Olivia (40 page)

Oh, who the fuck was she kidding.

Olivia whipped into the parking lot of the Burger King half a block down and dialed 911. She sat on the hood of her car, smoking and slurping away on her gigantic fountain Dr. Pepper, watching as the entire Juliette P.D. swooped in on the Get ‘n Go with lights flashing and sirens wailing. She climbed up onto the roof of the Mustang when Clete hauled Mitch’s sorry ass out of the gas station, hands cuffed tight behind his back, and she cheered when Clete “accidentally” slammed Mitch’s face into the frame of his cruiser while he was putting the bastard into the backseat. When Clete’s cruiser passed by the Burger King parking lot on its way to the station, Olivia stood at attention, tall and proud on the roof of her Mustang, and gave Mitchell Toler the double-bird send off he deserved.

Two weeks later, on Easter Sunday, Olivia could no longer avoid the inevitable. She met George’s parents. He tied on a tie and splashed on a little cologne, she dressed in the pretty new dress George had bought for her and beat her hair into submission, and they stopped and bought a potted lily for his mom on their way out of town. Olivia held the lily in her lap and chattered non-stop in excitement as they made the long drive to Omaha, but as soon as they hit the outskirts of town, the significance of the day smacked her in the face and butterflies started dancing a samba in her stomach. They threatened to catapult out of her throat in a hot, fluttery rush when she stepped onto the porch of his picture-perfect, suburban childhood home built on a fancy golf course, but once George’s mom greeted her with a warm smile and tight hug, Olivia’s nausea disappeared.

Greg and Ellen Valish were exact replicas of the Cliff-and-Clair-Huxtable image Olivia had created of them in her mind, except neither of them were a doctor or a lawyer, and they were white. One a bank president, the other a director of marketing, both tall, trim, and gorgeous, they had contributed evenly to George’s magnificent DNA. He had his mother’s eyes, his father’s jaw. His laugh was his dad’s, but his sense of humor came from his mom, as did his not-so-great singing voice, which Ellen used liberally in the car on their way to church for the Easter service.

Being raised by an atheist, Olivia had never attended church before, and the nervous butterflies returned as soon as they pulled into the parking lot. She fidgeted with her dress as they settled into a pew, and she clutched George’s hand as the crowd murmured greetings to each other during the prelude. Everyone else seemed to know each other, and know each other well. As more and more of them glanced her way with curious smiles then turned to whisper to each other, she started to feel like an intruder at a close-knit family reunion.

George tried to assure her she was not intruding at all and they were happy she was there, but she didn’t quite believe him. He patted her thigh and told her they were more than likely a little more curious than usual because he happened to be there too after a long absence, and she was with him, and he had never brought a woman to church before, especially one as pretty as her, but she still didn’t quite believe him. He let out a little laugh and whispered, “They’re probably wondering how long it will be before they get a wedding invitation in the mail.”

“Do you think that’s something they’d want? My name on your wedding invitation?”

“Judging from the size of their smiles?” George squeezed her hand. “I’d say yes.”

Even with his gentle teasing and reassurances, the nervous butterflies fluttered their way up her throat again. She was just about to tell George she wanted to leave, and she wanted to leave
right now
, when the minister approached the pulpit and a hush fell over the sanctuary.

Olivia let out a slow breath to help calm her queasy tummy as she looked around and tried to figure out what she was supposed to do. Luckily, she had George to lead the way. She stood and sang when he did, sat and listened when he did, and bowed her head and prayed with him. One by one, the butterflies came to rest. As they did, a calming peace began to wash over her, and she immersed herself in it.

Before she knew it, the service was over and everyone was standing to leave. Olivia let out a little whine of protest. She wasn’t ready to go yet. She wanted to sit and listen and stand and sing some more, especially the standing and singing part, but Ellen had a ham in the oven and they had to go. When George took Olivia’s hand, she reluctantly followed, but when the curious smilers started approaching her from all directions, she let go of his hand and skedaddled across the parking lot to the car before her stupid mouth could accidentally say something that would make them not want to receive that wedding invitation in the mail after all—just in case one day it actually happened.

The somewhat-contemplative mood everyone had been in at church disappeared as soon as they returned to the house. Greg loosened his tie and grabbed a beer, Ellen kicked off her heels and opened a bottle of wine, and the two snuck in a kiss when they thought George and Olivia weren’t looking. George rolled his eyes, but Olivia could feel his love for them in his smile. Before long, George and his father headed for the den, leaving Olivia and Ellen to prepare the meal in peace. Since SpaghettiO’s weren’t on the menu, Olivia mostly watched and tried to stay out of Ellen’s way, but she did wash the vegetables and stir the gravy.

The food was incredible, the conversation at dinner enlightening. Olivia fell in love with George all over again as she listened to stories of his childhood and watched him interact with his parents. George and his father discussed George’s plans for Kitty’s future, argued politics, and bickered over the finer points of Bo Pelini’s coaching style, and Ellen used a second-helping of sweet potatoes or asparagus (
eww!
) to distract the men whenever their voices got too loud. Their family bond was strong, their love as welcoming as it was palpable, and it wrapped around Olivia like a warm summer breeze as she played the quiet observer.

After the meal, George and his father snuck off to do their guy-bonding thing over a round of golf, while Olivia and Ellen retired to the patio. The longer they sat there soaking up the sun and sipping on the wine, the more Olivia came to realize Izzie hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said George’s mom was a chatterbox. The woman
loved
to talk, especially about her son. Olivia was already familiar with the highlights of George’s childhood from Izzie’s files, but Ellen’s heart had every minute of George’s life memorized, providing her a never-ending supply of stories to tell. Listening to Ellen, Olivia wondered if Eugene had the same bountiful cache of Olivia-stories tucked away somewhere. She had a feeling he did.

When George and Greg returned, Ellen dished up coconut cream pie for dessert, serving it with a few more family memories and decaffeinated coffee. George and Olivia were reluctant to leave, finally saying their goodbyes as the sun was going down. Olivia had made it through the entire day without dropping anything or saying anything stupid or accidentally farting when she laughed, and she let out a sigh of relief. As an unexpected and much-appreciated bonus, George’s mom pulled Olivia aside before she climbed into the truck, gave her another hug, and whispered, “Now I know why my son loves you so much.”

George’s father pulled George aside as well, and hinted about how much he would like to teach at least one grandchild how to golf before he died of old age, then he gave his son a tight man-style hug and stood on the porch with his arm around his wife, waving as George backed the truck out of the driveway. Olivia tucked her hand along George’s thigh, George breathed out his own sigh of relief, and they both wore smiles the entire drive home.

As happy as the day had been, though, a shadow seemed to follow them up the stairs to George’s apartment. The feeling pressed heavy on Olivia as she brushed her teeth and got ready for bed, making it hard for her to fall asleep. Late in the night, after what felt like hours spent chasing those elusive winks, Olivia rolled over to ask George if he felt the same way. She found him lying awake, flat on his back with his arms folded beneath his head, staring up at an invisible spot on the ceiling. She slipped her arm around him, snuggling against his side, and pressed her lips against the square of his jaw.

“You need to tell your dad,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes as a tear snuck out and slid down the side of his face, disappearing into his hairline. Another one immediately followed. “I know I do.”

“Let me help you.”

He brought his arms around her and scooped her up, lifting her so she lay on top of him. He held her eyes with his as he brushed her hair away from her face. “What are we doing here, Liv? What is this?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She wiped away his tears, but more came and took their place. “If you want to stop, we’ll stop.”

He nodded, a soft, anguished sob escaping his chest as the tears poured down, but his words and his actions that followed contradicted what she feared was his true desire. “I don’t want to stop… not tonight.”

He stripped her of her panties as he rolled them both over, his face pressed tight into her neck as he entered her. His tears slowed as they made love, but they continued to fall, dampening her cheeks and her hair, seeping into the pillow beneath her head. His rhythm was off and he struggled to find it, stopping completely more than once to simply hold her as he lay buried deep inside her.

“Liv… I can’t…”

“
Shh
, it’s ok,” she whispered. “I know.”

She pushed up and rolled them over as one, and used her body to gently rock him to sleep. She held him close to her heart for the rest of the night, sheltering him from any pain that may have tried to sneak into his dreams.

George woke up the next morning looking a little hung-over from the sugar of the sweet potatoes and the emotion of the night, but he showered and shaved and went about his Monday as though Sunday had never happened. Because Olivia loved him, and because she knew some Band-Aids should be peeled away slow so as to not disturb the fragile healing happening underneath, she went about her Monday as well. Then they went about their Tuesday and their Wednesday. By Thursday the shadow of Easter had all but left his eyes. Olivia didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. It was something only George could decide.

Chapter Eighteen

Louise continued to spend her free time after work at the Walmart on the north end of Juliette, and every once in awhile Olivia would swing out there just to hang out with her. Olivia had long ago quit using the scooters to get around the store, and only occasionally enjoyed a cocktail in a McDonald’s cup, but she could never pass up the goodies Louise piled on the pretty, plastic serving platters or a glass of her Arizona Sweet Tea.

Louise was no longer alone when Olivia visited her. Most of the employees chose to take their break with Louise instead of in the back room, and there was always someone from the church or an auxiliary club member doing some late night shopping. They would pull up a chair and enjoy a lady finger or a pita rollup with Louise, share a little gossip, and be on their way.

Louise had given herself Olivia’s childhood dream job of supermarket sample lady, and she was doing it with more style and class than Olivia could have possibly imagined bringing to the position—and she was doing it for free.

Whenever Louise had a lull in traffic, she and Olivia would talk like they used to. Louise had become Olivia’s very own Paula Dean, always there with an easy ear and a tasty treat, homemade with love. She didn’t judge Olivia. Her advice was soft, easy to accept or reject, never offered without asked, but one night, after a particularly long night at Garretson that wore on Olivia’s last nerve, Louise took the McDonald’s cup out of Olivia’s hand, replaced it with some sweet raspberry tea and asked, “Olivia, why in heck are ya still slavin’ away at a job ya hate when ya have so much more ta offer the world?”

“What?” Olivia asked in confusion. She didn’t understand what Louise meant, but she also sometimes just plain couldn’t understand Louise. Her southern drawl had become so thick she wasn’t southern anymore. She’d gone too far south and slipped around the world, and was now approaching Canada from the north.

“Garretson’s ain’t for you. It never was, Honey-Child. Yeah, sure, it’s fine for me and fine for Carla, and I hate ta say it, but it’s more than fine for your friend Isabel. But you, Child?” Louise shook her head. “No, it just ain’t right.”

“Am I that bad at it?” Olivia asked with a frustrated sigh. Man, she hated her job.

“It’s not a matter of bein’ good or bad, it’s a matter of spunk—and you, Livie dear, got too much spunk ta be wastin’ it goin’ blind lookin’ at metal cutouts the rest o’ yer life.”

“So what do I do?” Olivia asked.

“Ask your heart.”

She handed Olivia a fruit kabob and stood to greet Father O’Neil who wanted to know how she made the yogurt dip so sweet without sugar. As Louise praised the virtues of honey, Olivia nibbled on a hunk of pineapple and thought long and hard, and listened to her heart.

Her heart did not want to sort metal. Her heart wanted to sing. Her heart wanted to dance. The very next day, Olivia and her heart handed Sam her timecard, said goodbye to her nighttime sisters, and jumped into the real world feet first with eyes closed and nose plugged, and landed in the DJ booth of KFGB Lite 103.4 every weekday afternoon from noon to five.

She got people through their afternoon slump with contests and chatter and easy listening. The station manager insisted she play the same playlist the old DJ had been playing since 1987, a classic mix of the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s, with every song played at exactly the same time every single day. Olivia got sick of listening to the bland, overplayed selections after the second day. She thought the Carpenters were groovy in their own way, but she wasn’t in the mood to sing long, lonesome songs with them every day at 3:24 p.m. She wanted to dance.

So, on her third day there, when she couldn’t stand listening to Peter Gabriel anymore, she thumbed through all the CD’s and albums that were going to waste collecting dust on the shelves behind her, and smiled when she came across Earth, Wind and Fire. Who wouldn’t love a little “Boogie Wonderland” in the afternoon?