by Desiree Span
Oliver and Erica
When Friends become Lovers
Desiree Span
Copyright © Desiree Span, 2018
ISBN 13: 9789492371812 (ebook)
ISBN 13: 9789492371805 (paperback)
Publisher: Amsterdam Publishers, the Netherlands
[email protected]
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any other information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
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* * *
Details can be found at the end of this novel
Contents
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part II
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part III
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Kind request
About the Author
Prologue
OLIVER
1997
* * *
“Wait. Wait! Please wait, Erica!” I yelled running after her, but she was fast. And as she turned the corner and disappeared I could hear the echo of her boots stomping on the sidewalk. The cold rain clattered in my face as I picked up speed. I caught up with her, managed to grab her arm and she almost stumbled when I halted her to a stop. I trapped her in an embrace, but she fiercely pushed me away.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” she shouted hysterically.
She was soaking wet and breathing rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes quickly darted back and forth, as if looking for an escape route. I had never seen her this distraught.
All I wanted was to take her in my arms, wipe back the strands of wet hair that were clinging to her face and kiss her. But she pushed me away and when she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, I could only stand there and watch. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t think clearly. My racing heart pounded loudly in my ears and my breath choked in my throat.
After a moment she seemed to pull herself together. “What on earth can you say to make this go away, Oliver?” she asked with shaky voice, but now looking me straight in the eye.
* * *
How could this have happened? How could I have been so stupid! Those thoughts screamed at me. And as the reality of the situation dawned on me I started to panic. I was losing the love of my life.
Part I
Chapter One
ERICA
2015
* * *
It was about 8 a.m. when my father called to give me the news. The twins were eating breakfast and I had sat with them at the table drinking my coffee, while I helped them go over the three short chapters they needed to know for their test that day. At the age of ten, both were very independent, but despite their protests I insisted to still be involved in their homework, attend their sport events and scrutinize their choice of friends.
After they packed their own lunch, they rode off on their bikes and I was watching them from the kitchen window when the phone rang.
“Erica?” my father said, and he sounded upset. “Sweetie, I’m afraid Mr. P... well, Peter suffered a heart attack and he passed away yesterday.”
“Oh no! Oh my god!” I said. I had to sit down to process the news. “But, have you spoken to Oliver? How is he?”
“Well, he is pretty shaken up. It was all so unexpected,” he said solemnly.
He told me when they would be saying their last good-byes, and I promised I would do my best to be there for the funeral, which would be difficult if I couldn’t get a flight right away. I hung up the phone and sat there for a few minutes, staring blank. I kept thinking about Oliver and how devastated he must be losing his father. I felt I should be there. I just had to be there for him!
* * *
“Have the girls gone to school already?” Jan asked and walked into the living room, putting on his coat. He was about to give me a kiss before heading off to work, when he found me sitting dumbstruck on a chair.
“Erica? Honey, are you okay?” he asked worried.
I looked up at him with teary eyes. “A good friend of my family has died,” I said and my voice croaked. Jan didn’t hesitate. He kneeled down beside my chair and hugged me, stroking the back of my head lovingly.
I explained that it was my father’s best friend and that I had known the man since I was a kid. I told him I felt I really needed to go to the funeral and pay my last respects.
Jan took off his coat and while he was searching the Internet for a plane ticket to the US, I was packing a few clothes for the trip.
* * *
The best Jan could do on such late notice was get me on standby for the first flight available. The next day we dropped the twins off at his parents’ house and from there he drove me to the airport.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said and kissed me. “Say hi to your parents for us.”
“I will. And the girls have soccer practice on Wednesday at six. The hour changed, so don’t forget,” I reminded him.
“I’ve got it. Don’t worry,” he said smiling.
I stepped out of the car, put on my red coat, took my handbag from the back seat, and waved at him as I watched him maneuver the car into the queue that left the drop-off area. I then made my way to the revolving doors, all this time hoping I would be able to make it on time for Peter Blake’s funeral.
The man sitting next to me on the plane had ordered the chicken, stew or pork look-a-like menu, and my meal was supposed to be spinach lasagna, but as much as I dug I couldn’t seem to find the spinach. Anyway. In a clumsy moment the man dropped his fork and he gave me a desperate, oh-my-god-how-the-hell-am-I-ever-going-to-retrieve-it look. Seeing that the mush on my plastic dish could be scooped up with a spoon, I gave him my unused fork, for which he thanked me heartily. And that is how Fred and I got to talking for many hours of the flight.
He was in his early sixties, married and had two children, the eldest about my age. I don’t remember what he did for a living, but it involved a lot of traveling, and on that particular flight he was returning home to the US, after a long business trip.
My American accent must have given him the wrong idea, for he asked if I was heading home as well.
“Well, I’m actually Dutch,” I explained and smiled at his surprised look.
“Wow, your American accent is flawless,” he said and I told him that The Netherlands was in fact my home. “But I grew up in the States and I’m on my way to visiting family and unfortunately attending a funeral,” I added.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said and kept silent for a couple of seconds, I suppose out of respect. But then his curiosity won and he continued our chat.
He asked where it was that I grew up in the States and I told him about my father being American, and that he had fallen head over heels in love with my mother in the ‘60s, while he was studying in The Netherlands for a year. He looked for a job there and then asked his Dutch girlfriend to marry
him.
“I was born in The Netherlands and so was my younger sister, Anabel. But then he suddenly decided he was homesick and somehow convinced my mom to move us back to his hometown, Chester,” I said.
Fred listened attentively. “Chester? Is that Chester in Connecticut?” he then asked.
“Yes!”
“I’ve heard of it,” he said. “Never been though.”
“You should visit some time. It’s lovely; very rural and quiet, but beautiful and picturesque... and it’s only two hours away from New York and Boston. My Dad always loved having the best of both worlds. I guess he really missed it.”
At that moment the stewardess came by pushing her trolley and picking up what was left of our meal. Fred and I pushed up our trays and we both fell silent for a while, giving my thoughts the chance to wander off. And slowly nervousness rose up from my stomach, for I kept wondering; would I actually see Oliver in Chester again?
Chapter Two
OLIVER
1980
* * *
“Hello?” I paused waiting for a reply, but nothing. “Helloooo?” It was really too dark for me to see. Where was the light switch again? I took three steps forward but forgot about the wooden beams in our low-ceilinged attic. The hard thud against my head reminded me sure enough.
“Ouch!” I said, which made my lollypop fall out of my mouth. I rubbed the side of my head frowning and quickly bent over to pick it up. After pushing my eyeglasses back up my nose I examined the candy, pulled off the fuzz now clinging on to it and blew on it twice to get rid of the invisible germs. I then stuck it back into my mouth and this time remembered to dodge the beam when I stood up straight again. I took a few more steps and peeked behind some stacked boxes; but still nothing.
I had searched the whole house for Erica. First the family room, then down in the basement and finally I had taken the stairs up to the attic; which compared to the basement was like entering a heaving furnace. I guessed nobody would choose to hide in this place willingly, so I headed back down, walked to the kitchen and from there out to the backyard.
I was determined to continue my search, but as I stepped outside I was briefly blinded by a curtain of thick smoke. The sizzling sound and wonderful smell of steak, hamburgers and hotdogs on the barbecue greeted me and forced me to stop at the long picnic table and take a look at all the food that was on display there. I quickly decided that I wanted a hotdog with ketchup, corn on the cob and only if Mom insisted I would have some of the salad, but definitely no cucumbers!
Once that was decided I scanned the backyard; still looking for this unknown girl named Erica. I walked passed my mother, who was talking amicably to Dan Johansson, Erica’s father. I had been told that Dan was my father’s best friend and until recently he had been living in The Netherlands. So when he contacted my father a few weeks prior and had given him the good news that he was planning on moving his family back home to the United States, my dad was more than thrilled to have his best buddy back. So, he organized a BBQ party and invited the whole neighborhood to welcome the Johanssons home.
In preparation for the Welcome BBQ my mother had ordered my brother Timothy and me to make a huge banner. As my brother was older, he was put in charge of writing down something nice for them, and I was assigned the color-it-in task. I took one look at the text and pointed out that it was “stupid” for the sign to say “Welcome Back Family Johansson” when in fact it was the first time the whole family was coming. In my point of view the banner should have said “Welcome for the First Time Family Johansson.”
But alas, my comment was waved away vigorously by my brother, who rolled his eyeballs; my father’s “it’s just a figure of speech”; and my mother’s “I warned you to stop calling everything ‘stupid!’” So on the day of the barbecue the semantically incorrect banner was hung at the entrance of our door.
* * *
“Have you found Erica yet?” Dan asked with a friendly smile.
I shook my head.
“I’m sure I saw her running towards the big tree. Go look for her there, honey,” my mother said.
Our backyard was very large, with a vast variety of colorful flowers and trees, and seeing how many people were there for the party, I didn’t spot her right away. But then in a distance and right under the biggest tree in our yard, I saw a skinny, blond girl who looked about my age.
Erica was wearing a bright red dress that was kept in place with thin straps on each shoulder. Her hair, which at one point that day had been pulled into a neat ponytail, appeared to have given up, for it sagged toward the nape of her neck.
She was oblivious to me approaching her and was entertained by something that was up in the huge tree, for she kept looking upward while she unconsciously picked at a scab on her left knee. I walked over to her, leaving behind the buzz of the party, and sat down next to her, crossing my legs just as she had done. Erica then looked at me with the biggest, deer-like brown eyes I had ever seen, while a sweet and sticky scent of strawberry gum caught my nostrils.
“What are you doing?” I inquired.
“Ssshhhh,” she shushed. “I think there is something in the tree,” she whispered with a very thick Dutch accent. And almost simultaneously she blew a huge bubble out of the bubblegum she was frantically chewing, which made a loud popping sound when it exploded. The noise had its desired effect, for at that moment something rustled between the leaves.
“See!” she said and pointed to the spot.
“I think it’s a squirrel.”
“What is a sqwui-wel?” she asked.
“Mmmh... you know... an orange mouse with a furry tail. They eat nuts,” I said. To clarify my explanation I imitated a squirrel, putting my hands together like paws and pretending to munch and nibble on an invisible nut.
She looked at me and her eyes immediately showed recognition. She started to laugh. “Aaaah, an eekhoorn,” she said. “You are funny!”
Then she took her gum out of her mouth, stuck it on the back of her hand, kicked her slippers off, and started climbing up the tree.
I had climbed many of the trees in our backyard, but this tree was, according to my brother, considered to be designed only for experts. I believed him when the previous year he lost his grip and fell out of it, resulting in a forearm fracture.
“We are not allowed to go up this tree,” I shouted after her.
“Why not?” she asked, still making her way up the branches.
“Because my mother said so. It’s a... uhm... a rule.”
“Okay,” she said. “But a rule for you. My mama did that not say, and this is a good tree for climb,” she shouted back in her best English.
“But it’s only for experts, not for beginners,” I yelled up in her direction. I started to panic because I couldn’t think of any other way to persuade her to stop climbing, and so far she wasn’t impressed by my “it’s a rule” and “experts only” arguments.
Suddenly she stopped. “Come up,” she whispered loudly, waving her hand, signaling me to follow her. “Come up and see... fast!”
I sighed, knowing that this was going to get me into trouble, but I stuck my lollipop back in my mouth and slowly followed her up; trying to figure out which branch would less likely make me fall.
She was more than halfway up the tree and signaled me to come up faster with her hand. When I reached her, she pointed to a nest just a branch further.
“It is not a sqwui-wel,” she whispered. “Look, it’s a mama bird nest and babies in it.”
I had never seen one so close by. The baby birds were chirping hungrily, opening their beaks.
“Wow,” I murmured, amazed.
While we sat in the tree, looking at the bird’s nest, I offered her my licked lollipop. She took it and popped it into her mouth and then pulled the chewed-up gum from the back of her hand and gave it to me. I accepted it, chewed a few times, and blew a humongous bubble, but then I remembered it would startle the chicks and quickly sucked it back in. She
looked at me for a brief moment, with big brown eyes in which I could read appreciation for my thoughtfulness, and then she gave me the most breathtaking smile.
Chapter Three
ERICA
2015
* * *
Fred was chatting happily about the New York Yankees. He was a big fan and talked about his favorite team with great enthusiasm. But baseball wasn’t really my sport and I soon found myself thinking about Peter Blake again, and inevitably about Oliver.
I tried to recall the last time I had consciously thought about him and my memory then took me back five years. I remember, because it was the night a massive storm hit The Netherlands and along with many, Jan was snowed in and unable to come home.
He had called me at around 6, when I was just about to have dinner with our twins. He said he would try his best to make it home, but I shouldn’t wait up. So we had dinner without him.
I bathed the girls and then turned on the TV, giving the animated blue character exactly twenty minutes to sing enthusiastically and teach them how to say “open” and “close” in another language. When its time was up, I turned off the thing and under great protest succeeded in putting them to bed at 7:30 p.m. sharp. I was literally exhausted.
