by Greta Boris
“We all do things like that when we have a lot on our minds, don’t we? There are times I could swear I shaved until I run my hand over my chin.”
“True. People get confused when they’re preoccupied or tired, but Brian confabulates when he’s neither. And sometimes it’s not just little things like forgetting lunch; sometimes he believes his dreams, or daydreams actually happened. I don’t want to make it sound worse than it is. The doctors believe it will resolve itself as he gets older. But meanwhile, I have to be vigilant. Speaking of which...”
“You need to go? Already?” Tom looked disappointed.
“I do.” Olivia waved at the waitress. “I’m sorry.” Mike hadn’t been able to take Brian tonight, so Sarah was doing double duty. She’d had him Monday, Wednesday, and now Friday this week. Olivia didn’t want to be late.
Outside, in the damp, salty air, Tom fell in beside her as she walked to her car. “I wish I could help, Olivia. You bring out that hero thing in me.”
Her throat tightened. It had been a long time since anyone wanted to be her hero. “An extra pair of eyes when he’s away from me would be great.”
“I can do that.”
“Only...” She hesitated. She didn’t want to insult him after his kind offer, but she knew Tom wasn’t Brian’s favorite person.
“Don’t worry.” Tom stopped and turned to face her. “I know what you’re going to say. But I can be subtle. I used to be an undercover KGB agent. Bet you had no idea.”
“No.” She laughed.
“See how subtle I am?” He took her arm, and they continued toward the parking lot. “There are lots of things you don’t know about me because of my incredible subtlety.”
Olivia was glad Tom was walking her to her car. He was funny and charming, and she was still a bit nervous because of the import that had followed her earlier.
“I’m also a master chef.” Tom was still talking. “I make a mean chicken curry.”
It had been too dark to see the car clearly, and it was a common body type.
“It’s a coconut curry.”
It might not have been the same vehicle.
“I prefer Thai to Indian.”
Honestly, she didn’t know if the car was following her, or if it just happened to be headed in the same direction.
“How about dinner tomorrow night?”
“Dinner?” She forgot all about the car. Dinner was definitely a date.
“Yeah, dinner. At my place. I’ll cook.”
“Is that allowed? I mean with you being a teacher at St. Barnabas? I thought teachers and parents weren’t supposed to fraternize.”
“I’m not Brian’s teacher.”
“But you’re his coach.”
“Assistant coach.”
“I don’t want to get you in any trouble.” She didn’t want to get in any trouble either. She wasn’t about to risk Brian’s scholarship for chicken curry, no matter how handsome the chef was.
“I checked the Employee Handbook before I asked you. It’s fine, but if you’d rather not...”
“No. It’s not that. Dinner sounds wonderful.” It was Davy’s first weekend, so she didn’t need to worry about Brian.
“Around seven then?” He sounded hopeful.
Davy. Just thinking about him made her angry and frustrated and something else. Something else she didn’t want to think about. “Great. I’ll be there.”
***
Olivia’s cheeks hurt from smiling. She’d had a stupid grin plastered on her face for at least three of the seven miles between Turk’s and her mother’s. Then she remembered the car. The car that probably wasn’t following her.
She didn’t like how jumpy she’d become since she’d seen the man who may, or may not, have been Proctor. She only wished she knew. If it weren’t him, she could return to fretting over valid things like Brian’s health and CPS and Davy and the Safety Plan. As adept as she was at the fine art of worry, even she could only juggle so many concerns at once.
Before she turned onto her mother’s street, Olivia made a decision. She’d talk to Sarah about it. She’d have to tread carefully. Proctor was a sensitive subject. But her mother was still in touch with some people from that time in their lives. People who might know his whereabouts.
Sarah was deep in writing mode when Olivia entered her house. “He’s on the couch.” She waved a hand toward the living room without looking away from the laptop that sat on the dining room table in front of her. One of her books about Brian the Bloodhound, named for Olivia’s Brian, had won a Caldecott Medal. They were beloved by many, especially their inspiration.
Grandmother and grandson were close, much closer than Olivia and her mother had ever been. The stories created a special bond between them. They shared a world Olivia wasn’t a part of.
The house was warm and quiet and smelled like lavender and cinnamon, a combination of scents that always evoked in her a bittersweet sense of longing. Instead of going directly into the living room to collect Brian, she leaned on the white molding lining the dining room’s entryway and watched her mother work. After several silent seconds she said, “Mom, can I talk to you?”
Sarah turned her head. She looked lovely against the pale blue-gray paint of the wall behind her. Her face was etched with warmth and intelligence, but a distracted expression hung on it like a “do not disturb” sign.
“Just for a minute,” Olivia said.
Sarah blinked like a swimmer clearing her eyes. “Sure.”
“It’s probably nothing, but I can’t get it off my mind.”
Sarah gave her laptop a last, wistful glance, and pivoted toward Olivia. “What’s up?”
“I saw a man. A man who looked like Proctor.”
Sarah’s cheek twitched. “Proctor?”
“Yes. Have you heard from him? Do you know if he’s in California?”
“No. No, of course not. I’ve completely lost touch with the man.”
“But you know people who know him.”
“I guess... Winnie and Drew, they run in the same artistic circles. But we never talk about him.”
“Could you ask them?”
“Liv.” Sarah opened her eyes wide in appeal. “Why would you want to dredge up old trash? Even if it was him you saw, who cares?”
Olivia pushed off the wall. “I care, Mom. If he’s in California, I want to know.”
“Why?”
“If a rattlesnake might be in your front yard, wouldn’t you want to know?” Olivia’s voice rose.
“Mom?” Brian appeared in the hall behind her rubbing his eyes.
“Hi, pumpkin.” Olivia hugged him.
“Are we going home now?”
“Yeah. Go get your backpack.” When he disappeared, she locked eyes with her mother. “Will you ask?”
Brian returned, and Sarah rose from her chair. “See you next week, sweetheart.” She kissed his brown tangles.
“Please.” Olivia mouthed the word over the top of her son’s head.
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, opened them and said, “I’ll make a couple of calls.”
That was the best Olivia was going to get from her mother tonight, so she let it go. Next week she’d ask again if there was no news. She’d learned to be persistent when it came to Sarah Richards.
CHAPTER NINE
OLIVIA WIGGLED A plastic container of quinoa salad into the bottom of her too-small thermal bag and put a can of unsweetened, flavored soda water on top. She’d been trying to eat better, kick the diet soda habit. Her studies about essential oils had opened a door into the brave new world of holistic health and alternative medicine. She was horrified by some of the things she’d learned about the average American diet. Change wasn’t easy, but she saw the necessity. Brian sulked when she replaced his fluorescent orange chips with organic corn chips, and she still struggled from sugar withdrawals, but they were going to get healthy if it killed her.
The doorbell rang. Davy was on time for his first full weekend with his so
n in at least a year. She heard the slide of Brian’s stocking feet on wood and the slam of his hands on the front door. “Dad.” The single word sang with joy and excitement. Olivia’s shoulders tightened. Davy had better stick with his new resolutions. She couldn’t bear to see Brian’s heart broken like it had been so many times in the past.
“Hey, champ.” Davy filled the hall. Davy always filled a room. Not with his size, he was average height and slender of build, but with personality. It was one of the things that first attracted her to him. She’d become painfully shy and reclusive after her what happened on the farm when she was a kid. Davy had changed her. Going out with him was like going out with a celebrity. Everyone seemed to know him, and everyone who knew him liked him. He’d made the world feel like a friendlier place. He’d given her courage.
“Let’s go.” Brian threw the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder and beamed at his father. Davy had promised a trip on Sunday to one of his favorite places on the planet, the San Diego Zoo. It was all Brian had talked about since Tuesday.
“I hear it hurts if an elephant steps on your foot when you’re not wearing shoes,” Davy said. “Better bring some.”
Brian looked at his socks, dropped his bag and skated to his room.
“Okay, here are Brian’s meds and his supplements.” Olivia handed Davy a baggie filled with pill bottles. “I put a note inside to explain what he gets when. Also, I’m trying to keep him off gluten, sugar, and processed foods—they’re linked with impulsive behavior in children. Here’s a list of what he can’t eat.” She held out a typed sheet of paper.
“It’s best if he’s restricted to an hour of computer time a day. I know he loves playing games with you, but he gets hyper if he stays on too long, and you’ll have a terrible time getting him down for the night.”
Davy’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded. She continued, “Sticking to the schedule is essential. Get him to bed by nine, nine-thirty, no later. He likes to read before he goes to sleep. It helps him shut down his brain. He has a book. He can read alone, of course, but he still likes to be read to, in fact—”
Olivia,” Davy interrupted her. “He’s my son. I can do this.”
Olivia pulled a hand through her hair. “You’ll keep a close eye at the zoo tomorrow?” Taking Brian to a large public place filled with interesting and distracting things was like piloting a small, leaky boat through a storm. But she had to admit, if there was anyone with the sailing skill, it was Davy. Before he’d started drinking, he’d had a sixth sense about his son. When Brian disappeared, Davy was inevitably the one to find him.
“You know I will,” Davy said. “I, ah, I got that job I interviewed for on Tuesday.” He looked at the floor, like he was too nervous to watch her reaction.
“Good for you,” Olivia said.
“It’s a good job. Best I’ve had since Shuffly.” He shifted his gaze to her face. “It’s a public relations company. Not a lot of money to start, but room for growth. I’m excited about it.”
Olivia didn’t know what he wanted her to say. His charm often got him in the door; the question was could he stay inside? Brian jogged in at that moment and saved her from having to respond. “I’m ready.”
“See you Sunday.” Davy kept his gaze fixed on her. She gave him a curt nod.
“You got a new car.” Brian’s voice rang through the open door.
Davy followed him outside. “Yeah. I wanted to surprise you. It’s not new, new, but it’s new to me.”
“Sweet.” Brian ran around to the passenger side and opened the door to inspect the interior.
The car was a dark gray Honda Civic. It looked about three-years-old, certainly newer than Olivia’s old Ford Explorer. How could he afford it? His credit was shot. He must have had to shell out a hefty down payment to qualify for a loan.
If he had that much cash, he should contribute more toward Brian’s needs. Davy had made all his child support payments the past three months, plus extra. He said he planned to gradually make up all he’d missed over the past two years. He even gave her a spreadsheet with the numbers. But the car bothered her.
He glanced over his shoulder, and as if he was reading her mind he said, “My dad cosigned on the loan. There are times I have to drive out to meet clients. One of the stipulations of this job was that I have a presentable car. It’s a means to an end.”
Somewhat mollified, Olivia waved goodbye and walked into the house to finish getting ready for work. She’d be busy at the studio until three, then home to wash her hair, redo her makeup, and get to Tom’s by seven.
Wrapping her head around the fact that she had a date wasn’t easy. She’d only had two boyfriends in her life, Craig Caldwell—high school math class nerd—and Davy. She’d never gone out more than once or twice with anyone other than her husband on the far side of high school—never wanted to.
She and Davy had met her junior year at Cal State Fullerton. It wasn’t love at first sight. They were such opposites, she’d found him annoying but seemed to be the only person in the world who did.
Because Olivia was an introvert, never having more than a few close friends at any one time and Davy attracted a crowd, she’d thought him shallow and superficial at first. She soon realized he genuinely enjoyed people. She didn’t remember the exact moment she succumbed to his charms, but by the end of the term she’d fallen hopelessly in love.
They’d married right out of college and had Brian three years later. The first nine years of marriage were good ones. Olivia had been content and filled with dreams of a happy future. Davy’s drinking had drowned most of those dreams. The ones that survived the divorce had been hit by the truck along with Brian. Since she’d been at the Fishbowl, some of them were waking from their coma. And now she had a date.
***
Olivia held up a hand to knock on Tom’s front door, but hesitated. Knock, or ring the bell? A knock was informal, friendly. People selling solar panels rang doorbells. But maybe a knock was too casual? She and Tom didn’t know each other that well. She stared at the door for several more seconds. Salesmen rang, friends knocked. She was over-thinking this. She knocked.
Tom looked good in Saturday casual—leather flip flops, jeans, and a bright white t-shirt that echoed a smile made brilliant by his caramel skin. He leaned over and kissed her cheek after closing the door behind her. “Come keep me company. I’m still cooking.” He led the way through a living room that looked like a page out of Architectural Digest into the kitchen.
Olivia perched on a stool next to a granite island. He poured her a glass of wine, then returned to the cutting board he’d obviously abandoned to answer the door. “Just have to finish the salad, and we can go sit outside.”
“Take your time,” Olivia said. “I like watching other people work.”
“Cooking isn’t work. Teaching is work. Cooking is relaxation.”
“Not for me, but I don’t know what I’m doing in the kitchen.”
“You don’t fix meals for Brian?” His voice registered surprise.
“Oh, yeah. I mean, I can do the basics, mac and cheese, burgers, steamed veggies. That’s about all Brian will eat—minus the veggies, of course. Those are for me.”
“Won’t eat his vegetables, eh?” Tom whacked a carrot into a hundred uniform slices.
“Not without a fight. I’m trying though. I’ve been learning about how important nutrition is for brain functioning.”
“It sure is. I can tell which of my kids aren’t eating well at home. They’re tired, have a hard time focusing. It’s not just the financially strapped families either. Sometimes it’s kids from wealthy homes. Mom is so busy with her tennis club, she sticks a box of sugar cereal or toaster pastries on the table and lets the kids help themselves.”
Olivia squirmed. She’d done exactly that many times, but it wasn’t so she could run off to play tennis. It was to get to work on time.
While Tom sliced and diced, she let her eyes wander around the room. Stainless steel applian
ces gleamed between mahogany cupboards. The counters were gold-veined black granite. Copper bottom pans hung from a stainless semi-circular pot rack. This room had been carefully designed and no expense spared.
A pot on the stove belched out fragrant steam. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten much that day—too nervous—but the delicious scents and the half glass of wine she’d already drunk were working their magic. She was hungry.
“Ready to go outside?” Tom dried his hands on a dishtowel and picked up the bottle of wine.
Around the perimeter of the small, enclosed courtyard were clay pots filled with foliage. Not foliage wilted from October’s heat waves like the plants on Olivia’s balcony were, but thriving, green vegetation. In its center was a glass-topped table and four chairs. A fountain splashed against the far wall.
Tom placed the wine on the table and disappeared through French doors into the kitchen. The garden was lovely and well-manicured, but there was something about it that made her uncomfortable. Olivia struggled for the right word.
Neat. That was it, and not the 1960’s cool, groovy version of the word. It was neat in a line-everything-up-according-to-size-and-color kind of way. She sat in one of the chairs, sipped her wine, and looked around her. There were three, exactly three, sizes of clay pots arranged in identical groupings in the four corners of the space. The largest pots all held small trees: citrus, what looked like an avocado, and one she couldn’t identify. The medium sized pots held bushes: a rosemary, a gardenia, a lavender, and some kind of sage. The smallest pots held herbs.
Tom reemerged with a bowl of hummus and a basket of crackers. “Hungry?”
“Your garden is so... orderly,” Olivia said. “All I have is a tiny patio and it’s a mess.” She gestured toward one of the groupings. “My plants are half dead. I can never remember to water the poor things.”
“I find order calming.” Tom sat next to her. “Kids are so disorganized, I guess I need an oasis. A place to refuel.”