by Greta Boris
I had no control over time. It was forever sneaking up on me while I was thinking about other things. The more I needed it to cooperate, the more it ran amok. But Doug had no problem with it. He ran time like a drill sergeant.
The kids were in the kitchen. Stacey pulled a cheesy slice of pizza from the box while Tomas positioned a paper plate to best catch the strings.
“Me too.” Lily danced from one foot to another.
“Grab a plate,” Stacey said.
I poured a half a glass of wine from an open bottle on the counter. Maybe it would calm my wayward nerves. It wasn’t like Doug and I were really on a first date. We were an old married couple. But there was something about the pretending that made my belly flutter.
“Don’t you have a reservation?” Stacey said.
“I don’t know. I’m not supposed to know, remember?”
“Oh, whoops.” Stacey smiled. “I didn’t say anything.”
I finished my wine in the time it took for Tomas to eat two slices of pizza and Lily two bites. It was now 7:15. He was forty-five minutes late. Worry injected a bit more adrenaline into my bloodstream. Just as I was pondering a second half glass of wine the doorbell rang again.
Tomas started to rise from his seat at the table, but I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get it,” I said. I pressed the wrinkles from my skirt and walked to the front door.
I wouldn’t be surprised if making me wait was part of Doug’s plan all along. His philosophy about romance was that it didn’t happen in ruts. People cheated because they were looking for excitement. He liked to keep me a little off balance. He called it anti-affair insurance. I rubbed my lips together to smooth my lipstick, assumed my sexiest smile and opened the door. On the stoop were two uniformed policemen.
Doug and I never celebrated our fifteenth anniversary, or our sixteenth, or any other after that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ON THURSDAY, OLIVIA jogged up the steps of St. Barnabas and through the glass front doors. She had fifteen minutes to run Brian’s lunch to his classroom and get to the Fishbowl. The studio was an eleven-minute drive from here. Which meant she had four minutes to deliver the lunch Brian had left on the kitchen counter and get to her car. It was the second time this month—and October wasn’t even half over—that Brian had forgotten it.
If she had more income. Correction. When she had more income. Things were going well at work. She’d crunched the numbers. When the Fishbowl grew from a small success to a thriving enterprise—when she was flush—she was going to splurge on school lunches for Brian. This running back and forth was getting old.
“Olivia.” A voice snapped her around. A tall man in a soft plaid button-down shirt and chinos loped toward her. It was Tom. It took her a moment to recognize him without the red soccer shirt and black gym shorts. He looked great. “I’ve been hoping I’d bump into you,” he said.
Olivia had mixed feelings, but smiled.
“I was going to call, but I decided I wanted to talk to you face to face. Do you have a minute?”
“I don’t,” she said. “I have to be to work in...” she looked at her watch, “twelve minutes. I’m dropping off Brian’s lunch.”
“Let me do that for you.” Tom reached for the paper sack.
Olivia hesitated. She hadn’t heard anything about Coach Tom, positive or negative, since Tuesday. She assumed Brian’s opinion hadn’t changed in two days, so he wouldn’t be thrilled to have his lunch delivered by the man.
“Hey.” His face grew serious. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I didn’t know, Olivia. I didn’t mean to...”
He looked so repentant, Olivia handed him the lunch. “I get it. It’s okay.”
“No. No, it’s not okay. I’d like to talk. Are you free tonight? After soccer?”
“I have to get Brian home, fed, homework. You know.”
“I understand. You better get going. Don’t be late.”
Olivia turned to go, then had a thought. “You know, tomorrow night I get off at eight, and I don’t have to pick up Brian from his grandfather’s until nine. It’s not long, but I’d have time for a quick glass of wine.”
His face brightened. She wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to meet him. Her life was complicated enough without involving someone else. Maybe it was because he seemed so concerned about Brian. The adage must be true: a way to a woman’s heart is through her children.
***
“Livvie, I have someone I want you to meet.” Fiona glided to the counter followed by a tall woman. “This is Sage. I told you about her. She’s a wealth of information on herbs, a real medicine woman.”
Sage looked like what Olivia thought a medicine woman ought to look like. She had strong, handsome features, an olive complexion, and thick hair that must have once been glossy black, but was now touched with gray. Laugh lines etched her eyes, but otherwise, her skin was clear and glowing.
“I hear you’re a student of natural medicine,” Sage said in a low, melodious voice.
“Not really. I mean, I’m studying, but I don’t know much...” Olivia let her words dwindle.
“There’s a lot to learn.” Sage nodded.
“And she’s doing great,” Fiona beamed at Olivia as though she were a clever toddler. “We can’t keep enough oils in stock.”
“You’ll have to educate me. I’ve never worked much with essential oils. They’re hard to make well at home, and I use what I grow. I focus more on tinctures, teas, lotions, things like that,” Sage said.
“I’d love to see your garden,” Olivia said.
Sage smiled. “You’re officially invited.”
“Olivia,” a woman with a blond bob held up an oil diffuser. “Can I get your advice on creating a beginner’s kit?”
Olivia excused herself and went to help. By the time she’d rung up the diffuser and a bag of oils, Sage had left.
“Isn’t she lovely?” Fiona looked up from the computer where she’d been working. Olivia knew she meant Sage.
“She is.”
“I don’t know how old she is, but I know it’s much older than she looks. I’ve heard she makes magical skin cream.”
“Does she sell it?”
“Oh, I like the way you think.” Fiona’s eyes brightened. “Ask her. Her face is great advertising.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about. Your skin is beautiful.” Olivia walked to her side of the desk and logged into the studio’s management program. She had some client schedule changes to make before she left for the day.
“Glowing?” Fiona’s eyebrows rose and hid behind her bangs.
Olivia inspected her friend’s face. Fiona had a light sprinkle of freckles across her nose and the pale skin of a redhead, but her cheeks did seem to be more pink than usual. “Okay. Glowing. A new makeup brand?”
“No. I think it’s attributed to increased blood flow and hormone changes.” Her tone was matter of fact, disinterested even. She turned her eyes to the computer screen as she spoke.
It took Olivia a moment to interpret the act. “What’re you saying?”
Fiona shrugged one shoulder.
“Are you pregnant?”
Fiona looked up, a hurt expression on her face. “You think I look fat?”
“Seriously. Are you?”
She nodded and a wide smile shot across her face. Olivia reached across the desk and hugged her. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you and Devon.”
“Me too. I’m happy for us too.”
Fiona and her husband had been trying to conceive for close to a year, and although Fiona said the trying part was fun, the lack of success had been discouraging.
“When?” Olivia said.
“The end of April. I just passed week twelve. I didn’t want to tell anyone until after the first trimester.” Olivia hugged her again.
“You don’t know how relieved I am you decided to become a partner in the business. I need you now more than ever. I can get the girls to take my classes and my cli
ents, but they can’t run the studio.”
“It’s a win win,” Olivia said.
Fiona shut down her computer. “I’m afraid I’m going to be relying on you more and more, what with doctor’s appointments and all.”
Olivia didn’t answer. As happy as she was for Fiona, the idea of added responsibility fell like a weight across her shoulders. She was barely keeping up with her schedule as it was.
“Devon moved his office into the garage. We decided to paint the walls buttercream. It’s neutral, but still says nursery. I saw the cutest wallpaper border with lions and tigers and giraffes that would go great with the color. A jungle theme works for either sex, right?” She didn’t wait for Olivia to respond. “But Dev wants to do a cowboy motif—kind of a Toy Story thing. I said that wouldn’t work for a girl. He said we could do Jesse, you know she’s the cowgirl doll, but...”
Olivia stopped listening. Her thoughts turned to the past, when she and Davy had decorated Brian’s room. It was before they knew he was Brian, not Caitlin. They’d papered with teddy bears and balloons, some pink, some blue. They’d been so happy.
Davy was the only one who’d been able to get Olivia out of the black moods that descended on her from time to time. As opposite as their personalities were, she’d believed they were soul mates. She was Yin to his Yang. She centered him, and he made her more adventurous. She helped him take life a bit more seriously, and he helped her see the humor in things. Until he lost his job.
At first, he wasn’t too worried when the tech company he worked for went bankrupt. He’d been a successful salesman, and was sure he’d be attractive to the competition. But so many companies left California for states with friendlier business environments in those years, private sector jobs were scarce.
Olivia was working part-time for her mother as her publicist and marketing manager. She’d loved the work. She had planned to gain experience with her mother’s book sales, then build her own promotion company focused on authors. But that would have taken years, and they needed income right away. She went to work as a server and took as many hours as she could get at Enzo’s Sports Bar, while Davy job hunted and watched Brian.
It might have been boredom, his ego, or a combination of both, but Davy started drinking then. He never did anything by halves. When he worked, he was the highest earning salesman in the company. When he drank, he became a class A drunk. She threw him out a year after he lost his job.
“Dev wants to know the sex of the baby as soon as we can, but I don’t know. I kind of like the idea of being surprised. What do you think? Did you know Brian was a boy before he was born?” Fiona’s question jerked Olivia back to the present.
“Ah, no. We didn’t know. We were surprised.”
“See.” Fiona’s eyes widened. “That’s what I say. I’m going to have to get that man of mine in line.”
Olivia found herself wishing she had a man to get in line. It would be wonderful to have a husband to share the burdens she’d been carrying—a father for Brian. Fiona seemed to intuit her thoughts. “When are you going to start dating again?”
Olivia shrugged. “I’m getting a glass of wine with a teacher from Brian’s school tomorrow night, but we’re going out to talk about Brian.”
“If you want to discuss a student—not that I’m an expert yet—my understanding is you call a parent-teacher meeting. You don’t ask the kid’s mother out.”
“A glass of wine isn’t a declaration of undying love.” Olivia started packing up her tote bag. It was almost time for Brian’s pick up.
“No, but if you have enough of them it can lead to one.”
“Not if Brian has anything to say about it. He doesn’t like Coach Tom.” She wondered if that was a permanent situation, however, because she was pretty sure she did like Coach Tom.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FAMILIAR SCENTS of Turk’s—grilled food, stale beer, and mild dockside mildew—welcomed Olivia as she opened the door. It was one of the few harbor hangouts that hadn’t succumbed to the new upscale, tourist image the city of Dana Point was trying to project these days. Decorated in 1990’s faux sailing vessel, it looked more like part of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland than an eating establishment.
Nothing had been touched since Turk Varteresian, a muscle man from Hollywood’s Golden Age, had cut its red ribbon. Black and white pictures of old film stars and the big man himself in Neptune and gladiator costumes still adorned the walls. Olivia loved it.
Her grandparents had brought her here for the first time when she was twelve after a whale watching voyage. They’d bobbed around in the ocean for an hour scanning the horizon for whales that never appeared. Olivia had gotten horribly seasick. The boat landed, they walked up the dock, through the front door of Turks, and treated her to her first Shirley Temple. She thought it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. When she and Davy had married, they’d moved to Capistrano Beach, the next town over. Turk’s became one of their regular haunts. She hadn’t been in since the divorce, but it felt like a refuge tonight.
When she’d left the parking lot at the Fishbowl, a Honda sedan had pulled out after her and trailed her along the Coast Highway as far as the harbor. When she turned onto Golden Lantern, it had continued south. It might have been a coincidence, but it looked a lot like the car that had given her the willies on Tuesday night.
Voices were raised to combat other raised voices. Mama Cass crooned about dreaming little dreams. Olivia had forgotten how loud it was, or maybe she’d never noticed. A nervous tingle slid along her arms. This might not have been the best place to have a serious conversation about her son’s problems with the new soccer coach. She’d only picked it because it was in her comfort zone, a home base. And it was close to work.
Before she could turn around, go outside and text Tom about changing locations, she saw him. He sat in a booth by the darkened windows, a beer in one hand, a menu in the other. He glanced up and smiled.
She squeezed past two fifty-year-old surfers swapping stories with a fisherman at the bar and slid in across from him. “Maybe this isn’t the best spot—”
Tom interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “Turk’s is great. I’m from San Juan, so I always went to Swallows Inn. This is pretty much the same, only without the underwear.”
“Underwear?”
“Yeah, Swallows is a little more upscale. They hang bras from the ceiling. I’ll have to take you there sometime.”
“Thanks, it sounds interesting,” Olivia said, feeling better about her choice of venues.
A waitress with tired eyes stopped by the table to take their order. When she walked away, Tom took a long draught from his beer, set the glass down and looked Olivia in the eye. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?” Olivia said.
“I shouldn’t have been so hard on Brian that day at practice. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I felt bad for you. You seem so stressed. I wanted to help.”
“It’s okay—”
“No. It’s not okay. I have this hero complex. I’m working on it, but when I see a pretty woman with a problem I can’t help myself. I’m like a retriever with a tennis ball.”
A hangdog expression crossed his face, and this time Olivia did laugh. “I forgive you. And I get it. Brian is smart, but he comes across like he doesn’t care. That can be infuriating.”
“Right. All I could think was this kid needs to get a grip. He’s hurting himself, and he’s hurting his mother. So I sat on him. Next practice, Don—Coach Parker—takes me aside and tells me about the accident. I felt like a jerk. So, again, I’m sorry.”
“Again, I forgive you.”
“How long was he in a coma?” Tom flinched as soon as the words left his lips. “Is it okay to talk about it?”
“Yeah. It’s fine. They kept him in a medically induced coma for nearly a week, until the swelling went down in his brain.”
“It must have been nerve-wracking waiting for him to come out of it
.”
“It was the worst five and a half days of my life. He looked okay. I mean, bruised and bandaged, but I knew all that would heal. The scary thing was they couldn’t tell me what condition his brain was in.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Last February, so eight months ago.”
“But he’s good? Mostly, right? He has some trouble with attention, but other than that he seems good.”
“Yes,” Olivia said the word slowly. How much should she reveal to this man? He seemed genuine, concerned, but she knew from experience when words like brain damage were used, people got nervous. “The attention thing is a bit of a problem, though.”
“His grades?”
“Grades are lower, but not too bad. He’s just really impulsive. It’s hard to predict what he’s going to do.”
“The disappearing act? Coach Parker warned me about that the first week of soccer.”
“He’s always done that,” Olivia said. “I could tell you stories that would scare you into male pattern baldness.”
“Please don’t.” Tom put a hand on his thick, black hair. “It’s my only redeeming feature.”
Olivia grinned. She liked the self-deprecating humor. She decided to test the waters. If Brian’s problems were going to scare him away, it was better to know up front. “Brian’s always been a dreamer. But, now, he has a harder time distinguishing between imagination and reality. The doctor calls it confabulation. He invents memories, or grabs them from other times to fill in gaps. It seems like he’s lying, but he’s not. He believes what he’s saying is true.”
“Is it like schizophrenia?” Tom’s brows knit together in concern.
“No. No. Nothing like that. It’s mostly little things, like...” She searched her mind for a good example. “Okay, every morning I put his lunch on the kitchen counter in a bag and remind him that it’s there. At least once a week, he’ll leave it home.”
“Kids forget their lunch all the time.” Tom shrugged.
“Right, but they realize they forgot it when they open their backpack, and it’s not there. Brian remembers putting his lunch into his backpack the days he leaves it home as clearly as he does on the days he brings it. The first time it happened, he accused a classmate of stealing the bag. He was so sure he’d brought it with him.”