The Night Olivia Fell Page 9

  If the detectives thought I would walk away meekly, they had another think coming. I would make them see me, take me seriously. I wouldn’t let them close Olivia’s case without finding out what had really happened.

  I stared at my cell phone. For the first time in a long time, I found myself in the position of needing someone. I’d become very good at being self-reliant, pushing people away. Losing Olivia had made me realize that. I supposed in a way I’d hidden behind my daughter, not only living for her, but also living through her. And I was fine with that. But now I needed help. If only it didn’t make me so uncomfortable.

  At seven on the dot, I dialed Anthony’s number.

  “Good morning, Abi.” He sounded pleased to hear from me, not at all surprised by the early morning call.

  I rubbed my neck and told him about the note from last night, what it said and what it might mean. He listened intently in that way some people have of listening like there’s nothing else in the world but you.

  “Did you see anybody around?” he asked.

  “No. I mean, I didn’t exactly look. It was the middle of the night.” And I was terrified, I finished silently.

  “Was there anything else left?”

  “No, just the note.”

  “Do you have a security camera? Anything to see who it was?”

  I almost laughed. “No. Just a regular old floodlight.”

  “Hey, I was thinking, do you mind if I swing by your house and look at those picture files you were telling me about? Maybe I can see something in them. I’m meeting a friend near you today. If you don’t mind printing them out, I could stop by and grab them afterward?”

  It was Saturday, and I had nothing planned. If Olivia were here, we’d lounge in our pajamas until noon, have bacon and eggs for breakfast, and put on a movie. Pain ripped through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Yes, of course.” My voice sounded ragged, the words like chips of ice scraping past my throat.

  “Great. I’ll swing by around lunchtime.”

  × × ×

  I slammed the front door of my house so hard it rattled and launched myself across the road toward the beach, my tennis shoes thudding hard on the pavement. The morning was brittle and bright. The cold air hissed in and out of my lungs like a serrated knife, turning my breath to an icy fog. The pain felt good.

  I pounded along the boardwalk, the sound of my feet hitting the old boards echoing in the early morning mist.

  I’d abandoned my daily run since Olivia’s fall, and now my muscles felt like they were filled with sludge. But I pulled my beanie tight over my scalp and pushed on.

  The rhythm of my feet, the staccato beat of my heart, the yelp of the seagulls became a melody, and soon I’d drifted into that zoned-out trance runners go into. Before I knew it, I’d run the four-mile half loop along the beach into town and back.

  One of my neighbors, a chubby, overly friendly woman pushing a toddler in a stroller, waved as I passed. I waved back but didn’t slow. I still couldn’t bear talking to anybody, answering questions that had no answers.

  Just before home, I slowed and veered off the path, picking my way across the huge boulders toward the water. The tide was all the way out, driftwood and seaweed marking the sand in a patchwork of art.

  I stopped just before the water’s edge and sat on a huge boulder jutting out of the sand. I closed my eyes as wind whipped tendrils of hair around my face and deafened my ears. I let the spray of Puget Sound dampen my face as I listened to the sound of my heart beating. Suddenly something wet slapped against my face.

  I gasped and leapt up. It was a dog. A beautiful golden retriever, her tongue lolling happily out of the side of her mouth. She tried to lick me again, and I smiled and stroked the dog’s head.

  “Hey, you,” I murmured. Olivia had always begged to get a dog. I’d always said no, with the excuse that we didn’t have time to take care of it. I wished now I’d said yes. I wished I’d always said yes.

  “Sorry!” I heard somebody shout. I looked over my shoulder, and two women were running toward me. One was model-thin and blond, the other a tall, athletic brunette. Both were dressed head-to-toe in running gear. They had the tight, toned bodies of women who had too much time on their hands and spent most of it at the gym.

  “It’s okay.”

  The blonde grabbed the dog’s collar. “She likes you,” she said with a smile. She bent to the dog and gave her an affectionate nuzzle. “Sadie, you funny thing!”

  I patted Sadie’s head. “I like her, too.”

  “You’re Abi Knight, right?” the blonde said as she straightened.

  I nodded, startled. On second glance, I recognized them both.

  Petite and pale, with hair pulled back dramatically from a narrow face, the blonde was Lizzie. I couldn’t remember the brunette’s name. She was strong and masculine-looking, with cheekbones like arrows and almond-shaped eyes.

  They were both PTA moms: organizing fund-raising events for the school, chaperoning class field trips, setting up coffee mornings for the other mothers. I avoided them like the plague.

  I knew the other moms thought I was aloof, reserved. I didn’t go for coffee or indulge in school-gate gossip. But being cool and detached were learned traits. Loss and life had taught me to contain my emotions, to stay away from things that could hurt.

  And anyway, I was a single mom. I didn’t have time to manage these things.

  “We were really sorry to hear about Olivia,” Lizzie said, her eyes shining like wet glass.

  “Thanks,” I said. The word felt sharp in my mouth. The dog licked my hand, and I patted her again, then turned to go. “It was nice seeing you.”

  They waved good-bye and walked away, the dog loping off ahead of them. I jogged a ways, then stopped and looked back. Their bodies leaned toward each other, as if they were a united force against the wind. I felt a stab of jealousy. When was the last time I’d felt I was part of a united force like that?

  When was the last time I’d cared?

  × × ×

  When I returned home, Sarah’s car was idling in the driveway, the exhaust making white puffs in the chilly air.

  Sarah cut the engine and got out as soon as she saw me. Her husband, Brad, climbed out of the passenger side and came around to hug me. I leaned against his massive chest. Brad was like a giant teddy bear.

  Big and broad-shouldered, he wasn’t conventionally handsome. He had a neck thick as a football player’s, hands as large as my head, a receding hairline, and a nose too large for his face. But his brown eyes were warm and kind and he exuded an aura of safety and security. He was the exact right match for my sister.

  When I pulled out of Brad’s embrace, I noticed his eyes were glittering. He swiped at his eyes and turned away as Sarah reached out to hug me.

  She looked horrible. The purple smudges under her eyes, the gray cast to her skin, the deep creases etched like quotation marks around her mouth, all showed the toll the last month had taken. I was sure I looked like a mirror image.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Brad cleared his throat. “We’re taking Dylan to a movie. Do you want to come?”

  I bent down and waved at Dylan in the backseat. Eight years old, blond and honey-sweet, Dylan waved back, then held up the iPad to show me a game he was playing. I gave him a thumbs-up and a weak smile.

  I knew they were putting on the charade for me, to help me move on, accept. But I didn’t want to. The idea of sitting in a theater like a normal person made me want to scream.

  “Thanks, but no.”

  The sweat was drying on my skin, and I shivered in the sharp breeze. I needed to go inside.

  “Please,” Brad said simply.

  My sister reached for his hand and shot a smile at him. The way she looked at him made my heart hurt. They adored each other. There was none of that fighting or resentment some marriages had; only love and respect. A complete family. I couldn’t be around them.

  “Honest
ly, I can’t.” I took a step back toward my house. “Anthony’s coming over.”

  Sarah looked startled. “Wh—?”

  “Mom, I’m hungry!” Dylan shouted out the open window.

  Sarah leaned into the car’s open passenger window, rummaged in the glove compartment, and tossed him a small box of raisins. Sarah was an excellent mother. She was relentlessly competent, infinitely patient. I wished I had an ounce of her confidence.

  Sarah turned to me. “Anthony who?”

  “Anthony Bryant. I want to show him some pictures I found in Olivia’s iCloud account.”

  Her face tightened, and I thought she was going to argue.

  “At least somebody’s helping,” I said pointedly.

  Sarah lifted her shoulders resignedly. “If it’ll help, I’m all for it, Abi,” she said.

  Irritation sneaked up along my insides. I scraped my fingernails across the Lycra of my running pants so I wouldn’t say something mean. “He believes me.”

  Sarah closed her eyes. She breathed deeply and slowly, drawing on her inner reserves of patience. I hated it when she did her yoga breathing. It meant she was at the end of her rope. It meant she’d stopped really listening.

  “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “You don’t think anybody hurt Olivia,” I accused, stunned by this realization. “You think the police were right!”

  “I just think . . .” She looked up. “Why do you always think you know better?”

  “Because this time I do!” I exclaimed. “And it seems like the only way I’m going to find out what really happened to Olivia is if I do it myself. The police aren’t investigating.”

  “Yes they are!”

  “No they—”

  “Sarah!” Brad interjected, sliding a hand between us and looking pointedly at his wife. He turned to me. “What she means to say is, we just want to . . . manage expectations.”

  I stared at them, incredulous. As grotesque as it was, the urge to find out what had happened to Olivia had stirred a small part of me, long buried beneath the rubble of what my life had become. Finding the truth was the right thing to do: for Olivia and for me.

  “I didn’t come here to fight,” Sarah said wearily. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Just then there was a crunch of wheels on gravel. An unfamiliar silver BMW parked behind Sarah’s, and a second later Anthony got out. He looked freshly showered, his hair slightly damp. He seemed like the most normal person in the world with his scuffed tennis shoes and beige canvas coat.

  “Hi, Sarah,” he said, walking toward her with a pleased smile.

  “Hi, Anthony. Long time, no see.” Sarah hugged him, then introduced him to Brad. “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s doing okay, thanks for asking. Her memory’s getting worse, but physically she’s still really healthy. Small blessings.”

  “You still teach rowing at the boat club?”

  “I’ve just come from there.” Anthony grinned.

  “Mo-om! Da-ad!” Dylan shouted from the car.

  Sarah rolled her eyes and laughed. “He calls,” she joked. “We better get going.”

  Sarah and Brad slid into their car, but at the last minute Sarah stuck her head out the window. “Call me later, okay, Abi? We need to talk.”

  I waved good-bye, and a minute later Anthony and I were alone in my front yard.

  14

  * * *

  OLIVIA

  june

  I sucked furiously on the end of a lock of hair and glared at my mom across the living room. There had been a huge shift in our relationship in the last few weeks. On the surface, she probably didn’t even notice. But underneath, deep down, I felt it. I didn’t trust her. And I was mad.

  “Why do I have to study all day? It’s Saturday!” I burst out. I was starting to hate how she always wanted to see my work, looking over my shoulder, making sure I was still getting As.

  It felt like she had my whole life mapped out for me. I would go to U-Dub, then move back to Portage Point, get a job, get married, have kids. Sometimes I just wanted to be my own person. Maybe I’d backpack through Europe, study abroad, live in exciting places like Paris or Moscow or London. I liked history and political science. I could totally study international relations.

  I knew I’d never do it, though. I worried how Mom would cope when I left for college, let alone if I left the country. The guilt would be awful. I mean, I knew I was lucky. Not everybody had a mom who cared so much—like, Madison sometimes joked she’d have to get admitted to the ER for her mom to notice what she was doing. I guess it was just hard to explain what it felt like having a mother whose love comforted and smothered me at the same time.

  Mom’s expression was pinched, her lips drawn tight as she wiped the kitchen counters with a wet cloth. The house smelled like Windex and bleach.

  I knew fighting with her was the wrong tactic; it would only make her dig her heels in. She seemed all sweet on the surface, but she could be seriously stubborn when she’d made her mind up about something. If I pushed too hard, she’d never back down.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I finally said, feeling suddenly exhausted.

  I’d been so busy all week: sneaking in time with Derek, hanging out with Madison, and squeezing in swimming before meets started again in the fall. Studying for finals had slipped to the bottom of my priority list, which meant I’d come home with a B rather than an A on my chemistry final yesterday. Thus Mom totally flipping out. Like I’d intentionally tried to do worse than usual.

  “If you don’t pull it together, you won’t get into a good university, Liv,” she said, exasperated.

  I clenched my jaw. I’d wanted to talk to her about Gavin and Kendall Montgomery, but now I didn’t want to talk to her at all. All I wanted was to be in charge of my own life, my own future. Good grades weren’t everything.

  It was only going to get worse when I started competing again. Mom came to every swim meet she could, coordinated with my coach to get me on the best training routine, made sure I went to every practice session. It suddenly seemed like such a waste of time. It wasn’t like I was going to be a professional swimmer after high school.

  “It’s like living in a prison here.” I scowled at her.

  “That’s completely unfair,” Mom said, her face flaming red. “I just want what’s best for you!”

  “Maybe you don’t know what’s best for me! Maybe I’m the one who knows what’s best.”

  Mom took a deep breath. “I’m just trying to make sure you have a good future ahead of you.”

  “Why can’t you just give me some freedom? You don’t have to keep me under lock and key, you know!”

  Mom looked at me for a long moment, her blue eyes serious. “I didn’t know you felt that way. You’re not under lock and key—”

  “I always have to tell you where I am,” I cut her off. “You make me come home at nine o’clock. That’s, like, the lamest curfew in the world. And I have to call you at four. And you always check my homework. It’s like I’m twelve!”

  “Only to make sure you’re doing well!”

  “I don’t need you to check my work, Mom. If I get a B, it isn’t the end of the world. It doesn’t mean I’m slacking, okay? It just means I’m not as good at chemistry as I am at history.”

  Mom finished wiping down a counter and rinsed the cloth in the sink. Silence expanded between us like a rubber band, something that would eventually break.

  Finally she sighed deeply. “Fine, I won’t check your work anymore. But you have to be responsible and get good grades. You know how important college is. And as far as today, you can finish studying and go over to Madison’s house at three. Is that fair?”

  I huffed out a loud sigh, hoping she knew how much this sucked. Suck fest. Suckopolis. Majorly sucketh.

  I crossed the room and flicked on the TV to fill the silence, then flopped back into my chair. I opened my AP history book and hunched ove
r it, irritation and fury warring inside of me.

  Mom filled a glass with water from the sink and took a long drink. She put the glass in the dishwasher, then sat at the table across from me.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve been making you hit the books too hard.” She touched my hand with her fingertips and smiled, but it was that fake, forced smile she used on people who didn’t know her that well.

  “It’s okay,” I said grumpily. “But could we at least talk about me getting my driver’s license? And a car?”

  “A car? Why would you need a car?”

  “Because I’m almost seventeen. I’ll be the only seventeen-year-old in the world who doesn’t drive!”

  “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, Olivia.”

  “It would be nice to have some freedom, is all.”

  For a moment Mom looked conflicted. But then she shook her head.

  “No. It’s too dangerous. Do you know how many teenagers die in road accidents every year? You’re not going to be one of them.”

  “People die in terrorist attacks, too! And you still let me go to shopping centers.”

  “Well, fortunately we don’t have to worry about that here.”

  “That’s not the point! Most of my friends have cars.”

  “You don’t need a car,” Mom said. “You can walk pretty much anywhere here. Madison’s right up the road from us. Or you can walk to Sarah’s.”

  That gave me an idea. Maybe my aunt would talk to me about my dad. Mom had lived with her until I was born; maybe she knew something.

  “Can I at least go somewhere with Madison later? Like other than her house?”

  “Like where? How long will you be gone? Who’ll be with you? Who will drive?”

  She fired off questions without even thinking about it. I winced and groaned inwardly. Rookie mistake. Mom always seemed to need specifics. Or maybe I was just noticing it more.

  I thought fast. “The arcade in Laurelwood.”

  “With who?”

  “Madison and Derek.”

  “Oh, Derek’s back?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  “I guess.” I shrugged.