by Jessie Olson
“Lizzie, I’m so sorry,” Meg began immediately. “I had too much to drink.”
“You have too much to drink a lot,” Lizzie took off her coat. “Anyway, it’s done.”
“But you had such an awful fight…” Meg looked down. “Ben is a really good guy. I am sorry I put him in this position.”
“What about me, Meg? Doesn’t it matter that you did this to me?”
Meg’s lip trembled. “I’m a rotten friend.”
Lizzie knew it was wrong to judge Meg. She felt her conscious sting from the hypocrisy. “You’re lonely,” Lizzie shook the anger out of her head. “We all do stupid things to stop that ache.”
“So we’re okay?”
“I guess so,” Lizzie just wanted to get her things and leave the house.
“I love you, Lizzie,” Meg hugged her. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Yeah,” Lizzie said absently and let Meg go. “I promised I would meet Ben.”
Meg nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Lizzie rounded towards the stairs but noticed the stack of mail she hadn’t checked in a week. She grabbed the pile and brought it up the stairs. On top of a stack was a photograph that showed why Oliver was so familiar to Paula. He was on the cover of another museum newsletter. Lizzie scanned the caption and accompanying article. It explained what she already knew about his research and visit to Boston. He was giving a student lecture and collaborating with faculty at UMASS.
Lizzie shut her bedroom door and let herself look at his photograph, a random candid of him wearing a cap standing outdoors with a group of students. Ben was so angry at the mention of his name, at her suggestion that his worry was anything but a genuine desire for her safety. How could this Professor Ol in the photograph be menacing? He had an ill opinion of Ben. Was it not possible they both were lying about one another? Was it bad blood as Oliver had said? Was it really bad blood? Was it Charlotte? Was it Melissa Benson? Was it Eloise Hutchins? Or was it Lily?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lizzie felt the burn of the cold November wind in her lungs as she climbed back up the stairs to Ben’s door. It had been a while since she ran four miles. She was glad she made use of the daylight after she got home from the office. It was one less hour she was sitting alone in the apartment.
She was used to being there by herself. He worked late many nights when she would go there to cook dinner or read a book. Even so, she half expected him to be there waiting by the kitchen window as he was on her birthday. That he hadn’t really gone back for a second week. That he decided he accomplished all obligation required in his previous visit.
She knew it was a month commitment to get the Chicago clinic on its feet. That his weekends home were his opportunity to catch up on the business of his Boston office. She knew it was less time he spent with her. He promised it was only a month. He told her, when he left early that Monday morning, that at the end of November he would come home, go with her to Thanksgiving, and never go back to Chicago.
She didn’t think she would miss him as much as she did. She didn’t like some unresolved tension about things that were spoken aloud after the party. Lizzie knew the wounds of those words could only heal with time. She knew the fact she missed him accelerated the healing process by letting her see what her life would be without him. After the first week, she wanted it to be the end of November. His bed felt cold without him at her side. Her day felt empty without seeing the gray green eyes. He tried to call or email her every day. But a five minute hello wasn’t the same as having his conversation beside her.
It was different than the last trip he took, when the thing that most upset her was forgetting her birthday. Then she could distract herself by spending time at Jefferson Park, watching movies and drinking wine with Meg. Lizzie didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to talk to Meg. She couldn’t indulge her apologies or excuses. She didn’t want to be in her bedroom where there was a recent memory of such an awful fight with Ben.
She took a shower and started a load of laundry before settling with her laptop in the living room. There wasn’t a whole lot in her email that she hadn’t seen at work, but she was able to linger voyeuristically on Facebook for twenty minutes. She didn’t want to find Meg there. Or even Nora. She couldn’t deal with them. She read one of Andrew’s posts and then saw a status update from Oliver.
He didn’t try to contact her since their hasty departure from the Fulton House. Maybe he said all he wanted to say. Maybe his work was keeping him busy in Boston, busy enough to realize Lizzie wasn’t worth any further conversation. She was relieved and disappointed. She didn’t understand what he told her. She wanted to know more. About him. About Lily. She knew Oliver would have those answers. She knew it would displease Ben. She knew that wanting it was worse than the thing for which she was avoiding Meg. So, perhaps it was best that the only news from Oliver was a ten word phrase about meeting with professors from UMASS.
She broke her concentration when several sirens echoed through the window, followed soon by flashing lights. She left the couch to see what was happening across the street. There were three police cars and an ambulance. She watched as a few pedestrians paused and started to group outside the house.
The sirens stopped, allowing Lizzie to hear the stillness of the apartment. She realized her laundry was done and went to move it to the dryer. She peered out the window again when she returned to the living room and saw an officer circling the three decker with yellow tape. She remembered seeing a young couple coming and going from the apartment. Ben told her there was another couple he met when he first moved in years ago. They assumed he was the grandson of the original Dr. Benjamin Cottingham. Neither the flashing lights nor the lingering officers showed evidence which couple was involved in the emergency. She got a chill and went back to her seat on the couch, noticing something strange about the wall with the mirror. There were no white roses on the Victorian table.
She picked up her computer again and saw the indication of a new message. She went to her inbox and saw Oliver’s picture with the Adidas shirt tagging the unread message. Lizzie took in a deep breath to stop her hands from shaking. Her heartbeat accelerated as she moved the mouse to open it.
“Hi Lizzie,
I was glad to see you last week. I would still like to get together before I leave town. Please allow me to take you to lunch.
Oliver”
Lizzie breathed in again, aware of another siren and more flashing lights outside the window. Did he know she was looking at his status and thinking about him? Or was it just coincidence because they were both logged onto Facebook? She looked down from the window and typed quickly.
“Oliver,
It was nice to see you…”
She looked at Ben’s office, as if he were secretly waiting there. As if he would come out and catch her typing a message to Oliver. As her eye moved back to the computer, it passed the buffet where Maria’s things rested and watched over the apartment. What would she say to Lizzie, knowing what she knew about Oliver? He was bad news. She needed to stay away from him.
But she wanted to know. She wanted to know if Oliver was really… how could he be… he was Lily’s friend. Her lover. Why wouldn’t he want to talk to Lizzie? Why should she deny him the chance to explain himself? Lunch would be…
“I would like lunch very much. I work pretty close to Harvard Square. Does that work for you?”
She sent the message and looked at the buffet. Maria was stupid. She didn’t love Ben. She killed herself and didn’t care about Ben’s feelings. Lizzie made the choice for Ben, knowing everything that she knew. She loved Ben. She got over her fear of relationships and being unloved and asserted herself to be with him. She knew that. No two hours with Oliver was going to take that away from her.
The response came onto her screen. “I can come to Harvard Square tomorrow.”
Lizzie saw the empty table at the back of the room. The vase disappeared after their fight. Why did the white roses no longer matt
er after she accused him of loving her out of revenge? After he accused her of wanting to cheat? Was she cheating? It was just lunch. She would tell Ben about it… when he was home. If she told him, it wouldn’t be wrong. “Meet me at the Border Café at 12:30,” she typed quickly and then moved her cursor to log out of Facebook.
*****
Lizzie made up an excuse about a doctor’s appointment and convinced Richard to release her for the rest of the day. It was difficult enough to find any focus in the morning. She doubted she would have any ability to concentrate on work when she got back from lunch. It gave her the freedom to drink, something she felt a necessity for easier conversation… and safety.
She was early. She left the office with plenty of time to spare. She got a table and was halfway through her first margarita when Oliver walked into the restaurant. He stopped briefly to pause at the hostess station but then lifted his eyes as if expecting to see her. She waved weakly and watched him approach the table. He seemed even more handsome in his North Face winter coat and well tailored jeans. She didn’t remember what he was wearing to the museum. Why did it intrigue her so much now? It’s not like he ever worried much about the clothing he wore. He dressed in whatever was most useful and comfortable in the weather.
“Hello Lizzie,” he smiled.
“Hi,” she managed pleasantry as she tried to erase the comments from her mind.
“Already started?” he looked at her fruity drink.
“Well… I figured I’d be drinking alone, so I didn’t think it would matter if I went ahead.”
“Yes, that always is… I thought lunch would make you more comfortable… being in a public place,” he took off his coat and settled into a chair.
“It’s okay. I’m used to it,” Lizzie swirled the straw through the slush. The tequila already turned her cheeks pink. “Ben usually orders my second drink for himself.”
“Ah,” Oliver picked up his menu and looked it over. “So I should order what you’re having?”
“Yes, please,” Lizzie laughed and sipped through her straw. “You should get fish tacos and decide they weren’t fresh.”
“You definitely know the routine.”
“I’m getting the chimichangas. They are really bad for me… but I don’t care.”
“You look really good, Lizzie,” Oliver sat up in his chair. “Are you still running marathons?”
“Hardly,” she laughed at herself. “I’m lucky if I get in five miles a week these days.”
“I bet you could still do it if you put your mind to it,” Oliver smiled. His smile made her squirm in discomfort and in hope.
“It’s all about the mind,” Lizzie sat back from her drink.
“The mind is an amazing thing,” he kept his gaze steady.
“Indeed,” Lizzie nodded as the waitress approached and took their orders. Oliver followed her recommendation to repeat her margarita and the fish tacos. “I saw an article about the talk you gave at UMASS.”
“I haven’t given it yet,” Oliver smirked.
“Oh,” Lizzie felt her cheeks burn, hoping it was just the alcohol.
“It’s on Thursday. You should come.”
“I…” Lizzie grasped the neck of her margarita glass.
“I’ll ask you again before we leave,” Oliver put the straw into his glass of water that he wasn’t going to drink.
“I never thought of you as a scientist,” Lizzie took another sip, grateful for the pungency of the tequila.
“I was a lawyer once.”
“That’s why you were so good at debate club?”
“Yeah,” he looked down with a pleased grin and then shifted back to her. “You were a fierce opponent.”
“I was rather bull headed in high school,” Lizzie fingered her straw. “I still am.”
“Actually, it was a debate we had about municipal recycling that got me interested in environmental science,” Oliver bit his lip.
“Really?”
“You were pretty passionate about newspapers and collecting bottles and cans,” Oliver fiddled with the silverware. “It got me thinking.”
“Well, you actually did something with those thoughts. I’m still wasting a lot of hot water when I take a shower.”
“Nobody’s perfect. Hell, I am researching the environmental impact of tourism and I fly in airplanes across the country. But… it doesn’t make the issue less important. I realized that about ten years ago. When you are around this place long enough, you realize how … I’ve seen so much damage to the earth. I am trying to use my longevity for some good.”
“That’s… that is wow.”
“I’m not a businessman like Ben. I tried that… it didn’t work out so well.”
“You aren’t like Ben.”
“Except for one pretty major detail.”
“No, you aren’t like Ben,” Lizzie looked hard at the dwindling amount of liquid in her glass.
Oliver let his eyes go to the window and follow the blurred shapes walking down Church Street. “Didn’t you go to college here?”
“Mm hmm,” Lizzie answered through her sip.
“You like Cambridge, then?”
“I guess. Enough to work here and live close by.”
“Mmm,” he looked at her.
“You got married.”
“I did.”
“That’s good,” Lizzie hid the fact she felt a sudden letdown. “How did you meet her?”
“She was a student,” Oliver took the wrapper from Lizzie’s straw.
“You were her professor?”
“I was still in grad school – a TA,” Oliver twisted the paper.
“When did you find out she was like you?”
“Like me?” Oliver looked up. “Lizzie… I … changed her.”
“Oh,” Lizzie felt the redness in her cheeks burn.
“I thought for sure Ben would have told you that.”
“He didn’t.” Lizzie drank the rest of her margarita. She watched Oliver crumple the wrapper and toss a tight little ball onto the table. “How does that work?”
Oliver breathed in slowly. “I drank from her. Then she drank from me.”
“So they get that part right in all the stories?” Lizzie played along with his levity.
“Pretty much,” he didn’t take his eyes off her. “You and Ben never talk about that?”
“Why would we?”
“I… I just figured.”
“What’s her name?”
“Alison,” he smiled.
“Alison,” Lizzie nodded to conceal another sink of her stomach. “Does she know about Lily… and all that?”
“Yes.”
“And she knows you are here, seeing me?” Lizzie dared herself with the tequila warming her.
“No.”
Lizzie looked up as the waitress landed the food on the table. “I didn’t tell Ben I saw you,” Lizzie picked up her fork and knife.
Oliver set his hands flatly on the table and met Lizzie’s eyes. He looked away from her and picked up his own fork, only to move some of his food around on the plate. “Lizzie, I want you to feel free to ask me anything. I imagine you have a lot of questions.”
“Will you tell me about Lily?”
Oliver swallowed and set the fork down. His eyes broadened with an intense pain, but an equally intense sympathy. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. All I know is the few details that Ben told me and … how she died,” Lizzie looked down into her food.
“What did Ben tell you?”
Lizzie bit her lip and lifted her eyes away from her food. “He just said that she was a maid. That… she was Horace Fulton’s lover… and then Charlotte’s,” Lizzie watched his reaction to see if that stung him with any amount of jealousy.
“That’s true,” Oliver nodded as though they were discussing Abigail Adams or Marilyn Monroe.
“Where was she born?”
Oliver offered her his margarita and took her empty glass towards him. “Her mo
ther worked – just like Lily – as a lady’s maid for the Jacksons on Brattle Street. Mr. Jackson took a fancy to her and… there was Lily.”
“Margaret’s maiden name was Jackson,” Lizzie hesitated over her sip.
“They were half-sisters. Not that anyone spoke of such things. But to be fair, it was Margaret Fulton who arranged for Lily’s mother to find a place when she was cast out of her father’s home. Her housekeeper…”
“Annie,” Lizzie swallowed Oliver’s margarita. He paused, looking at her curiously. “Um, we learn at the museum that the housekeeper was named Annie.”
“She was my aunt,” Oliver breathed out slowly. Lizzie chose not to tell him she dreamt that detail. “Lily’s mother was 8 months pregnant when she went to Margaret Fulton. Mrs. Fulton found a place for her to give birth. Lily’s mother died in childbirth. Mrs. Fulton and Annie arranged for Lily to live with my mother. Before she was married, my mother worked for John Fulton and cared for his oldest son. My mother knew how to read. Margaret asked her to prepare Lily to return to the Fultons when she was twelve.”
“So you grew up with Lily?” Lizzie set down her glass.
“She was a year younger than me. She helped my mother in the kitchen between her lessons. I worked with my father in his wheelwright shop. But we were … always together…” Oliver looked back towards the window. Lizzie wondered how vivid the memories of his childhood could be so many years… centuries later. Some of the details of her life faded after just a few decades.
“She went to the Fultons when she was twelve?” Lizzie brought his focus back from the window.
“To help my aunt and look after Margaret’s children.”
“Harriet and Peter.”
“Yes.”
“And Horace Fulton?”
“Lily resembled her mother’s beauty. She was already imperfect with her illegitimacy. It wasn’t difficult to think of her as a lover. Even for Horace Fulton. “
“Did she love him?”
“She loved that whole wretched family. Even when they treated her so… even Horace Fulton,” Oliver shook his head. Lizzie felt another question form on her tongue as he started to speak again. “She was only there a year when he brought her to the garden and performed inappropriate acts.”
