by Greta Boris
Good Lord. A new thought made her stomach clench. What if he decided to go for full custodial rights? What if he wanted to switch roles with her? Recast her as the part-time parent, and him as the primary caregiver? She needed to figure out who was sending her messages and handle it before anyone else learned of it. Especially Davy.
***
Not even the soft music, sweet smells, and brilliant blue light of the Fishbowl were able to lift Olivia’s spirits the next morning. During the early press of classes she was too busy to worry, but an unnamed anxiety lay heavy across her shoulders. It made her think of those dead-fox stoles women used to wear in the forties. Whenever things quieted down she imagined it reanimating and whispering its poison in her ear: You’re going to lose him. Lose your son.
A gentle cough brought Olivia to attention. She looked up from her paperwork to see Sage standing by the desk. “You look busy.”
“No. Nothing that can’t wait.” Olivia forced a smile.
“I brought you something.” Sage shuffled through the embroidered Mexican bag hanging on her shoulder and brought out a Ball jar. “If you don’t want to try it, I understand. But after what Tomas said, I thought maybe...”
“What is it?” Olivia took the jar from her hand and held it up. Amber liquid glowed in the light from the window.
“It’s a tincture. I made it with organic apple cider vinegar—no alcohol—and herbs from the garden. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. She used it to treat everything from postpartum depression to hyperactivity in kids.”
Olivia didn’t know what to say. When Tom had asked his mother to help, Sage seemed uncomfortable. The gift was generous, both because of the time and effort, and because it had seemed to tax her emotionally. But Olivia would need to know more before she gave any to her son. “What’s in it?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound unappreciative.
“I thought you’d ask. I know what a researcher you are.” Sage dug into the large bag again. “Here.” She set a folded sheet of paper on the counter. “The recipe.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said.
“Good mothers don’t give anything to their children without knowing the ingredients, potential side-effects, contraindications, all that.” Sage put her hand on top of Olivia’s, her fingers cool and dry. “And you’re a good mother.”
“Does it come with instructions?”
“Motherhood, or the tincture?” Sage grinned.
“If you have motherhood instructions, I’ll take those too.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if kids came with a manual?” She tapped on the folded page with one finger. “Start slow and build up the amount you give him if he seems to be tolerating it okay, but all that’s on the paper. I haven’t made it in years.” Sage’s eyes clouded for an instant. “But it’s a good recipe. It’s helped a lot of people.” She said with a note of defiance in her voice.
“I’m sure it has,” Olivia said. “I appreciate it.”
“I’d better get into class. Fiona hates it when we’re late.”
After Sage disappeared down the hall, Olivia unfolded the page and read the ingredient list—St. John’s Wort, rosemary, and ginkgo biloba. It sounded safe, but she’d see what she could find out online that evening and call Brian’s doctor on Monday.
She put the jar and instructions in her big tote bag under the counter and forced herself to focus on the store bookkeeping. The predictable pattern of debits and credits usually calmed her nerves. She finished as the lobby began to fill with departing students. She waved goodbye to Sage, took care of some scheduling issues, sold an exercise top and a book on essential oils, and shut off the computer before the front door closed for the last time.
“Busy morning.” Fiona’s voice entered the room before she did. “Let’s close up for an hour. I’m starved. Want to get curry? It’s all I can think about these days.” Olivia hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could eat. Her stomach was still in knots. “My treat,” Fiona said.
They ordered a couple of bowls of rice topped with tofu and pumpkin curry from a small place on Pacific Coast Highway, and took them to an outside table. “So what’s with you?” Fiona settled into her metal chair.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not your usual cheerful self.”
“I didn’t know it showed.”
“Probably didn’t to the clients, but I know you.”
It had been almost three months since Olivia had started work at the Fishbowl. In that time Fiona had become a good friend, but Olivia didn’t have much experience with friendship. Her unsettled childhood, moving so often, had taught her to be a loner. She needed to talk things out with someone objective to stop the negative cycle in her brain. It was difficult for her though. “Davy got a dog.” She blurted out the words.
“So?” Fiona dug into her food.
“Brian’s been begging for a dog since Davy took him to the zoo, but I said no. So, of course, Davy goes and gets one.”
“Where’s the dog going to live?”
“At Davy’s.” Olivia poked at a cube of tofu with her fork.
“I don’t get it. What’s the problem?” Fiona’s words made Olivia feel small and childish. She tried to explain.
“I feel like he wants to tempt Brian away from me. Make himself and his home more attractive. Make Brian want to go live with him.”
Fiona’s face softened in sympathy. “If that’s what he’s doing, it’s not going to work. Brian loves you. You’re his mom. Dad might be fun, but Mom is Mom.”
Olivia hesitated, as if saying the words might make them a reality. “Davy mentioned sharing custody fifty-fifty.”
Fiona froze, fork halfway to her mouth, then returned it to her plate, food untouched.
“I couldn’t handle that. I dread the weekends he has Brian,” Olivia said. “I miss him so much, but it’s not just that. It’s Davy. I don’t trust him. Even before we were divorced, before he started drinking so heavily, he had a wild streak. He would play these elaborate pranks on people.”
“Like?”
“There was a man in his old company who was always hitting on the receptionist. She was young, pretty, easily intimidated. Davy signed him up at a revenge website. The guy started getting hundreds of spam emails a day. His inbox blew up. He got hauled into the boss’s office for visiting porn sites during the workday. He almost lost his job. It was pretty bad.”
Fiona hid a smile with her drink cup. “Sounds like a fitting punishment.”
“Fiona,” Olivia said, exasperated.
“It was a bit harsh, but I don’t think the way he treats an old lech has anything to do with his parenting style.”
Olivia shrugged, not willing to let it go.
“How did the custody thing come up? Did he threaten you? Was he testing the waters?”
“No. Not threatening, I guess. I’d blasted him for not taking on the hard work of parenting, for always wanting the fun parts. After that, he said maybe we should share custody.”
“Okay,” Fiona picked up her fork again. “I think you’re borrowing trouble. It sounds like he wants to make up for some lost time, be a parent for a change.”
“That’s the exact phrase he used.” Olivia could hear the doubt in her own voice. “But this dog thing. Brian’s going to want to be over there all the time to be with the dog.”
“Every kid wants a dog until they have to walk it, pick up its poop, feed it, train it. If Davy is putting on the parent role, he’ll make Brian do all that when he’s over there. It might be a good thing for him to have chores at Dad’s house, not just yours.”
Olivia nibbled on a piece of pumpkin. It was true; dogs were a lot of work. That was one of the reasons she didn’t want one. Maybe a shared responsibility would be good for Brian and Davy, bond them in different way. “You think I’m overreacting?”
“Just a little.”
“I was wondering if I should talk to Devon? See if there was something I should do to protect myself.” As a family law at
torney, Devon had handled his fair share of custody cases.
“I don’t think you’re at that point. But tell you what, I’ll fill him in and see what he says.”
“Thanks.” Olivia’s anxiety grew lighter, but only for a moment.
With the dog issue resolved somewhat, her thoughts shifted to the newspaper articles. She’d made a decision not to tell anyone about them, but should Fiona be an exception? Would she have some wisdom that might shine a light into that well of confusion?
No. Olivia didn’t want to upset her, especially in her current condition. Fiona hadn’t completely recovered from everything she’d been through earlier that year. The past February had been tough on both of them. It was the month Brian’s accident occurred. It was also the month a murder was committed in the home Fiona had inherited in Laguna Beach. It had affected her deeply. Besides, she’d tell Olivia to go to the police, and that wasn’t something Olivia was ready to do.
“On to happier topics, how are things going with the school teacher?” Fiona said.
Olivia realized she’d never told Fiona about her trip to Sage’s on Sunday. All the excitement over buying into the business had driven it from her mind. “He’s Sage’s son.”
“What?” Fiona’s eyes grew large.
“Crazy, huh? He took me to her house on Sunday to see her garden. Seemed disappointed we already knew each other.”
“Small world. So what’s he like? Is tall, dark, and beautiful like Sage?”
“Actually, yes. He looks a lot like her.” Olivia suppressed a smile.
“Then I approve.” Fiona lifted her iced tea glass for a toast. They clinked cups. “When are you seeing him again?”
“We’re taking Brian to a living history event at the Mission on Sunday.”
“Hmmm...” Fiona folded her napkin in half, taking time to press the crease with a fingernail.
“What?” Olivia said.
“Isn’t it a bit early to involve Brian?”
“Extenuating circumstances.” Olivia waved a hand in the air, dismissing Fiona’s concern. “He’s Brian’s soccer coach. They already know each other.”
“Does Davy know?”
“Know what?”
“That you’re dating someone who’s tall, dark, and beautiful?”
Olivia locked eyes with her friend. “You think that might be why he’s making noises about joint custody?”
“He might be feeling insecure. Worried he’s going to lose his son.”
Olivia pushed her half-eaten food away. “That’s not going to happen. No matter how crazy he makes me, Davy is Brian’s dad.”
“Maybe you should make sure he knows that’s how you feel.”
Fiona was right, but sharing something like that with Davy wouldn’t be easy. It sounded too much like forgiveness, and as much as she thought she should be, Olivia wasn’t ready to forgive.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FRIDAY, JUNE 19TH, 1992
I ADJUSTED THE pillow behind Doug as he settled onto the chaise lounge on the front porch. My nerves were singing like telephone wires. He’d been quiet, almost sullen, on the ride home from the hospital. I’d been so full of emotion, words wouldn’t choke past my larynx. Clarice had talked a streak. My sister never could stand silence.
She’d helped me get Doug into the house, carry in his small bag of clothes and put a pot of coffee on. Then she’d left, taking the energy of the day with her. The house felt as still and somber as a graveyard.
I should never have sent the kids to my mother’s for the weekend. I’d thought it would be better for Doug to have some peace and quiet his first days at home. But I hadn’t thought about being left alone with him.
We hadn’t been alone together since his accident. Yes, I’d spent two weeks of days and nights in his hospital room, but the hall was full of people. Distractions walked by the open door every few minutes. Nurses popped in and out with their cheerful, efficient chatter. Now there was just me and this stranger who looked so much like my husband.
“Are you hungry?” I said.
“No.” Even his voice, before always on the edge of laughter, wasn’t his own. His words came in low, raspy grumbles.
“Thirsty?” I pulled a throw across his legs.
“I’m fine. Stop fussing.” He slapped my hand. I pulled it away like it had been burned. Doug, my Doug, wouldn’t hit a woman. Although he took the wooden spoon to Tomas on occasion, he’d never so much as patted Lily on the bottom.
As a child, I’d read stories about changelings—creatures left by fairies in place of a mother’s true child. Creatures who looked like the child, but weren’t. Maybe behind those legends were the true stories of babies who had been dropped on their heads or shaken hard enough to cause brain damage. Because that’s what I had now—a changeling husband.
I stood for a moment, not wanting to provoke him further but not wanting to leave.
“What the hell are you staring at?” Doug said.
“Nothing.” I fled to the bedroom.
An hour later I emerged and tiptoed onto the screened-in porch to check on him. He looked like his childhood pictures as he slept. Short, dark fuzz covered his head where it had been shaved, reminding me of the crew cuts his father had insisted on. His face, too thin and gaunt for a man’s, was more like a fast growing boy’s. I reached out a hand to touch him but hesitated, not wanting to wake him.
Barking erupted from the neighboring yard. Doug’s eyes flew open. His face pulled into angry lines, shattering the youthful image. “That damn dog. Why the hell doesn’t Paul keep it quiet?”
I walked to the edge of the porch and peered through the screen. The sun was low in the sky. Angel’s Trumpet, which only emitted its sweet scent in the evening, wafted up from my garden. “Pepe has treed a squirrel.” I kept my tone light, hoping to defuse the tension.
“I don’t care what its done. I want it to shut up.”
“Do you want to move into the bedroom? It’s quieter.”
“No. I don’t want to move into the bedroom.” He pitched his voice higher in a mockery of mine. “I want to sleep on my own damned porch. I’ve had enough of dark rooms.”
He sounded so much like his father, I examined his face for signs of ghostly possession. Clyde Hartman, dead these past fifteen years, had been a cruel man. The brunt of his anger had been directed at Doug’s mother. I’d seen the bruises to prove it. But plenty of pain had slopped over onto Doug and his brothers as they were growing up. Doug worked hard to be gentle, kind, and respectful—in every way his father’s opposite. He’d succeeded until now.
“You can’t have it both ways.” I gentled my voice like I was talking to a petulant child. “Out here you can get fresh air and watch the world go by, but you’ll hear the world go by as well.”
I loved the sounds of my home. The Los Rios District of San Juan Capistrano was a throwback to another time. It was the oldest neighborhood in California, and many of the homes were settled on good-sized parcels of land. The neighbors were close enough so one felt a part of a community, but not so close you heard all their business. The music that filled my day was made by the chatter of the birds in the garden.
The garden was a masterpiece. I could say that because it wasn’t all my handiwork. It was a multi-generational project that spanned more than fifty years. The women in my family were famous in these parts for their skill with both culinary and medicinal herbs. We made teas and tinctures, poultices and pomades.
When I heard about a neighbor with a cold or a bad bee sting, I’d bring over one of my remedies. Some of them were so effective, I’d gained a reputation as a medicine woman of sorts. My great-great-grandmother had been the only healer the Los Rios district had for many years, so I guess I came by it honestly.
Because Doug was still on several prescriptions, I hadn’t planned to medicate him myself. But I was rethinking that. I couldn’t allow the kids to come home and see their father like this. He would terrify Lily. A little ginkgo biloba and St.
John’s Wort couldn’t hurt, and it might help. I decided to brew some up with black tea to mask the flavor, then pour it over ice.
“I made enchiladas. I know how tired you are of hospital food.”
Doug grunted.
It wasn’t exactly a joyful or grateful response, but it least it wasn’t criticism. “I’ll bring you an iced tea then go get dinner ready. We can watch a movie while we eat if you want. I stopped and got a few videos yesterday.”
He grabbed my arm as I walked past him toward the kitchen. He hadn’t touched me in tenderness since his accident. Warmth crept into a corner of my heart, but when I looked at him, it disappeared.
His face twisted into a leer. “How about you take care of business first?” he said, looking from me to his crotch and back again.
I yanked my arm away, and for the second time that day, I fled.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“HERE.” BRIAN HELD up something that looked like the nest of a demented bird. “It’s for you.”
“Thank you. It’s wonderful.” Olivia turned it around in her hands so she could admire it from every angle.
“I thought you could put your keys and stuff in it.”
“I could.” If she did she might never see them again. The basket looked carnivorous.
It was a perfect Sunday for an outdoor event. The late October days were beginning to cool, but the sun was still warm enough to release the lovely scents of the Mission’s gardens. Salvia and mock orange competed with honeysuckle; pink bougainvillea, brilliant against gray stone walls, shimmered in the morning light.
“Good job,” Tom said.
“Thanks.” Brian’s smile faded when he looked at Tom. He no longer seemed hostile toward him, just tentative. Olivia took that as encouragement.
“I think the storyteller is on in a couple of minutes,” she said. “Want to go get a good spot?”
Brian jogged in the direction of the gathering crowd. She started to follow, but Tom put a hand on her arm. “We can see him from here. Give him a little space.”