Wishing Pearl (7 page)

No. She had an oboe solo. They’d kill her if she didn’t show up. At least the concert started at six, so there’d be plenty of time for partying afterward.
Okay, concentrate. Black skirt or a black dress?
She moved to the deep recesses of her closet and flipped out the arm that held a cascade of her fanciest dresses. Dark fabric swished at the back of the row. Olivia reached for it around the pink chiffon and yellow silk, hoping to discover some classy couture number she’d forgotten about. When she pulled the shiny black dress out, realization slammed into her stomach like a wrecking ball.

Her unsuspecting hands sizzled with shock as she held her funeral dress from nine years ago. Daddy’s funeral. How had she forgotten that she’d hung it back there on the rack as a memento?

Olivia slumped down on the floor of her closet and clutched the fabric to her chest as memories of the day she’d worn that dress assailed her.

The tops of her new patent-leather Mary Janes were already scratched from crawling around on the maroon carpet with her cousin Patrick. She swung her legs and counted the scuff marks as she sat in the velvet chair and waited for the people who just kept coming and coming. They all wanted to hug her. Some of them smelled good, like soap, so she didn’t mind too much. But some of them smelled really bad—like food or bad breath. Why didn’t they stay home to take a shower and leave her alone with her daddy?

The day before, when they thought Olivia slept curled up on the couch between them, Auntie Sylvie told Mommy she should let Olivia go play at a friend’s house, that she was too young to be at the funeral. But Olivia wanted to be there because Mommy said she wouldn’t see Daddy again. Did she mean ever? No. Daddy would never leave her forever. She was his angel
.

Finally, the music started playing, and Mommy clutched Olivia’s hand and helped her walk past all the people to sit in the front row. It felt strange all the way up in front by the pastor. Mommy and Daddy usually liked to sit in the middle so they could hold hands without the pastor seeing them. Well, they didn’t exactly say that was why, but they sure did hold hands a lot
.

Daddy’s box came rolling down the aisle. Jake helped the big men push it. He looked like a grown-up man in his suit. Wait. The lid was closed. Where was Daddy? “Mommy, when do we get to see Daddy in the box again?”

She shook her head, her face white like a ghost. “Livvie, it’s
done. The men shut it.”

“But I didn’t get to say good-bye to him.” Olivia felt hot tears coursing down her cheeks. “I want my daddy,” she whispered
.

Mommy shook her head and scrunched her eyes shut
.

Olivia’s heart pounded, and she jumped to her feet. She slipped from her mother’s grip and dove for the floor in front of the casket, shredding her tights and her knees. She pounded her hands into the carpet, kicked her feet, and screamed, “I want my daddy!”

Exhaling, Olivia tried to shake the details from her mind and wiped at streams of tears with the skirt of the tiny black dress she clutched. She rubbed her knuckles and cringed at the memory of how she had beat them to a pulp on that ragged carpet.

The wails! Oh, the sound of the women wailing—Olivia had never forgotten it. When she had nightmares of hell, those were the sounds she heard. Mom later explained that they just couldn’t take the sight of the little girl agonizing for her daddy. The grief was too much for many of them to bear, and they had to leave. Too much for Mom, too—she disappeared, never even tried to comfort Olivia as she crouched on the floor in desperation.

Enough
. Olivia stood to her feet, grabbed a black pencil skirt and a ruffled blouse. She hurriedly pulled on tights and donned her Manolo pumps. She looked in the mirror. Should she hide the purple streak to make Mom happy? Olivia twisted it under a dark layer and secured it with a clip then stared at her reflection. Definitely a pretty hairdo—conservative—but it just didn’t look like her. She whipped the clip from her hair and ran a brush through it.

That was more like it. Mom would have to deal with it.

Olivia took her coveted first-chair position next to two other oboists in the symphonic band made up mostly of students a year ahead of her. On this special night, the band would be featuring an original arrangement taken from the musical score of
Phantom of the Opera
.

Even though she’d never seen the live play, the music had haunted her as she practiced. It affected her deep down, unlike anything she’d ever played on her oboe. Olivia had been awarded the solo from her favorite piece in the score. Mom was there to watch—not Charles though. When he’d heard she had the solo, he ranted that it wasn’t even in the play. He even accused her of making it up. Olivia’s teacher explained that he was right, her solo wasn’t actually in the play, but it was in a scene in the movie version. Happy with the compromise, Olivia figured she and Charles were both right—called it a draw. Charles hadn’t liked that very much. Big surprise.

The lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the audience as the conductor raised his arms. The musicians came to attention like soldiers on a battlefield and poised their instruments, ready to play.

BAM!

The show started with a thundering note and a cymbal crash. Olivia lost herself in the swells and strains of the beautiful music. All of her doubts and fears melted away as she coaxed perfection from her instrument. Song after song, she remained in complete control while she played—in fact, it was the only time in life that she felt truly in control.

Her turn. A real solo in front of an audience. Olivia’s hands trembled as she readied them over the delicate instrument, waiting for her cue. And … there. She played her own heartbeat. Olivia let her pain, her joy, her sorrow, and her laughter flow from her soul through her fingertips. She’d never felt more vibrant as the music of her heart filled that auditorium, alone. What was it that made her feel so alive as she played at that moment, more alive than any other moment?

Then it hit her. She felt heard.

“A hundred and fifty bucks sure doesn’t buy what it used to,” Olivia joked as she helped her friends load the carton of cigarettes and four cases of beer into the back of Jordyn’s Jeep.

Emma laughed as she tucked her ID back into her wallet. “I’m pretty sure this will get us through the night.”

“I might have a little surprise for us, too.” Tara grinned and patted the purse slung across her chest.

“What is it?” Bailey yanked at the strap.

Tara held tight and clamped it down with her elbow. “You’re just going to have to wait until you finish your third beer.” Her eyes twinkled.

“Why third?” Bailey chuckled. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Where are we going anyway?” Olivia watched out the side window and then swiveled to look out the back.

“You’ll see.” Jordyn winked.

“All right, I need to get out of these clothes. Let me know if someone’s coming.” Olivia reached under her skirt and rolled her tights down from the waistband then pulled them off each foot. “Hah. Here, watch this.” She hung them out the window and let the empty legs flap in the wind.

“You’re going to lose—” Jordyn gasped as the tights slipped from Olivia’s grip and got swallowed into the night.

Olivia laughed. “Whatever.” She pulled her skirt off and lifted her hips off the seat to slip on her jeans. There. The hard part was over—now for the top. She unbuttoned her blouse and got her hoodie ready to pull on.
Just do it. One. Two. Three
. She slid her arms out of her blouse and sat in her bra as she fumbled with the sweatshirt.

HONK!

A semitruck barreled by blaring his horn and blinking his brights.

“Great. Now I’m flashing the whole world.” Olivia squirmed into her shirt and zipped it. Why hadn’t she worn a cami under her shirt?

“Well, at least you look good while doing it. And … here we are.” Jordyn turned into an upscale community and punched a code into a little box, kind of like the one in front of Charles’s house. A mechanical arm lifted to let them enter. “This is where my dad lives. He has an old storage unit on his property that he let me turn into a hangout a year ago. He’ll never know we’re out there.”

“Wait a second.” Emma chuckled. “You’re telling me we’re going to your childhood hideout? Do you have a stash of forbidden makeup and a No B
OYS
A
LLOWED
sign on the door?” She laughed and gave Bailey a high five. “Is there a club initiation?”

“Very funny. You won’t be teasing me when you see it.” Jordyn pulled forward and then reversed the Jeep into a parking space near the community clubhouse. “Dad’s property is that way.” She pointed across a dark ravine. “We’ll go through those bushes on the other side and be right by the … place.”

Tara snickered. “You were going to say clubhouse.”

Bailey covered her mouth, but the giggles still escaped.

“Yeah, right.” Jordyn rolled her eyes. “Now, you guys are going to have to be really quiet until we get in there. Dad doesn’t know we’re here.”

“What would happen if he found out?” Olivia imagined an angry man bursting in on them. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Jordyn heaved a case from the trunk and handed it to Emma before taking one herself. “He’d want to hang out with us, and then he’d drink all of our beer.”

Olivia grabbed a case and followed Jordyn and the others into the trees. “You mean he lets you drink? That’s awesome.”

“Sure. After the divorce, he decided he wanted to be the cool parent, so basically anything goes. Most of the time it’s great. Now, shh.” Jordyn lifted a finger to her lips as they passed through a backyard.

They cut across several yards and arrived at a shed. Jordyn dug under the floor mat, pulled out a key, and unlocked the door. “Don’t turn on any lights until I make sure the blackout shades are pulled. He could see this place from his kitchen window if he happened to look out.”

They stepped inside and waited.

Bang!

“Ouch!”

“You okay?”

“What’s going on, you guys?” Was someone else inside? Olivia turned toward the door, ready to bolt.

Something rustled and a switch flipped, drenching the room with light. Brightly colored overstuffed furniture sat around a wide-screen plasma TV. A refrigerator stood in one corner and a microwave in the other. A dinette sat in the center of the kitchenette on top of plank wood flooring. Cool clubhouse.

Jordyn hunched over, rubbing her shin. “Banged it on the coffee table. Man, that hurts so bad, I’m afraid to look.” She pulled up the leg of her jeans.

“It’s skinned, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to make it.” Olivia rolled her eyes at Bailey.

“This is an awesome place.” Emma peeked in the fridge.

Jordyn turned on the stereo and tossed everyone a beer. “Toast?” Jordyn popped open her can and raised it in the air. “To a great year of partying and lots of hundred-dollar nights!”

They touched their cans together and guzzled a big drink.

Emma lit up a cigarette. “How come you never told us about this place before?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to bring anyone here to hang out with my dad—it’s embarrassing—and it never occurred to me to sneak in here. But, hey, what’s the worst that could happen? We’d just have to share our beer with him.”

“Well, that’s fine. We have plenty. But we aren’t sharing this.” Tara reached into her purse and pulled out a white napkin that she laid down on the coffee table.

Everyone drew close and peered over her shoulder as she unfolded her little package to reveal several thin, nubby cigarettes with pinched ends.

“Is that what I think it is?” Olivia’s heart raced. Marijuana. Weren’t they taking things a bit too far? “I don’t think I’m up for that.” Didn’t they know how much trouble they could get into? Could she be in trouble for even being in the house with it?

Emma brushed her off. “Come on, don’t be a baby. You’re doing it.”

“Let’s smoke it now in case your dad finds us later and we can’t.” Tara put it to her lips and flicked the cigarette lighter.

Olivia stared openmouthed. She stood in a room with someone smoking pot. How could that be? It came about so easily. First beer, then cigarettes, now pot. This couldn’t be happening.