Safe With Me (20 page)

I’ll bet he does,
Hannah thinks as she slides onto one of the barstools at the marble-topped breakfast bar.
I’ll bet he runs his fingers over the top shelves, looking for dust.

Olivia reaches into a drawer and rifles around until she pulls out an electronic meat thermometer. “I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable.” She opens the oven and slips the metal prong into an enormous prime rib roast, then turns to look at Hannah. “He can be a little direct.”

“That’s okay,” she says, thinking “direct” is a polite way to say “rude.” She wants to ask what’s really beneath James’s smooth exterior, but instead she asks about Maddie. “So, if she’s already talking to a boy, things must have gone better for Maddie the rest of the week at school?”

“I think it was the hair,” Olivia says, seemingly relieved that Hannah has abandoned the topic of her husband. “Or at least, how she felt after getting it done. Thank you, again, for that.”

“Just doing my job,” Hannah says. “And it was my pleasure.”
Despite the brief moment of apprehension she felt when Maddie first sat in her chair, Hannah realizes this is the truth. She sees a bit of her daughter in Maddie—not in a weird, Maddie-might-be-possessed-by-Emily’s-soul kind of way, but rather, in the way Maddie projects a sense of fragility laced through with defiance—the lift of her chin when she challenged her father a few minutes ago, but also, the way it trembled.

Olivia removes the thermometer, grabs a pair of oven mitts, and pulls the roast from the oven, setting it on the counter to rest. “I imagine that being around her isn’t the easiest thing for you.” She takes a sheet of foil and tucks it around the meat, then turns her gaze to Hannah, her palms resting flat on the counter in front of her. She looks a little shaky, and Hannah wonders why.

“The years when Maddie was so sick,” Olivia continues, “when she couldn’t even get out of bed to go to the bathroom, seeing other children in the park or just walking down the street was sheer torture. I resented their health, the way their mothers just seemed to take for granted the fact that they could run and jump and play.” She sighs. “And then when we came so close to losing her, I thought about how if we did, I’d never want to see another little girl again. How hard it would be.”

Hannah grips the edge of her stool, just as she had gripped the edge of her chair in the waiting room of the ER last year, desperate for Emily to survive. “It’s not always easy,” she says in a ragged voice, then clears her throat. “Maddie is the first one I’ve spent any time with, really, but she’s older than Emily was.” She waits a beat, wondering just how much she should share about how she feels, but then the truth comes tumbling out. “But they’re everywhere, you know? I can’t avoid them.
I’ll be jogging and see a little girl with black hair and skinny arms and think she’s Emily. And then my heart will just stop. It literally skips a beat. For an instant, I’ll think the doctors were wrong—that they made a mistake and it
wasn’t
Emily who died.” Her bottom lip quivers as she gives Olivia a wan smile. “Ridiculous, right?”

Olivia shakes her head. “Not at all.” She walks around the island in the center of the kitchen, joins Hannah at the breakfast bar, and takes her hand. Hannah holds her breath, waiting for her to say something about the mother of the child who saved Maddie—she wants Olivia to be the one who brings the subject up—but then Maddie enters the room.

“I think Dad’s head is going to
explode
if he doesn’t have dinner soon,” Maddie says, stopping short when she sees Hannah and Olivia holding hands. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Hannah says, pulling her hand back to her own lap. “Your mom and I were just talking about how great your hair looks. And I
love
your outfit.” Maddie is wearing black leggings, which flatter her thinner limbs, and a lace-edged, Kelly-green peasant blouse, which camouflages her thicker middle and brings out the color of her eyes. “It’s very hippie-chic.”

“Mom took me shopping this afternoon,” Maddie says, rocking from her heels to her toes and back again, clearly pleased by the compliment. “The woman at Macy’s was
way
helpful in picking things out. I basically got a whole new wardrobe.”

“A new wardrobe for your new life,” Olivia says, and Hannah can’t help but feel a biting twinge of grief in her chest.
A life Emily might have made possible,
she thinks. After meeting James
tonight, she’s become even more determined not to share her suspicion about their families’ possible connection unless she’s absolutely positive she’s right. Then it can be Olivia’s decision to tell James or if, in the end, she’ll just have one more secret to keep.

On Monday morning, James brings Olivia breakfast in bed. “Wake up, beautiful,” he says as he sets a tray on the bed next to her. “The breakfast fairy has been hard at work.”

“What’s all this for?” she asks as she braces her arms behind her and uses them to push herself up into a sitting position. A glance at the clock tells her it’s six thirty—she slept through her alarm, and she can hear the water running in Maddie’s bathroom.

James takes the napkin and sets it carefully across Olivia’s lap. “Do I need a reason to spoil my wife?” He moves the tray over her legs and lifts up a cup of coffee for her to take from him. “Two Splendas, no milk. Right?”

Olivia smiles and gently retrieves the white mug from his hands. “Right.” She takes a small sip and gives him another smile. “And of course you don’t need a reason. Thank you, honey.” She wishes she could just accept this loving gesture
from her husband at face value, the way she used to, instead of wondering what his motives might be.

“You’re welcome,” he says as he picks up the fork and scoots a bite of scrambled egg whites onto its tines. “It’s the least I can do for my amazing wife.” He hands her the fork, watching as she chews. “Good?”

“Very,” Olivia says, nodding.

“I was thinking we should all take a cooking class together. Maybe Thai food, since Maddie loves it so much.”

Olivia sets her fork onto her plate and sips at her coffee. “Really? You could find the time?”

James nods. “It might not be until the first of the year, after the fourth quarter numbers come in, but it would be fun, don’t you think?”

Olivia nods, and James leans over to give her a kiss. “I have to go,” he whispers against her lips. “But I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be front,” Olivia jokes, and he laughs. A few minutes later, he heads to the office, and even though she knows better, even though she’s been through this with him a hundred times before, Olivia can’t help but wonder if she really needs to leave him after all.

•  •  •

A few minutes before ten o’clock, after dropping Maddie off at school, Olivia walks into her criminology class with her belly squirming. She wonders if this is how Maddie felt her first day at Eastside Prep, twitchy and insecure, wishing she could melt right into the floor. The room buzzes with the low hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional squeals of girls closer to Maddie’s age than to Olivia’s. Eyeing the boys wearing jeans
that ride low on their skinny hips, exposing the tops of their boxers, she has to squelch the motherly urge to tell them to pull up their pants.

What the hell am I
doing
here?
Olivia thinks as her fellow students file through the wide double doors and into their seats in Whitaker Hall, practically carrying her along with them.
James was so sweet to me this morning. Do I really need to go through with this?
She clutches the strap of her purse, thinking she should probably just make a run for it. James might call her and she wouldn’t answer, and then what would she do?
Tell him you were swimming at the athletic club,
she thinks, trying to calm herself down.
Tell him you were vacuuming or taking a shower. Tell him whatever you have to. This is your plan. You need an education. You won’t be able to take care of yourself or Maddie without one. He may have been sweet to you this morning, but you know all too well how quickly that can change. You can’t back out now.

Her phone vibrates in her bag and she jumps at the sound, wondering if it’s possible she’s just manifested a checkup call from her husband. But then she looks at the screen and sees a text message from Hannah, wishing her good luck. “Thanks,” Olivia quickly responds. “I’m scared as hell.” A moment later Hannah answers: “Don’t be. If you need a cover story, just say you were with me. I’ve got your back.” Olivia smiles, then quickly deletes the messages, in case James decides to do a random check on her phone. She knows he wasn’t crazy about Hannah, though once dinner was on the table Friday night, he’d been nothing but the most charming, animated version of himself. It wasn’t until later, after Hannah had gone home and Maddie was ensconced in her room, that he told Olivia how he really felt.

“She’s very guarded,” James said as they got ready for bed. “And how successful can she really be if she’s living in an apartment above her salon?” He leaned over the counter to peer closely in the mirror, then plucked a few stray eyebrow hairs with his fingers.

“She owns a house, too,” Olivia explained, crossing her arms over her chest and resting her shoulder on the threshold of his bathroom, hating that her husband measured a person’s worth by their level of wealth. “She just had a hard time living there after her daughter died, so she rents it out. Too many memories.”

“That’s another thing,” James said, straightening, then staring hard at her in the mirror. “She barely mentioned her daughter the entire night. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“No, I don’t.” Olivia took a measured breath, knowing she was walking a fine line with him by defending her new friend. “She’s grieving, James. Talking about it—especially with someone she’s just met—is probably like digging around in an open wound.” And then, because she couldn’t help but try to drive her point home, she continued. “You don’t like to talk about how your father beat you . . . right? How your mother let him? When feeling our pain is too much to handle, we push it down. It’s human nature.”

He turned around slowly, and Olivia braced herself, thinking he might lunge at her, but he only stared, his green eyes wide and disbelieving that she had the nerve to challenge him. “And what are
you
pushing down, O-li-vi-a?” He spaced out her name into four distinct syllables, and his tone was shot through with contempt. He wanted her to say that she didn’t
have
any pain, that her life with him was one beyond her happiest, wildest dreams. But Olivia only stared back at him, unwilling
to give him what he wanted. She held her breath—it was dangerous to defy him like this, knowing how deeply her silence would offend him.

Finally, he blinked, and shook his head. “Just be careful,” he said. “I don’t trust her.”

You don’t trust anyone,
Olivia thought, and now, as she slides into a seat in the last row of the auditorium, she wonders if Hannah picked up on how James felt about her, and if she senses the real reason why Olivia needs someone to have her back with her own husband. It’s a little odd that Hannah is willing to lie for Olivia when they barely know each other, but it has been so long since Olivia felt like she had anyone on her side, she decides not to question Hannah’s motives. It feels too good to have a friend.

“Hi!” a young woman chirps as she slides in next to Olivia. “This seat isn’t taken, is it?” She is a tiny thing with almost white-blond hair and pale blue eyes—more like the negative image of a picture than an actual girl. She wears a light blue broomstick skirt and a snug matching T-shirt. When she lifts her arms over her head to take off the book bag that is slung crosswise over her chest, Olivia sees a quick flash of her flawless pale stomach, and she can’t help but think of the thick, red scar across her own daughter’s flesh.

“Nope,” Olivia says. “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks!” The girl plops down next to her and drops her bag to the floor in between her legs, quickly pulling out a small laptop and placing it, along with her cell phone, on the half desk in front of her. She presses a button to boot up the laptop, and suddenly, Olivia is embarrassed by the three-ringed notebook she bought at the campus bookstore. She glances around
the room to see that the majority of students are sporting shiny silver netbooks or iPads. Apparently, the method for taking notes has changed since Olivia last went to school. She suddenly feels very, very old.

“Do you know anything about this professor?” the girl asks, keeping her eyes on the screen of her phone, rapidly tapping out what Olivia assumes is a text message.

“I don’t,” Olivia answers. It amazes her, how many technological tasks teenagers are able to juggle simultaneously. Maddie doesn’t watch television unless her laptop is in front of her, too, or she’s playing Angry Birds on her phone. She’s always plugged into
something
—usually two or three things at a time. There doesn’t seem to be a nonstimulated moment, a chance for her brain to breathe. It worries Olivia sometimes, that Maddie spends so much time interacting with what
other
people’s imaginations have dreamed up that she’ll never learn to imagine things on her own.

“I’ve heard she used to be a cop and is kind of a badass.” The girl glances away from her phone and looks at Olivia. Her eyelashes are so pale, they’re almost invisible. “I’m Natalie.”

Olivia introduces herself, too, and just as she speaks her name, a short, broadly built woman enters from the side door of the auditorium. She charges up the steps to the stage and makes her way over to the podium, moving with a decided swagger—a don’t-mess-with-me swing of her shoulders and hips. She wears black slacks and a blue button-down shirt with thick-soled, no-nonsense black shoes. Her blond hair is pulled tightly into a bun at the base of her neck, and as far as Olivia can tell, she’s not wearing a stitch of makeup. She
looks
like a cop—hard and unyielding.
Maybe Natalie’s right.

“Hello?” she says, then blows into the microphone. “Is this thing on?” The chatter in the auditorium continues, ignoring her question, and so she leans closer to the microphone and opens her mouth again.
“SIT!”
she bellows. This unexpected noise causes Olivia to jump and all the conversation and movement in the room to cease.