by Greta Boris
“It’s going well, in fact, I was going to call her. I have news. Fiona asked if I wanted to earn my way into an ownership position in the business. I’m putting in some unpaid hours, and she’s giving me a share of the retail profits. I’m going to be part owner of the Fishbowl.”
“That’s great.” A slow smile spread across Art’s face.
“I’m still pinching myself.”
“Call Gwen. She’d love to hear the details.” Gwen was responsible for Olivia’s career change. After Brian’s accident, Olivia had to leave her waitressing job and find something with more flexible hours. One of Gwen’s past real estate clients had opened a Pilates studio. Knowing Olivia had a business degree, and that she needed a fresh start, Gwen had put in a good word for her.
“I will.”
Art’s forehead creased into concerned lines. “How’s Brian doing?”
“Slowly improving. Davy wants to be part of his life. He’s in an alcohol recovery group. Says he’s not drinking anymore, but I don’t know. If he disappoints Brian again, especially now…” Her words trailed off.
Art looked at the sky for a moment, then at her. “It’s no secret Gwen and I had troubles earlier this year. I made a decision to forgive her for the sake of the kids. She was their mother, and they needed her. It hasn’t always been easy. It’s a day by day thing. And, she had to forgive me too. My priorities were pretty skewed. It was the right decision for our family. It also began the healing of our marriage.”
“I can’t see Davy and me—”
“I’m not saying that. But healing comes in a lot of different forms.” Art touched her arm. “Sorry if I’m sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
Olivia gave a small shake of her head. “You’re not. I brought it up, but I do have to get to work.” His words chafed. She didn’t know everything that had happened between him and Gwen, but she was pretty sure it didn’t include substance abuse and abandonment.
They said goodbye, and Olivia headed up the sidewalk to her car. She couldn’t stay annoyed at Art. His friendship, and Gwen’s, was one of the greatest blessings in her life. They’d done so much for her.
Olivia had known she wanted to work at the Fishbowl the first time she’d seen it. The studio was on the second story of a strip mall on the ocean side of the Coast Highway in Dana Point. She’d climbed a set of concrete outdoor stairs, turned right and followed a walkway to an open door.
The lobby was bright and fresh in cool sea colors. An ocean breeze poured through the space carrying the scents of clove and orange peel. Soft music and the murmur of conversation came to her from somewhere deeper in the building.
Through the lobby was a large open exercise room that still made her catch her breath. A mirrored wall reflected the view of sky and ocean from the windows across from it, surrounding her in cerulean and sunshine. It was like walking into a mermaid’s world. The room was empty, but she heard a woman’s voice, calm and authoritative, say, “One more deep inhale and exhale, and you’re done.”
Following the sound, she made a right down a short hall and entered another bright sky-filled room. Five women were disentangling themselves from machines that looked like a cross between medieval torture devices and something you’d find in an obstetrician’s office. She’d learned they were called Reformers because they were supposed to do just that—reform your body. Another woman stood at the foot of the machines. Her head pivoted as Olivia entered. “Olivia? I’m so glad you came.”
Fiona was lovely. Tall, graceful, and auburn haired. She bade each of her students goodbye with a touch, or a word of encouragement, then turned her attention to Olivia. “How do you like my little Fishbowl?”
“It’s beautiful,” Olivia said.
“I’m just getting started, but I have big plans. We have four Reformer classes most mornings, and personal training clients in the evenings. Then in this room...” Fiona led the way into the first studio Olivia had entered. “We teach Pilates Mat, Yoga, and I’ve had a ballet barre installed for Barre classes.”
“Do you teach everything yourself?” Olivia said.
“No.” Fiona laughed. “Not possible. I have four other instructors.”
She told Olivia about the first time she’d seen the studio. It had housed a small art school before Fiona signed the lease and needed a lot of work, but she’d fallen in love with it. She’d inherited her father’s Laguna Beach home, decided to sell it and use the money to make improvements and get the business started. There had been problems with the sale of the house, but when escrow finally closed, she began renovations.
The workman who’d installed the mirrored walls in the exercise rooms had commented the place looked like a fishbowl. The name stuck. The Fishbowl had attracted a growing following in the months since it had opened.
Fiona’s enthusiasm was as bright as the space. She’d become a friend, a confidant, and soon she’d be Olivia’s business partner.
Olivia reached her vehicle and unlocked it with a chirp. As she climbed into her car, she turned to see a young woman walking toward her. Their eyes met and Olivia was struck by her how unusual hers were—deep set, brown and flecked with gold. Olivia smiled, but the woman jerked her gaze away and hurried on in the direction she’d been headed. Olivia felt oddly embarrassed, as if she’d been inappropriate. But her day was too busy to worry about the attitudes of strangers. She put it out of her mind.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE REST OF the day flew by. Olivia had gone in at noon after running errands, and now it was almost time for the 5:30 Barre class. The studio was a bright spot in her life. Her schedule was hectic. She worried about Brian’s health all the time. CPS was a thunder cloud over her head. Davy was a thorn in her flesh. But peace reigned at the Fishbowl.
She counted four drops of lavender oil as they fell into a diffuser. She recapped the bottle, then added mandarin, Roman chamomile, and vetiver oils. Hope and healing had been working their way into her heart since she’d taken this job. Small things, like tiny drops of oil bursting with the fragrance of future possibilities. She was building something here, something for herself and for Brian.
She thought about the Fishbowl all the time. She mused about ways to market their inventory while she grocery shopped. She jotted ideas for new product lines while she sat at red lights. She read everything she could find on essential oils after Brian went to bed. For the past three weeks, she’d been trying out different recipes with varying results.
“That smells yummy.” Yasmin Madani, one of the studio’s instructors, put her yoga mat under an arm so she could use both hands to wave the mist into her face. “What’s in it?”
Olivia handed her a card with the recipe. “I call it, Pay Attention.”
Yasmin read the card. “What’s vetiver?”
“A grass from India. It’s good for brain health.”
“Oh, I need that. Can I have a bottle of mandarin oil too?”
It was a good blend for Yasmin. She was beautiful, slender, a talented dancer, twenty-two, and a complete ditz. She was a terrific teacher when she remembered she had a class. Anything that helped her focus would be a boon to the studio. “At cost,” Olivia said.
“Whatever. Sure.” She was also a compulsive shopper. Daddy was rich. Very rich. As far as Yasmin was concerned, money flowed like rain in an El Nino year.
Olivia rang up the order as the Barre class attendees wandered in. Eight women and one man, all different ages, shapes, and sizes, waved hello as they made their way through the lobby into the studio. Yasmin greeted them all by name, asked about their families, jobs, injuries, pets, whatever the topic of interest was for each. She was wonderful with the clients, several of whom commented on the new scent in the air as they passed through the lobby.
In her studies, Olivia had learned essential oils were much more than a healthier alternative to room spray. They were the pharmaceuticals of the past. Many a doctor, monk, or village medicine woman treated their neighbors with products f
rom the garden until more potent antibiotics and drugs became available. Lately, she’d been researching the different herbs that affected the brain hoping to find something to help her son.
She busied herself with studio bookkeeping during the class. If things stayed quiet, she planned to sneak into the 7:00 Mat class, then close up shop when it ended. Brian was at her mother’s and would fall asleep on the couch if she ran late. Soon the soft strains of a flute were replaced by the murmur of voices. The class was wrapping up. Minutes later, students entered the lobby singly or in pairs. Some stopped by the computer to register for another class or change their schedule. Some browsed the books, candles, exercise clothes, and oils for sale. Olivia found the rhythm of her work comforting.
By 7:15 the lobby had emptied out. She kicked off her shoes, grabbed a mat and sneaked into the class already in progress. Yasmin walked between rows of students adjusting their form with a touch or a word. Olivia dropped next to a portly man whose face had turned an alarming shade of crimson since she’d last seen him. He was framed by the blackness of the far wall.
When the sun set, Olivia disliked this room’s windows almost as much as she loved them during the day. At night they became black mirrors that reflected the interior space in the cold gray tones of a horror movie. The heavy breathing and pained moans from the students around her only added to the effect.
Yasmin squatted beside her and put a hand on her stomach. “Belly button to your spine.” Olivia brought her attention back to her body. She worked hard for another half hour then scooted out so she could be at her desk when the class ended.
After the students left the studio, Yasmin slung her gym bag over her shoulder. “Ready?”
“Almost, but don’t wait for me,” Olivia said. “I have to finish up an order.”
“Can’t you do it tomorrow?”
“No, it has to be in today.”
“I hate to leave you,” Yasmin said, but she was already half way out the door.
Forty minutes later, Olivia turned off the computer. The hum cut short with a beep and silence engulfed the studio. She walked into the exercise room. She stowed her things in a closet at its far end. She grabbed her purse and sweater, flicked off the closet light, turned toward the ebony wall, and came face to face with her own ghost.
Her shoulders tightened. Vulnerable. The word came to her like a whisper. She was on display. An upside-down world like the one Alice discovered inside the looking glass seemed suddenly more real than the ocean she saw during the day. Inhuman creatures peering through the windows into the brightly lit room jeered in her imagination. At her.
She rushed across the wood floor. Her flip flops echoing in the empty space, calling even more attention to herself. Stop it. There’s no one listening, no one watching. But she hurried just the same and felt better when she switched off the overhead lights.
When she locked the studio door behind her, a fresh spasm of anxiety gripped her. She’d stayed too late. All the other businesses in the center were already closed. Most nights the jewelry repair store and the wine shop still had customers when she was leaving. Tonight they were dark and still.
With no light coming from their windows, she had to make her way across the landing and down the stairs by the dim glow of the street lights. Even the parking lot was deserted except for two cars; hers and a small sedan at the far end. She strode toward her Explorer with more confidence than she felt. Keys. She shouldn’t have dropped her keys into her purse after locking up.
When Olivia was learning to drive, her mother had showed her how to stagger the car keys between her fingers like a set of makeshift brass knuckles for those occasions when she was out, alone, after dark. Olivia had laughed. Fat lot of good a bunch of keys would do against a man with a gun or a knife. Now she wished she had them.
She rummaged through her bag as she walked, her gaze flickering around the lot, every shadow seemed menacing. Her hands closed on cold metal. From across the lot, she hit the button on her electronic key. Her car beeped. The sound was reassuring.
She hurried to her vehicle and grabbed the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. A moment of panic passed before she realized she’d hit lock instead of unlock. Her thumb found the buttons again. She pressed one then the other. All four doors opened.
Then two things happened at once: She dropped her keys. The headlights on the lone car across the lot popped on. Blinded and frantic, she bent to retrieve her keys. Her fingers scrabbled on the blacktop. The car’s engine revved. Olivia dropped to her knees, both palms out, searching. The sedan pulled from its parking space. She patted the ground in frenzied circles. It moved closer.
There, behind her front tire. Soft leather. Her key chain. In less than ten seconds, she was inside her vehicle, slamming and locking doors, heart pounding. The small sedan, turned right and pulled out of the lot, onto the highway.
She leaned her head on the headrest, closed her eyes and took several breaths to slow her racing pulse. What was wrong with her? The car probably belonged to one of the business owners who was leaving late, like she was.
She wasn’t the hysterical type. Yes, she worried more than she should about Brian, but that was it. She’d been a single parent for three years. She was the one who soothed fears, who hugged away the nightmares. She wasn’t the one who needed soothing.
When her hands stopped quivering, she started the car. She’d let her imagination run away with her in the empty studio, that’s all. It was those black windows, and it was the man in the Civic Center parking lot. Seeing him had transported her to the past the way a familiar scent brings back the time and place it once occupied.
By the time she pulled onto her mother’s street, she’d pulled herself together. She was exhausted. That was her problem. Worry woke her almost every night and last night was no exception. Disembodied voices in her dreams scolded her for being a neglectful mother. Visions of Fred from CPS pulling a screaming Brian from her arms had danced through her through her drowsy head at three in the morning.
An uncomfortable thought entered her mind now. What if the sedan in the parking lot belonged to someone from Child Protection Services? She’d been so preoccupied thinking about Proctor and the past, she hadn’t thought of that. What if a deranged CPS worker was following her, spying on her?
No, she was over-tired, over-whelmed, and over-paranoid. People were watching her but not through windows, or in dark parking lots. They used appointments and classes and endless rules and reams of paperwork. Fred kept telling her she couldn’t do it all on her own. She had to rely on her support system—Brian’s grandparents, close friends. That wasn’t easy for her.
Her mother had been a free spirit when Olivia was a child, dragging her through an endless series of homes they’d shared with strangers and apartments with revolving doors. Most of their roommates were the kind who slept by day and played by night. Before they’d moved in with Olivia’s grandparents when she turned ten, the happiest and most secure place she’d lived was a hippie commune in Vermont. There was nothing traditional about her early years, and now Olivia craved stability and control like an addict craves drugs.
As she left the shelter of her Explorer and stepped onto the dark street, uneasiness enveloped her again. I’m not a child anymore. I’m in charge now. I’m safe. Brian is safe.
She repeated the words like a mantra all the way to her mother’s front door.
CHAPTER SIX
SATURDAY, JUNE 6TH, 1992
I BLOTTED MY lips on a Kleenex and sent an air kiss to my reflection in the mirror. Not bad for a woman approaching middle age. I felt pretty tonight.
“Mom, I want to watch Dr. Quinn but Tomas says we have to watch Young Indiana Jones. I don’t like that. It’s scary.” Lily, my daughter, leaned against the bathroom doorframe.
“I brought some movies from Blockbuster. Pick one of those.” I pushed a strand of black hair behind my ear, surveyed the effect then pulled it out again.
“I want to watch Dr.
Quinn.” Lily’s chin dropped to her chest for dramatic effect. Since the start of second grade, she’d been trying on personas like they were outfits. Tonight she’d donned “wounded martyr.” It was what she wore when she wanted her way, or wanted to get her brother in trouble.
“Chiquita, this is a special night for your father and me. Can’t you get along? Just for one night?”
“Tell that to Tomas.” Lily ran a skinny, bare toe along a grout line in the white floor tile.
“I will, but right now I’m telling you.” I put a finger under my daughter’s chin and lifted her heart-shaped face, so much like my own at that age. “Be a good girl for me, okay?”
“What movies did you get?”
“Go look. I picked up The Addams Family. You both wanted to see that.”
Lily, the wounded martyr role abandoned, skipped along the hall shouting, “Tomas, Mom says we have to watch a movie, and I get to pick it.”
I walked to the bedroom and opened the jewelry box on my dresser. I found the black velvet bag all the way at the bottom and lifted it out. Doug had bought the emeralds for me on our tenth anniversary. He’d said they brought out the green in my eyes. I didn’t wear them often. Not that I didn’t love them. I did. It’s just they were more fancy than my life. But tonight, on our fifteenth anniversary I wanted to please him and bring out the green in my eyes.
The doorbell rang. Would he ring the bell? That morning he’d called me from work and asked if he could come by at 6:30. He’d said it like we didn’t live in the same house. Like we weren’t married. Like he was asking me out on our first date. My smile tightened my cheeks when I imagined him standing at the front door of his own home, flowers in hand, pretending to be my beau. I picked up my purse.
“Pizza.” Tomas’s voice was certain.
“I’ve got it,” Stacey said. I’d given the babysitter twenty dollars for the pizza thinking Doug and I would be gone before it arrived. I looked at my watch; 6:50. An uneasy butterfly batted its wings in my stomach.