He rubbed a spot on her card table. “Right and wrong are rather irresolute nowadays, don’t you think?”
She wasn’t sure, but it sounded like he agreed with what she’d done. Which was bad. He was the last person who should agree with her, which meant she should have taken Oliver’s offer. But it was too late. Oliver was long gone. So was Terrell, off to trade supplies.
“So why don’t y’all fish?” Greg asked again.
“We caught them all a couple years ago,” she said softly.
“No. I just saw a couple jump when I was outside. There are definitely fish out there.”
She didn’t care one bit about stupid fish. She cared about dead goats, lost guns, and sleeping on the hard floor for the rest of her life.
Her head hung. What have I done?
“Does…” Greg rubbed the spot again. “Does Oliver like to fish?”
“I don’t know.” She looked up. “Why would I know something like that?”
He huffed. “Look, I stink at small talk, and so do you, so I’ll just come out with it. How are things goin’ with Oliver?”
“Why? Did something happen to him?” Her heart jolted. “Did he get in trouble?”
He rolled his eyes. “I meant, how are things goin’ with you and Oliver?”
Immediately, she tensed.
“I already told you, Greg. There’s nothing going on between us. Even if there was—which there isn’t—I’m sure it’s none of your business anyway.”
“Wrong. It’s everybody’s business right now. Your little relationship is doin’ the clan a great service. I’m here to make sure you don’t screw it up.”
For a second, she was too stunned to respond. Then she was just mad.
“Excuse me. I have work to do.” She pushed away from the table, stormed past him, slid open the back door, and headed down her deck stairs to the closest patch of weeds, ready to yank out the whole bunch.
He followed. “What? Am I wrong?”
She spun around. “Every one of your insinuations is an insult to not just me, but Oliver, too. He doesn’t think of me that way, and I’m sick of everyone assuming he does. We’re. Just. Friends!”
“Oh, c’mon, Carrie. When are you gonna wake up? That guy is whooped.”
“Whooped?” she choked.
“Yeah, whooped. Love-sick. Infatuated. Obsessed. Pick a word. Why else would he be doin’ everything for our clan?”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe he’s just nice?” she said. “That maybe he’s trying to make the world a better place?”
“No.”
She clenched her fists. Of course Greg wouldn’t understand someone like Oliver. “If people in the world were even half as generous as Oliver Simmons, we wouldn’t be in this economic crisis. Oliver is the kindest person I know. He’s even nice to people who hate him, which is more than I can say for anyone else.” You included.
Greg cocked his head to the side. “So you do like him. Amber assured me that you didn’t.”
Her anger kicked up a notch to encompass one gossipy sister as well. “Is it possible to compliment a man without meaning more than what I said? Just because I respect Oliver, doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him. I’m not. At all.”
“Why not? I mean, not that I find him particularly attractive, but I am curious. He’s older than you by a bit, but is there something else?”
She stared at him. “You’ve got to be joking. I am not having this conversation with you. Suffice it to say that I don’t think of Oliver that way, and I never will.”
Greg’s whole body stiffened. “If that’s true, you can’t let him know. I’m serious, Carrie. You’ll break his heart, and in turn, he’ll break this clan.”
“This is ridiculous.” She tried to turn back to her weed patch, but Greg just kept going.
“Listen, you think you know what’s goin’ on with Oliver and the world, but you don’t. That was made perfectly clear on Saturday, so let me be blunt. Everybody in your little utopia has their role, does their jobs. Your most important contribution…is Oliver.”
Her mouth dropped.
“Beyond being his first contact,” Greg said, “your job is to keep him happy. Period. I don’t know how that wasn’t clear before.”
“How dare you use Oliver that way? How dare you expect me to use him that way?”
Greg’s expression darkened. “Before you go all high and mighty on me, think about what your life woulda been like had he not shown up five days ago—or heck, if he hadn’t shown up five years ago. Don’t think that just ‘cause your nice and cute, the world will protect you. My sister was nice and cute and she’s dead. This world destroys the weak. It’ll destroy you.”
“That’s not true!”
“You sure?” He pointed back at her house. “One stupid mistake by one silly girl, and you could be sittin’ on a prison floor right now, wonderin’ how Zach’s surviving his long shifts at the government factory. Wonderin’ if he already believes the propaganda bein’ served to him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If it wasn’t for Oliver, you’d be wonderin’ what happened to Amber, a pretty girl who could only hope the patrolmen let her work in a factory and not somethin’ worse. So before you get on that high horse of yours, I suggest you let that picture settle nice and tight, and then decide how attractive you think Oliver Simmons is.”
She couldn’t speak. Her throat had swelled shut. Since her frantic sprint through the rain, she’d imagined that exact horrifying future for Amber and Zach. There wasn’t anything in the world she wouldn’t do to prevent it.
Or was there?
Memories of five years ago slammed into her. That cold apartment in Aurora. Her parents whispering in the night. Using herself to keep Oliver “happy” went against everything Carrie stood for—everything her parents had died for. But even worse, it went against everything Oliver stood for, too. Oliver wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like the others. He was a good man, a decent and honest man. He didn’t expect anything from her…or think…
Her world spun out of control.
Did he?
Amber thought he did.
So did Greg.
Greg cut through her thoughts. “The day before my mom and I got here, I watched a baby ripped from its mother’s arms, and a kid Zach’s age shot in the head for tryin’ to stop it. Look, I know you wanna keep livin’ in this little bubble you’ve created, and quite frankly, so do I. But that means you gotta get over whatever’s holdin’ you back and string Oliver along for as much time as you can. Flirt. Lie. I don’t care. Do whatever it takes to keep him interested. To keep the clan safe.”
“If…” The sentence caught in her throat. “If Oliver’s reading more into this relationship than I am, or is expecting me to…” Her breathing sped up. “I have to talk to him. I mean, I thought he knew we were just friends, but…” Flirt? Lie? “He can’t think of me like that. But if he does, I have to tell him that I can’t, that I don’t want to—”
“Don’t you dare!” Greg bellowed. “Thirty-six lives are ridin’ on your little relationship. You don’t have the right to yank safety out from under their feet.”
“And you don’t have the right to tell me what to do!”
Hugging herself in the wind, she tried to force some sanity in her suddenly insane world. Greg was wrong.
Greg was always wrong.
“I can’t,” she insisted. “I can’t use Oliver so despicably. I won’t.”
Greg started to pace. “I knew you were gonna screw this up. I could see it comin’ from a mile away.” He turned back. “Fine. You wanna talk to Oliver? At least have the decency to tell the clan first. Let them deal with you how they want.”
It wasn’t great, but it was better than the alternative.
“They’ll side with me anyway,” she said. “Not that it matters. You don’t know Oliver. He would help our clan regardless of how he feels—or doesn’t feel—about me.”
“I’m not takin’ any chances. I’ll bring it
up in the next meeting.”
“No you won’t!” she said, flushing. She could only imagine it, Greg in front of the adults, planning out her love life like it was the next thing on the agenda. “This is my life, Greg. You let me handle it my way. I will bring it up at the meeting, and you will keep your big mouth shut, or so help me, I’ll tell Oliver off before your precious meeting ever starts. Do you understand?”
His dark brows shot up. She was way out of character and both of them knew it. She held her breath, afraid if she moved, she would lose her resolve.
Finally, his jaw tightened. “Understood. But you better not screw it up.”
twenty-seven
FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS, a work crew showed up in the Ashworth’s backyard. It was all Carrie could do to keep Amber and her giggly friends focused on school and not the “gorgeous men digging with their shirts off” in the backyard—or so the girls claimed. Carrie refused to check.
By the third day, Carrie moved the six teens into the far corner of her living room so they would pay attention to what CJ could remember about the Vietnam War. But the second CJ finished, Amber, Maddie, and Lindsey ran out onto the deck, offering water and anything else to the men digging the new well. Even Zach and his buddies offered to dump the heavy dirt buckets or sort rocks to fill the bottom of the reservoir. Carrie, however, tried not to think about the men in her backyard, especially one in particular.
The more she thought about her conversation with Greg, the more infuriated she was by it. Amber fessed up about what she and Greg had talked about before lunch, where he asked her point blank if he was distracting Carrie from Oliver. The ego of that man. Luckily Amber kept her promise and said no. If any millimeter of that “dreamy” conversation had surfaced, Carrie would have packed her bags and moved to Australia. But when Amber told him Carrie wasn’t interested in Oliver either, Greg decided to “intervene” on the clan’s behalf.
The complete and utter arrogance…
When Zach came waltzing inside Wednesday with three large fish and Carrie had to fry them up for dinner, she still refused to acknowledge that a twenty-something guy had ever moved into her clan.
By the time Oliver drove up Thursday, her mind was a twisted, anxious mess. She stayed on the floor with Jonah and their Dr. Seuss book, although her thoughts were far from both. She wondered if she would be able to detect anything beyond Oliver’s quiet words. Was he in love with her? If so, was she—or could she ever be—interested in the older patrolman? The fact she had to keep asking couldn’t be a good sign.
Jonah stabbed the book with his finger. “Cat. Cat.”
As Carrie read about Thing 1 and Thing 2, she tried to come up with a way to subtly ask Oliver if he had a girlfriend—or a wife, even better. Sad that she didn’t already know. But she and Oliver never talked about their personal lives. Their conversations rarely lasted more than a minute. But a nice devoted wife and a couple of kids would end the rumors once and for all.
Maybe.
A few pages later, Oliver still hadn’t knocked on her door. Her eyes flew to the back door.
The workers.
“Oh, no!” she said, sitting up. Squatting on government property was one thing. Digging it up, tearing it apart, and permanently altering it was something entirely different. They should have asked Oliver before they started her well. It might as well have been his home Carrie lived in since each week he gave her permission to live there. And five men were excavating it, complete with dirt and rocks strewn about the yard.
What if there was a sweep tomorrow? Oliver had risked his life and job to convince his squad that their clan had moved on. But instead of lying low, they started new construction?
“Amber!” Carrie jumped up with Jonah and darted across the room. She peeked out the kitchen window. Just as she feared, Oliver was in her backyard addressing the men.
“Amber!” Carrie shouted up the stairs.
“I already told you I don’t change diapers!” Amber yelled back. “Don’t wash them either.”
“Amber, please!”
Her panic carried, and Amber flew out of her bedroom and downstairs. “What happened?” But one look outside and Amber shook her head. “Ohhh…this is bad. You don’t think Oliver’s arresting them, do you?”
Arrest? That hadn’t even occurred to Carrie.
“Please!” Carrie begged, practically shoving Jonah in Amber’s arms. Then she rushed out onto the deck.
“Oliver!” she called, feet stumbling over themselves. Everyone turned as she flew down the stairs and across the grass. “Oliver, don’t be mad at them. They’re putting this well in here because I asked them to. It’s my fault they’re digging on government property.” She saw Greg’s brows shoot up at her blatant lie, but she continued anyway. “We had no right to dig this without asking you. I’m sorry. Please don’t get mad or arrest them or whatever you’re doing. Please.”
Dylan snorted. “Nice, CC.”
Jeff Kovach shook his head. “Yeah, what’s your problem, CC? Oliver thinks this is a great idea. He just wanted to make sure it would be hidden well enough—as if it wouldn’t have been.”
Carrie finally looked up at Oliver. His face was relaxed, almost amused. “You’re not mad?” she asked, still breathless.
“No,” Oliver said. “I’m glad they’re building this for you.”
She didn’t know what to say. Now that her stomach had caught up to her, she felt ridiculous. Half the guys were snickering. Even Greg was smiling, and why wouldn’t he? She’d practically flung herself into Oliver’s arms. Greg couldn’t have choreographed it better himself.
She took Oliver’s arm and led him a little ways off. Feeling the blind panic from a week ago—even if only briefly—had her rethinking her decision to set things straight with him.
“Are you okay?” Oliver asked.
Blood still pumping, face still flushed, she lied. “Fine. You?”
“I’m good.”
“Good.”
Behind them, she heard the shovels clank as the men started to work again.
Greg’s expression finally registered in Carrie’s distracted brain. He had smiled, the first she’d ever seen on him. Fury built inside her, and she glared at him over her shoulder. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but he nodded as if to say, Imagine your life without Oliver Simmons, then decide how attractive you think he is.
“You found your shoes,” Oliver said.
Carrie looked down. “You mean, you found my shoes?” And put them on top of everyone else’s where she couldn’t miss them. She’d never even told him what they looked like. “Thank you,” she said. Seemed like she said that a lot these days. After so many times, it sounded weak and one-sided, almost self-serving.
Feeling time ticking, she worked on her questions.
Do you have a girlfriend? A wife?
Her tongue felt like cotton in her mouth.
Oliver watched the workers pull up the mud, and she did, too. It took two men to lift each heavy bucket out of the deep hole, and they were a dirty, sweaty lot. It was another minute before she realized that she and Oliver were staring at the same faded blue t-shirt.
Greg.
Was Oliver jealous?
Carrie shoved the thought aside. She was just grateful Greg wore a shirt since none of the others did. Amber was probably drooling at the window since Braden had mud smeared over half his muscled chest. Greg pulled off his Yankees hat and wiped his brow, and for whatever reason, Carrie and Oliver watched him do it.
“There’s a sweep Tuesday,” Oliver said. “I’m on duty again, so…yeah. I’m not sure when I’ll be by, but hopefully not too late.”
Knowing Greg was listening to every word, Carrie lowered her voice. “How much trouble would you be in if your boss knew what you just told me?”
Oliver shrugged. “It’s fine. I like to help.”
“But it’s not just me you’re helping,” she insisted. “You have a whole clan indebted to you, Oliver. A whole group of illegal
people who owe you their lives.”
“It’s fine. Really.” He smiled weakly to back up his words. “Uh, what does CC stand for? I’ve never heard anyone call you that before.”
Embarrassed, she didn’t explain. CC was less painful than Careless Carrie anyway.
As Oliver’s gray eyes went back to the workers, Carrie studied him. Was Greg right about Oliver’s feelings for her? If so, did she feel something for him in return? Oliver wasn’t particularly attractive—at least not by Amber’s standards—but neither was he unattractive. Besides, she didn’t care about that stuff anyway. He was mid-to-late thirties, probably why she’d never considered the possibility of a relationship with him. But there was a kindness to his features, a gentleness she found comforting. His gray eyes were small and close set, but they were also wise and caring. His tall body tended to hunch toward her, almost protectively. She’d never seen him wear anything but his green uniform and beige tie, but it suited him somehow. And his soft voice was one of someone who couldn’t hurt a fly. How he’d become a patrolman, she didn’t know, but looking up at him she couldn’t help but think that she’d loved Oliver Simmons for some time. But not like that. Not like Greg wanted her to.
At least…she didn’t think so.
In reality, she had no idea what she felt. She’d never been in love before. She had no clue what it would be like, feel like, or if she was in love with him already. Without a mom, she didn’t have anyone to ask either. She could ask Amber, but Amber’s idea of love was so…not Carrie. And May was completely biased.
Carrie’s gaze dropped to Oliver’s left hand. No wedding ring. There went that. And no matter how she worded the other questions, they sounded horrible. Plus, if Greg was right, if Oliver was in love with her, she wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences if she forced him to admit it.
Turning, he noticed her studying him and backed up. “I better go. See you next week, Carrie.”
It’s how he ended every visit. Part of their routine.
“I’ll be here,” she said as cheerfully as she could muster.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 20
