Grandma stared at him, her head tilting from side to side. “You’re my son?”
“Yes. John.” Olivia didn’t expect Grandma to recognize him, but where had the name Jacob come from? And why was her father so bristled by it?
Dad shook his head and turned back to Olivia with that flat-lipped, chin-raised, hands-in-pockets stance that said he had something on his mind, and he was preparing to unload. So much for that hot bath and relaxation she’d planned. “I thought you were in Hawaii?”
“I was.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek as well. An obvious afterthought to their entrance.
The spicy scent of his aftershave brought back memories of sitting in his lap while he read Frog and Toad aloud, and snuggling on the couch while she watched Saturday morning cartoons and he read the newspaper. The man had been her hero for years, only to turn in his title so he could chase a woman half his age. A woman barely older than Olivia. Bored with his wife, his house, and the overall direction his life had taken—he left for something he’d deemed better.
Had it ever been real? Or had she lived an illusion most of her life? That cold, dark room in the corner of her mind she retreated to whenever her mind asked such questions opened its creaky door. “I didn’t know you were coming.” Her voice sounded tinny in her own ears. She felt small beside him. The helpless little girl she’d tried to lock away was crawling her way out.
“I figured it was best not to say anything, considering the circumstances.”
“I don’t want to fight with you, Dad.” Olivia checked on Grandma who’d gone to the living room and settled in front of the TV. After handing Grandma the remote and reminding her which button to use when she wanted to change the channel—something Olivia went through on a daily basis—she stormed right past Dad still standing in the hallway and went to the kitchen. Dad’s heavy footfalls echoed in the hall behind her. He hadn’t even taken off his shoes.
“If you don’t feel like arguing, then stop this nonsense and go home.”
One hand on the open cabinet door, Olivia whirled around. “I’m working to keep a business out of bankruptcy and to support myself and my grandmother. Which nonsense are you referring to?”
“All of it. You’re life isn’t here. Stop pretending it is.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb.
Her glass clinked against the countertop. She closed the cabinet door with more force than she intended to and headed for the fridge. “I’m pretending? You’re the one who left your family to pretend you’re still in your twenties.” Heat scalded her face, relieved by the open refrigerator door. She hadn’t spoken to him like this since she was a rebellious teenager. After realizing her father was not the man she’d always known, and that her life was based on a complete lie, she’d been too stricken for harsh words.
She busied herself with pouring a glass of juice while she waited for the whip of his next remark. It didn’t come. Instead, he wiped a hand down his face. A face she now noticed had aged ten years in the last one.
“I’m sorry for hurting you…and your mother. You’ve no idea how sorry. But I’ve made my bed, and I can’t change what I’ve done. All I can do is move forward. And I’m moving forward with Marilyn. You need to move on with your life, too.”
The woman’s name churned bile up Olivia’s throat. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“That’s what I came to find out.” He reached into the cabinet above her for a glass of his own and poured the juice she’d left sitting on the counter. He leaned against the sink, took a sip, and then swirled the glass as if it were wine instead of orange juice. “You have a life in Indy. A successful practice you’ve worked hard for, a fiancé.”
“Justin left me.” Her voice quivered. “Left. Me.”
“He just needs time. You guys were swimming through some heavy stuff.”
“How much time do I give a man who left me when I needed him most? Two men who did, in fact? Huh? If Justin runs during adversity now, what’ll he do when it comes and we’re married?”
He’ll leave you like your father did your mother.
She’d counseled over a hundred women in the last few years who wanted freedom from the psychological hold their fathers had on them so they could find and keep a healthy relationship. To break the pattern of physical or emotional abuse. Olivia refused to become a statistic.
Dad swiped at a drop of juice marring his blue-and-white striped button-down. “Justin asked for time. He didn’t abandon you. He put your wedding on hold so you could both take a breather. To let you heal and regroup.”
“Then why haven’t I heard from him in the last four months? Not an email, a text, or a call. Nothing. That constitutes a break-up to me.”
“Your plan is to move here, inherit your grandmother’s assets when she dies, and then what?”
The air thickened to a smothering fog. Her lungs struggled to keep up. “Now it makes sense. You’re fighting me in court for power-of-attorney because you’re afraid I’ll steal your rightful inheritance as Grandma’s only child.” The room swayed. Olivia cupped her forehead to still the nausea. Her dad’s selfishness had no bounds. Inhaling a deep breath, she steadied herself and her voice. “I’m not here for things. I’m here to care for Grandma since you won’t do it.”
Dad rinsed his glass and put it in the sink as casually as he would at a dinner party.
Olivia’s blood simmered even hotter.
“What she needs is round-the-clock care in a facility from staff trained to handle her.”
She sucked in a breath. “A nursing home?”
“They’ll take good care of her.” He produced three pamphlets from his back pocket and dropped them on the counter.
Bangor Senior Living. Downeast Living Center. Washington County Nursing Home. Olivia’s stomach turned. Yes, there would be a day when that was her only option, but today was not that day.
Dad leaned his elbows on the counter and clasped his hands. “Let’s check into these places. Together. We’ll find one you feel comfortable with, sell the house, and you can go back to your life.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off the pictures of the facilities designed to look homey and safe. Buildings like her father and Justin drafted, made into blueprints, and contracted to build. But Olivia had learned that what happened inside a home made it what it was, not the pretty exterior.
She swiped a stray tear. “You sure this is about me? Or are you wanting to wrap everything up with a pretty bow so you can live guilt-free with your mistress?”
He rose to his full height, hands at his sides, disapproval tightening the skin around his eyes. “I won’t let you talk about Marilyn like that. Now, if you don’t cease this power-of-attorney idea, we’ll have our day in court.”
And just like that, Olivia lost her importance in his heart to a home wrecker, despite the agony he knew he’d caused. Tears rose from deep inside and spilled over her cheeks, threatening to choke her. The black hand of despair which she knew better than her father clamped its icy fingers around her mind. “What happened to my Daddy?” she whispered.
He blinked. Then left the room.
Leaving her to sink into the pit of depression she’d barely escaped last time.
~*~
Niagara Falls
July 1951
Our first vacation together was certainly a memorable one. We set off at dawn in your dad’s old 1940 Plymouth, the world and a thousand adventures stretching out ahead of us. Adventure was exactly what we got, though it wasn’t the kind we expected.
It all started with a flat tire on MA-2 W not far into Massachusetts. We pulled over, only to find there was no spare, and you told me kicking the car would not fix it. An hour later, we walked into the tiny town of Bellmont, paid for a tow, and arranged to stay the night at the Bellmont Inn, a plantation-style house converted to a motel.
The repair and the extra night’s hotel cost more than we’d bargained for, which cut into our already tight budget.
Then what starte
d out as a beautiful day turned into rain in Amsterdam and your window refused to roll up. You had to hold up your raincoat for three hours until the weather subsided.
Between traffic and pulling into the gas station on fumes, we were both frustrated and exhausted by the time we reached Niagara. Right after I had taken this amazing shot of the falls with you by my side, you kissed my cheek and whispered, “It was all worth it.”
God is for you, not against you, Elizabeth. Like all the obstacles we had to endure to reach the magnificence of our final destination, so with life. One day we’ll see the entire picture. One day, we’ll understand.
14
The bee hives were healthy, the blueberries pollinated, and the predicted late frost guaranteed to hurt farmers hadn’t come. Blake sat straight on the resting four-wheeler and admired God’s handiwork.
“Nature was kind this year.” Huck lifted his bee smoker from the ground and walked to his ATV parked beside Blake’s.
“We both know who controls nature.”
“Amen.” Huck opened the smoker’s lid to let the rest of the kindling burn out, and then set it by the passenger side wheel. Smart move. There’d been enough arson fires in the area lately. They didn’t need any accidents.
“I saw Arianne the other day.” Blake opened his water bottle and took a sip. “At the bakery in Stone Harbor.”
Huck nodded. “If she didn’t come home tasting like chocolate every Thursday, I’d start to worry.”
Blake chuckled. “Livi mentioned that Arianne’s her best customer.”
Huck raised a brow.
“Olivia, the new manager.”
“On a pet name basis with the same woman who earlier accused you of preying on little old ladies. Interesting.”
Blake capped his water. “The one and only.”
Huck rolled his eyes. “You have a dorky grin on your face right now.”
Blake reached into the cooler and threw a water bottle at Huck, football style.
The action took Huck by surprise, and he caught it with an oomph.
“Glad to hear Emma’s doing better.”
“Thanks. Breaks my heart to see her like that. Little girls should be worried about who they’re going to play with at recess, not if that kid is going to make them sick.”
The conversation turned cold as they prepared to leave this end of the property.
Huck’s silence was different than usual, his movements lethargic. It was clear his attention had drifted elsewhere, to a place too dark for this beautiful day.
Blake started to inquire but thought better of it. He wasn’t one to pry. If Huck wanted to talk it out, he would.
Once the ashes had cooled, they started the ATVs.
Blake led the way around the outskirts of the blueberry bushes toward the barn. Though the temp was above fifty, the wind bit at his face. He’d love to bring Olivia out here sometime, show her the property, maybe share a four-wheeler. See if she appreciated what Madison never had.
Comparing the two women was like comparing apples and oranges except one was rotten. And it was a waste of time. Madison was out of his life for good, and he really wanted to see what possibilities a relationship with Olivia might hold.
~*~
Olivia blinked at the seventy-ish woman dressed in black sitting across the bakery counter.
Mrs. Campbell sobbed, her lacy, white handkerchief pressed to her nose. “He kidnapped Harrison.”
“Did you call the police?” Olivia’s heart sank, unable to fathom how scared the Campbell family must be.
The woman blew her nose with enough force to slick the lid off a canning jar. She inhaled a deep breath and released it. She opened her large and very shiny red purse and dropped the hankie inside. “They said there’s nothing they can do.” Sniff. “It’s ‘just a cat’. They’ve obviously never lost a close member of their family.”
Olivia leaned closer. “Harrison’s a cat?”
Mrs. Campbell’s mouth dropped open. “Harrison is not just a cat. He’s my baby.” Her face crumpled. “And now he’s gone.”
The waterworks started again. Olivia cleared her throat, relieved that Harrison wasn’t the woman’s grandson as she’d first suspected. “Just to clarify—your eighty-year-old boyfriend seduced you for your cat?”
The woman blinked. “That’s what I said.”
Wow. Olivia thought teenagers were mean. Apparently senior citizens had discovered how to take bullying to a whole other level.
Mrs. Campbell retrieved her hanky and blew another round of gale-force winds across the counter.
Olivia squeezed her hands into fists to keep from sanitizing the surface in front of the woman. “And how can I help you?”
“I’ve come because I’ve heard you solve people’s problems through your desserts.”
This had to stop. Olivia would have to put an ad in the paper letting everyone know she was a certified mental health therapist and the fact that customers came here, spilled their guts, and left feeling better had nothing to do with food. Of course, then she might acquire another practice she wasn’t worthy of running. Which she was kind of doing anyway. An hour session that included dessert. Maybe she was on to something there. “Mrs. Campbell, I can’t—”
The woman slashed the air with her hand. “No need for humility, dear. I’ve heard the stories, and I believe you’re the only person who can help me.”
“What is it you think I can do?”
“I need a box of walnut brownies, extra fudge, delivered to Arthur Greene. He’ll exchange my Harrison for them. Guaranteed.”
“Mr. Greene? As in the guy who owns Seaside Books?”
He was the pet terrorist?
Mrs. Campbell nodded. “They’re his favorite. But don’t hand them over until you have Harrison safely in your arms.”
“The bakery doesn’t deliver.” Thank goodness because Olivia wanted no part of this hostage negotiation.
“Please, dear.” Mrs. Campbell, once again, reached into her purse, pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill and pushed it across the counter. “You’re my only hope.”
Hope. Why did that word keep coming up in conversation like a constant poke in the forehead? Olivia sighed. She’d come here to un-complicate her life, not make it worse. So how did she keep getting involved in other people’s lives? She needed to stop by Arthur’s shop anyway to deliver the packet she and Glenda had prepared for the merchants participating in this year’s first annual Fourth of July celebration. Olivia supposed she could take a box of extra fudge walnut brownies and discuss a certain cat named Harrison. After all, Mrs. Campbell was one of Grandma’s dearest friends. “Keep your money, Mrs. Campbell. I’ll talk to Arthur within the next couple of days.”
The woman stretched her aged hand to cover Olivia’s. “You, dear, are a treasure. I hope your young fella realizes how special you are.”
No fella. No hope.
~*~
Why was she attempting to save a stranger’s cat again? Olivia’s logic had made sense up until she swung the gold knocker attached to Arthur Greene’s blue door. Now every rational thought she’d had about the situation fled.
Grandma eyed the brick stoop much like a young child would take in a museum, curious but unattached.
Olivia knocked again, harder. “This is Arthur Greene’s house. Remember him? I need to drop this off”—she tapped a manila folder against her palm—”and discuss some things.” Olivia’s stomach knotted.
“Cookies.” Grandma raised the book-sized box in her hands.
“Walnut brownies. Extra fudge. You think it’ll sway him?” She’d filled Grandma in on the situation, as she did with all the town news to keep her involved, though Grandma never retained the information for long.
“Don’t worry. Be happy.”
Easier said from a woman who had no idea what was going on.
A muffled clack beat in rhythm behind the door, growing louder as it approached. One inch at a time, the door opened to Mr. Greene leaning on
his walker. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”
“Sorry to drop by without warning. Glenda finished the packets for the Fourth of July festival, and we brought left over treats.” Leftover from the large tray she’d made specifically for this purpose. Hopefully six brownies for a single bookstore owner was enough.
He reached up and tapped the device in his ear. “Beautiful women are welcome in my home anytime.” The cat-napping Casanova opened the door wider. “Come in.”
Olivia helped Grandma cross the stoop, and it was then that Arthur’s bright green and yellow plaid pants caught Olivia’s attention. What a way to live up to one’s last name. The man looked like he belonged on a PGA world tour. Or a box of cereal.
They followed Arthur to his living room, slippers shuffling, walker clacking. “I hate this blasted piece of metal. I try not to use it if I don’t have to. My arthritis is determined to get me down today.” He sank onto a couch that screamed 1970s. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
Olivia lifted the lid and scooted the box across the end table to Mr. Greene. “These should help your arthritis.”
Liar!
Arthur’s eyes rounded. He grinned at the contents.
Olivia searched the room for a black-and-white feline.
“Extra fudge?” he asked.
“Extra fudge.”
With a bony hand, he reached in and took one. His groan melded with the TV audience cheering on a game show contestant. An audience whose volume was turned up entirely too loud.
He licked his lips then took a sip of the diet cherry soda sitting on a coaster, sweating.
Olivia was too. It had to be a hundred degrees in here.
And Arthur was wearing a sweater.
“How did you know these were my favorite? Did you remember, Elizabeth?” He took another bite.
A furry friend trotted from the hall and into Grandma’s lap. Grandma startled, her attention shifting from the rowdy game show to the cat. “Oh.” Grandma smiled and stroked Harrison as carefully as if he were made of porcelain.
Perfect timing. Olivia cleared her throat. “Eugenia Campbell told me.”
Arthur stopped mid-chew. Frowned.
How to Stir a Baker's Heart Page 8
