by Brea Viragh
What a bummer.
“I’ll be back around seven tonight,” she told him, dragging a pale white slip over her head. “You’re all right to handle three square meals today?”
“I guess I’ll have to deal, as long as you don’t mind if I run to the store for a few groceries.” He thought about the meals he’d had planned and knew there were a few items missing.
“Then I guess I’ll have to deal.” She leaned back for one more kiss before pushing up and slipping into a dress the color of spring leaves.
“I figure Renee and I can work on some math today,” he said.
“Whatever you feel is necessary. I leave it to your discretion. At least she’s feeling better.”
Renee had gotten over her cold rather quickly, he was happy to say, although Olympia had put the kibosh on going back to Harlan’s family’s house for dinner. She said it was too much excitement for a little immune system to handle. He was beginning to wish she had just walked out on her job instead of giving three weeks’ notice, but nothing he said could sway her from her commitment, although it was getting hard on them. Renee had gotten closer to Olympia, finally, but the long days away were a strain.
“I know she’d really like it if you were able to put her to bed tonight.”
“I’m not sure I’ll make it back in time,” Olympia replied. She stared at her reflection in the mirror before dragging a comb through her hair.
“She feels like you’re ignoring her.”
Olympia sighed. “She has to understand this is only temporary. When we’re done with this fundraiser, then I’ll be able to put her to bed every night. Until then she will have to deal.”
He forced a laugh. “Do you know how hard it is to tell a four-year-old to deal? She wants you. She needs you.”
“She’ll have you, which is going to have to be good enough.”
The conversation was going nowhere. Harlan got dressed and kept his gaze on the floor, on his feet, on the clock. Ten minutes past five. It was going to be a long day.
Olympia went off to work without saying goodbye, her mind already focused on what she had to do in the office. He knew this was something she had to do, and he admired and respected her ability to focus completely on the job. Then acknowledged a flash of guilt at the tiny voice in his head telling him he wanted her attention focused on him. On Renee. On the household. Another couple of weeks and she would be home, focusing on starting her own gallery. That was what they’d talked about, wasn’t it?
Why did it make him feel rotten?
He had Renee secured in her high chair and eggs cooking on the stove when the landline rang. Habit had him reaching out to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hello, is Mrs. Trumbald there?”
The voice was unfamiliar. Unfamiliar and male. Harlan felt his face melting into a sour pout before he realized it. “She’s out at the moment. Working,” he said, making sure to keep his tone even and pleasant. “Can I take a message for her?”
“And to whom might I be speaking?” the man pushed.
“I’m her...caregiver. My name is Harlan Anderson.”
“This is Marvin Bower. I’m the attorney for her late cousin, Joshua Salant, engaged to handle his and his wife’s estates.”
Attorney? His memories aligned with a click and Harlan rounded his mouth in understanding. “Oh, right. Right. You’re the one who handled Renee’s paperwork, when Olympia became her guardian.”
Marvin met his statement with a rush of air that might have been mistaken for a laugh in different circumstances. “Funny you should mention that. I was going back over the paperwork to make sure everything was finalized and realized we missed a few things. I really do need to speak with Mrs. Trumbald. When will she be available?”
If the man didn’t have her work or cell number, then Harlan wasn’t about to hand over the information. “I’ll be sure to relay the message to her. Could you tell me what this is about? It sounds important.” He cracked his knuckles, feeling a swell of concern. “Please.”
“Well...” Marvin was hesitant. “The adoption wasn’t completed. Not entirely. There are a few things we still need to file with the state and I thought they’d been submitted already. When I received word from child services, I realized there were papers Mrs. Trumbald hadn’t signed. As we did not proceed with the adoption, her legal guardianship is being threatened.”
“Impossible.” She would have made sure to sign everything. Olympia was nothing if not thorough. “There must be some mistake.”
“I’m afraid not. Of course, I take most of the blame. I was preoccupied with the child and... Well, this matter must be rectified immediately, I’m sorry to say. The state courts have already become involved.”
“What do you mean, the courts are involved? I’m sorry, I don’t have a law degree so I’m having trouble following you.” He pinched his nose in agitation.
“That is a matter for Mrs. Trumbald. Who did you say you were again, Mr. Anderson?”
“I’m a concerned party and Renee’s daytime caregiver.”
“A male nanny...unorthodox, I must say. However, you’re not authorized to handle these affairs, and to protect attorney–client confidentiality, I am unwilling to discuss them further,” Marvin replied. “Please have Mrs. Trumbald contact me immediately.”
Harlan hung up the phone with a sick sense of dread falling heavy in his abdomen. The adoption wasn’t completed. The state was involved. He didn’t need a law degree to put two and two together, but he’d felt testy with Mr. Bower and came out with the first thing on his mind. Of course he understood the implications. If this wasn’t settled, then there was a good possibility that the state would take Renee away from them. From Olympia, he corrected himself.
It made him sick to his stomach.
He dialed her cell phone number by memory, the receiver balanced between his ear and shoulder while he flipped the scrambled eggs out of the pan and into a steamy pile on a plate.
Olympia answered seconds before voicemail would have kicked in. “Harlan, I’m busy. Is this an emergency?”
“No, not yet,” he said in warning.
“Not yet,” she repeated. “Well then, I’m going to need you to handle things for me. I can’t talk at the moment.” He heard papers flip in the background. “I had an artist back out at the last minute. Everything has to be redone.”
“But the law—”
“Harlan.” The syllables were terse. Stressed. “Handle it, please. As long as no one is dying, then I’ll see you tonight. It’s crisis mode here.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but heard the click of a call going dead. She was right, he thought, forcing himself to hang up with slow deliberation rather than slam down the receiver. If it was as simple as a signature on a piece of paper, as Marvin Bower led him to believe, then maybe he would be able to handle it himself. There were copies of the adoption paperwork in her office. He could get her to sign when she came home this evening.
It was strange being in her personal space without her there. Personal touches were kept to a minimum, although she’d added a photo of Renee to her desk. One he’d taken of the two of them playing outside. It warmed his heart to see it there. A cursory glance of the space assured him there were no papers out of place and he’d need to do a bit more digging to find the folder regarding her executorship he knew she kept somewhere in that office.
Renee’s call came from the other room. “Harlan!”
He walked out of the office, determined to investigate later. Then he and the baby spent the rest of the day with their schedules packed. They read from a few books he’d brought, worked on their numbers, and walked down the street to the closest park. He made sure to bundle her up and ended up carrying her part of the way when she complained of being winded.
The days were getting shorter, the nights longer, and the breeze colder with the approach of winter. Piles of orange and red and brown leaves were heaped in the lawns they passed. Soon, he knew, they wouldn’t be ab
le to walk outside anymore. He wanted to make the most of it while they could.
What would he do, he considered, gripping her hand, if he didn’t have this little girl in his life anymore? A wave of sickness took him by surprise. He wanted her in his life. Somewhere in the past few weeks, yes, the lines had blurred when they probably shouldn’t have, when he should have been strong, not given in, and maintained boundaries. He’d gone from simple affection to love. And he couldn’t see a future that didn’t include Renee and Olympia. They were a package deal. Harlan knew he wanted the whole package and nothing less.
Olympia was going to hate it when he spoke to her later. Told her the truth she probably already knew but didn’t want to admit. A triumphant smile split his face at the thought. Yes, she was going to hate it, and she was going to argue with him until she turned red. But he figured after he told her about handling the issue with Renee, she would be willing enough to hear him out.
He hoped.
His mother came by briefly and dropped off a jar of her homemade marinara sauce—along with a toy for Renee and another invitation for family dinner—and in the evening Harlan got to work on dinner. He had the baby fed, bathed, and ready for bed by the time Olympia dragged herself through the door.
She gripped the kitchen table with fingers turned white at the knuckles. Her hair, tucked into a neat bun when she’d left in the morning, was now limp around her face, pieces hanging down to her shoulders.
“You look exhausted,” he said before he could censor himself. Correction: She looked like she’d come in last place for a triathlon in Hell.
The grin she shot him didn’t meet her eyes. “Gee, thanks. Exactly what I wanted to hear right when I get home. And whatever it is you made for dinner, it smells great. That’s how you compliment someone, Harlan.” She groaned, stretching her back and placing her hands on her hips.
“How about you sit down, grab a plate, and try to relax.” He kept his tone light and without demand.
“I think I’m just going to pour some wine. Maybe soak in the tub for a little bit. It was a hell of a long day at work. They’re really pushing my buttons since I put in my notice.” She bent to kick off her heels, knocking them into the corner near the coat rack. “Carl has been on my ass about firing Paolo since the incident the other day. I’m trying to save him but it isn’t an easy argument to win. Is Renee asleep?” Then she answered her own question. “Sure she is. Why would I even ask?”
“You know, you don’t have to save everyone,” he said casually. The marinara got one last stir in the pot he’d kept warm for her. “One of these days, it might be okay to lean on someone else.” Pasta next. Parmesan cheese on top. There was nothing like a good plate of spaghetti and Mom’s homemade marinara sauce at the end of the day.
“Oh? And who would that be?” Olympia asked.
“Someone you know, maybe.” He followed her down the hallway and into the den, where she flopped on the couch with her arms above her head. Instead of leaving her room to breathe, he made himself comfortable at her feet. “Paolo doesn’t need you to fight his battles. Carl doesn’t need you to fight his battles.”
“If not me, then who?”
“They have to do it themselves, I would imagine. They’re adults. Paolo is capable of making his own decisions, and it was his decision to come in to work piss-ass drunk.”
“Maybe so. However, he’s been a loyal employee to the company, and he’ll be able to do great work once I’m gone.”
“Ah. You’re worried about what’s going to happen after you leave.”
“I am, I admit. I don’t want it to go downhill just because Ashleigh thinks she knows what she’s doing.”
“Is she taking your spot?” It annoyed him when his voice came out frustrated.
“I have a feeling she is,” she tossed back. “I caught her in my office the other day with swatches of paint colors and fabrics. I have the sneaking suspicion that had I not put in my notice on my own, they would have found a way to bump her up regardless. Her up and me down. Or out. I just wish I knew why.”
“What you’re saying is it doesn’t matter how good a job you do on this fundraiser, because there wasn’t going to be a promotion for you anyway.”
The observation hit her hard and Harlan felt guilty when Olympia winced. “You know, that’s a horrible way to look at it,” she griped.
“Because I’m making sense,” he insisted.
“I don’t want to hear it. Sorry. I’m done talking about it.” She snuggled closer to the throw pillow beneath her head, eyes closed. He let her ramble on about the rest of her day. There was distress, frustration lying just beneath the surface. He listened to the story unfold. Carl apparently had planned on serving crab wontons for a fundraiser appetizer while Ashleigh had decided they should cater to guest allergies and stick with vegetable crudités.
Harlan wondered at Olympia’s reaction through their conversation and then tried to dismiss his concern. She looked too frail. Too worn and pale and exhausted. He didn’t want to push her any further than he had to.
Then he remembered the phone call. “Well, maybe you want to hear about the mess I dealt with today,” he began.
“Is Renee in bed?” she asked again, rubbing her cheek against the pillow like she was scratching at an itch.
Harlan shifted, attempting to grab her feet for a rub. Disappointed when she moved them away. “Yes, sound asleep. Your lawyer called earlier.”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
“The one who was handling the adoption?”
Her eyes popped open and she turned to face him. “Oh, gosh. Yeah. What was his name? Bower?”
“Marvin Bower.”
“That’s the one. What did he want?”
“He said there was some paperwork you didn’t sign or he didn’t file or something. The state is getting involved.” Cutting straight to the heart of the matter without sidestepping.
She bolted upright. “Excuse me?”
“Calm down, I have it handled.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And how exactly do you have it handled?”
“I knew there was no way you forgot to sign the paperwork, so I went through your office and found it.”
Olympia wasn’t amused. Harlan noticed she was no longer exhausted, but sullen. The claws coming out. “You went through my office?”
“I’m helping you. Taking care of things for you.” He tried to focus on the positives rather than the negatives.
“Taking. Care. Of. Things. For. Me.” She said each word slowly, as if chewing them before spitting them out. “Harlan, surely I don’t need to tell you how this is fifty shades of wrong. You do not go through my personal papers.”
“I was trying—”
“It’s not in your job description. You don’t fight my battles for me. You let me handle this because this is my life. I should have been made aware of the situation before you took it upon yourself to help.”
Now it was his turn to narrow his eyes. “If you recall, I did try to talk to you about it. And you told me to get things done because you were too busy to be bothered.”
Her mouth snapped shut. There was a slight pause before she barked out, “We are not having this conversation. There has to be some kind of mistake.” She got to her feet, pausing for a moment to stare down at him. “Next time, stay out of my business. It isn’t your place.”
“Wow. What a horrible thing to say to me.” He followed her down the hallway, taking a sharp left into her study near the front door. “Not my place? I’m sorry, maybe you’d care to enlighten me.” He watched her root through her desk, not yet ready to tell her he’d already found the papers and faxed them over to the lawyer’s office. “What exactly is my place, Olympia?”
“You’re here to watch Renee. Maybe do some light cooking, some light cleaning. Period.” She jerked open a drawer and then slammed it shut seconds later.
“And fuck you when you have an itch?”
She winced at his tone. Goo
d, he thought. “How vulgar.”
“It’s true though, isn’t it? That’s really all I am to you. A fill-in when you need something, easily expendable and pushed aside when you don’t.” He reached out to take hold of her when she kept her back to him. “You need to listen to me.”
“I have, and I am. I’ve considered everything you’ve said to me and now that I have a better handle on what’s going on, I can make an informed decision.”
“What I have to say doesn’t matter at all?”
“I already told you,” she said slowly. “I’ve considered your opinion.”
“But it doesn’t make a difference?”
“If I’m being honest, no. It doesn’t make a difference, because in the end I need to do what I feel is right.”
“That’s rich. Is this how you treated your husband?”
Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated. “There’s a big difference in these situations.”
“Why?”
“Because you aren’t my husband! You’re not even my boyfriend. Occasional lover and...and...employee.”
His gaze hardened. “You’re really bringing money into this?”
She huffed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to do this anymore.”
He had a moment’s attack of guilt for wanting to press her when she looked delicate enough to shatter. Right now, staring at him, she didn’t look as though she had the willpower to stand up on her own.
“What you’re saying,” he clarified, a sliver of cold creeping into his gut and freezing him from the inside, “is that you don’t want to be with me.”
Slowly, she nodded. “You’re right. I don’t want to be with you.”
Chapter 9
Her words were worse than a slap. Worse than a punch in the gut or a kick between his legs. Worse than any kind of pain she could inflict on his body. He physically recoiled from her, his arms shifting to cross his chest. As though it might offer some kind of protection.
