by Ellery Adams
Upon seeing Olivia, she wiped her hands on her apron and murmured something to the old man sitting closest to her.
“Can I help you?” she asked with guarded friendliness.
Olivia examined the woman. She was barely thirty, but toil and worry made her appear older. Her brown hair hung limply down her back and her watery blue eyes were wary. Glancing at Haviland, she placed a protective hand on her swollen abdomen.
“Are you Kim Salter?”
The woman nodded. “You must be Olivia. My husband said you would probably come.” Her tone was apologetic. She pointed at Olivia’s sling. “What happened to you?”
“That’s not important.” Olivia clenched her jaw, her blue eyes darkening with intensity. She disliked being short with the woman, especially since she was both tired and pregnant, but it couldn’t be helped. “I came to see my father and I want to see him now.”
“I’ll get Hudson.” Kim turned and hurried through a swing door leading into the kitchen.
Olivia didn’t wait around for Hudson Salter to emerge from within. She didn’t trust the man and she didn’t want to give him the chance to manipulate her in any way.
Bursting into the kitchen, she found him boiling a pot of stone crab claws while a little girl carefully cut a lemon into tidy wedges. Hudson, whose back was to the door, had been speaking to his wife but immediately broke off and swung around to face Olivia. His cheeks were flushed from the steam billowing out of the stockpot and his eyes were hooded and unreadable. He glanced between Olivia and Haviland and then wiped his hands on his apron.
“Caitlyn,” he said in a deep, authoritative tone. “Take those lemons out to the bar. Kim, you go on too.”
Kim seemed about to protest, but a steely glare from her husband silenced her. Putting a gentle arm around Caitlyn’s bony shoulders, she led the girl out of the kitchen. They both gave Haviland a wide berth.
“I suppose we need to come to terms before you’ll let me see my father,” Olivia stated, dropping her purse on an unused cutting board. She pulled out her checkbook and wiggled it impatiently. “How much?”
Hudson was clearly taken aback. “This isn’t the time to talk about money. I’ve gotta fill this order and then I’ll bring you upstairs. And for the record, I don’t like animals in my kitchen. I take pride in my cooking.” He shot Haviland a distasteful look and then fixed his gaze on Olivia again. “Your daddy’s been sleeping most of the time. He’s pretty doped on morphine. Got a local lady to watch him while we work. He doesn’t have much life left in him now.” His voice had suddenly lost its edge. “You should expect the worst.”
Olivia put her checkbook away and watched Hudson finish with the crab claws. After draining them, he dumped them into a bowl and then untied his apron. “Follow me.”
“As you might imagine, I have many questions,” Olivia said, struggling to remain civil.
Hudson continued walking. “He started getting sick about three months back. It came on real quick. Got a bunch of scans on the mainland and found out about the cancer. Those tests ’bout bankrupted us. Kim asked him if there was anything he wanted, you know, before it was all over, and he wanted us to find this lady named Olivia Limoges. So we got on a computer and tracked you down.”
Following him through a hallway connecting the restaurant to the first floor of the house, Olivia tried to absorb what Hudson had said. “He asked about me?” She hated how much it mattered to her that her father had initiated the chain of events that had led her to Okracoke.
“Yeah. First we ever heard about you—that he had a daughter.”
“And how long have you known him?”
Hudson gave a wry chuckle. “My whole life, lady.”
Olivia didn’t answer. She was trying to rein in her anger, but failed. “So you found me and someone else decided to blackmail me into coming out here just in time for my father’s last days on earth?”
Hudson stopped and turned to face her. “I didn’t send you that letter. Kim and I were going back and forth over how to tell you about your daddy, but Betty did it for us, behind our backs.”
“Who the hell is Betty?” Olivia demanded.
“She’s his nurse. The woman we hired to take care of him when we’ve gotta work.” He frowned. “I don’t blame you for being mad, but she swears she did it because it’s his dying wish. She didn’t care how she had to make it happen, she just wanted you here.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Feed me another lie. She could have just called me. Why did she ask for cash?”
Hudson dropped his gaze to the ground. “For us. This whole place is going down like a ship with a cracked hull. Betty’s known Kim and me since we were in diapers. She delivered Caitlyn. She’s our closest family friend.” He reached out his hand to touch Olivia’s arm, but he let it hover in the air near her shoulder without making contact. “I’m sorry about how you ended up here, but you’re here, and that’s what matters now.”
Every muscle in Olivia’s body constricted when Hudson put his hand on the knob of the guest room at the very end of the hall. Olivia keenly wished there were no witnesses to this moment, but she knew she had no control over the situation. Pushing aside her dread and fear, she followed Hudson inside, unable to see around his broad back.
“How’s he doing?” Hudson asked an older woman seated in a chair against the left wall. She was crocheting a pastel blanket and watching a cooking program on television.
Olivia heard genuine concern behind Hudson’s question and she knew he had told her the truth. The woman in the chair was the blackmailer. Hudson was just a cook trying to keep his family afloat while an old man slowly died in one of his rooms.
“Same as this morning,” the woman answered. Putting her needles aside, she switched off the TV and scrutinized Olivia. “This his daughter?”
Hudson grunted in assent and stepped aside. “Olivia, this is Betty. She’s a nurse. She’s been helping out since he got real bad.”
“Who can’t spell apparently,” Olivia said and shot the woman a hostile glance.
That was all the attention she had to spare for the blackmailer at the moment for the figure in the bed became the center of Olivia’s universe. The very walls could have fallen away from the house and she wouldn’t have noticed. She hadn’t laid eyes on her father’s face in thirty years, but she knew that the gaunt and bearded visage on the pillow belonged to William Wade.
Her face was a blank mask but her heart silently cried, Daddy!
In a flash, Olivia Limoges was gone, replaced by skinny, tow-headed Livie Wade. She approached the bedside on the balls of her feet, as though the groan of a floorboard would break the spell and her father would disappear once and for all. But her adult eyes knew he was going nowhere. The painfully thin arms, the loose, jaundiced skin, and liquid, labored breaths made that clear. So did the IV bag dripping a steady supply of blissful morphine into his body.
Olivia knelt on the floor but did not touch her father. She cradled her hurt arm and stared at his hand. When she’d last seen it, it had been the hand of a man in his prime. Calloused and weathered, tough and powerful. This hand was all bones and swollen veins. The nails looked ragged and tissue-thin. It was easier to look at this than to gaze upon his sallow, wrinkled face.
Her father was an old man. Though Olivia knew his age and that he was very sick, she hadn’t been prepared to see him in such a reduced state. All the strength and forcefulness teeming beneath his skin was gone. He was a shell, a sinking ship, a pitiful thing.
“You can touch him, honey,” the nurse said gently. “That man had plenty of bite in him for most of his life, but he’s got none left now.”
Without glancing away from her father’s hand, Olivia said, “You knew him.”
“Shoot, I tended to him when he first came here. Half drowned, concussed, practically pissing whiskey.” Betty shook her head. “When he finally came ’round, he said he couldn’t remember what had happened and he was sure he didn’t want to remember. H
e sold his boat and started working as a shrimper and then ended up as the caretaker for this place. He met Meg not long after that, back when the grill was just a little hole-in-the-wall—a place to grab a cup of coffee and a sandwich.”
Now Olivia did look up. “Meg?”
“His late wife.”
Olivia turned to see if Hudson had anything to contribute to this string of revelations, but he was already gone. “A second wife,” she muttered.
Betty heard her and chuckled. “That was news to everybody. Meg had no idea. Nobody knew about your mama until a month or so ago. Didn’t know about you either. We thought the man was raving, but Willie wouldn’t let up and I took it upon myself to track you down. I figured you had enough money to share with the Salters, but I didn’t know if you’d part with it willingly. Those two have a precious child to raise and another one on the way and they’ve worked themselves to the bone trying to do right by the man you see lying in this bed.” She sent Olivia a defiant, sidelong glance. “I might have gone overboard with the block print and the weird grammar, but I just wanted to get your attention and I succeeded. I’d do it all over again too, because you’re here and that’s what Willie wanted.” She straightened a corner of bed sheet. “I only hope he wakes up one more time so he can see you in the flesh.”
Neither woman spoke for a moment. Olivia listened to the contradictory sounds of her father’s labored breath and the industrious, steady clicking of Betty’s needles.
“How long has it been since he was lucid?” she asked quietly, deciding that both Hudson and Betty were right. The letter and the doubt had put her through hell, but she was here. She hadn’t missed seeing her father, and if she was lucky, there’d still be time to find out the answers to the questions she’d waited her entire life to ask.
“Two days.” Betty sighed. “He had some broth this morning, but even then, with his eyes open, he wasn’t seeing anything. He’s drifting between worlds, confusing the past and the present, dreams and reality. Mumbles all sorts of fishing tales and whispers about some little dog and a storm.” Gathering up her crochet materials, she rose. “I’ll leave you alone. I’m sure you’ve got things to say and I truly think he’ll hear you. I’ve seen this kind of thing before.” She paused at the threshold. “I believe he’s been waiting for you so he can let go. Talk to him, honey. It’s not too late.”
Olivia accepted the counsel with a nod, but when the door shut behind Betty, she found she had nothing to say. She reached for Haviland, who had sniffed every nook and cranny of the room and was now sprawled at Olivia’s feet. He raised his head as she stroked the curly fur on his flank, a question in his ale brown eyes.
“No, Captain. It’s not time to go.”
She stared at her father for a long time, wondering in angry silence about his life on Okracoke. He’d landed on its flat shores, been received and cared for by the locals, and had come to marry one. Olivia felt freshly abandoned, but most of all she felt betrayed. She believed he might have lost his memory for a time, but eventually he had remembered that he had a daughter and that the woman he had loved was dead. He’d simply decided to do his best to forget them both.
Suddenly, Olivia wanted evidence of his other life. Assuming the room had been her father’s before his illness, she began to open drawers. It never occurred to her that it wasn’t right for her to rifle through his belongings. She’d had no chance to lay claim to this man for thirty years, but now that she was here, Olivia planned to exercise all the authority that a blood tie granted her.
If she’d expected to find a neat file of important documents, personal letters, or photographs, she was to be disappointed. Her father’s room was Spartan. The drawers and closet contained clothes. There were a few books and magazines, but Olivia’s father had never been much of a reader. She found a wooden toolbox filled with his whittling tools in the dresser and on top of a nightstand, a tin of tobacco, matches, and a pipe. The walls were decorated with vintage blueprints of famous sailing vessels.
Frustrated, Olivia paced around the room, stealing nervous glances at her father as though he might awaken to find her snooping through his things. She was certain he wouldn’t approve of that. Like her, he’d always been fiercely protective of his privacy.
“Didn’t anyone matter to you? Isn’t there a single piece of evidence that you shared your life with other human beings?” she addressed the motionless form in the bed. Strangely, it was all she could say to him. She no longer felt like ranting at him, accusing him, or trying to make him feel guilty for leaving her. She just wanted to know who he was, one adult to another, and it was far too late for that.
Olivia paused at the window, which faced west toward Oyster Bay. She wondered if Rawlings was back at the station tying up loose ends, how Laurel was handling Steve, whether Harris had been missed at his work meeting, and if Millay truly believed Olivia’s blood test meant that she was pregnant.
“I’m going to have to clarify that little detail as soon as I get back or Rawlings will think I’m carrying Flynn’s child,” Olivia remarked drily to Haviland.
Kneeling down to pet the poodle, Olivia furtively stuck her arm under her father’s bed. Her hand came in contact with something solid. It was a struggle to pull the object out with only one arm, but once her fingers closed around a handle she was able to drag it into the light.
It was an old suitcase. Olivia tried to pop open the central latch but it was locked.
Undeterred, she grabbed one of her father’s whittling knives and began working on the lock. It was difficult going with only one hand and she cursed aloud more than once, but eventually, the knife blade pried the lock loose and the latch snapped open.
She wasn’t prepared for what she found. Inside the suitcase, stacked in a tidy pile and tied with a piece of string, was a collection of letters written by Olivia’s grandmother. Olivia read the first one, which dated back to her first year in boarding school. Her grandmother had written to her son-in-law about Olivia’s recent activities. She’d even included a school photo of Olivia in her uniform, looking lovely and poised but far too serious for a girl her age. And so it went. Every six months there were updates, photographs, report cards, and occasionally, one of Olivia’s charcoal sketches or a copy of a poem she’d written for English class.
Olivia was floored by the realization that her grandmother had been communicating with her father throughout Olivia’s childhood. A fresh, hot wave of anger swept through her. Why hadn’t her grandmother told her that her father was alive? She’d let her grow up believing she was an orphan. It was so cruel, so heartless.
“I bet you didn’t want Daddy to get his hands on the Limoges trust fund,” she hissed at her grandmother’s perfect cursive. “You never liked him. You never wanted him to marry my mother. I bet you told him he could never raise me properly and he agreed. Maybe you were even right about that, but to let me believe, for all those years, that I had no family except for you . . .” Tears burned her eyes. “How could you do that to a little girl?”
Olivia sat very still for several minutes, trying to calm the cyclone of thoughts in her head. It was as if all she had known had been turned inside out, yet there was no going back. The past was over and done and the present was steadily slipping away.
She continued to look through the contents of the suitcase.
After her grandmother died, the letters ceased, but Olivia’s history lived on in yellowed newspaper clippings from the days in which the media followed her every move, hoping to catch the young and beautiful heiress doing something scandalous. Mostly, they detailed her presence at a museum gala or opening night at the Met, focusing on her escorts, who were usually handsome executives of the Fortune 500 variety.
There was even a clipping from the Oyster Bay Gazette announcing Olivia’s revitalization projects downtown. Lastly, there was an object wrapped in an old towel and secured by two rubber bands.
With care, Olivia removed the rubber bands and unrolled the towel on her t
highs. A pair of metal objects fell to the floor. Olivia recognized them right away. They were her parents’ wedding bands. Forever tied together on a piece of frayed blue yarn, they’d been tucked in a fold inside the towel.
Olivia clutched the rings briefly to her chest, cherishing the relics of happier times and then set them on the ground in order to continue unwrapping the towel. Peeling back the final fold, one of her father’s carvings was revealed. Olivia inhaled sharply, her eyes darting over the lines and indentations, the contours that formed the shape of a young girl standing in the shadow of a lighthouse, her hand shielding her eyes as she stared outward, searching, searching.
It was her girl-self and the lighthouse was not Okracoke’s, but Oyster Bay’s. The beacon that had guided William Wade home time after time after time.
“I’ve been so close!” she yelled at her father. “Why?”
Olivia began to cry. “Why didn’t you come?”
Cradling the carving in her hand, she sat in Betty’s chair and, after calming down, began to read her grandmother’s letters out loud. She relived a dozen years, explaining her version of events to her father. She spoke for over two hours, until the sun dipped below the waves.
Turning on a single lamp, she eventually stopped talking. She pulled her chair closer to the window and then eased it open a few inches, inviting the ocean breeze into the room.
Her father seemed to breathe easier as soon the sound of the water became audible. The rhythmic chant of the waves was faint, but to a man who’d lived a lifetime in tune to their music, it was enough to coax him into a more restful sleep.
Olivia briefly left the room to let Haviland outside and see to his dinner, but afterward she waved off Betty’s offer to stay with the patient through the night.
“I’m not going to give up our last bit of time,” she told the nurse.
