Incredible Us

by Deanndra Hall

  “Olivia, let’s find you a bedroom so you can get some rest, okay?”

  Never releasing Olivia’s hand, Trish looks to me. I just tell her, “Clint’s old room.”

  “Gotcha. Come on, honey. It’ll be okay.” Trish leads her past and Olivia gives me a hard stare as she heads down the hallway. I hear Trish saying, “Dave will give you a big tee shirt to sleep in. You’ll be fine.” Her voice drones on and I look at Clint.

  “What do I do now?”

  Clint shrugs. “That’s what do ‘we’ do now, and I don’t know. What are the rules here?” He’s grinning when he asks that question and plops down on the sofa, waiting for me to sit down too.

  I’m so wired that it’s hard to breathe. My elbows on my knees, I lean forward and put my face in my hands. “Well, rule number one would be to not sleep with her for any reason. I don’t think that one’s going to be too hard to follow.”

  Clint chuckles. “Well, I’m glad to hear that!” Then he sobers again. “I’m going to have Trish go and get her some more things tomorrow. She needs more clothes, another pair of shoes, some pajamas, a robe, things like that.”

  “I’ll pay for them. I don’t mind.”

  Clint shakes his head. “No. It’s all right. It’s not like she’s going to Nordstrom’s or anywhere like that. Just Walmart or Target or somewhere. It won’t be that much.”

  I hesitate, then ask, “What about some jewelry? I mean, just cheap stuff, but women like that kind of thing. And maybe some makeup? What do you think?”

  A thoughtful look passes over Clint’s face. “Yeah. That might be a good idea. A few things that would be considered a luxury to her. Give her some hope, some stability. Maybe even get her to open up a little, tell you about herself.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I’ve already decided I’m going to tell her that I’m not planning to ask any questions, that I’ll just wait until she’s ready to tell me.”

  Clint nods back. “Good plan. Let her relax a little, get comfortable.”

  I sigh deeply. “You do realize that she might be a serial killer and she could murder me in my sleep or steal everything I have for all I know?”

  “The thought had occurred to me.” Clint smirks.

  “I’m trying not to think about it.” Then something hits me. “I’ve got an idea.” I start down the hall. When I get to the bedroom doorway, I smile.

  Olivia is in Clint’s old bed, sheet pulled up to her neck, and Trish is sitting on the side of the bed, speaking quietly to her. From time to time, Trish brushes a hand absent-mindedly over Olivia’s hair, and the younger woman closes her eyes as though she enjoys the simple touch. When Trish hears me, she turns. Her tiny little reaction causes Olivia’s eyes to pop open, but she calms when she sees that it’s me. “Hey, honey, can I ask you a question?” Olivia lies stone still and says nothing. “I’m going to try to get you some money, but do you know your social security number? I’m going to need that to find your money. That and your last name.”

  She stills completely and just stares at me for a moment, but then she starts rattling the number off so fast that I’m having trouble catching it all. I whip out my phone. “I’m making a note here. Tell me again.” Once it’s typed into my notes, I tell her “Good girl. I’ll see what I can find for you. You get some sleep, okay?” She nods, and I head back to the living room.

  “Got it.”

  Clint looks up from the newspaper. “What?”

  “Her social security number.” I snatch a note pad from the coffee table, open up the note in my phone, and write the number on the paper, then hand it to Clint.

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Call Steffen. Give it to him. He can find out who she is.”

  “Oh yeah! That’s good thinking. I’ll call him in the morning.” Not only is Steffen a member at the club, he’s a regional manager for a large banking chain. He’ll be able to look her up based on credit reports. We can at least get a little information that way. “I think I’m going to collect my sub and take her home. You gonna be okay here with her?”

  I shrug. “Guess we’ll find out come morning.”

  I’m almost asleep when I hear a voice. The house had gone completely silent, and I’d heard nothing from Olivia since Trish and Clint left, but I’d intentionally left my bedroom door open so I could try to detect movement. Now, in my addled sleeping mind, I hear, “Hello?”

  I roll to face her. “Hey! What’s up, honey?”

  “May I use the restroom?” She looks terrified again.

  I nod. “As long as you’re staying here, it’s your bathroom too. Do whatever you need to do.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much. Thanks.” She keeps thanking me as she walks down the hallway and I hear the bathroom door close. The toilet flushes, the door opens, and she stops in my doorway again. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you for letting me use your restroom.”

  As she turns to go back to the other room, I call out, “Olivia, would you like to talk? I’ll always listen. I hear I’m a good listener.”

  She stands in the doorway again, her head hung. “No. What would I talk about? I don’t have anything to say.”

  “I just thought, you know, maybe you’d like to tell me more about yourself. Or I could answer questions about me. I don’t mind at all. I’m not very interesting, but I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s okay.” I’m pretty sure she’s going back to the room, but she continues to stand there. Finally, she says in a low whisper, “Please don’t call the police. Please?”

  I feel tears come to my eyes. “No, honey. We’re not going to do that. That’s why Clint put you guys into the trunk of my car. The police were out front. And no, they’re never going to hurt you again. I’ll see to it.”

  She doesn’t smile, but she also doesn’t look as stressed as she’d looked five minutes before. “Thank you. Thank you for helping me. Thank you so much.”

  A grin stretches across my face. “Oh, quit thanking me! It’s just a twin-sized bed in Clint’s old room. This isn’t the Radisson. It’s just a little house on a city street.”

  Her head shakes slowly. “No, it’s a very nice house. Very nice. You’re so lucky to live in a house. Some people don’t have anywhere to live.”

  Okay, that does it – my heart is officially broken. I decide to try something. “I know. Not everyone has a place to live. What happened to your house?”

  Very quietly, she murmurs, “My dad’s medical bills were too high. The court took it and sold it.”

  Ah – now we’re getting somewhere. I forge ahead. “Oh! So did you live with your parents?” She nods. “Did you always live with them?”

  She sighs and leans against the door facing, the first somewhat-normal thing I’ve seen her do. “No. I had a condo in Jasper. And a job and a car.”

  “Wow. That must’ve been nice.” I wait and, when she doesn’t say anything else, I sit up and pat the foot of the bed. “You can come and sit down if you want. It’s okay.”

  To my total surprise, she does just that – sits on the foot of the bed and crosses her legs yoga-style. But she doesn’t say anything else. Finally I ask her, “So how did you wind up here?”

  “My parents were sick. Then my mom died. So I quit my job and sold my condo to come and help my dad. I hadn’t had my condo very long, so there wasn’t any equity and I lost my down payment and everything. Then my car quit, so I just drove his. He couldn’t drive it anyway.”

  “Do you mind me asking what was wrong with your dad?”

  “COPD. It’s terrible.” A far-away look passes over her face. “He was only fifty-three. That was three years ago. I was twenty-six.”

  “Oh, Olivia, honey, I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. Is that how you wound up without a home?” I was trying to piece it all together, and I was failing.

  “Yeah. He had a lot of medical bills and the bank foreclosed on the house once he died. I couldn’t pay the payment
s. And once I lost the house, I had no address, so no one would give me a job.”

  I know that to be common, and it makes me furious. How in the hell is a homeless person supposed to not be homeless anymore if they can’t get a job? It’s a convoluted, fucked-up world we live in. She invades my thoughts when she says, “I lived in the car, but one day I went into the mall to wash up and when I came out, they’d found it and repossessed it. Everything I had left was in that car and I never got any of it back. I stood there on the mall sidewalk, looking at the spot where my car had been, watching shoppers walk back and forth, and I thought, ‘Now I’m one of those people I used to give money to on my way to the office from the parking lot.’ I remember that I stood there for about four hours. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. That was the first night I slept outside.” She stares at her lap, not crying, just staring, completely still.

  Every paternal Dominant trait in me kicks into high gear, and my head drops in shame. This woman has been abandoned, deserted, used, abused, thrown away, and ignored. All I want to do in that moment is get one of those beautiful rocking chairs from Cracker Barrel and rock her in my arms. She doesn’t deserve what happened to her. She tried to do the right thing, and she’s been punished in every way possible for her love and sense of responsibility. Before I can stop it, a tear rolls down my face and drips off my nose, and I sniffle.

  “Don’t cry. It’s okay.” Her soft voice fills the room. “I don’t have anybody. If I’m not around anymore, no one will know. There’s no one who’ll be hurt. It’s okay, really. I’m not afraid anymore.”

  And that’s all I can take. This woman has lost everything and she’s comforting me. When I manage to pull myself together, I look up at her and say the thing that is cycling in my head. “I’d know, Olivia. I’d know you weren’t around anymore. I’d miss you. I really would.”

  And there it is – a tiny little smile, shy but beautiful. “Thank you. Thank you for saying that. Thanks so much.” Every time she’s thanked me, it’s been over and over. A tiny kindness. A pleasant word. A small smile. A gentle reassurance. I take so much for granted, and this woman is appreciative of them all. “I should let you go to sleep. I’m sorry for taking up your time like this. You didn’t want to hear any of this. I’m so sorry.” She rises from the foot of the bed and heads out the door, but she stops in the doorway. “You’re a very kind man, Dave. And Clint and Trish are very kind too. Thank you for being so nice to me. I’ll leave whenever you want me to.” Before I can say a word, she disappears and I hear the bedroom door close.

  And now I just want to know more about Olivia.

  Chapter Three

  When I wake up the next morning, I get the shock of my life.

  I stumble into the kitchen, confused because I can smell coffee, and the sight that greets me is unbelievable. Yes, there’s coffee. Plus, on a platter, there’s bacon, sausage, and hash browns. While she’s cooking the eggs, she’s also babysitting the pancakes on the griddle. I watch in amazement as she handles it all with ease. When she turns to put the eggs on the platter, she jumps. “Oh! I’m sorry! I hope this was okay. I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you. I hope it’s all right that I cooked this food.”

  I’m still in shock. “Uh, yeah, that’s fine. Great, in fact. I’m just . . . wow. I just don’t know what to say.”

  “If you’ll tell me what you want, I’ll serve you. I don’t mind at all.” She gives me something that might pass as the beginnings of a smile, the first expression like it that I’ve seen from her, and I get a weird sensation in my chest.

  “No, no, I’ll get it. I should be serving you since you’ve cooked all this. Wow. This is awesome!” I could get used to this, I think, then tell myself, Dave, you old dog, forget about it. Not gonna happen. I get a couple of plates out, set one on the counter for her, and fill the other one, then take a seat at the table. One bite and I ask, “What did you put in these eggs? They’re ridiculous.”

  Her face falls. “Oh, no, are they awful? I’m so sorry!” She reaches for the platter, and I stop her by pulling it toward me.

  “No-no-no, they’re ridiculously delicious! That’s what I meant! You’re a helluva cook, little girl!” I’m grinning from ear to ear, and I see her facial muscles relax as she takes a deep breath.

  “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  “Olivia, why do you keep saying you’re sorry?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t want you to be mad at me.” Now she just looks sad.

  “Can I ask you something?” She nods. “How long has it been since someone has hugged you? I mean really, really hugged you?”

  Her expression is flat when she says, “Three years. I mean, Trish kinda hugged me last night, but not really. She just put her arm around my shoulders. Nobody’s hugged me in three years.”

  I don’t even know what to think about that response. Somebody is hugging me all the time. If it’s not Clint or Trish or their kids, it’s Sheila or Steffen or one of theirs, or a sub, or Marta or Angela, or one of the Doms at the club, or somebody. The idea that someone would go three years without the barest minimum of human contact and affection is hard for me to comprehend. I shudder internally before I ask, “Would you like a hug? Can I hug you?” I remember something Trish said. “Trish says my hugs are magic. Want to see?”

  She just stands there, and I realize she doesn’t know what to say. Faced with the possibility of caring and attention, she freezes. I get up and make my way across the room to her, where I put a hand under her chin and turn her face up to mine. “I’m going to hug you. If it’s too much for you, let me know.” I open my arms, then step up against her and wrap them around her.

  Her arms don’t move, but I feel her melt into my embrace, and then it happens: She starts to sob. I grip her even tighter, and finally her arms wind around my waist. Three years of bottled-up anguish pours out, soaking the front of my tee and making my knees feel weak. Instinctively, my face tips downward and I kiss the top of her head. She’s still crying and I realize she can’t stop, so I scoop her up and carry her to the living room, then sit on the sofa and hold her on my lap where she just keeps crying and heaving. I stroke her hair and make a mental note to myself that she needs it trimmed to get rid of the splits and frizzies. Then she does the one thing I wanted to do myself, but I knew better. Problem is, she doesn’t when she lifts her face to meet mine.

  And she kisses me. Something inside me breaks open and I feel lighter somehow. I know I should pull back, but I just can’t. I think about her age, my age, what she’s been going through, and I wonder what’s going to happen next, how badly one or both of us is going to get hurt, what the hell I’m doing in this predicament, but I can’t make my lips leave hers. When I manage to get my wits about me, I grab her upper arms and push her back to look into her face. The look there takes my breath away, so much fear and desperation and pain, when she whispers, “Please? Please love me? Please? I know I’m dirty and I’m trash, but I’m a really good person, really, I am. Please love me?”

  She’s a child and she’s a woman, and in that blindingly bright second I fall in love with both. I just pull her to my chest and hug her tight, and she wraps her arms around me and squeezes for dear life. “Oh, Olivia. I want to, I really do, but honey, you’re twenty-nine and I’m sixty- . . .”

  “Stop!” She peers up at me. “Dave, please? I need you! Please?” To my horror, she leans back and starts tugging at the bottom of my tee shirt, and I grab her hands and hold them together in front of her.

  “No! Olivia, no. I can’t do that.” My heart is racing and I’m almost panting. “That wouldn’t be right.”

  She cries even harder. “No one wants me! I’m such a mess! I’m no good for anything!”

  That just makes my blood boil, and I shout out, “THAT’S NOT TRUE! Stop it, Olivia! You’re a beautiful girl. You deserve to have someone love you, but I won’t take advantage of you like that. I respect you too much. Let’s just take a deep breat
h, honey, please?”

  She stops struggling against me and sucks in air, a look of sad resignation passing over her face. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t right of me. I’m such a slut.”

  “I told you, stop it! You’re not a slut! You’ve been used and abused and taken advantage of. I don’t want to be one of the people who does that to you when you’re vulnerable and alone and afraid. We’ll figure all of this out, but let’s eat breakfast and see what we can do today that’ll take you another step closer to being whole, okay?”

  It’s a small victory when she nods. “Okay. Okay, I understand. Thank you, Dave. Thank you so much for taking care of me. Thanks.”

  I chuckle. “Do you know how flattering it is for you to do that? I’m an old guy and you’re . . .”

  “Now it’s MY turn to tell YOU to stop it!” Then I hear it for the first time.

  She giggles.

  I start to laugh. “Why should I stop it?”

  “Because you’re not old. You’re very, very distinguished.”

  “Translation: Old.” I’m still laughing. Now she’s laughing too.

  “No. You’re very, very hot. And you’re very sweet too.” Now she’s blushing.

  “Let me ask you something. Trish was going to shop for you later, but would you like to go with her to shop? Then you could get things you like.” There’s a moment of fear on her face, so I add, “And I’ll go with you if it would make you feel better.”

  “Can Clint go too?” Ah. She wants to make sure there are plenty of us with her. Makes her feel safe, I assume.

  “I don’t know. He may have work to do. But if he doesn’t, I’m sure he’ll come. We can have lunch too. What do you think?”

  She gives me a tiny little nod. “I haven’t eaten in a restaurant in a long, long time.” Then she blurts out, “Oh my god! This food is ruined! We didn’t eat it.”

  I’m afraid she’ll burst into tears again, so I say, “Hey, it’s just wonderful that you actually cooked for me. I’m impressed.”