Who I Am With You (25 page)

P
erched on the chair beside Catherine’s bed, Olivia listened to the machines, thankful for every beep, but at the same time, each one left her a little emptier. Sorrow filled her heart, making it impossible to think of anything other than losing this amazing woman. She’d been here since the odd encounter with Thomas the night before, dozing fitfully in the uncomfortable seat. Though her grandmother had slept the entire time, Olivia treasured the hours, unable to stop the guilt shrouding her. If only she’d stayed in New York after 9/11, they would’ve had plenty of moments together. On the other hand, they might not have found the open honesty they now shared.

Simon sat in the corner typing furiously on his laptop. Initially, she thought it was weird for him to be there so often, but watching him and Catherine interact made it impossible to deny their bond. He’d been around for Catherine when no one else was, she would forever be grateful for that. Plus, Olivia loved having him near. Even silent, he made the unbearable easier.

“Olivia,” her grandmother wheezed, pulling the oxygen mask from her face.

She leaned forward. “I’m here. Try not to talk. Rest.”

“Be resting soon enough.” Catherine’s laugh was dry, void of life. “Want to talk to you alone. Then you and Simon together.”

Olivia glanced at Simon and he nodded before exiting the room.

“I hope you’re not thinking of saying goodbye.” Already her throat constricted and her eyes grew moist.

“Don’t fall apart ... on me. I have things to say.”

Olivia took a few moments to pull her emotions together. Catherine was right. She had to be strong.

“Much better.” Her grandmother sucked a deep breath through the mask then moved it out of the way. “I’m thankful for the time we have spent together. True happiness at the end.”

“I should have come sooner,” Olivia said in a low, shame-filled voice.

“Don’t.” The word was said with force and it startled her. “If you hadn’t been through the experiences you have, you wouldn’t be the amazing woman I see.”

Olivia couldn’t stop the tear slipping down her cheek.

Her grandmother continued, “Learn to recognize it in yourself. You are not your past. You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. I am ... proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Olivia wiped at her eyes. “It means the world to hear you say that. Part of why I’m doing so well is because you had faith in me, you challenged me, regardless of my mistakes.”

“Nonsense. Only pushed because you needed it.” She coughed, covering her mouth with a tissue. When she pulled it away, Olivia caught sight of blood and her veins turned to ice. “Tell me. Honestly. What do you want for your future?”

Olivia had every intention of saying she saw herself at VDB as expected, but the words stalled on her tongue.

“That’s what I thought.” A small smile tipped Catherine’s lips. “Does working for the company bring you joy? As much as baking?”

“No, but Mom and Dad—”

“Would not want you wasting time doing something that does not make you happy.” She paused to catch her breath. “Nor would they want you to continue working merely because you think it’s what they’d expect. Your firefighter convinced me to give you peace.”

“Duncan? What are you talking about?”

“Implied you felt trapped at work, but were too polite to say it. He wants to make sure you’re happy ...  I agree.”

Olivia frowned at her grandmother and irritation flared. Duncan had no right to speak to Catherine on her behalf, especially during their first meeting. On the surface, they barely knew each other, and he couldn’t begin to understand the complicated issues involved. His behavior yesterday burst their little bubble and she was beginning to see him, and their relationship, in a whole other light. Think about him later, Olivia told herself, concentrating on the matter at hand and unclenching her jaw.

“I can’t walk away in the middle of this rehab project. It was my idea for God’s sake.”

“It’s a wonderful undertaking, Liv, and I’m sure someone else will be able to make sure it continues to run smoothly once the first building is done.” An eyebrow rose. “And you neglecting to address the matter at hand only solidifies what Duncan brought to my attention.”

“I wouldn’t have anything to do with VDB?”

A frail hand lifted as if brushing away the thought. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll need you for charity events and publicity, plus you’ll be a member of the board. Your name is still Van den Berg.”

“Grandmother, this is ridiculous, I—”

“No. I have spoken and it is final.”

“I, I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me what you want,” she repeated softly.

“I envision myself in a little bakery, maybe the first of a franchise.” Her fingers traced the tattoo on her wrist. “I can imagine it down to the very last detail—the colors on the walls, the type of chairs at the tables, even the font in the window. Baking, and the joy I find in it, saved me. It still does, but I feel guilty to wish for it.”

“Ridiculous. I see in your face how much you love it. So, do it. Do it with my blessing and thank that handsome man of yours.”

“Is this the morphine talking?”

Catherine’s wispy chuckle turned into a coughing fit, resulting in another bloody tissue. After she sipped the water Olivia offered, she said, “This is a grandmother talking.”

“And VDB?”

“Simon is more than capable. I trust him to take it into the future, to safeguard what this family has built. As soon as I feel up to it, I’ll teleconference with the board. You don’t belong there anymore, not in a career you are obligated to pursue. A blind fool could see it.”

Now Olivia did cry. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

“I need to know you’ll be happy,” she said. “Go get Simon. Not sure how much longer I can stay awake.”

Olivia stood on shaky knees and stretched her sore muscles. Zombie-like, in shock from the conversation, she wandered into the hall. Part of her wondered if she’d fallen asleep and dreamed the entire thing. Catherine had given her the most amazing gift, with Duncan’s help of all things, as well as her forgiveness, which had already come days ago. Olivia felt lighter, oddly enough.

Simon was in the front room facing the window, hands tucked into the pockets of his plaid, knee-length shorts. No work clothes for either of them today. He turned when she entered and the grief she saw mirrored her own. She made a note to ask him how the investigation was going, later. It’d taken a backseat to other things.

“She’s ready for us.”

He studied her and she wondered for the millionth time what might have been if she hadn’t run into Duncan that night. It didn’t hurt to wonder, did it?

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“Being here instead of at work. I don’t feel so alone.”

“Work can wait. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Simon reached up and touched her cheek. “I’m worried about you being prepared.”

The inevitability of what he referred to cut deep. Opening her mouth, with every intention of giving him a reassuring answer, she choked on a wounded gasp instead. She covered her face with her hands and tried to force the sadness back down. His arms closed around her, making it worse. Allowing herself a minute or so to cry, she absorbed Simon’s strength.

Gathering her wits, she separated from him. “She’s getting tired.”

“Wait. What else is going on with you today?”

Olivia took a step back from him, knowing what he meant. Ever since her near relapse, she’d been moving on auto-pilot.

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled, not wanting to tell Simon and at the same time, needing to talk about it to someone.

“Liv.”

“Duncan came to my house. High and drunk. It was ugly.” She stared at the floor, refusing to look at Simon.

“There’s more.” A statement, not a question.

“He,” she swallowed, struggling to keep emotion from her voice, “he wanted us to get high together. Said it was pointless for me to keep resisting.” Simon cursed under this breath, but she continued, “I couldn’t shake his words, or the possibility he might be right. Baking usually helps. It didn’t. So I left, searching for a dealer.”

Simon grabbed her by the arms, gently, and bent so she had to meet his concerned gaze. “Did you?”

“No.” She wrenched out of his grip. “Do you think I’d show up here if I had?”

“I don’t know what you’d do. I don’t know that version of you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t.” Olivia glared at him, heat flushing her cheeks. “I’d never let her see me like that, or you. I realized what I was doing and stopped.”

“Are you still craving?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” she whispered then cleared her throat. “I always am. Only now, I can control it. I know the signs and am able to walk away.”

“Good.” Simon released her. “And I’m only an asshole because pissing you off keeps your mind off drugs.”

“Or makes me want them more,” she fired back.

“But you’re stronger than that.”

“I am.”

“Plus, making you mad distracts me from how much I want to throttle this Duncan character.” His jaw clenched. “You know you deserve better than him, right?”

Olivia shrugged, not wanting to get into that whole dilemma, of fretting over whether or not she and Duncan were any good for each other. Right now, Catherine mattered.

“We should go. Catherine can’t be kept waiting.”

“This conversation isn’t over.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Simon shook his head, but dropped it and followed her, their footsteps slow and reluctant. Catherine dozed, barely able to keep her eyes open. He sat beside the bed and gently took her hand.

“Are you sure you have the strength? We can do this later.”

“I’m fine,” she argued. “I am making alterations to the will, specifying how I expect the company run.” She wheezed in and out a few times. “Simon, you will remain CEO as long as you want. The board will agree if I recommend it.”

“And Olivia?” he asked.

Catherine focused her red, watery stare on Olivia. “As a member of the board, Olivia will hold my shares. Once her project is off the ground, she will pass it on to someone else and be done.”

His gaze slid over to Olivia. “Finally.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, and don’t reference our first meeting where I was less than charming, but it’s easy to see you’re not happy at VDB. I’m surprised you stayed as long as you did.”

“Mostly I stuck around to prove you wrong.” She smirked.

“Which you’ve done, time and time again.”

“I don’t fit there anymore.” Olivia lifted a shoulder. “Getting Dad’s project started was important to me, a way of ensuring his legacy carried on, but I want something different. Something that’s all mine.”

Understanding crossed his face. “A bakery.”

“Yes. I won’t step completely away from VDB, I can do appearances and stuff, not to mention the always stimulating board meetings and charity dinners, but you have it under control.” She made a split-second decision. “Besides, I’ll keep my business in the family. I’m going to rent the space in our first rehab building.”

“Wonderful,” her grandmother gasped.

A well of excitement bubbled inside her and she knew she’d never be able to thank Catherine enough for pushing her in the right direction or for letting her go. Or Duncan, damn him, for caring enough to force Catherine’s hand.

“We’ll be vulnerable, Simon,” Catherine barked in the form of a half-cough. “Don’t let anyone convince you to sell it off. Olivia will be one of the majority shareholders, I’d like it to stay that way. I am confident I made the right decision.” Sleep won, dragging Catherine into unconsciousness.

“Do you think I can live up to her expectations?”

Simon’s uncertainty startled Olivia. It wasn’t often he questioned his abilities. She answered, never taking her eyes from her grandmother’s face. “Absolutely. I trust her, and you. Catherine would have never let me walk away if she didn’t have full confidence in you. Her giving me a clean break should answer all your questions.”

“I guess you’re right.” He rubbed a hand over his face then watched Olivia intently. “You’re okay with this?”

“Very much. My parents would have understood. This is right.” He beamed at her, flashing a smile that stole her breath and caused her skin to prick. Giving in to the warm sensation, she fell into their typical banter and batted her eyelashes. “Now I just need to negotiate a good price for my shop space with a certain CEO I know.”

“I think we can work something out. I’m cheap.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

They laughed quietly and Olivia let her gaze return to Catherine, grateful for the gift her grandmother had given her. Freedom.

A
sledgehammer banged and slammed about in Duncan’s head, leaving him with a bitch of a headache. His eyes were gritty, as if coated in sand, and a black, stormy cloud nipped at his heels. After his damn crying jag, which he was trying very hard to forget, he’d driven through the city in a daze. Not the best idea, but what part of anything he’d done in the last twenty-four hours had been smart?

As night fell, the urge to make things right with Olivia, or try to, took root. She deserved an explanation. Only, he didn’t know what explanation to give her. The idea of standing in front of her and showing her his vulnerability terrified him to the very core. He wanted to be the strong one and be there for her, not the other way around.

Unconsciously, he found himself parked across the street from Ground Zero.

The Freedom Tower was well on its way into the skyline. The weird glass structure, which would house the memorial museum, reflected the lights of the city. Even the footprints of the twin towers, hollowed into the ground, were unrecognizable. The city was turning them into a fountain with the names of the victims etched into the walls. Ridiculous. As if anyone in this country needed a reminder.

So many times Duncan had wound up here, sitting and staring, but once they finished with the recovery, he had never went inside or set foot off the nearest sidewalk. He wondered how it would feel to stand in the place where he’d seen the first body fall, or where he exited the tower before the collapse, the places they dug four stories down in an attempt to find someone—anyone.

If Duncan tilted his head and peered at the space in a certain light, he saw smoke billowing up from what workers had dubbed, ‘the pile’, sun streaming through the leftover pieces of the towers’ steel façade, the giant American flag billowing on the side of the Brooks Brothers building.

He remembered the pain in his back and the sweat on his tongue, dirt in his teeth as they dug, day after day, bucket after bucket. Fires burned for weeks, deep inside, where the water didn’t reach. The chemicals in the air burned his skin, his lungs, but he hadn’t worried about toxins, wasn’t time. Then, there were the haunting silences that fell whenever a body was found, or often only a piece of a body. Thousands of them. Feet still inside shoes. Limbs. Torsos. A finger boasting an unblemished diamond ring.

They treated each corpse as if it was special cargo, placed on a stretcher and draped in an American flag. When only a piece was found, someone had the idea to arrange debris around it, so the shape under the flag at least resembled a body. Those watching shouldn’t have to witness how little they actually recovered.

Duncan climbed from his truck, body stiff and drained, feeling older than his years, and walked the block to Liberty Street, to the firehouse for Engine and Ladder 10, or Ten House as it was known throughout the department.

The small brick building that sat across from the Trade Center had become a sort of Mecca for firefighters. Initially buried under forty feet of debris, the shell was eventually turned into a staging area, a place for recovery workers to rest after a long day. It had taken a little over two years to be rebuilt and reopened, but it turned into much more than a simple firehouse.

It was a place to honor and reflect.

A bronze sculpture lined the outside wall, illuminated by spotlights, one of the only memorials to date for the firemen lost on 9/11. He’d never seen it, except for pictures, not even all those times he came and stood for long hours staring across the street.

Lowering his defenses as much as he was able, Duncan gave his full attention to the memorial, letting it penetrate him. The carving was captivating; smoke billowed from the towers, the rest of the city skyline behind it, the lifelike depictions of the firefighters themselves marching into the buildings. The color, an orange-ish copper, reflected the spotlights, reminding him of flames. Then, of course, there were the words.

“Dedicated to those who fell and to those who carry on. May we never forget,” he whispered

He lifted his hand and brushed his fingertips across the surface, wishing he could reach in and allow the past to swallow him, to save him from his misery. Unable to let his gaze stray to the names of the 343, he studied the picture, searching for anything to be critical of, but he found nothing.

Making sure he was alone, he laid his forehead to the cool metal. He knew what he had to do and once again, his eyes welled. Drawing in a shuddering breath, feeling as if it was filled with razors, he laid his heart out right there on the sidewalk. The guilt tried to claw at him, yet again, but he wrestled it down and locked it away. No better time than the present, in this sacred place, to exorcise his demons.

“My name is not on this wall, but it should be. I am a ghost. A monster. Trying to destroy myself because I lived and thousands didn’t. I know quite a few of you who’d jump out and kick my ass for not accepting the gifts I still have; family, a woman I want to love, the job, hell, even the air in my lungs. I’m finally beginning to realize what I’ve done to myself, and to everyone around me, letting the nightmares rule me and hold me back. But if I let go,” he choked on a sob, “I feel like I am forgetting.”

Duncan paused and wiped his eyes.

“I am sick of feeling this way,” he pounded the wall with his fist. “I should have ran back into those towers. I had my save and was ready to go again, but then I saw her. Standing there, calm as the world fell apart around her. The only thing I could do was run to her. Now, it’s me who needs rescued. If I choose sobriety and serenity, I’ll lose all of you and I’ve carried each of you on my shoulders for nine years.”

A fresh breeze hit him, filling him with hope, and he couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined. Saying the words aloud had cleansed him, and a light, very dim and distant, flared to life. He still hurt, deeply, but he was certain he’d made the right decision to come here, however unconscious it’d been.

“I will never forget. The ash from those damn towers runs in my veins. The images are seared on my brain. I promise to think of the future and not waste this precious gift I have and you guys don’t. I have to get clean and beat the rage fighting to eat me alive. I need help.”

Duncan was no fool. He knew it wasn’t as simple as talking to a wall, but the act gave him clarity. Never before had he come close to uttering these words and giving voice to the suffering he battled. It wasn’t lost on him that he’d had to return to where his trauma began, to lay it all at the feet of those who perished.

“I will
never
forget,” he repeated in a passionate whisper, laying his palm reverently on the sculpture.

He walked away without looking back, exhaustion trailing behind him like a cloak. Now he had to figure out the next step. Words were powerful, and yet the simplicity of it intimidated him. Already he sensed something inside him had changed, but was it as easy as making a confession on hallowed ground? The rage had diminished and, though he was far from feeling healed, redemption felt like it was within reach. Now was the time to act.

Turning the corner, Duncan came face to face with a firefighter he knew from Ten House standing on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette. Robert McClaine, Jr., or Junior to anyone who knew him, had been part of Ladder 10 for years, able to scramble up the rungs as nimble as a monkey. Duncan couldn’t remember the last time they’d crossed paths.

“Dunc?” Junior’s eyes widened in shock. “What the heck you doing in this part of town so late?”

He shook Duncan’s hand and smacked him on the arm. Junior was a big guy, six-five with a shock of red hair, and the friendly blow about knocked Duncan off his unsteady feet.

“Came to see the memorial. Haven’t yet. Figured it was time.”

Junior nodded knowingly. “Still having nightmares?”

Duncan blinked, searching for a response, and blurted the truth. “Waking and sleeping.” The man must have recognized the demons in his expression because his face softened, which made Duncan curious. “You?”

“Less now. It’s been hard working right across the street all this time. Kind of preferred those two years the house was being rebuilt, when we were scattered across the city. It was weird coming back. Few of the guys transferred, couldn’t take it. Believe it or not, the proximity helps me cope. Being faced with the memories every day, I can’t hide or avoid my demons.”

Duncan gazed across the street. “Think that’s the biggest factor in getting over it?”

He felt Junior assessing him and wondered what he saw, what anyone saw, then decided he didn’t want to know.

“Might have been. I also have a support system, people I talk to about it. Sounds like a pussy explanation, I know, but talking helps. Once I came to terms with being alive, living got easier. Ignoring the buildup is the same as keeping century-old dynamite in a kid’s bouncy castle. The slightest disturbance means disaster.”

“What about the rage?”

“Faded, after a while. I didn’t make mine worse with drugs and alcohol.”

Shame crept into Duncan’s face, heating his cheeks, and he fumbled for a response. “I never cared who saw or heard until recently. All that mattered was the next glass, the next beer to chase the pills,” he croaked.

“I hear stories,” Junior said. “You’re not the only firefighter who’s gone down that road. A lot of guys I know are worse off. Can I ask what happened to bring you here tonight of all nights?”

“Little bit of everything. I miss my kids.” His voice cracked at mentioning Adam and Amanda. “They’re strangers to me and, when I’m sober, I realize how bad I’ve hurt them. For the first time in years, I need to make them my priority. My wife, or my ex I guess I should say, I see the husk I turned her into and the life I sucked from her. Plus, there’s a woman.” His stare returned across the street. “She was there. I saved her when the first tower came down and she battles the consequences too, this PTSD or whatever it is, and turned to drugs. She came through the other side, stronger. Olivia’s success makes me aspire to be better, to look at the future and heal the rift with my kids. Of course, me being me, I screwed it up. Pills and alcohol were involved.”

Whoa. He hadn’t meant to let so much slip. This whole reflection and letting go ordeal had messed with his normal defenses. He couldn’t believe he was standing here on the sidewalk spouting off sentimental crap fifty yards from his own personal hell.

Junior smiled at him. “A woman’s a healthy reason to change, brother. If she’s that special, fight, but keep it in perspective. It’s not the only thing to live for.” He sobered a little. “You’re not alone, you know. We work this job and come to consider ourselves as tough, invincible, solitary men. 9/11 taught us we aren’t, that we’re human and able to hurt in the most terrible ways possible. You need to accept that before you can let go. You’re not alone,” he repeated. “Never were.”

Sorrow grabbed Duncan and squeezed tight, cutting off his air. It took a few tries, but he managed to speak past it. “I appreciate it, I do, but letting others in is the hard part. I shut out my wife and kids, destroyed my marriage, and allowed this darkness to fester. I can talk to Olivia about it, she understands. Hell, I held her in my arms as both towers crashed on top of us.” Duncan sighed. “I can’t keep it bottled up anymore. It’s not fair to her or my kids.”

“She’s a recovering addict?” Duncan nodded. “One of the twelve steps for addicts is to make amends to those you hurt with your actions. Our convictions and survivor’s guilt over 9/11 are a form of addiction. Many of us feed off it, use our failures as an excuse to wallow.” He put a steady hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “It’s not too late to make amends, Dunc. You’re thinking about it. You’re talking about it. That’s a step in the right direction. You’ve got air in your lungs. Don’t waste it.”

“God, I wish I was where you are,” Duncan said with a slight chuckle, admiring Junior’s knowledge and peaceful attitude.

“It’ll come. Trust me. You’re a good guy who’s made crappy decisions. Don’t let that be your legacy.”

To lighten the moment, he joked, “You sound like a damn Hallmark card.”

“Guess I do.” Junior beamed. “A new baby will do that to a man.”

“Hell. Congratulations. Got a picture?”

“Sure do,” he said as he reached for his phone.

They chatted a bit longer about easy things then shook hands as Duncan said goodbye. Heading to his truck, he sensed less shadows following him. It was a miracle, of sorts, or at least the beginning of one. Junior’s mention of amends stayed with him as he started the engine. Pulling out his phone, he fiddled with the cracked screen and called Leslie.

“I need to talk to you and the kids. It’s important. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

By the time Duncan arrived at Leslie’s, it was a little before eleven. The closer he’d gotten to her house, the more he doubted his spontaneous decision. Did he really think he could begin mending his fences in a single night? The part that scared him the most was not being able put his apologies and emotions into words and blundering it like he always did.

On the sidewalk in front of the house, he took a few minutes to calm himself, sucking in deep breaths of the grass-scented air. He remembered warm, summer mornings doing yard work and evenings hosting neighborhood barbecues, teaching Amanda to ride her bike in the driveway a month or two before 9/11. It was another life, one he missed desperately.