Wishing Pearl (9 page)

“Ma’am, is everything going to be all right here?” He peered closer at Mom’s face. His eyes widened. “Don’t I know you from somewhere … um”—he checked his papers—”Mrs. Whitford?”

Her hand still covering her mouth, Mom nodded. “You’re Mark Stapleton. We used to go to church together when I was still married to Olivia’s dad—before the accident.”

“Oh wow. You’re Ginny Mansfield.” The officer grinned. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are y–” His face darkened. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was surprised to see you and forgot what was happening here for a moment. How unprofessional.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and extended a business card to Olivia and one to her mom. “Please call me if you run into any trouble or need anything—either of you. My direct line is on there.”

Mom took the card and stared at it blankly, her eyes dull and chalky. It didn’t look like things were computing for her. She opened her mouth and closed it several times. No words came.

Officer Stapleton sighed. “You know”—he reached into the car and pulled out a pamphlet from under the visor—”I don’t normally do this, but in this case, I just can’t help myself. I hope it’s okay.” Officer Stapleton handed the glossy brochure to Mom.

“Diamond Estates?” Mom turned the paper over and studied the back.

How could that be? The old stone castle pictured on the front proved it was the exact same brochure Jodie had given Olivia earlier that day. Coincidence was one thing, but this seemed like some sort of cosmic conspiracy against her.

“It’s a place where troubled girls can get real help in all areas of their lives—physical, mental, and spiritual. The director, Ben Bradley, and his wife, Alicia, are doing some amazing work there—even their son, Justin, pitches in. I’ve been out there to help twice. Building projects … stuff like that. Wonderful thing they’ve got going on.”

“But … we don’t need … Olivia’s not troubled.” Mom shook her head, her eyes confused.

He put his hand on his radio. “I’m not going to say any more. I could get into trouble for even bringing it up to you while I’m on the job. Just take a look at it. You know your situation far better than I do.” He gave one swift nod and got into his cruiser. The flashing lights stopped as the window rolled down. “You call me anytime, okay?”

Olivia nodded but refused to look at her mom.

He gave a soft smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with kindness, then drove away with a wave.

When the rumble of his motor and the beam from his headlights faded into nonexistence, Olivia stood trembling. Exposed. “Mom?”

Mom’s head snapped back, and her eyes popped wide open. She shot a look up to Olivia’s bedroom window, her face dark with fear. “Olivia. I don’t want to talk about any of this right now. You need to go into the house. Go to your room and lock the door—stay out of sight for the rest of the night.”

“But …” What was going on? Mom actually seemed scared. Had Charles hurt her, too? Could it be that she knew the truth? If so … how could …? No. Surely Mom would have done something to put an end to it if she’d known.

“Just do as I say. Right now.” Mom pulled her gaze from the upstairs window and jerked her head toward the house. “Go.”

Olivia scurried past her, through the front door, and up the stairs as though an unseen ghost was gaining on her. She could feel its evil presence all around her but had no idea where it hovered. She propelled her body toward her room with the force it would require to speed through quicksand and finally reached her doorway.

She panted as she looked both ways down the hallway. Seeing no one, Olivia stepped inside her room and slipped the chain into the lock. Safe. Olivia slumped back against the door and gushed a big sigh of relief.

A sinister taunt came from the direction of her bed.

“Running from someone?”

D
read fell like a cloak over Olivia’s body. Like a robot, she inched herself around until she faced the right side of her room.

There he sat, on the edge of her bed, with a lecherous grin on his face. His legs were crossed, and his hands were clasped around his knees. He’d seem relaxed to a stranger, but Olivia saw the white-knuckled grip Charles had on his leg and the twitch that pulled at his right eye and the corner of his mouth.

Olivia reached behind her head and released the chain lock. Not that Mom would come—she never had before.

“What do you think I’m going to do, beat you, girl? You think you’re worth my effort?” He snorted and pulled a half-empty bottle of amber liquid from behind his back. He lifted it to his lips and took several long gulps.

A beating would be a welcome reprieve from his usual repertoire. It didn’t matter. Whatever he did to her, Olivia was done cowering in a corner. She’d stand up to him for once.

Charles drained his bottle and threw it at the wall, where it shattered, raining millions of glass tears onto Olivia’s floor. He swiped his forearm across his upper lip and shook his head. “No. I don’t care anymore. I’ve given you everything I could think of. Everything your money-hungry mama could think to demand, that is. But I’ll never live up to the saintly image of your dearly departed
father.”

You’ve got that right, you psycho creep
.

“So I’ll tell you what. I’m going to leave you alone. In two years, you’ll never have to see me again. Who knows, maybe sooner if I shake my leg until your mom falls off. Which might be much sooner rather than later, since I saw her flirting with that pig outside.” He stumbled toward her and jabbed a crooked finger in her face. “Just stay out of my sight. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you or that ridiculous oboe ever again.” Charles teetered out of the room and down the hallway like a pinball bouncing off the walls.

Hmm
. Did he mean it? Would he really leave her alone? Doubtful. It would probably be like every other time he made some kind of promise so she’d lower her guard; then he’d strike. He probably only left her alone tonight because he worried Mom might come looking for him. When Olivia had been younger, things with Charles had been much worse for her because she was a scared little girl and he knew it—and loved it. Now, at least he had to stop and wonder what he could get away with. Maybe he figured he’d used up his luck.

Olivia snatched her purse from where she’d dropped it on the floor and pawed through it like a desperate junkie. Maybe a smoke would settle her nerves, or at least her stomach. She crept to the bathroom, avoiding the creaky spots on the wood floor, and sank onto the edge of her bathtub. Her trembling hands fumbled to pull a cigarette from the pack and strike the match. She brought them toward her lips, the flame flickering as an extension of her jitters. How had she come to this? Olivia opened the window a crack and blew the smoke out, hoping no one would smell it.

Now what?
Hide out forever? Run away? Turn into the perfect good girl? Olivia took a long drag. Why did none of those seem appealing, let alone like real possibilities? She slid into the empty bathtub and rested her head on the inflatable bath pillow. Maybe she could live right here, in the bathroom.

After Olivia had started on her second cigarette, a soft knock sounded at the door. She jumped.

“Olivia?” Mom’s voice sounded normal—sunny even.

“I’m … uh”—Olivia looked down at her fully clothed body—”taking a bath.”

“Okay. When you’re done, buzz me. I want to chat with you.”

Chat? A police escort home only warranted a little
chat?
Olivia shook her head. Not that she wanted to be in trouble exactly. Well then, what did she want? Normalcy. Security. Love. Apparently too much to ask for around here.

Olivia took her time getting into heavy flannel pajamas, sprayed her room with deodorizer in case the smoke smell lingered, then buzzed her mom. “Where are you?”

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I’ll come to you.”

Dear?

Olivia climbed into bed to wait and pulled the covers up to her chin. The effects of the alcohol and pot had finally worn off, and she just wanted some blessed sleep. It was three o’clock in the morning, after all. Maybe if Olivia were out of it before Mom got there, she’d leave quietly without trying to have her little talk.
Ha
. Not likely.

Mom opened the door and crossed the room to Olivia’s bedside.

Thanks for knocking
.

“Mind if I sit down?”

“No. Go ahead.” Olivia shifted over a little bit while Mom made herself comfortable amid the mounds of down pillows, wincing as she leaned back against the headboard.

Olivia sighed. “Let’s have it.”

“Have what?” Mom pulled her eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, you mean you think I’m going to yell at you?” She waved a bruised hand. “Liv, I’m past that. You’re sixteen, and you need to make your own choices. I want us to be friends. Friends don’t yell.”

What?
Friends. Where had that come from? No! Olivia wanted a mom, not a friend. “What do you mean?” And where’d she those big bruises on her arm?

“I mean that I want us to enjoy each other, go places together, and confide in each other. That can’t happen if I’m being a grouch all the time.” Mom’s eyes widened with hope. “Maybe if we’re best buds, you won’t feel the need to hang out with those other
friends
of yours. They’re nothing but trouble, you know.”

Best buds?
“I guess.” Probably best to say whatever it took to get Mom to leave. It was the only way Olivia would get to sleep. She was already losing the struggle to keep her heavy eyelids from closing.

“Besides”—Mom fingered the fringe on a throw pillow—”I … I need you.” Her chin quivered for a fraction of a second before she put the mask back on. “I’m going to go now. You sleep.” Mom kissed her on the forehead. “Oh, wait. Friends wouldn’t do that, would they?”

Olivia murmured something unintelligible.

“Sweet dreams.” Mom’s singsong voice trailed off as she left the room.

Finally alone, Olivia tried to let her body relax. Would she be able to sleep, or would she lie there staring at the ceiling for hours wondering if Charles would show up? Her eyes fluttered. She could barely keep them open. Then the relief came.

“The answer to my dreams …” Daddy sang Olivia’s special song while he rocked her in their favorite nighttime spot next to her big-girl bed. He snugged the quilt around her shoulders and squeezed. “I love
you, my sweet angel.” Daddy pressed his lips on the nape of Olivia’s warm neck
.

At four years old, even she knew she had grown too big to be rocked to sleep, but she just couldn’t get into bed without hearing her song. And her neck would tingle all night without Daddy’s special kiss
.

“Now, come on, you little staller, it’s sleepy time.” Daddy patted her on the bottom as she scampered off his lap and hopped into bed. He pulled the covers up to her chin and pressed them tight all the way around her body
.

“You forgot down by my toes, Daddy.” Olivia nestled into the covers while he snuggled the blankets tighter around her feet. “I miss Mommy while she’s working at the hospital. But it’s nice to have our special time together, isn’t it?”

“It sure is, Livvie Love.” Daddy grinned and tucked the covers around her one more time. “Now, Olivia, I’m going to kiss you good night one more time. I’ll be in the family room and then in my bed. Remember our deal? I know you’re safe, so I’m not coming back if you call out—you need to obey Daddy and go to sleep without yelling for me. “

“Okay. I love you, Daddy. “

“I love you, too, angel.” Daddy kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight.” He left the door cracked open when he stepped into the hallway
.

Olivia watched the light flicker from the television down the hall. Would Daddy come if she screamed? He said he wouldn’t. But just maybe …

“Daddy?”

What if she yelled two times? He said he wanted to teach her to fall asleep on her own—that she was a big girl. But Olivia didn’t want to be a big girl. She wanted her daddy
.

“Daddy!”

“Daddy!”

Maybe louder would help
. “Daddy!”

Olivia bolted upright, scared of the sound of her own scream. She felt her cheeks, knowing they’d be damp. That dream always made her cry. She tipped her head toward the door and waited for footsteps that never came. Apparently no one had heard her cry out.

Or no one cared.

“Livvie? Rise and shine!”

Olivia pried open one eye to a throbbing headache and sunshine streaming in through her already-opened window shades. She propped up on one elbow. Did she hear running water?

Mom popped out from behind Olivia’s closet door. “How about these jeans with this cute top? It’s purple to match your hair.”

Olivia waited for the standard sarcastic comment about her streak. Nothing. Not even a roll of the eyes.

“What’s going on? What are you picking out clothes for?”

“We’re going shopping to celebrate our new friendship.” Mom grinned and clipped toward the bathroom in her high heels. Hadn’t the woman ever heard of bedroom slippers?

“The water’s perfect. Come on and shower up so we can hit the stores.”