Who I Am With You

Who I Am With You

Missy Fleming

WHO I AM WITH YOU Copyright © 2016 by Missy Fleming

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Book and Cover design by Missy Fleming

First Edition: March 2016

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This is dedicated to my family and friends who never fail to stand by me and my writing. I could not do it without your support.

More importantly, this is for all those who still suffer the repercussions of September 11th. You will not be forgotten.

H
orns blared and the cab jerked to a stop again, hitting another wall of gridlocked traffic. Olivia Van den Berg sighed, willing the car to go faster or, better yet, turn around and head back to the airport. New York City, its tall buildings glinting in the early summer sun, never changed, yet it felt like a completely different place. She had imagined her return many times, each scenario happy or anticlimactic and often as heartbreaking as her exit. Now it was happening, memories assaulted her, the bad far outweighing the good, and no matter how hard she tried to avoid it, her gaze drifted through the windows of the cab to an empty spot in the skyline, a reminder of her own missing pieces.

“September 11th.”

“Did you say something?” the driver asked.

Olivia jumped at the sound of his voice and shook her head, trying to clear the images of people drifting aimlessly through ash covered streets and the endless cries of sirens.

“No,” she mumbled. “It’s nothing.”

Nothing. She almost laughed. If it was nothing why had she spent the last nine years running away? And here she was, the exact place she’d wanted to escape. Talk about ironic.

Her cell phone buzzed from deep inside her purse and Olivia dug for it, thankful for a reprieve from her dark thoughts.

“Hey, Nat,” she greeted her best friend.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m still in the cab.”

“A good sign.”

“Maybe.”

“You always planned to come back,” Natalie reminded her.

“Yeah, but I figured it’d be on my own terms.”

“You have to see her.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“And you’re not the same person you were.”

“I know,” Olivia breathed, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “And thank you for calling me. It would have been terrible to read about Catherine’s cancer on Page Six.”

“She’s your grandmother, Liv. I know how much she means to you.” She paused. “You sure you want to go to her place straight from the airport? Stop and see me first. Get your bearings.”

“No. I need to do this before I lose my nerve.”

“Just don’t beat yourself up. There’s plenty of time to mend bridges.”

“You’re right. This is an opportunity I have to take advantage of.” On the other side of the glass, Olivia noticed the familiar surroundings of her old neighborhood. Finally. “I should go, Nat. We’re getting close. Let’s do dinner this week to properly catch up.”

“Done, and call me later when you’re settled.”

Tucking the phone away, Olivia leaned her head against the seat and whispered, “I am stronger than my addiction.”

Ten months and twenty-seven days out of rehab might sound like a success to some, but she was still fragile. The prospect of showing up on her grandmother’s doorstep, unannounced, threatened her sobriety and she wanted more time to prepare, a chance to absorb the news. It probably would have been a good idea to stop off at a meeting the second she landed to acquire an extra layer of armor, especially after relapsing more than once. Making it a year had always felt so far out of reach, a milestone she strived for. Yet here she was, reacting to this visit as if it’d been weeks since her last high, not months.

“Impressive,” she chided herself then eyed the driver. He probably thought she was a loon, talking to herself.

The cab slowed to a stop in front of her grandparents’ Upper East Side home and she exited on unsteady legs. June was warm in the city, hovering in the low seventies, but she folded her arms across her chest to ward off the chill racing up her spine. Raising her gaze, she studied the building.

The tall, stately Manhattan townhouse had been in the family since the early 1900’s and Olivia thought it projected an air more similar to a museum than a home. A memory of the interior tumbled through her mind in flashes—priceless antiques, art, and furniture graced most of the twenty rooms, arranged perfectly on gleaming hardwood floors, and a winding iron-laced staircase spiraled up through the middle, capped off by a Tiffany stained glass skylight in the roof.

Lingering on the sidewalk, Olivia centered her restless mind. The uncertainty of how her grandmother would react to seeing her loomed heavy, a black unpredictable storm cloud. If this ended with Olivia not being tossed out on the street, she’d consider it a success. After a couple cleansing breaths, her legs ceased their trembling and her jaw unclenched. She gripped the handle of her suitcase tighter, swallowing the metallic taste blooming on her tongue.

The front door opened, revealing an elderly woman. This must be the live-in hospice nurse, Olivia mused, noting the gray braid hanging down her back and drawing comfort from her soft, sympathetic features.

“Olivia? I’m Anna, it’s nice to meet you.” She ushered Olivia inside and took her luggage, placing it in the corner next to the stairs.

“You too.” She shook the nurse’s hand then got down to business. “How is she?”

“As I explained yesterday on the phone, the bone cancer has spread throughout her body. Over the last year and a half, she’s been through three unsuccessful rounds of chemo and radiation. The disease has progressed, so we keep her comfortable with morphine. You should be prepared when you see her, it will be jarring.” Her head tilted. “I told her you were coming and she’s been waiting for you to arrive. Having family here will be good for her.”

“Thanks.” Being given the ugly truth a second time didn’t make the details of Catherine’s illness any less devastating.

“Can I offer you some corn chowder? I made it fresh this morning. These days soup is the only actual food your grandmother can manage to get down.” Anna’s pale brown eyes roamed over Olivia. “You’re a skinny thing, I suppose that’s the fad in Los Angeles these days, isn’t it? Let me fetch you a bowl.”

“I’m not hungry. Maybe later.”

Anna switched gears. “How long has it been since you’ve been back?”

“Eight years, nine months and some odd days.”

“That’s right.” Understanding dawned in the older woman’s expression. “I read about your parents and Catherine mentions them quite a bit. They were there that morning, in the towers, weren’t they?”

Olivia lowered her head, ducking away from the unexpected scent of coffee. She’d been ordering her favorite latte seconds before a plane screamed overhead and crashed into the World Trade Center. She stood vigil at Ground Zero for forty-eight hours straight. Covered in cuts, filthy, and nursing a broken arm, she refused to leave until her parents were found. Olivia had survived the wait by clinging to the misguided hope of a reunion. It never came.

“I’m sorry if I’m being nosy,” Anna said, bringing her back to the present.

Olivia nodded stiffly. “I was meeting them for breakfast, standing at the coffee kiosk in the lobby when it happened.” Her reluctant smile wavered. “When I made it home, Catherine and I ... our last words weren’t very pleasant.”

Anna laid a gentle hand on her arm. “She’s mentioned her regret over the way she treated you.”

Instead of launching into an explanation of why she found her grandmother’s remorse so hard to believe and how badly she wished it to be true, Olivia said, “The Catherine I remember was known for her stubbornness, so I’m not quite sure what to expect.” Olivia adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Where is she?”

“Down this hall, second door to the right. I’m sure you’ll remember it as a dining room. Since stairs are no longer an option, Catherine spends her days confined to a forty-by-thirty foot area. A shame.” The nurse shuffled off towards the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

Hesitation faded, replaced by cold determination. Olivia was here for a reason, might as well get on with it. She wiped damp palms on her leggings, smoothed her hair and fought the urge to run. What was it about her grandmother that caused her first reaction to be flight in situations of great stress? Growing up, she had idolized the woman.

Olivia entered the room and took a moment to adjust to the sight before her, stark reality gripping her heart. Gone was the antique table from turn of the century France and in the muted light of a crystal chandelier, resting in a hospital bed, was her grandmother, propped into a half-sitting position.

Catherine Van den Berg was old New York society, an innovator the upper crust women looked to for leadership, inspiration, and style. She rarely went anywhere without being impeccably dressed or wearing the family jewels. Her manners were polished and her tastes strictly high class, a picture of elegance as well as a formidable force in the business world, one Olivia had molded herself to become. The woman she remembered was constantly surrounded by a slight cloud of expensive perfume, a scent as familiar to Olivia as her own.

The stranger lying in front of Olivia couldn’t be her. She was tiny and frail, as white as the sheets surrounding her, skin so translucent veins traced dark lines up and down her limbs, except for where it was mottled with bruises. Wires snaked under the covers, attached to machines, and a hose supplied oxygen to her nose. Now, instead of Chanel, only the smell of death cloaked her.

As Olivia crept towards the bed, a flicker crossed Catherine’s face. The weakened woman studied her through dry eyes and her wrinkled mouth tipped up a fraction. Then, she took a deep breath and spoke in a wispy voice, “So, the black sheep returns to the fold at last.”

Olivia stifled a nervous laugh. Cancer may have sucked the life out of her body, but it had obviously left her spirit intact.

“Black sheep is a little harsh, although I kind of expected a parade in my honor.” She stepped closer, knowing her sarcasm was inappropriate but unable to reel it in. Her grandmother’s vulnerability frightened her and she had to lock her wobbly knees in place. Besides, what did a person say to account for a nine year absence? “I came as soon as I heard you were sick. Why didn’t you contact me sooner?”

“Same reason you never reached out. Too proud. Too stubborn. Take your pick. I assumed you would return home after a few months, counted on it. All I got were random birthday and Christmas cards. How could you?” she wheezed.

The woman’s lips pressed together, pale with the pressure, and Olivia stifled the retort hot on her tongue. “I won’t deny how selfish I’ve been and we can talk until we’re both blue in the face about everything I’ve done wrong, but your health is what we should be focusing on.”

Catherine chuckled, a faint rustling sound that ended in a vicious cough. After pressing the morphine button twice, she murmured, “Is that some sort of hippie philosophy you learned during rehab?”

“Of course you know all about my past,” Olivia muttered.

“You are the sole heir of this family and of VDB Enterprises.” A rattle escaped Catherine’s mouth. “Are you so naïve to think I wouldn’t find a manner in which to keep tabs on you?”

Embarrassment crept into Olivia’s cheeks and she traced the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. She’d never censored her actions because Los Angeles had felt so far away. The situations she used to put herself in were humiliating enough for her, as were the things she’d done to score drugs. Imagining Catherine with a file documenting her lowest moments shamed her deeply. That was the past though and, somewhat foolishly, she yearned for her grandmother to acknowledge the person she’d become, one who had fought her demons and arrived on the other side, shaky, but still on her feet.

The withered stranger continued, “We’re the last two Van den Bergs. Soon, you’ll be the only one left.” She drew in a weak breath. “You’re here now. You can take your rightful position in the company. Put my weary mind at ease.”

She lost consciousness before Olivia had a chance to reply. Her eyes were drawn to a faded stain on the front of Catherine’s nightgown and the random detail sent her pulse spiraling into overdrive. It shouldn’t be there, ridiculously misplaced on a woman who once prided herself on her immaculate wardrobe.

Collapsing into the chair by the bed, Olivia watched her grandmother sleep. It was impossible to tear her gaze from the sight, the unfairness of it. Catherine hadn’t welcomed her with open arms, but she also hadn’t ordered her to leave.

“She’s had a tough week,” Anna explained from the doorway. “If she manages to rest, her spirits are high, but it’s a struggle to keep her comfortable. The morphine messes with her mind and she can’t remember what’s happening or where she is. It’s been lonely for her. She refused to spend her remaining days in a hospital, despite her doctor’s recommendation, and I’m her only company besides a couple colleagues from VDB.”

Anna’s last statement caused Olivia’s cheeks to flare with shame. It killed her to think of Catherine being alone. “Underneath, she’s the same, brutally honest and quick to speak her mind. It’s hard to reconcile that with what I see here.” Choking down the terror clawing her throat, Olivia asked, “How long does she have?”

“Best prognosis is two to three months, but the oncologist warns it will happen quickly.”

“So soon,” Olivia murmured, wishing Catherine had tried to contact her. Of course, Olivia understood how hard it was to ask for help, especially when not knowing what the answer on the other end may be.

Anna walked over and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “She’s a stubborn woman, maybe she’ll surprise us all.” The nurse turned to a table, picked up an envelope and offered it to Olivia. “These are keys to the company penthouse which I have no doubt you’ll recognize, it belonged to your parents. I assumed you wouldn’t want to stay here or at a hotel, so I stocked it with food.”