The Scent of Wrath (The Seven Deadly Sins, Book Two)

by Greta Boris

  “Hartman,” Olivia said.

  “Hartman.” Fiona repeated the name. “Did Tom Hartman work there in two-thousand whatever? Then we’d find out if he could have known the boys.”

  “Don’t they call back to make sure you’re who you say you are?”

  “No. Not if all you’re doing is confirming employment. I call other studios all the time when I’m hiring new exercise instructors. Nobody ever checks.”

  “I think this whole thing is going to go away when my mother’s problem goes away.”

  “Maybe, and maybe someone knows something about Tom we don’t.”

  Olivia stood. “It seems so sneaky. What if Tom found out?”

  “He won’t.” Fiona picked up two of the packages of exercise balls. “I’ll do it next week. Now, where should we display these?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “YOU SHOULD HAVE seen it; Crackers found Brian in like two minutes.” Olivia shouted to be heard over the music. Tom had finally made good on his threat to take her to the Swallows Inn. She’d already said yes to the date before Fiona found the clippings, but she wouldn’t have said no anyway. Olivia couldn’t believe the articles had anything to do with Tom.

  A local rock-a-billy band filled the dance floor with boot-scooting boogiers and Texas two-steppers. Cowboys and bikers cozied up to the bar together in unlikely camaraderie. Bras and other undergarments hung from the ceiling like party banners. Olivia sat with Tom at a table in the corner enjoying the show.

  Tom leaned toward her. “How long did it take?”

  “I told you, about two minutes.”

  “No,” Tom yelled. “To train the dog.”

  “Oh. I don’t know. The prior owner had him in a program. I didn’t want a dog, but I have to admit Crackers has been good for Brian. He’s almost like his old, pre-accident self.”

  “President self?” Tom looked confused.

  Olivia laughed. “Pre-accident. Pre-accident self.” She annunciated the words carefully.

  “Oh. Hard to hear.”

  She nodded and sipped her beer. They listened to the music without talking for two more songs, and the band announced they were taking a short break. The noise level dropped several decibels.

  “They’re good, but not good for conversation,” Tom said.

  “No,” Olivia agreed.

  “So back to Brian. He’s doing well?”

  “Great, really.”

  “Not con... con...”

  “Confabulating. No. Only once in the past month.”

  “Wandering?”

  “Nope. I think Davy was right to choose a dog with search and rescue training. It seems to be having an impact, hearing all the stories about dogs finding people lost in the wilderness. It’s like he finally understands the danger of wandering off.”

  “How’s school going?” Tom said.

  “So much better. I got an update from Mrs. Margolis. All his grades are up, except math. He’s still pulling a C minus, but math has always been hardest for him.”

  “Maybe I could help. That’s my subject.” Tom picked up his beer and took a slug.

  Olivia thought before responding. She didn’t know how Davy would feel about that. Correction. She did know how Davy would feel about it. He wouldn’t like it. Wouldn’t like it at all. On the other hand, it would give Brian and Tom a chance to bond. Brian never said anything negative about Tom anymore, but he was still reserved around him.

  She and Tom had been dating for a month now, and it was a strange dance. He, always moving closer. She, always backing away. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up before they fell off the dance floor altogether, and she didn’t want that to happen. She liked him. Once or twice she’d even slipped into a fantasy about a future that included a three-bedroom house with a garden for him and a cat for her.

  “That would be great,” she said.

  Tom beamed at her. “Why don’t we start after the week after next, after Thanksgiving break?” The PA system in the corner of the bar came to life with a screech. He grimaced. “The band is back.”

  “I think we have to dance.” Olivia pushed out her chair. “Can’t talk, that’s for sure.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t dance either.”

  “I don’t believe it. You’ve been coming here for years. You must have picked something up.”

  “Who told you about her?” Tom feigned shock.

  Olivia slapped his arm. “Just for that, you’re dancing with me.”

  ***

  An hour and a half later, Tom pulled up to the curb in front of Olivia’s dark condo. He turned off the ignition and wrapped his arms around her. His kiss was hard. Demanding. “Are you going to invite me in?” He spoke into her hair.

  Olivia froze. She couldn’t. This wasn’t just her home. It was Brian’s too. He would see Tom spending the night as an invasion. “I don’t think Brian would—”

  “Isn’t it Davy’s weekend?”

  “It is.”

  Tom pulled away from her. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “He wouldn’t be comfortable...” her words trailed off.

  “He’s not here.” Frustration punctuated Tom’s words.

  “I know, but this is his home. Home has to be a safe place.”

  Tom pulled as far away from her as he could get in the front seat of his car. “What are you saying? Do you think I pose a threat to your son?”

  “No. No, of course not. It’s just he may see you that way.”

  Tom’s jaw tightened. “I’m starting to feel like Brian’s an excuse.”

  “Excuse for what?” Olivia’s voice rose.

  “For not getting close. He’s like a shield you hold up to keep me away from you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Tom sat and stared out the window without speaking, but waves of tension flowed from him.

  “Listen.” Olivia pivoted in her seat so she could face him. “When I was a child my mother dated around a lot. It didn’t work out well for me. I promised myself if I ever became a mother my children wouldn’t have to deal with my boyfriends.” What she’d really promised herself was that her children would be raised with a father. Their father. But Davy had screwed that up.

  “So how does this end?” Tom said. Olivia didn’t answer. “If Brian never has to deal with his mom’s boyfriends, how can I ever become more than that?”

  A mix of emotions flooded through Olivia: warmth, hope, excitement, despair, and fear. She knew Tom wanted more than a casual relationship, but it was the first time he’d said it. The thought of having a solid, reliable presence in her home was something she’d longed for her whole life. She’d never had a father to protect her.

  When she’d married Davy, and inherited Mike as a father-in-law, she’d thought that dream had been realized. She had not one, but two strong men in her life. But it hadn’t lasted long. She’d barely begun to settle into the whole family thing when financial trials came, and Davy failed the test. He’d hidden in a bottle when things got tough.

  Tom wouldn’t do that. She knew it. Strength emanated from him. “Let’s take it slow,” she said.

  “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

  “You’ve been wooing me. It’s time to woo Brian.”

  “I’ve been trying, Olivia. He’s not interested. He has a father. The most I’ll ever be to him is the man who’s in love with his mother.”

  In love with his mother. That was anything but slow. She said, “Nobody will ever replace Davy in Brian’s heart. I know that. But there are other kinds of relationships. You two could become friends.”

  “It’s not easy to make friends with a ten-year-old when you’re thirty-seven. Especially if the ten-year-old isn’t interested.”

  “Tutoring is a great idea. If he sees you want to help him, I think it could make a difference.”

  Tom shrugged, a small, resigned gesture. “Right. Well, we’ll give it a go.” Before she could lean over to kiss him goodnight, he
started the engine and turned his face away. “See you next week.” He dismissed her like she was one of his students. She got out of the car and watched him drive away. Even though it had been her decision for him to leave, her throat constricted. Brian came first. He was her priority. But tonight she felt as empty as her house behind her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE STUDIO WAS quiet on Monday. Thursday was Thanksgiving, and most of their students were taking the week off. Fiona and Karen had been the only instructors in that morning, and they’d left after lunch. Olivia was wrapping up some paperwork, then planned to head home. Brian had a short week at school, and she had things to do so she’d be free to enjoy their time together.

  It was a vacation week, and the Idaho and Arizona schools Fiona called were short staffed and unhelpful. Her plan to check up on Tom was a wash. She’d had to postpone it until after the holiday. Olivia wasn’t worried about it. By tonight, the situation would most likely be resolved. Mike and her mother were meeting with Proctor today. Sarah said she’d call as soon as it was over.

  Sunlight streamed through the large picture window by the desk, wrapping Olivia in its warmth. She yawned and pivoted her laptop out of its rays so she could read the screen. Her eyes were tired. She’d been at the computer for over an hour.

  Her cell phone vibrated across the desktop. Fatigue fled. Her nerves jangled as she read her mother’s name on the screen.

  “He’s gone,” her mother said as soon as Olivia picked up.

  “What happened?”

  “Mike told him about Mark, about the picture. He denied it. He said it was an image from his imagination, that it wasn’t Mark or anybody else. But Mike said, ‘I guess we can see if a jury would buy that.’ And he backed right off.”

  “Did you get the pictures he had of you?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think that means much. I’m sure he’s got copies.”

  “Well, it’s over anyway.”

  “For now.”

  “What do you mean for now?”

  “It kind of depends on Mark. If he somehow intimates he won’t prosecute, all bets are off. It’s the only thing I have over Proctor.”

  There was a long silence on the phone. An uncomfortable idea struck Olivia. “You’re not saying you want me to—”

  “Maybe it’s time,” Sarah said.

  Rage bubbled in a stagnant place in Olivia’s heart. “All these years, you’ve kept silent about what happened and now, when it suits your purposes, you want me to dig up the bones?”

  “I kept silent for your sake.”

  “For my sake?” Olivia was incredulous. “How did keeping silent help me?”

  “What if I’d have gone to the police?” Sarah’s voice raised in anger. “How do you think those conservative New England cops felt about the farm? We were leftovers from the hippie days. They were sure we were all perverts and drug addicts. They’d have taken you away from me so fast it would have made your head spin. No. I wasn’t taking that chance.

  “I took you three thousand miles away. I brought you to the safest place I knew, my parents’ house. And I changed our lives. I’ve been trying to make it up to you ever since.”

  Olivia was silent. She couldn’t see past her own anger to her mother’s point of view.

  “Just think about it, Livvie. Not just for me. For us. The past has caught up with us. Maybe we have to deal with it.”

  Olivia hung up, leaned back in her chair, into the sunlight and closed her eyes. Could she go there? Could she take the stand and relive that time in her life? That time she’d tried so hard to forget?

  Proctor had lain in wait for her all that winter, playing the part of Sarah’s attentive boyfriend. He’d lulled Olivia into letting down her guard by making her think she was winning the battle of the stare-downs. He waited until the weather grew warm and struck in the spring.

  Lambing season had begun, and Olivia had gone into the barn to see the first born. Adorable twin cotton bundles wobbled on pencil-thin legs beside their mother. Olivia was so entranced, she didn’t hear him enter. She didn’t notice him until he stood beside her.

  “Cute, huh?” he said.

  She couldn’t answer. Her heart took up too much room in her throat for words to edge past it.

  “Asked you a question, didn’t I?” He chewed on a bit of straw.

  An incoherent sound eked from her lips, and she moved toward the big barn doors. He grabbed her arm. “Where’re you off to?”

  “Mom.” She meant to tell him her mother knew she was in the barn, that she was waiting for her, that she’d be there any minute if Olivia didn’t show up at the house. But the only thing that came out was, “Mom.”

  “Your mother left for town. I saw her get into the car with Rainy.” He spat the straw from his mouth and yanked her close. His flannel shirt smelled of pastel chalk and old sweat.

  “I’m supposed to go with her.” Olivia tried to pull her arm away, but his hand closed around it more tightly. The dirty fingernail of his thumb overlapped the others. “I gotta go.” She stared with more defiance than she felt into his eyes, but he didn’t look away this time. Her heart knocked hard against her rib cage.

  Proctor reached out his other hand and grabbed her breast—or to be accurate, what would one day become one. Olivia screamed. He pressed his mouth against hers and muffled the sound. He tasted of stale tobacco and coffee grounds. Panic and bile bubbled into her throat.

  She didn’t fully understand what he wanted, but she knew it wasn’t something she wanted to give him. Mom. Mom. Mom. Where are you? Unspoken words shrieked through her brain. An image of her mother’s face flickered to life behind her eyes. Olivia willed her to come to the barn. To save her. Hot tears welled up and slid down her cheeks.

  His hand clamped onto her butt and pulled her hips against his. Something hard in his jeans slammed into the fear jumping in her belly. She struggled, trying to slip her scrawny frame from his grasp. His entire weight flattened her against the stall wall. Her lungs deflated with a whoosh.

  Olivia was pinned like the moths she’d been studying in nature class. Proctor drew his chin back and examined her. A smile crawled across the stubble on his face. It scared her more than anything that had happened yet.

  The fear in her eyes must have pleased him. His sandpaper cheek scraped across hers. “I’ve been dreaming about this, darlin’.”

  She turned her head to avoid his hot breath. Her lips grazed his ear. Without thinking, she clamped down. Cartilage crunched between her teeth. She tasted blood.

  Proctor yelped. He raised a hand to slap her, and his body lifted a fraction of an inch off hers. She squeezed through the gap and bolted for the barn door. But before she reached the sunlight, she slammed into a blue t-shirt. Her fists came up and battered the obstacle.

  Gentle hands held her wrists. “Olivia. What’s wrong, honey?” A soft voice swam upstream against her terror. “Shh. Shh. It’s okay. I’m here now.”

  Teach. Here. Help. Realization came in stutters.

  She threw herself into Teach’s comforting arms and breathed in the clean cotton smell of him. “Explain yourself.” His comforting tone was gone. It was angry and held a threat, but he wasn’t addressing Olivia.

  “Don’t know what’s her problem. She was watching the lambs one minute, screaming like a banshee the next. Must a startled her,” Proctor said.

  “Is that what happened, Livvie?”

  She shook her head, burying it deeper into his wide chest.

  “I think you’d better leave,” Teach said.

  “I was just about to, but I wanted to make sure the girl was okay first.”

  “I mean leave. Leave the farm. Leave before I call the cops.”

  Proctor didn’t say any more, but she felt his scent move past her and heard his footfalls fade away on the gravel drive outside.

  The memory was so strong, she smelled his smell again, faint but defined—sweat and chalk and tobacco. “Well, look at you.” His voice
.

  Olivia’s eyes snapped open. Adrenaline surged. Heart thudded.

  Proctor stood in the doorway of the Fishbowl; washed-out denim eyes focused on her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  SUNDAY, JULY 19TH, 1992

  LILY, TOMAS, DOUG, and I all lined up in the pew my family had called their own since I could remember. Father Junipero Serra, founder of the San Juan Capistrano Mission, was the first to celebrate mass in this chapel in 1783, and the tradition had been continued through the centuries. Abuela Maria claimed to be descended on her mother’s side from the Juaneño Native Americans who built the very walls surrounding me now. The familiar scent of incense, the intonations of priest and congregants, the rhythms of the mass echoing from the ancient stones were as comforting to me as my grandmother’s arms.

  “Sh... Sit still,” I said. Tomas and Lily had wiggled onto the kneeler. Lily’s eyes were squeezed shut in pretend prayer, while Tomas tickled her side to make her giggle. I slid a glance at Doug, trying to read his expression. He’d been getting better and better, but his temper was still short. It was hard for my little ones. Childhood should be a time of joy and mischief.

  I’d spent most of mine in Abuela’s yellow house with its ever-expanding garden. It was where I learned the secrets of tamales and headache remedies, chili relleño and poultices. It’s where I learned the language, traditions, and stories of my ancestors. It was there I got to be a child.

  “Stop it.” I reached over and took the hymnal from Tomas’s hands before he smacked Lily with it. Doug stared straight ahead without seeming to notice. I fished in my purse for a pad of paper and two pencils. I pushed them at my children. “Draw me a picture.”

  I was determined to be a more patient mother than my own had been. My mother had been too busy creating an image to waste time on all the questions children ask, or put up with their silly pranks. She worked hard to distance herself from her Latina roots. She married an Irishman and fed her family canned vegetables, TV dinners, and meatloaf. She wore pumps and pearls, never spoke Spanish unless absolutely necessary. She decorated our home in 1960’s modern. But despite all that, she was bitter the yellow house had gone to me when her mother died.