Through Glass (The Glass Series Book 1)

by Fisher, Kari

  I slowly pull my arm out. He stirs, but stays asleep.

  Thank god.

  I grab a long t-shirt from my drawer and slip into it.

  I really wish I could remember last night.

  It is obvious that we slept together. I hope this doesn’t make things awkward for us.

  I drink a glass of water and swallow two painkillers. Although my head is sore, I’m not nearly as hung over as I should be considering the amount of wine I remember drinking.

  I turn around and Oliver is standing in the doorway of the bathroom. I’m startled, and I let out a small gasp.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He puts his arm around me and kisses my forehead.

  “That’s okay. I put a pot of coffee on. Do you want coffee?”

  “Sure.” He puts his pants on and follows me into the kitchen. He pours coffee for us both.

  As I sip slowly from my mug, I realize it feels great on the sore throat I’m beginning to get. I hope I’m not getting a cold. Damn this weather.

  “I need to get to work,” he says.

  I nod. As he’s leaving, I grab his arm.

  “Did we sleep together last night?” I ask sheepishly.

  “Yes.” He pauses. “How do you feel about that?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry if I made a fool of myself. I mean, I like you. I hope you didn’t feel pressured. I don’t really know what I was thinking—” my voice trails off. I look down to the floor and he gently pulls my chin up towards him.

  “I’m glad it happened.” He smiles.

  “So am I.”

  He kisses me passionately. We stand in the entrance of my apartment for a couple seconds, just holding each other.

  He’s gone, and I am alone at home once again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  You left me here; I knew you would

  I’m at the café, cleaning off tables when Oliver walks in. He’s clutching his notebook and talking on his cell phone. He smiles at me and walks into the back room. I feel flutters in my belly. I haven’t seen or talked to him in almost two days; not since he left my apartment. I was off work yesterday, and he didn’t call or text, so I figured maybe he wanted some alone time after what had happened between us.

  I kept myself preoccupied all day with cleaning and getting groceries. I bought the ingredients for an excellent pot roast my grandma used to make and I was hoping I could convince Oliver to come over for supper some night this week.

  Oliver comes out of the back room and we lock eyes. I smile, and he smiles shyly once again. I feel like he might be weirded out about the whole sleeping together thing. Perhaps we had done it too soon into our relationship. Maybe he’s afraid of commitment, and thinks I’m going to go nuts on him now. I’m not like that. Sure, I like him—I like him a lot—but I’m willing to wait for him. Assuming he agrees not to sleep with anyone else, I am confident that he will eventually be comfortable with the whole “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” thing. We can still be committed to each other without putting labels on it. I need to tell him that. I need him to know that the fact that we slept together doesn’t mean I’m going to beg him to marry me anytime soon. In fact, I’m not sure I’d ever want to get married again, considering what happened last time. I know I can’t group all men into the same lying and cheating boat my ex-husband is in, but I’m not sure I’ll ever fully trust anyone enough again to actually go through with another marriage. Oliver definitely seems like good husband material, though. I think he’d be a white-suit kind of guy. Perhaps he’d wear a bright red shirt underneath. I’d have a white dress, with black flowers on the corset and black lace up the back. My bouquet would be a dozen bright red roses. They’re my favorite flower—they always have been. My grandma had a rose bush in her garden, and I loved the smell of them when they’d bloom. We’d have an intimate ceremony at a log cottage by a lake, with chairs on the grass and a white archway on the dock. There would only be about sixty people in attendance, and we’d be serving several appetizers instead of a full meal.

  I’d have no one to walk me down the aisle, so I will have asked Oliver’s father to do it. He would have said yes, because he likes me and realizes that I’m good for his son. I will always treat him right, and I promise I will never break his heart as long as I live.

  I can tell that Oliver is fighting back tears as his dad and I walk towards him. Once we reach him, his dad gives me a hug and then takes a seat with the rest of the family. Oliver leans over and tells me that I’m beautiful in this dress. The Justice of the Peace begins the ceremony. We read our vows. I go first.

  Oliver,

  I will love you always. And then I’ll love you more. I’ll love you when we’re rich. And I’ll love you when we’re poor. I will always be yours. And you will always be for me. You’re my best friend. To my heart, you hold the key. I will never leave your side. As long as I live. Every piece of me. To you, Oliver, I give.

  Oliver wipes a tear from his eye, and reaches out to hold my hand. He gives it a squeeze, and then reaches into his pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. It is his turn now.

  I don’t know what I’d do. Without you in my life. You make me the happiest man ever. And today I make you my wife. To cherish and protect. To love and forever hold. I will be with you always. Together, we’ll grow old. Lauren, you’re my life. You’re my entire heart. From this day until forever. We will never be apart.

  We kiss, and it is official. I am Mrs. Oliver—

  I snap back to reality. I don’t even know his last name.

  Oliver is staring at me.

  I march over to him with the intentions of giving him a hug, but a customer puts her hand up and waves. He rushes over and begins to chat with her and her companion. It seems like he knows them well. I wait patiently and continue to clean off tables. I keep my eye on Oliver, waiting for the second he stops talking to them so I can say hello. I’ve missed him. I can tell by his intense glances in my direction that he missed me, too.

  He’s finally done and I follow him as he walks back behind the counter. I hop up onto a bar stool and lean over towards him as he makes a coffee, certainly for me.

  “Howdy, stranger.” I grin.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” he asks.

  “Better now. I could definitely use a coffee and I will graciously accept whatever it is you’re making for me right now.”

  He smiles awkwardly and slides the large mug over in my direction. I smell it before taking a small sip. It’s peppermint mocha and it tastes as good as it looks. I have whipped cream on my top lip and I wink as I lick it off.

  He smiles again and then turns his back to me to clean up the mess he made with the red sprinkles.

  “What are you up to?” I ask, hanging over the back of the stool and tilting my head playfully.

  “Just working.” He seems cold. Maybe he actually is upset about what happened between us. I can understand that. I want to marry him.

  “Do you need time, Oliver?” I ask. I’m direct. I know he likes that about me.

  “Time to clean up?” He answers my question with a question completely unrelated to what we’re discussing here.

  Clearly, he’s distracted because he’s at work. Maybe he’ll be more open if we meet up after work.

  “What time are you done tonight?” I ask.

  “Me? Uh, at about 9 o’clock,” he replies. He’s avoiding eye contact with me. That’s not exactly the nicest way to treat someone you’re going to eventually marry, but I’m going to let it slide for now.

  “Do you have plans for tonight yet?” I pry. More whipped cream on my lip. More seductive licking.

  “You know what? I really don’t know what I’m doing tonight but I’m pretty exhausted. It’s been a long couple days, and I just want to relax tonight and have a beer. Have you ever felt like you’ve just needed to forget about stuff for a while?” he asks. He’s looking me right in the eyes, now.

  I’m not exactly sure what that’s supposed to mean, b
ut I take it as my cue to back off. My reply is a nod and then I quietly slip away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I love the numbness

  But I hate getting high

  I show up for work this morning and Oliver isn’t here—but Frederick is. I find this strange; it has been a while since his final shift. Perhaps Oliver asked him to fill in? I send Oliver a quick text, asking if everything is okay, and I ask Frederick if he’s heard anything.

  “I don’t know where he is, Lauren. Is there anything I can help you with?” Frederick asks, when he sees that I am confused.

  “No thanks. I was just a little thrown off when I walked in and you were here. I thought you had already moved to New York.”

  “Not yet. I postponed it to next month; the apartment I’m moving into wasn’t quite ready. You know, Laur, you should come too,” Frederick says softly.

  He is looking me in the eyes. It’s odd that he called me ‘Laur,’ when I barely even know him. It’s also odd that he’d suggest I move to New York.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.” I force a laugh. I can’t even afford my apartment now.

  “I’m serious. You should consider it. You don’t always look happy here,” Frederick speaks slowly, touching my arm.

  Thankfully, a customer comes in, so I jump up to serve coffee while Frederick goes in the back to begin making sandwiches for an office lunch order we’ve received.

  To my surprise, Chase is the one who picks up the order. I feel like he’s staring at me. I glance over and smile, awkwardly.

  “How’s it going?” he calls out to me.

  “Good.” I smile. Against my better judgment, I walk over to where he’s standing. “How are you?”

  “Good. Work is going well, and I’m starting to get settled in. I’m really beginning to like the city. I was definitely hoping to see you a bit more often, though.”

  “I’ve been busy with work and all,” I mumble.

  “That’s fine. Hey, I have to run. It was nice seeing you again.” He smiles warmly as he leaves.

  Oliver still isn’t here. I haven’t worked for him for very long but I’m told it’s unlike him to not call one of us to let us know he’s not planning on showing up, especially since we are still short staffed.

  I check and he still hasn’t texted me back yet.

  I dial his phone number and there’s no answer.

  Frederick comes out into the front and mentions that Oliver isn’t going to be in today. He isn’t feeling well. I’d love to swing by his place with soup but I suddenly realize I don’t know where he lives. Every time we’ve hung out, we were at my place. I know he lives close to the café but that’s all he’s ever told me.

  I find his address in the employee payroll information and put together a bowl of the minestrone soup we have on the menu today, along with a fresh Kaiser roll.

  His house is only a few blocks over and it doesn’t take long for me to walk there after my shift. As expected, his vehicle is in the driveway.

  I knock at the door.

  “May I help you?” a woman answers. She is tall, slim and has long, wavy blonde hair. She has perfect teeth, and a smile that could light up a room. She’s wearing a blue button up shirt, and a black pencil skirt. She looks professional and important. I stand at the door, frozen—unable to speak for a minute.

  “I’m looking for Oliver,” I manage to explain.

  The woman smiles warmly, and turns back inside. “Oliver, there’s someone at the door for you.”

  Oliver comes down the wooden stairs. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Hey.” I’m trembling. “I brought you some soup. Frederick said you weren’t feeling well.”

  “Frederick? Oh, uh. Okay, thanks,” he replies. He seems confused. The blonde woman has disappeared back into the house and we are standing at the door alone.

  “Who was that?” I ask. I’m pale and dazed. I can barely breathe.

  “That’s my wife, Tara,” he replies.

  I feel as though I’m about to pass out, as I struggle to comprehend his words.

  ‘Wife’? What do you mean, ‘wife’?

  I realize she looked familiar. She’s the Tara that Oliver just hired at work—only different. There’s something about her. She wears her hair differently, speaks a bit softer and carries herself with slightly less confidence.

  “Tara from work?” I squeak. “Tara is your wife?”

  “What do you mean, ‘from work’? Tara doesn’t work with me. Yes, she’s my wife. I’m sorry, who are you?” Oliver asks.

  I cannot believe this is happening. I turn around and run. I run and I run. I’m crying so hard that I can barely see. The world is blurry. I keep running. I run until I can’t feel my feet and my thighs are burning and then I run even further.

  I finally stop, exhausted and out of breath. I put my hands on my knees and lean over, consciously trying not to collapse.

  I remember the exact moment I lost my mind.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  If only you knew

  How to read between the lines

  Everyone says I was probably born crazy, like my mother, but I know that’s not true.

  I am living in foster care.

  My mother had lost custody of me when I was three because she was bipolar and a drug addict who, as much as she tried, could never get clean. No one wanted custody of me. My own grandmother wouldn’t even take me in. Her reasoning was that my mother was far too young when she had me at nineteen, and I was a mistake, so they had whisked me away into the system at a young age.

  I am five years old, and my mother has figured out where I’m living with my foster family, the Evans, who are only concerned about the checks they were receiving for keeping me around. Mr. Evans is mean to me and Mrs. Evans lets him speak to me however he wants to, because if she steps in, he is mean to her.

  Mom, who I haven’t seen since the day I was taken away, approaches me while I’m playing outside and starts screaming my name over and over. I turn around and see that she’s running towards me. I am young but I can tell that she’s having a manic episode, or she’s on drugs, or both. There’s something not right with her. She grabs me with both arms, and she’s crying. She holds me close—it is the first time she has ever hugged me. It almost feels good. I hear the neighbor shouting not to go with her, but suddenly we’re in a car. This isn’t her car. It was someone else’s car. I’m not sure how she got it. We’re driving. Tears are rolling down her face. Her torn, light pink tank top is soaked—with tears and blood. I don’t know if it’s her blood or not.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” I ask. I’m not afraid of her—after all, she is my mother.

  “I love you, sweetheart. We are going to start a life together, just you and me, okay?” She smiles through her tears. I can see her shaking. We’re driving fast. Too fast, I think, but I don’t know for sure.

  “What happened?” I ask. I’m not just referring to the blood on her shirt, either. I want to know what happened in the last two years that caused her to never come back for me, like she promised she would when I was being torn from her arms.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I’ll explain someday.”

  We take a corner too fast and something slides and hits my bare foot. I look down. It’s a gun.

  Up until now I’ve only seen guns on TV, when Mr. Evans sits me on the couch at night before bed time. He falls asleep first—and I continue to watch TV well into the night. There are shows on there that aren’t made for little girls, I know. They’re scary, but I don’t move because I don’t want him to wake up and yell at me. He always yells at me.

  “What’s that for, Mom?” I ask.

  “It’s to keep us safe, sweetheart. It’s so that no one can hurt us ever again, or take you away from me,” she explains. That makes sense, I guess.

  I don’t know where we are, but I can’t see anything I recognize. I only see fields and grass and we’re still driving fast.

  “Where are we going?�
�� I ask.

  “You need to stop asking questions, sweetheart, okay? Can you do that for me? Mommy has it all figured out, okay.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “I SAID STOP TALKING!”

  I slouch down into my seat and I keep quiet.

  I’m in the passenger seat, and this is the first time I’ve been in a car without a booster seat. Am I a grown up now?

  We are still driving, and Mom is rocking back and forth in the seat. I look behind us—there are police cars. Lots of them. Probably like four of them, at least.

  “Are they here because of us?” I ask.

  “Don’t look at them, Lauren. Just don’t look at them. They’re bad,” she replies.

  “But I thought policemen were the good people?”

  “No, sweetheart. They think that you and me are bad people, and we’re not. We’re not bad people, are we, sweetie? So that makes them bad people. Do you understand?” she explains.

  Yes, I do. That makes sense. I stare at them—their lights are flashing, and I cannot look away. They’re driving really fast, too. They’re close to us.

  I see buildings now. It’s not just grass anymore. We are taking corners so fast that I get pushed to the side each time the car turns. I hit my head on the window and I cry out.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re almost there,” Mom says. Suddenly, she slams on the brakes. “I need you to run now, okay? You have to run with Mommy, as fast as you can, do you understand?”

  I nod.

  We are running towards a house that I’ve never seen before. It’s big and it’s old. It has brown siding, and a big white door. Mom is holding my hand and we hurry inside.