It was hard to start in a new school. The new term had already begun, and friendships were established. Many of the children had known one another from birth. Cliques were made, and Olivia was shy. She never knew how to start a conversation when she met people. She did much better playing with her toys—alone. Stella watched her, then walked over during recess in the school gym, easing into conversation as if they’d been friends for ages.
“Watch out for Jaden. He’s very rough, and he’ll try to take your schoolbag. My name’s Stella. My dad calls me Stella Luna, but you can just call me Stella. Or you could call me Stella Luna. I know your name.” Stella said all this in a rush as she pulled Olivia out of the way, before Jaden could mow them down. His manic chuckles echoed in the room.
“Why?” Olivia watched him move on, then turned her large amber eyes on the girl. Her hair felt too tight on her head. Her father’s girlfriend braided the reddish-gold locks into braids that pulled at her tender scalp. She wanted to unplait them but didn’t know how. Maybe Mommy would tell her not to do that again. Maybe she could write a note or something.
Stella had dark hair and chocolate-brown eyes to match her olive complexion. “Boys?” She shrugged. “Who knows what they’re thinking.”
Olivia agreed with a sage nod, thinking of her father. He was once a boy, so maybe he wasn’t done being a boy yet. “How do you know that?”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of them in m’house.” She ticked them off with short, stubby fingers. “My father, my brother, a stepbrother, and now my new mother is having another baby. And guess what.” She widened her eyes in astonishment. “It’s another boy!”
“You’re going to be outnumbered.”
“No.” Stella shook her head. “There are four of us girls and now four of them. I have a real sister and a step-sister. If they can stop having babies, I think we’re safe. How many do you have?”
Olivia thought for a minute. Her father’s new life was a raw wound to her. Instinctively, at home she didn’t talk about it, wanting to make it easier for her mom. If she let herself think about it too much, she got a real deep feeling of hurt in the middle of her chest.
She opened her mouth, considering what to say. “Nope, no boys. Except if you consider my poppi. He just visits with my grandma.”
“That doesn’t count. Grandfathers are great. Where’s your father? Is he dead? My real mommy died.”
Olivia looked at Jaden, who was cartwheeling in a large circle in the gym, banging into children. She sighed heavily.
Stella touched her arm. “You don’t have to tell me anything. In the end nothing matters.”
Olivia wanted to tell Stella she was wrong. It did matter. It mattered a lot. She wisely kept her mouth shut, deciding a new friend was better than being right.
The next week, she went home with Stella. Her new mom was pregnant and had a baby girl named Christina. Olivia loved the baby’s gummy smile. Mrs. Russo asked if they would watch her for an hour while she cooked dinner. Christina played on a crochet blanket in the den. They made a game of throwing large rubber ducks, then acted like dogs retrieving them for the hysterical infant. They laughed just as much when she puffed out her chipmunk cheeks and waved her dimpled hands. She gurgled happily at their antics until two older boys brought in the smell of apples and wind when they entered the room. Olivia heard Mrs. Russo giving directions to Stella’s teenaged sister about cooking in the kitchen.
A tug of war over a TV remote ruined the peaceful playroom, sending the baby into great gulping sobs. Stella gave a knowing look at the boys, who were fighting now over the PlayStation. She gestured to them with her firm little chin, as if to say, “See what I mean?”
Mrs. Russo snatched up the baby, grabbed the remote, and angrily shooed the boys from the room. The baby rested her head on her mother’s strong shoulder, shuddering with relief.
“She’s very intuitive,” Stella assured Olivia, watching her mother place the baby in a walker.
“What, the baby?” Olivia said.
“Yeah, it means she can feel the change in the room when the boys come in. My father says I’m very intuitive.”
“You are?” Olivia asked in wonder.
“Yep,” Stella told her proudly, and then she lowered her voice. “I know when my mom is in the room.”
Olivia looked through the entrance at Mrs. Russo, who was working at the stove in the kitchen.
“Not that one, my real mommy.”
“The dead one?” Olivia whispered, her eyes wide.
“Yeah. Does your father come to visit you?” Stella was all business. Nothing rattled her.
Olivia thought for a minute, then answered, “Not enough.”
“I can help you.”
Olivia cast down her face sadly. “I don’t know if I want to see him.”
“Still mad?” Stella asked.
“Mad?”
“I was mad in the beginning.” Stella guided her to her bedroom, where they sprawled on the shaggy rug. She picked up several Barbie dolls, their blond hair matted from years of greasy hands. They lined them up. “I was really mad, but then I had to help my dad.”
“Why?”
“He was madder than me. We both couldn’t be mad.”
Olivia turned to look at her. “Why? Both my mommy and me are mad.”
“Two mads are chaos.”
“Kay-os. What’s that?” Olivia lay on her back, holding Barbie and Ken above her, considering their frozen faces. She placed Ken facedown on the rug and played just with Barbie, whose blond hair swung in a tight ponytail.
“It’s everything all messed up.” Stella lay on her back, holding her hands in the air, making swirling motions. “Nothing gets done.” Her voice was low. “Everybody fights; everybody’s sad. I started wishing for my mommy to come and make it like it was.”
“Did she?” Olivia stopped playing, turning on her side to face Stella. She rolled on top of Ken, fished him out, and tossed him into the toy box. She wasn’t sure she wanted it back to the way it was.
“O’course. But she told me it can’t go back to the old way. I had to learn to be happy with what I get.”
“My daddy isn’t dead.”
“That’s great!” Stella clapped her hands.
“He’s just gone. He went with another lady and has a new baby.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Stella told her grimly. “We all do.”
“Do you like your new mommy?” Olivia asked. She wasn’t crazy about her father’s girlfriend, but the baby was fun.
“Uh-huh. She’s great. I miss my mom, but now it’s like I got two.”
“I don’t like Priscilla.”
“That’s a bad name.”
“I know,” Olivia agreed. “She’s so mean.”
Stella grew quiet, her eyes distant. She rose and walked over to an empty corner of the room. Weak light from the blinds striped her face in gold. She stared at the wall, as if listening intently. Olivia sat up, watchful, but could see nothing except the dust motes drifting on an invisible breeze. Nodding, she turned to Olivia.
“Don’t worry about it. My mommy says the fun is just starting.”
“Are you afraid?” Olivia asked, staring at the empty space.
“What? Of my mommy? Don’t be silly.”
“What if it’s not your mommy?” Olivia whispered.
Stella considered her friend. She looked at the spot in the corner of the room. Turning to Olivia, she sighed. “Nope. Still not afraid.”
Olivia stared at the wall, then back at Stella’s face. Her friend looked fine. “Maybe everybody has one,” she thought about the man she’d seen floating around her new house.
Olivia looked around the room again, searching for changing shadows. Then she shrugged and said, “Let’s color.”
* * *
Remy picked Olivia up before five thirty. She introduced herself to Ellie Russo. She liked her immediately. Ellie owned a small dance studio in town and warmly invited Remy to bring Olivia in
for a class. Compact, with a nice-sized pregnancy going, she insisted Remy sit down for a cup of coffee. Ellie had short dark hair cut in a cap around her winsome face. Remy tried to guess her age but gave up. Her skin was rosy, her smile wide and inviting. It looked like she had a lot of kids running around the house.
“I didn’t mind if she stayed for dinner,” Ellie said as she set a huge table for seven people.
“How many kids do these people have?” Remy wondered, taking in the multiple places at the table and the scattered array of sneakers by the back door.
“We always have room for more. You could stay if you like.” A teenaged girl was draining pasta. “Be careful, Veronica. Don’t burn yourself.” Remy looked at the girl, then at Ellie. Ellie smiled broadly, “Roni’s my step daughter.” She placed her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “I adore her.” She kissed the girl’s blushing cheek. She gave her a squeeze and left her to finish the food.
Veronica smiled as she held the pot over a colander, expertly preparing the pasta for sauce.
“Thanks, but I have soup on the stove,” Remy said. “It was so great meeting you. I’m planning a prenatal class, if you’re interested.”
“Count me in. My friend Molly just found out she’s pregnant. She’ll want to be included.”
“Molly Valenti? The real estate broker? She’s already enrolled.”
“You know Molly? She’s my husband’s partner. Small world.” They laughed. “I love your name: Remy. It’s unusual.”
“Not if your conception is due to a bottle of Remy Martin.”
Ellie chuckled, looked at the teenager, and then said in a stage whisper. “I guess this baby ought to be called Dirty Martinis.” She paused. “Drop off some flyers. I’ll make sure my husband puts them in his office, and I’ll leave them in the dance studio. You should pick up a lot of traffic there.”
“I love this town. Everyone’s been so nice.”
She collected Olivia, promising they would return for a trip to the mall together the following week. She liked Ellie Russo. She loved the steamy kitchen and the sounds of children shrieking as they ran through the halls of the house. It was a mess of shoes, book bags, toys—a big, welcoming mess. It was a home.
She thought about the neat cottage and wondered what she could do to make it warmer for Olivia. She wanted her daughter to feel more comfortable in their home. Maybe they should start a collection, like perfume bottles. They could shop together. She brought it up to Olivia, who answered her absently.
“Did you have fun at your father’s? She didn’t braid your hair again, did she?”
Olivia shook her head. “Mom,” Olivia said after a long moment. “How come you don’t call him Daddy anymore?”
“What?” Remy glanced at her daughter in the backseat. She lowered the news, which was droning on the radio. “What do you mean?”
“You used to call Daddy ‘Daddy,’ but now you just call him your father.” Olivia paused. “And you say it mean.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I guess I don’t know. I think I’m still a little bit mad at your fa. . .at Daddy.”
“Yeah. Two mads make kay-os, and then there’s lots of fights. Can’t have two mads,” Olivia said in a rush.
“Well, you might be right, Olivia. Chaos would be a bad thing.” She bit back a laugh. Remy thought for a minute. She didn’t want Olivia caught in her battle. Olivia loved her father and had been dealt a low blow by the circumstances. Remy had no intention of dragging her into their fight. “So did you have fun at Daddy’s?”
Olivia shrugged. “It was OK. I played with Evan.”
Evan was her new baby brother.
Remy opened her eyes wide, hoping they wouldn’t tear up. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to give her daughter another sibling. “What did you eat there?”
“Priscilla made meatballs.” Olivia glanced up at her mother’s face and spoke in earnest. “They weren’t as good as yours.”
Remy’s eyes stung with those dreaded tears, but she smiled brightly at her daughter. Olivia turned her head to the window.
“Anything wrong?” Remy asked.
“No.” Olivia stared outside at the scenery as they drove.
She was very quiet, too pensive.
“Did you have fun at Stella’s?”
Olivia nodded.
“What did you do?” Remy thought that if her daughter gave her another one-word answer, she’d scream.
After a long sigh, Olivia said, “We talked.”
“Talked,” Remy repeated. “What did you talk about to Stella?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Did you play a game? What does she like? Did you have fun?”
“We talked about boys,” Olivia said impatiently.
“Boys?” Remy echoed with shock as she looked intently at her daughter in the rearview mirror. “What could they have to say about boys,” she wondered. She started to ask Olivia, but her daughter interrupted her.
“Mom, why do boys always want to ruin stuff?”
Remy opened her mouth but couldn’t find words.
“You don’t know either?” Olivia asked.
Remy giggled, then said, “I think they do things to get attention. Boys do things to girls because they like them, and that’s the way they get the girls to notice them. Did a boy do something to you?”
“No. Does that mean that Daddy wants you to notice him?”
Remy’s tongue froze in her mouth. “I just don’t know what your father wanted, Livie.” She needed to change the subject. “I made pudding. You want pudding after dinner?”
The rest of the ride was in thoughtful silence. Remy worried her bottom lip.
Remy parked the car behind the house in its spot. They made a mad dash for the door, the freezing snow crunching under their feet. Olivia looked up, awed by the black-velvet night sky dotted with sparkling pinpoints of light.
“Mom, look!”
They watched a shooting star arcing across the darkness, leaving a cosmic trail of silver.
“Make a wish,” Remy urged. She watched her daughter’s pale face look up, wondering what her heart was hoping for. “What was your wish?”
They held hands as they trudged through the snow toward the kitchen door. “Can’t tell. If I do, it won’t come true.” Olivia wanted this wish to come true. She didn’t know how it could, but she just wanted her mommy to smile more. Clouds of frost appeared before her tiny mouth. Remy helped her up the three icy stone steps to the back door. She reminded herself she’d have to pick up salt in the hardware store, as she climbed carefully.
Remy slid off her glove to unlock the door. The house was completely dark. She touched the switch at the entrance, but the lights didn’t work. It was as cold as it was dark. Their breaths froze in the night air before them. Remy bent down, holding Olivia by the shoulders and peering directly into her eyes to make sure she understood.
“Wait here. Don’t move until I come back for you.”
She entered the room, her hands freezing. The heat was off. This was crazy. The floor was littered with broken shards of glass that glistened in the light of the full moon that glowed through the window. Remy used her cell phone to light the way to the breaker board in the hallway.
“Sing to me, Olivia,” she called out to her daughter.
She smiled when the faint sound of “You Are My Sunshine” echoed back from the kitchen. Holding one hand against the smooth wall, she felt her way into the parlor. Blinking hard into the darkness, Remy paused, the hair on the back of her neck rising. A small orb floated over the fireplace. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She closed her eyes fiercely, then reopened them, expecting to see nothing there. But it was still there, floating along the mantle, coming toward her.
“Olivia!” Remy shouted, her back pressed against the wall, her knees locked.
“Do you want me to sing louder, Mommy?” Her daughter’s reassuring voice made her feel silly and relieved at the same time.
The
light dissolved, leaving Remy to laugh shakily. “Yes, please,” she called out, her voice high. “Livie, sing it again.” It had to be a reflection, she reasoned.
Remy’s hand found the switch, and she flipped the breakers. She was pleased when the light flooded the room. Her sigh of pleasure turned to dismay when she noticed the wreck in her living room. Her eyes circled the area, catching the great orb of light again. Remy gasped and squinted. She turned her flashlight on it, and it faded into the brightness.
“Can I stop singing now, Mommy?” Olivia called.
Remy’s mouth hung open as she searched the room, wondering if she really saw anything at all. Olivia’s impatient voice called, “Mommy! Can I stop singing?”
“Yes,” she answered in a shocked voice, and then she repeated it louder with more confidence. She didn’t want to worry Olivia. The chairs in the parlor had been overturned. Books were strewn across the floor. Feathers from her pillows wafted down the staircase to land on the wooden floors. She backed out of the door, grabbing Olivia’s hand as she made a beeline for her car, slipping just a bit on those blasted steps. Regaining her balance, she raced across the cobbles, throwing Olivia into the front seat.
“Wait, Mommy! I don’t have my seatbelt on!” Olivia wailed.
Remy heard herself huffing, her breath coming in quick gasps. “Hurry, baby, just do it quickly.”
She pulled sharply out of her driveway, raced to the center of town, a mere block away, and called the police.
They arrived eight minutes later and followed her back home to search the house.
The officer scratched his head with puzzlement. “Are you sure you left the door locked?”
“Absolutely, Officer Finley.” She looked around the carnage in her kitchen. Bending down, she picked up the needlepoint her mother had made for her daughter. “I don’t understand this. They didn’t take anything.”
“Does your ex-husband have a key?”
“No. . .no, of course not.”
“Well, keep the doors locked,” he said as he finished his report. He handed her a yellow slip of paper. “Call if you see anything suspicious.”
The After House Page 5
