The Night Olivia Fell Page 5

  For her peace of mind, I told her I always went the long way to Madison’s. I didn’t want to lie to her or anything, but I didn’t want her worrying either. Sometimes she could be a bit overprotective. Besides, it wasn’t exactly lying. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

  I leaned on the doorbell at Madison’s house, my breath coming in short bursts until the door flew open.

  Madison’s brother, Derek, looked like he’d been facedown in a pillow for a really long time. His face was crinkled with sleep, and he blinked his eyes fast, as if the late afternoon light burned his retinas.

  “Olivia? What are you doing here?” His voice was raspy, and he raked one hand through his dark, tousled curls.

  I stared at Derek, totally speechless. I hadn’t seen him in almost three years. He looked so different. And by different, I mean really, really hot.

  Gone was the lanky, awkward teenager I’d known. His chest had filled out, his face slimmed down. He’d grown a few inches and now towered over me. He was wearing skinny black jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that was tight at the biceps. A silver chain necklace was coiled twice around his neck.

  “Derek, hey.” My voice squeaked, and I coughed to cover it. “I forgot you were back from New York. Sorry about pushing on the doorbell. I thought Madison would answer.” The words rushed out of me too fast, and I knew I sounded like a dumb little kid.

  I was desperate to know whether he’d thought about me while he was away the way I’d thought about him. Last time I’d seen him, I’d declared my undying fourteen-year-old love. He’d kissed me gently on the cheek and said, “See you later.” The next day he’d left for New York.

  I never told Madison about my crush on her brother. She’d hate it. She could be jealous and nasty when it came to Derek. Once I was at their house and I didn’t feel well, so I played Nintendo with Derek instead of hide-and-go-seek with her. She went to his room and took all his certificates he’d glued into a scrapbook and shredded every one of them.

  “You want to come in?” Derek asked.

  I followed him through the dining room into the designer kitchen. The stainless steel shimmered in the afternoon light. An expensive watercolor of trees hung above the mahogany dinner table.

  I shrugged out of my wet jacket, draping it over a chair. He pulled two bottles of water out of the refrigerator, tossing one to me.

  “So.” I took a sip of my water. “You back for good?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you like it?”

  He shrugged.

  “Well, what was it like?” I had so many questions, but this new Derek wasn’t like the one I’d known three years ago. Plus, all the things Madison had told me about him . . . maybe I was a little bit scared of him.

  “It was fine, it’s a big city, so it’s pretty busy, but yeah, I liked it.” He sounded bored. Or maybe annoyed. “Madison isn’t here,” he added.

  “Where is she?”

  “Auditioning for some play or something.”

  I hit my forehead with my hand. “Oh yeah. Shoot. I forgot about that.”

  He set his water on the counter. “So, what’s up?”

  “Nothing much. Just school and finals, getting ready for senior year and stuff.”

  “No.” He looked exasperated, like I was the dumbest person ever. “I meant, why’d you come storming over here?”

  I hesitated, not sure I wanted to tell Derek about my mom.

  “Did you get in a fight with your boyfriend?” He smirked.

  Anger boiled in me, and I clenched my fists. I wasn’t used to feeling angry. But I felt like it was leaking from me, set free by the acid of my mom’s lies. I couldn’t control it, and suddenly it took a new direction.

  How dare he? The last time I was with him, I’d thought—well, it didn’t matter now, but I’d thought we shared something special. It was silly, just the slight brush of our arms against each other while watching a movie. A long gaze. It was stupid.

  I didn’t even recognize this new Derek.

  “I’ll come back later. Sorry I bothered you.” I put my water bottle on the counter and spun around, heading for the door.

  Derek stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

  “No, I’m sorry.” The smirk fell off his face, and for the first time since I’d arrived he looked like the Derek I used to know. “Honestly, you’re not bothering me.”

  He was so earnest, it reminded me of when we were little kids and I got stuck in the washing machine trying to hide from him during hide-and-seek.

  “So. Boyfriend problems?”

  “No,” I snapped. “For your information, my mom lied to me and I’m really pissed off about it.”

  Derek leaned away, as if blown back by the force of my anger. “Shit. Sorry. What about?”

  When I didn’t reply, he headed toward the stairs. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go downstairs.”

  I hesitated, confused by his quick change of personalities. Maybe he was more like Madison than I’d thought. I followed him to the far side of the kitchen, across the hall, and down the stairs to the basement.

  “My mom and dad gave me the downstairs. I think they’re just hoping I’ll disappear down here.” He chuckled, but the laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Downstairs was more welcoming than upstairs, all blond wood and worn brown leather. A grunge band blasted on a massive surround-sound stereo system. A huge entertainment center and two leather chairs took up one side of the basement, while the other side had an unmade king-size bed. At the back of the room, a hallway led to darkness.

  He shoved clothes off a leather chair. “Here, sit down.”

  He picked up a set of remote controls and turned off the stereo, then pressed a button. The ornately carved walnut doors of the entertainment center opened slowly, revealing a huge plasma-screen television. He flopped onto the other chair and flicked through the channels until he found a rerun of Family Guy.

  He looked up at me. “You gonna sit?”

  “Um, sure.” If Madison came home and found me hanging with her brother, she’d totally flip. I perched on the arm of the chair and tugged on the tail of the silver bracelet at my wrist.

  “So, what’d your mom lie about?” he asked.

  “Well, last week some kids from my school and I were at U-Dub at this thing to get juniors ready for college. We saw this girl—Kendall—and she looked just like me. I’m not even kidding. Everybody said it. Like sisters.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Yeah. So yesterday I asked my mom about my dad. Like what was he like and did he have any other family. Then I asked her what color eyes he had. She said brown.”

  “So?”

  “First of all, I’m in advanced biology. My mom has blue eyes, so if my dad had brown eyes, it’s pretty unlikely I’d have green eyes. Not impossible, but genetically unlikely.”

  “And second?”

  “Second of all, I asked her when I was thirteen what color eyes he had, and she said green. And now she said brown.”

  “But why would she tell you two different colors?”

  I threw my hands up and slid into the chair. “She’s getting confused with her lies.”

  “And this girl, Kendall. She has green eyes too?”

  “Yeah. And this same chin dimple.” I pointed at the cleft in my chin. “I Googled it. It’s genetic. But my mom doesn’t have it.”

  “So Kendall looks a lot like you, she has a chin dimple, she has the same color eyes as you, and now your mom lied about what color your dad’s eyes were—and you think, what? That you’re related to this girl?”

  “Well, yeah.” Saying it that way made it sound really stupid.

  “It seems a bit, you know, Hollywood.”

  “I know,” I admitted. “But my mom lied to me. We never lie to each other. . . .”

  I chewed my lip.

  “At least, I thought we didn’t,” I amended. “But now I’m wondering what else she’s lied about. And . . .” I pulled the piece
of white card out of my back pocket. “I found this in her room. It was in a shoebox in her closet.”

  I held it out to Derek, and he read the text. “Sorry. Sorry for what?”

  “I don’t know. But it was with my birth certificate. It must have something to do with me.”

  “Have you looked her up on Facebook?”

  “My mom?”

  “No. Kendall.”

  I shook my head. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  “Well, did you ask her who her father is? Find out his name?”

  “I didn’t think of any of that stuff when I met her.”

  Derek grabbed a shiny silver MacBook from his bedside table. He brought it back to the chair, flipped the lid up, and opened Facebook.

  “Do you want to look?” Derek asked.

  Madison said I was a doormat. Mom said I let Madison walk all over me. Maybe they were both right. Maybe it was time I stood up and did something for myself.

  I nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

  I leaned over his shoulder and typed in my log-in details, aware of how close we were. He smelled just faintly of pine trees and the clean, soapy smell of shaving cream.

  Kendall Montgomery’s page popped up right away. In her profile picture she was pouting, her eyes creased as if she was about to smile. I didn’t want to know her. And yet I did.

  “Holy shit.” Derek’s eyes popped open wide. “She does look just like you.”

  “I know. It’s creepy. What should I do?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  I was surprised. People never asked me what I wanted. I usually just went along for the ride.

  I looked into Derek’s midnight-blue eyes. Something in them made me feel safe enough to find out things I should probably leave alone.

  I leaned over him and pressed Add Friend.

  “I want to talk to her,” I said.

  8

  * * *

  ABI

  october

  The sound of Tyler’s feet thumping down the front steps jolted me out of my stunned trance.

  “Wait!” I flung myself out the open front door and into the rain, crashing into the driver’s door of his Jeep as the engine vroomed to life.

  A flash went off from my front yard, but I ignored it.

  “Wait!” I smacked my open palm against Tyler’s door.

  Tyler rolled the window down, his eyebrows drawn together. His eyes flicked up to the reporters watching our exchange.

  “What do you mean?” I hissed so only he could hear. “Saved her from everything?”

  He glared at me, but kept his voice down also. “You had all these rules. You controlled her. She said you were writing the script for her life and she was sick of it. If you weren’t trying to run her life, maybe she wouldn’t have done stupid things.”

  My fingers slipped off the edge of the window, and I stumbled backward, propelled by the vitriol of his words. Tyler reversed out of the driveway quickly, his wheels skidding in the gravel.

  Another flash went off near me. I turned my face to my shoulder and raised my hand as if I could ward it off.

  God only knew what the reporters would write about this. I looked like a lunatic, my blond hair a nest of damp tangles sticking up in every direction, the scent of alcohol on my breath.

  I looked up as I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel. Two police detectives, badges clipped to their belts, got out of the car.

  “All right, guys, get out of here. You know the rules. Get off her property now,” the male detective said.

  He was squarely built with short legs and a squat body. Dark circles were etched beneath watery blue eyes that appraised me from under thick eyebrows. His wrinkled black suit covered an equally wrinkled blue shirt and tie. His thinning hair was a mess, as if he’d only just woken.

  Just behind him, the female detective waved a reporter edging closer to my house back to the road. She was a complete contrast to him: crisp black business suit, starched white collar. She was tall as an Amazon with cropped, pale blond hair, a chiseled jaw, and ice-blue eyes. Her face was completely blank: the picture of professional detachment.

  Once the reporters were a safe distance away, they crossed the grass to me.

  “Abigail Knight?” the man said, extending his hand to shake mine.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Detective Phillip McNally, and this is Detective Jane Samson.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Samson gave me a brief, firm handshake. Her hands were warm and large, making mine feel small and childish in comparison.

  “We’d like to speak with you about your daughter’s accident. Can we come inside?” McNally asked.

  I stared at them, blinking. Accident? Why did they think they were here if it was an accident?

  “Yes . . . come in.”

  I led them inside and shut the door, then stood awkwardly in the living room for a minute. I couldn’t immediately recall what I was supposed to do.

  “Would you like a drink?” I finally asked.

  “No, we’re good,” Detective McNally said. “Can we sit?”

  “Of course.” I showed them to the couch and sank onto the recliner.

  “We’re very sorry for what’s happened to your daughter,” Detective McNally said. He blinked slowly, as if trying to wake himself up. “Also for the delay. We’ve only just been alerted to what happened by a”—he glanced down at his notepad—“Dr. Griffith. I know this must be a difficult time for you, but we’d like to take an official statement. Is now okay?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  He pulled a pen from a pocket on the inside of his coat.

  “Let’s start with that last night you saw Olivia. Can you tell me what happened?”

  My eyes flicked to Detective Samson’s face, but she didn’t say a word.

  My hands shook, and I pressed them under my thighs. I wanted my daughter. I missed her so much it was physical, like scraping cotton wool over an acid burn.

  I started at the beginning, telling them about our Saturday: work, homework, the barbecue.

  “Did everything seem normal?” Detective McNally asked.

  “Yes. I mean, except—well, she got a haircut.”

  “A haircut?” McNally echoed. I could see he thought grief had driven me a little bit crazy.

  “Yes. It was unusual.”

  “Unusual how?”

  “Olivia’s sensible. She doesn’t drink, she’s on the swim team, and she gets straight As. She never does stupid teenager stuff like walk home alone in the dark or sneak out at night to go drinking. It was just weird that she suddenly cut all her hair off. But teenagers do these things, right?”

  “Sometimes.” He didn’t look at me, just kept staring at his notepad. “Is there anybody who didn’t like her or had a grudge against her?”

  “No,” I said, shocked. “Everybody likes Olivia. I’m not just saying that. Last year at school, she was voted ‘most likable.’ She was homecoming queen. She’s happy and popular and, and—” My voice broke, and for a second I couldn’t continue.

  Both detectives nodded, their heads moving up and down like bobble-head dolls.

  “Do you think—?”

  “We don’t think anything yet,” Detective Samson cut me off. It was the first time she’d spoken, and it startled me. “We’re just building a picture, gathering evidence.”

  “Something happened! She has bruises!”

  “Do you have any reason to think anybody would hurt Olivia?” McNally asked, his eyebrows raised.

  I stared at him, dismayed. They’d been here ten minutes, and already they didn’t believe me.

  McNally continued asking me questions: Who were her friends? Her boyfriend? Had they had any problems? Had she ever tried to harm herself? Had anybody ever tried to hurt her? Had she been having problems at home? At school?

  Occasionally he’d jot something down. The longer we sat there, the more unsettled I felt. Samson barely said a word, and McNally was the picture of a
frazzled, overworked cop. How would these two find out what had happened to my daughter?

  I showed them upstairs, and the detectives searched Olivia’s room, put random items into little plastic bags. They took her laptop and some of her school notebooks, asked me more questions.

  By the end, my neck ached from carrying the weight of my pounding head. I wanted everything to go back to the way it was. I wanted my daughter back.

  “Did you find her bracelet?” I asked Detective Samson.

  Her brow creased.

  “A silver charm bracelet. Olivia always wore it. Always. But it wasn’t on her wrist.” I brushed a hand over my eyes.

  “No, we didn’t find it, but I’ll check again.”

  “Was Olivia with anyone that night? Drinking with friends?” Detective McNally asked. Neither of them had bothered to sit down after searching Olivia’s room. They towered over me in the living room, and my toes curled at the invasion of my personal space.

  “What? No!” I replied, startled. Olivia wasn’t a drinker. “All her friends were at the barbecue. And she doesn’t—” Then I remembered the scarf, her haircut, her pregnancy.

  Bile, thick and acidic, rose in my throat.

  I jumped up and raced to the bathroom, slamming open the toilet lid just in time to heave up every last drop of vodka, retching again and again into the white porcelain bowl.

  Afterward, I shut the toilet seat and rested my head on the lid. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. The insides of my eyelids were red. I was sweating, hot moisture covering my entire body. I shoved Olivia’s phone into the back pocket of my jeans and stripped off my hoodie, tossing it on the floor.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw a slip of white plastic sticking up from the mess of tissues in the trash can. I sat up slowly, reaching for it. It was a pregnancy test. A pink plus sign practically glowed on the end.

  Olivia knew she was pregnant. And she hadn’t told me.

  The knowledge was raw inside me, jagged as a broken windowpane. As scared as I was when I found out I was pregnant, at least I’d had Sarah.

  Memories of the day I’d told Sarah I was pregnant bubbled in my mind, like a pot of water boiling over.