Opposite of Frozen

by Jan O'Hara

  “Ben? And a heck of a job he’s been doing.” Oliver shook Emily’s hand. “Without his support—”

  “Yes, yes. I’ve heard enough about the sainted Thurston dynasty. Can we please get on with it?”

  A hush fell over the group as they turned to the opposite sofa, where a middle-aged woman sat alone. Her dress was the color of midnight and unmistakably designer, whereas her soul, Page decided abruptly, hinted of bargain basement.

  “Excuse my companion’s manners,” Mrs. Arbuckle said, an edge to her voice. “Weddings put a strain on everyone. This is Lilith, the bride’s mother.”

  From Page’s left, Avis cupped a hand to one cheek and leaned into Page. “An apt name,” she said in a stage whisper. “Can you smell the sulfur?”

  Page couldn’t restrain a snort, which earned her an amused glance from Oliver, who stood on her other side, the laptop computer and his jacket stowed between his legs.

  Beyond him, Paul stroked his mustache meditatively in a gesture which conveniently hid his mouth.

  Chastity’s eyes danced. Page had the feeling it wasn’t often she saw Lilith put in her place.

  Lilith shot to her feet and clapped her hands twice. “Riley,” she called in a voice filled with false cheer, “let’s begin.”

  The middle dressing room door opened, admitting a young woman in her mid-twenties. She was clad in a long, white gown and trailed by a modish woman wearing a severely tailored suit. The second woman juggled a train and had a mouth full of pins, implying she was the store’s proprietor.

  “Hello, everyone,” the future bride said brightly, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. Between the volume of her skirt and the train, which had to be twenty feet long, her movements were constricted. Yet she managed to convey an impression of good-natured exuberance. “Thank you so much for—”

  “Yes, yes. We’ve covered all that.” Lilith ordered Riley up onto the dais, where she and Katherine, the suited woman, plucked and teased the dress into submission.

  “This kid’s got to be adopted,” Avis said, not even bothering to drop her voice.

  “Shhh,” Page said with no real heat. “You’ll get us kicked out of class.” Though Page should be back at the hotel, entering profiles into the computer, a growing part of her wanted to stick around and stand up for Riley. Page missed her mother every day, but she’d rather be an orphan than have a parent like Lilith.

  “What do you think?” Riley twisted to see her back in the mirror.

  “It’s a Kiki Consuelo,” Lilith said, as if that settled the matter.

  “Oh, dear,” Emily said in a here it comes tone.

  “Lilith,” Madeline tried, “we said we’d defer to our kind helpers.”

  “Exactly,” came from Chastity.

  “No,” Lilith said, “that was your commitment, not mine. As the mayor’s daughter, Riley will be featured on the society pages. I won’t have her embarrassed.”

  This time, Paul rode to the rescue. He pushed off from the half-wall he’d been leaning against and walked around the bride with an air of silent contemplation.

  Privately, Page thought the dress was hideous. It looked like someone had taken squares of fabric, folded them diagonally, and fastened them in cascading rows down the skirt.

  Oliver’s nostrils were flattened, suggesting he felt similarly.

  Meanwhile, Paul’s face was a study in neutrality. “Let’s see the next one,” he said gently to Riley, and helped her step to the floor.

  Lilith sniffed but settled on the sofa to examine her French manicure.

  “He’s part gang member and part diplomat,” Page said to Oliver.

  In response, Oliver linked their pinky fingers, and, after giving hers a quick squeeze, left them loosely connected.

  Page blinked. When she started to feel dizzy, she reminded herself to breathe. On the pretext of being too hot, she released his hand and undid her jacket.

  Oliver’s lips curved upward.

  You’re confusing me, guy, Page thought. Since the Wobbly Dog, Oliver was more relaxed with her, more affectionate, sought more opportunities to touch. And for a relationship that would end in a few days, for the sake of Page’s self-preservation, she was enjoying it a little too much.

  While they waited for Riley to change, the conversation drifted to bridal traditions.

  “Did Riley settle on her something old?” Emily asked Lilith. “She and I talked about a necklace.”

  “That won’t be happening,” Lilith said without bothering to look up. “If the dress can accommodate jewelry, it will be modern and tasteful.”

  “That reminds me,” Madeline said to Emily in a clear effort to cut the tension. “I was looking at your mother’s portrait in the Thurston’s library. Whatever happened to that amethyst medallion? It was utterly gorgeous.”

  A wistful expression stole across Emily’s face. “My father passed me over to give it to Mary. She always had him wrapped around her finger. My daughter,” she said to Avis, who had been making inquiring noises. Emily turned back to Mrs. A. “I’m sure the necklace is in a pawnshop somewhere. It’s long gone by now.”

  “You’re not in touch with your daughter?” Page asked gently.

  “No.” Emily gazed into the distance. Her voice was flat. “We’ve been estranged for a long time.”

  “Why do people just disappear like that?” Oliver burst out. He reddened as everyone turned to stare.

  Avis reached across Page to pat him on the shoulder.

  Paul cleared his throat.

  Where had that come from? Page wondered. That outburst had encompassed a whole lot of pain—too much on behalf of a stranger. Someone, sometime had disappeared on Oliver. Had it been when he’d gotten hurt?

  Sometimes there are good reasons, Page wanted to say. The best in the world. But this was the wrong place for that kind of intimate conversation.

  “If you figure it out, let me know,” Emily said with a wistful smile. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to change the subject.”

  “Perfect timing for gown number two,” Chastity said as Riley emerged.

  The train on this dress was a manageable length. There was a simple, high neckline in front and lace shirring at the shoulder. But the gown fell apart in the back, where a plunging neckline ended in a ruffle that barely concealed Riley’s butt.

  Lilith shook out the skirt with vicious movements. “It’s elegant, and sophisticated, and will look stunning next to my outfit.”

  “Exactly,” Oliver said out of the side of his mouth. He seemed to have recovered from whatever had caused his outburst. “She’ll be a fresh daisy in a Ming vase.”

  “Mismatch,” Avis agreed.

  “When is your wedding?” Page asked Riley.

  “Christmas,” Riley said with a momentary twinkle. “Which raises a good point. No sleeves, no back… I’m going to freeze. Plus, if someone steps on my train, I’ll end up flashing one of the girls.”

  “Then this dress is a no,” Page said. “You have to feel comfortable at your own wedding.”

  “Hello? Two-sided tape. Fur wrap,” Lilith said.

  “Oh, Mother,” Riley said in tones speaking of longstanding conflict on this point.

  “Let me have a look at this one,” said Paul smoothly. He repeated the ritual of silent evaluation and escorted Riley to the dressing room.

  When he returned to his place along the wall, Page leaned across Oliver toward Paul. “You’re excellent at moving things along.”

  “He is,” Oliver agreed. “When you get married, Page, hire him as a wedding consultant.”

  “What kind of gown would you choose, dear?” Madeline asked. “I can see you in something off-shoulder. Unconventional, naturally.”

  “Oh, I’m never tying the knot,” Page said, and felt Oliver stiffen beside her.

  “Not even if you found the right man?” he asked.

  Page shook her head. “Won’t happen.”

  “If only I’d been so wise at y
our age,” Paul said. He chuckled. “Took me four weddings to figure that out. What about you, Oliver? You seem like the black-tie, big wedding kind of guy.”

  “That’s me,” Oliver said. “Traditional all the way.”

  Of course you are, thought Page. Another reason we would never make sense.

  Avis grabbed Page’s arm. “Get a load of this peachy dress.”

  As far as Page was concerned, this was the one. It had three-quarter-length sleeves, a modest neckline in front, and a concealed zipper at the back. The effect was simple and clean and gave off an Audrey Hepburnish vibe. More importantly, while wearing it, Riley was lit from within. She had looped the small train over one wrist. With a rustle of silk and lace, she gave a little twirl on the way to the dais. She had even taken the time to don a simple veil.

  “Bravo!” Avis began to clap, and Oliver and Page joined in.

  Madeline, Emily, Chastity and Katherine smiled broadly. Apparently they had all been rooting for the same choice.

  “You like?” Riley asked with a delighted laugh and quick curtsy.

  “Hold a minute,” Lilith said to Riley, her face distorted with anger. “You are my daughter. Their opinions hold no water.”

  “But—”

  “When they thought you had a heart murmur as a child, we took you to the cardiologist,” Lilith said. “When my Mercedes got dented by that idiot teenager, we took it to the auto-body specialist. When you require fashion advice, you go to your mother. Not Ms. Frump, Ms. Punk, and Mr. Jean Patrol,” Lilith said, indicating Avis, Page, and Oliver, in that order. “And what are you supposed to be with those…zipper things?” she asked Paul, flapping a hand at his red bomber jacket. “A flannel biker?”

  A heavy silence settled over the room.

  “Well…” Mrs. Arbuckle said eventually, and then stopped, the offense in Lilith’s tirade presumably having exceeded her command of protocol.

  Emily’s mouth worked soundlessly.

  Riley had clapped a hand to her mouth and stood as if rooted to the floor, her eyes glistening.

  Chastity could only say, “Butternut…”

  “In his defense, the jeans fit very nicely,” the proprietor said, smiling at Oliver. Though the words were spoken softly enough, they were so unexpected after her prolonged silence that Page nearly jumped.

  Oliver smiled his thanks, but his arms were rigid at his sides.

  “Well, I’m off,” Avis announced. She held up a hand in farewell to Riley. “I wish you well, dear, but I don’t have anything left in me for this level of stupid.”

  Lilith’s eyes narrowed and she made a rage-filled sound. “Take the rest of them with you,” she called after Avis’s retreating back. She swept the rest of them with an icy glare. “I mean it. Shoo! I’ll speak with my daughter alone.”

  “Riley, do you want us to leave?” Madeline asked.

  Riley surreptitiously brushed away a tear. “It’s okay, Mrs. Arbuckle.” Her smile was wobbly but her natural optimism was clearly waging a battle for supremacy. “My parents are paying for the wedding. Mother should have her say.”

  Oliver bent to retrieve the laptop and walked beside Page, towards the front door.

  “She’s going to give in, isn’t she?” Page made the mistake of looking back. Though she couldn’t hear the words, the sight of a ranting Lilith and a hushed Riley made her yearn for Mrs. Horton’s cane.

  “Yup,” Oliver said, drawing the word out.

  “She’s actually going to go with a butt-ugly dress to make her mother happy.”

  “Yup.”

  “She’ll cave now, but look out,” Paul said. “One day the mother will go too far and Riley will assert herself. We’re only ever one thought away from escaping a rut.”

  Page figured he was probably right. But inspiration seized as they passed a shelf of accessories decorated with candles, scarves, and a pyramid of twine balls. She palmed the apex ball and held it out to Oliver. “If you didn’t have brain damage, and if I paid you five bucks, would you nail Lilith Hamilton between the eyes?”

  “If I had my full vision,” Oliver said, “you’d have to pay me to stop.” He appropriated the ball and tossed it unerringly back in place. “Now, c’mon. I’ll buy you a drink and we can switch roles.” He bumped her with his hip. “Tonight you ogle my ass for a change.”

  Chapter 16

  Since his conversation with Ben, the problem of Mr. Lee had been preying on Oliver’s mind. One block from the hotel and the promise of a beer he could already taste, a potential solution simply floated into awareness.

  Page, walking between him and Paul Dubois, looked at Oliver inquiringly when he pulled her to a stop.

  Oliver jerked his chin down Main Street. “We need to go back.”

  “What for?” she said. “I’ve got to get started on transferring the profiles.”

  “Bait,” Oliver said, conscious of Paul’s presence and wanting to maintain Mr. Lee’s confidentiality. “A way to fill your biggest cluster of missing data.”

  Her eyebrows climbed as she absorbed his meaning.

  “Sounds intriguing,” Paul said, “but I get the feeling this is a two-person job.” He took the laptop from Oliver and promised to save them barstools as Oliver and Page reversed course.

  “Is this about Mr. Lee?” A gust of wind pushed a strand of hair into Page’s mouth and she brushed it back.

  With an effort, Oliver looked away from her lips. It was becoming an increasing struggle to ignore their lush ripeness. “You got it. What’s the one thing everybody says about him?”

  Over the course of the afternoon, as Page and Oliver discreetly sought information about Mr. Lee, a troubling story had emerged.

  Though he’d moved into the retirement home six months prior, he remained an enigmatic and shadowy figure. He wore a wedding band, but no one had heard him talk of his marriage to know whether he was separated, widowed, or divorced. No one was certain he could speak.

  He maintained his silence at all times, even in the company of his only visitors—believed to be his children due to their ages and the commonality of facial features. Each Sunday, the two women and one man would arrive, bearing Mr. Lee’s laundry and the cooked rice dishes that sustained him over the week.

  Opinion varied as to whether he preferred Asian food, his own company, or was gluten-intolerant. But all agreed he never ate in the dining room.

  His kids spoke loudly and sounded aggressive with him, though no one knew if they were browbeating Mr. Lee or compensating for hearing limitations. Also, they spoke in a foreign language, assumed to be Cantonese.

  Things shifted from the mysterious to the worrisome, though, when it came to Mr. Lee’s appearance. He had arrived clean-shaven, wearing a suit and tie over a dress shirt. Gradually, he had stopped shaving, stopped cutting his hair—possibly even stopped combing it. Of late, he wore only sweat pants and knit shirts.

  According to Mavis, such a major change could signal a progressive brain disorder, like dementia. Or it could be innocent. A simple assertion of taste.

  “Hmmm,” Page said. “Commonalities. He doesn’t talk?”

  “Besides that.”

  “He can’t sit still,” she said.

  “Bingo.” Another reason to be concerned. Why would a chronically restless person go on a bus tour and cruise?

  Mountain Jewel Sports loomed ahead, with its display windows full of downhill skis, skates, and high-end water bottles.

  “I’m thinking this is where we get our bait,” Oliver said, nodding towards the store.

  After a beat, Page said, “So…we create an outing he finds irresistible, and he’ll come to us.”

  “Exactly.” As a bonus, they’d keep the active seniors occupied.

  Page was smiling at him like he was a genius, and Oliver was smiling back, basking in her admiration, when they crossed the threshold.

  Right now, the store was catering to winter tourists, but in his mind’s eye, Oliver could envision the shelves restocked with
summer offerings: hiking boots, tennis rackets, camp stoves. Heck, off to the left in the stockroom, the prows of suspended kayaks were visible, awaiting spring’s arrival.

  Oliver took a deep breath then, and inhaled the scents of well-trod pine floors, leather bindings, and the faint whiff of bike grease. Better than dew on mountain flowers, better than the post-rain Sonoran Desert, it was the rarefied air of a general sporting goods store.

  For a brief moment, he felt a piercing arrow of emotion and knew this was the happiest he’d been in a long time. He smiled down at Page, who said, “What?” and looked baffled at his sudden expression of joy.

  And why wouldn’t she be confused? Oliver knew he was a moody guy, one minute chewing her out, the next grabbing her hand without permission, like a crushing teenager in a movie theater. He suddenly wanted to say, Some of this emotion is due to you. You listened yesterday and I feel lighter for it. I like having you around.

  Oliver settled for smiling at her. “I’m just having a moment.”

  Straight ahead, a guy in his thirties, with wavy brown hair, stood behind a glass display case with a cash register atop it. He smiled a welcome.

  Unfortunately, the man he was serving had an all-too-familiar silhouette—confirmed when the customer glanced over his shoulder and performed a double-take.

  “Whoa. Bad news darkens your doorway, Teague,” Shep said to the man behind the counter. He turned to face Oliver and folded his gigantic arms over his gigantic chest. He made a show of peering around the store, as if a gunman might be hiding in the ski jackets or lurking behind the thermal underwear. “Where are your senior assassins tonight?”

  The man Shep had called Teague lost his look of open friendliness. He came around the edge of the counter. “These are your troublemakers?”

  “The same,” Shep said.

  Page seized Oliver’s hand in both of hers. “We should go. I don’t think we’re going to get what we need here.”

  “Not yet.” Oliver wasn’t quite ready to abandon the plan.

  Teague’s expression suddenly shifted. He pointed at Oliver. “Wait a sec. I know you.” He turned to Shep. “Remember the Stingers-Padres game where the guy got clocked with the career-ending ball? That was him.” He turned back to Oliver. “Oliver Pike, right? Man, what a lousy break you had.”