married. My father was married. You fucked a married man. Oh my God!” She threw up her hands and paced away from her mother.
“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t know when . . . when we met. And by the time he confessed, I was pregnant. I couldn’t tear his family apart. I just couldn’t. So I left.”
“His family? He had other children?” Olivia’s vision blurred as her eyes filled again.
“Yes.”
“Did you love him?” She blinked, and a tear ran down her cheek, but she made no move to wipe it away.
“I thought I did at the time.”
“So you didn’t, then.”
“Don’t judge me, Olivia Marie James. Don’t you dare judge me!” Her mother’s chin lifted. “I had a lifetime of that from my parents.” Her mother collapsed into a chair and stared ahead, not seeing the living-room walls but something far beyond them.
“My childhood was so confining. My parents were so strict that when I finally escaped their stranglehold, I went a little wild. I tried anything and everything I was protected from. Alcohol, sex, even some drugs.”
She turned her gaze to Olivia’s face. “The most important thing to me then and now is that you are safe and loved. That I could provide for you, raise you with the freedom my parents never gave me. I never wanted you to feel that need to rebel. To push against restraints.” She swiped angrily at her own tears and sniffed. “I knew you and Zach were having sex. But I trusted you. Just like I need you to trust me now.”
Ignoring her mother’s entreaty, Olivia folded her arms over her chest. “I need a name.”
“What?”
“What was my father’s name? I need to know.”
“Olivia, no. I can’t tell you.”
“He’s dead.” She threw up her hands. “What possible difference can it make now?”
“His wife. His kids. They can never know.”
“And you think I’m going to run and tell them? Go introduce myself, ‘Hi, my mother fucked your father, and I’m his illegitimate daughter, Olivia.’?”
Her mom winced. “Of course not, but I promised myself no one would ever know about our relationship.”
“I could still hire a private investigator.” Olivia raised her eyebrow in challenge.
“You could. But I’m asking you not to.”
“Asking or telling?”
“Asking.”
“How can you even ask that of me?” Olivia threw up her hands in dismay. “How can you ask me to just forget about the man who fathered me?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“Says the woman who knows who both her parents are.”
“Why is this so important to you? Isn’t my love for you enough?”
“I used to think so. But not anymore.”
The silence hung between them, heavy and dark.
Suddenly, Olivia couldn’t stand it another moment. “I have to leave.”
Carly nodded, her face grim. “Just . . . don’t be out too late.”
“No. I mean I have to leave. For Chicago. I’m taking Joffrey’s offer to come up for the summer intensive.”
“Since when?”
“Since now.” Olivia stuck out her chin, daring her mother to forbid it. After all, she was officially an adult.
“What about school? Graduation? Olivia, you have to graduate!”
“I’ll finish up in Chicago. I promise.”
“I see. And where will you live?”
“I’ll figure that out when I get there. I’m sure I can crash on someone’s couch.”
“At least let me contact my friends, Rick and Michelle.”
“No. I don’t want your help. The one thing I wanted, you refused to give, so don’t bother trying to help me now.”
Her mother reached for her, but Olivia whirled on her heel and left the room, taking the stairs two at a time until she reached the solitude of her room, where she promptly slammed the door shut behind her.
She never did open her gifts.
It had been an unforgettable eighteenth birthday for more reasons than one. It had also been the last time she’d seen Zach.
In time, she and her mother eventually found their way back to one another, though not back to the close relationship they’d once had.
They’d closed the distance between them, first, with polite conversations about Olivia’s training and how she liked Chicago. Those conversations finally became a little more personal when Carly met Jennie. Olivia had come home to be the maid of honor for their wedding, and they’d even visited Chicago a few times. Carly had come on her own as well, usually bringing some of her more promising students with her.
The rift in her and her mother’s relationship had been mended, but it always bore the signs of repair like a poorly stitched tear in a pair of jeans, jagged and rough.
And that, Olivia knew, was all on her.
Chapter Sixteen
After his shift, Zach walked into The Firehouse Taproom, looking for a beer and some advice. He nodded to Neil. “Is he here?”
“Yeah. In his office.”
“Thanks.”
Strolling through the pub, he greeted a few townsfolk, then pushed through the door to the back which served as storage space, office, and brewing lab. Knocking on Tyler’s door, Zach poked his head in.
Tyler glanced up. “What’s up, man?”
“Came for a brew and . . .” Zach rubbed the back of his neck, “well, some advice.”
“Oh sure. Now you want my advice.” Tyler closed the spreadsheet he’d been working on. “My first piece of advice: don’t get busted parking up on Miller’s Ridge,” he said with a grin.
Zach groaned. Cole might just find himself with some extra shifts this month.
“Nice. The police chief gets caught with his pants down.” Tyler chuckled.
Exactly why had he come seeking his friend’s advice? “You finished?”
Tyler lifted an impudent shoulder. “Maybe. Too soon to tell.” He indicated the chair in front of his desk. “So, you and Olivia . . .?”
Ignoring the question, Zach continued, “Yeah. Listen, her birthday is next week, and I’d like to take her somewhere nice. In midtown.”
Tyler’s eyebrows lifted in question. “I seem to recall another birthday that didn’t go so well.”
Yeah. So did Zach. “As if I needed a reminder,” he returned, dryly.
Tyler eyed him then nodded. “Understood. So, what’s the plan?”
“I’m taking her to see Romeo and Juliet.”
“Very romantic.” Tyler rubbed his hands together. “Let’s see . . . Cape Dutch is exceptional. Then there’s Ecco. Excellent. You could take her to Bar Margot in the Four Seasons afterward for drinks.”
Zach nodded. “Thanks. One more thing—can I borrow your car?”
Tyler snorted. “Who am I? Your dad?”
“I don’t want to take her to Atlanta in my truck or my Northridge Police SUV.”
Tyler nodded. “You two getting serious again?” He propped his elbows on his desk.
Were they? Zach wondered. Given her recent bad news, he wondered what her plans were now. Would she stay and take over her mother’s businesses? Or would she fly the coop, leaving him behind once more. And would he let her walk away this time? “Too soon to tell,” he said, shrugging with more nonchalance than he actually felt.
“Fair enough.” Rounding his desk, Tyler said, “Let’s try the new hoppy pale ale,” clapping Zach on the shoulder.
When his hand remained on Zach’s shoulder, Zach turned with a questioning look.
“Just—” Tyler rubbed his free hand through his hair. “Just go slow.”
“I’m a grown man, not a teenager. I can take care of myself.” A grown man whose heart could be broken yet again. Even if she left, he wanted to give her a birthday to remember. One far better than their last one together.
(Seventeen Years Earlier)
Zach had been putting the last of his father’s dinner dishes in the dishwasher and had glanced at the clock on the stove. He’d had a few minutes to spare before leaving to pick up Olivia at her house.
He had a big night planned for her eighteenth birthday. Dinner in Atlanta and a hotel room for the night. After all, they were both adults now and didn’t need their parents’ permission to stay out all night. He’d been saving up for months to pay for it. The summer would fly by and, come September—the inevitable—Olivia would leave for Chicago, so he planned to make the most of their remaining time together.
Just as he flipped off the kitchen light, the doorbell rang. Since his father likely dozed in his recliner in front of the TV, Zach answered the door.
“Olivia.” Still in her dance clothes, her hair falling from its bun in messy tendrils, she definitely wasn’t ready for their date. Then he saw it. A tear ran down her face. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t know why, but he felt a tremendous sense of foreboding. He stepped out onto the porch into the cool late-spring afternoon, pulled the door shut behind him, and took her by the shoulders. “Olivia?”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, but a rasping sob escaped. “He’s dead.”
He grasped her harder. “Who’s dead?” An icy lump formed in his stomach. “It’s not Marshall is it?” Marshall was like a father to her.
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face.
“Olivia, who died?” He shook her gently in his panic.
“My father!”
Confusion replaced fear. Her father? She didn’t have a father—oh. Realization dawned. “Come here.” He gathered her into his arms and held her. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she sobbed incoherently, tears soaking his dress shirt.
Had Carly finally told her who her father was? Had they just learned he’d died? What the hell was going on?
He rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. He’d have to wait to get the answers. He didn’t know how long they stood there, him rocking her, speaking soothing words into her ear, her gasping and crying, her shoulders shaking with the violence of her grief. Grief for a man she’d never known.
Finally, the sobs subsided, leaving little hiccoughs in their wake. Zach took her arm and guided her over to the swing. He sat then pulled her onto his lap, brushing her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ears.
“You think you can tell me now?”
She nodded, wiping her face with the bac
k of her hand. She looked so vulnerable, and his heart ached for her. He knew the mystery of who her father was flared up from time to time, causing tension between her and her mother.
As Olivia unraveled the story, Zach held her close. To be honest, he saw both sides. He admired Carly’s desire to protect the man’s family, if not the man himself. On the other hand, he understood Olivia’s need to know who her father was. Zach’s mom might have left him when he was six years old, but at least he knew who his mother was. For what that was worth.
Olivia often fantasized about finding her father, having a Hollywood reunion with him, the two of them developing an instant bond. As a child, he’d had his own fantasies of his mom returning in a tearful apology-filled scene, where she promised never to leave him again. But he soon learned real life rarely followed Hollywood’s script, and people were rarely that self-sacrificing.
His thoughts had drifted, but her last comment brought him back with a crushing blow. “What?”
“I’m leaving. Tomorrow.”
He set her away from him and pinned her with this gaze. “You’re leaving? Tomorrow? Leaving for where?”
“Chicago.” She said it as if it were obvious. He supposed it was.
“But . . . I don’t understand. What happened to September? What happened to spending the summer here—with me? Together?”
“I have to leave.” She sniffed, shaking her head. “I can’t stay here.” She gripped his arm. “Come with me.”
“Come with you? How am I supposed to do that?” He disentangled himself from her and stood. “What about my job? What about my dad? I can’t just pick up and leave. And where would we live? Have you thought about that?”
“Well, no,” she replied, her voice small, “but we’ll figure it out. You can go to college. There are so many options in Chicago.”
“I can barely afford community college, much less out-of-state tuition.” He paced away. God, it was tempting—too tempting—to leave this town where his mother’s abandonment followed him like a dark cloud. To not have to let Olivia go.
The flicker of the TV through the window caught his eye. His father held up the remote, channel-surfing, the extent of his father’s leisure activity.
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