Pieces of Olivia (8 page)

Preston took a step away from me and ran a hand through his hair, breathing out slowly as he peered around, his eyes on anything but me. I considered reaching for him or rushing from the room. Both options felt equally right. And that was when I noticed the person standing to our left. London. Her arms were crossed over her chest and the expression on her face was some combination of anger and disappointment.

Preston focused on her. “Hey,” he said, as calm as ever.

She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you weren’t seeing anyone?”

“I’m not,” he said, never looking away from her. Suddenly my cheeks became warm and my insides felt hollow and weak. He was telling her the truth. We weren’t seeing one another. We weren’t anything. So why did his words cut so deep?

“Hey, there you are,” Kara said, rushing into the room. She linked her arm with mine. “That was insane. I got caught in the bathroom with some smokers. I swear, I’m going to have to bathe in bleach to get the smell off me. Are you ready to go?”

I nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yep. Ready.”

She stopped to look at me, and I shook my head just a touch. Girl code for
I’ll tell you later
, but of course I wouldn’t. This was Preston, Kara’s best friend, and no matter what she said, he would always come first. She would take his side, defend him. I couldn’t tell her anything. I couldn’t tell
anyone
anything. Except Rose. I cringed at the realization that my therapist had become the only person I could talk to. “Okay, then. See you later, Pres,” she said, hugging him.

And then like a coward, I followed her out of the room without a backwards glance.

“Explain this to me slowly,” Rose said. “You like this boy, yet you ran away like he was some infected leper during the days of the plague?” She shook her head. “Am I missing something? Explain it to me again.”

I sighed heavily and buried my face in my hands. It had been four days since I’d fled from the apartment with Kara, leaving Preston behind, yet all I could think about was that moment, the two of us surrounded by darkness, an electric charge in the air. I had felt powerful and vulnerable all at the same time. And now . . .

“You’ll have to do better than grunts and heavy sighs of injustice. You’re embarking on adulthood. We use words.” Rose took a long draw off her cigarette and set it down on the ivory ashtray she kept at her desk, flicking it once to shake off the excess ash. Her knowing eyes squinted at me, waiting.

“I think I’d rather talk about the fire than my disastrous night with Preston Riggs.”

“See that,” Rose said, pointing at me. “Every time you say his name, you say his full name. Preston Riggs. An expert might say that is suggestive. Like you’re holding him high above you. But, of course, I’m no expert.”

I crept out from behind my hands and stared at Rose. “You think I feel he’s too good for me?”

“Don’t you?”

“No! He’s . . .” I shook my head. “He’s Kara’s best friend and he doesn’t date beyond like a month. He’s complicated. The last thing I need.”

“Um-hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing. So let’s go back to that night.”

I got the impression that Rose had figured something out about me even though I hadn’t decided to reveal it. I hesitated, staring her down with a cocked eyebrow, but she gave nothing away. Instead, she reached behind her desk chair and pulled out a black memory box. The box was no larger than a shoebox, its exterior shiny in the bright light of Rose’s office. She walked over to me quietly and set the box beside me, then moved to the chair in front of the sofa, her demeanor suddenly all business.

We had spent the last several sessions working through that night, minute by minute, memory by memory. It felt slow, painful, to rehash it in this way, but Rose refused to go fast. She said she wanted me to move on as I became comfortable. I talked about playing beer pong for an entire session, which felt so stupid, but by the end, Rose was right. I was okay with it. For that moment at least.

I eyed the box again. “What is that?” I asked.

“Ah, see, that question tells me that you’re cautious. Some people would open the box to see what is inside. You choose to ask. It’s safer. I want you to get past that safe zone. With this box . . . and with new friends you meet, including THE Preston Riggs.”

My eyes flashed to hers. I fought the urge to repeat my question, but something told me she wouldn’t answer it or any other question about the contents of the box. If I wanted to know, I had to trust her and open it. I glanced over at the large grandfather clock beside her desk, listening as it
tick-tick-ticked
closer to the end of our appointment. There were fifteen minutes left. The sounds on the street were calm for early morning, and I wondered if the clock was wrong and whether it was actually later in the day, which would mean that I might have missed my first class. “What time is it?”

Rose’s eyes pierced through me. “You know the time.”

I swallowed hard, refusing to look at the box. The smell of Rose’s cigarette hit my nose, harsh and burning, and I was back there, my eyes snapping closed so I could watch myself lie on the floor of Parker’s media room with Claire, singing
Because, because, because, because, because
along with Dorothy. Everything was so beautiful.

I forced my eyes open, unwilling to watch what happened next. “What if I don’t want to open it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Rose leaned forward. “Then don’t. Today. But your homework is to find the courage to open it. You can do this, Olive. And when you do, you will be well on your way to healing.”

I nodded, my eyes back on the clock. How had only two minutes passed?

“Okay, now let’s go back to that night,” Rose said, leaning back in her chair. “You were in the house, and you stopped to talk to Claire.”

I drew a breath. “Right. Claire.” I saw her face in my mind, all humor and happiness. God, why didn’t I hug her right then? Why didn’t I tell her that she was more than just the third in our group, like she had said she felt. She was the glue that kept the group together when Trisha and I fought. Often about Matt.

I tucked my legs up under me and stared out into the office. “Claire wanted to go find Parker. He’d been distant lately, and she was afraid he was cheating on her, though I doubted it, and I told her as much. I told her he was likely upstairs with Matt, to come with me.”

“We walked around some couple making out on the stairs and went on into Parker’s media room,” I said, continuing. “The smell of weed hit my nose as soon as I opened the door. A sane person would have gone the other way, but I was Olive Warren and I was with Matt. Now, I can’t believe the stupidity of it all. Like I was the queen and Matt was the king. I refused to let on my doubts about Matt, even to Trisha. Even when the drugs became more important to him than me.” I blinked to keep myself going.

“So, you were unsure of Matt?” Rose asked.

I sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d been with him so long, and my parents loved him. To me, there was no other way—just Matt and Olive.”

Rose nodded. “Okay, so go on. What happened next?”

“Well, Parker and Matt were in the back of the media room, smoking a joint. They waved us over, and I remember sitting in Matt’s lap, proud to be his girlfriend. I was always proud to be with him. I liked what we were, how all the other girls at school looked at me as though they wanted to be me. Anyway, Matt handed me the joint, and I took two hits, then three, and then everything became fuzzy. Claire was dancing and singing, but it was like I was under water. Like I couldn’t really see or hear her. And then . . .” My body shook as I remembered the smoke, coughing, feeling sure I would die. I opened my mouth to say more, but I couldn’t speak. All I could do was sit there, shaking, my eyes shut so tightly that I didn’t realize Rose was beside me, her arms wrapped around me until she spoke into my ear.

“That’s enough for today, Olive,” she said. “Take a breath.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, forced my eyes open, and focused with everything in me on the tiny bird jutting out from Rose’s clock, telling me the session was over. I counted each call it made, and then slowly my breathing became steady and my pulse returned to normal. Rose reached over for a tissue and passed it to me. I hadn’t even realized that I was crying.

“Great work today,” she said.

I stood up after I was sure that I could stand without crumpling back down. My hands were still shaking, but I felt better. I inhaled, and then started for the door, when Rose called out, “You’re forgetting your homework.”

I turned back to see the box still sitting on the sofa and cringed. “Maybe I could just—”

She walked over with the box. “You will take it. And you will try to open it.”

I grimaced as I took it in my hand. “Fine. But you should know that I don’t like you very much right now.”

She smiled. “And see, I thought we were becoming friends. Have a great day, Olive.”

“Yeah. Great.”

***

I closed Rose’s door behind me, the memory box in hand like a curse, burning my palm, tingling up my forearm. Sessions like this made me wonder if I liked Rose or hated her.

I started down the sidewalk, when I heard a car horn from my left. I glanced over, expecting to see two drivers yelling at one another, but instead saw a black Silverado parked on the street just down from Rose’s office. I eyed the box in my hand, shiny and black, and then the truck. What were the odds? Two shiny black objects full of threatening things I wasn’t ready to explore.

I kept walking, hoping I was wrong about the truck—and its threatening thing—when Preston jumped out and jogged over to me. “Hey,” he said, his eyes concealed once again by his blue sunglasses. In place of his usual bandana, he wore a plaid wool baseball cap and a dark green long-sleeve waffle-knit shirt over worn and faded jeans. His brownish-red locks curled out from the edges of the cap, refusing to be contained.

“Hey,” I finally said, realizing that I wasn’t only staring at him, I was ogling him.
Very smooth, Olive
. I peeked behind me to the floor-to-ceiling windows of Rose’s office. Sure enough, she was there, peeking through the blinds, grinning her I-told-you-so grin. I rolled my eyes and focused back on Preston. “What are you doing here?”

He tucked his hands into his pockets and bit his lip, as though contemplating, then said, “I wasn’t sure when you came to see her, so I took a chance that you’d schedule your appointments for Mondays. Get them out of the way and all. That’s what I would do. Anyway, after Thursday . . . I thought you might . . .”

I released a slow breath. God, could this get any worse? “Oh.”

I had begun to hate the
Wizard of Oz
after the fire; the music, even the mention of the title brought on a cold sweat. But suddenly I wished that I were Dorothy and could grab a pair of ruby slippers to take me far, far away from Preston and this awkward moment.

“You look better today,” he said, nodding toward my face, which I imagined was six shades of red by this point.

“I’m fine. Look—”

“What’s in the box?”

I glanced down at the box like it was poison in my hand. “Rose gave me homework.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid to look.” I closed my eyes slowly, hating the pathetic girl I was becoming in front of him, but somehow with Preston, I didn’t feel that natural urge to cover up my fears and insecurities. I could be myself around him, because I knew he would see through the lie. Like he already knew what I would say even before I thought of my response.

Preston reached out and took the box from my hand, tucking it under his arm. “Come on. I’ll drive you back to Liberty.”

“What about London?” The words were out so quickly that I didn’t have time to register what they suggested.

Preston stuttered, clearly taken off guard. “Uh, what about her?” He cocked an eyebrow at me, his lips angling up a fraction of an inch. But that was enough. He knew what the question meant. Damn it!

“I don’t know. She seemed . . . uncomfortable. You know, on Thursday.” God. Was he drunk at the party? Maybe he didn’t remember what happened. Or maybe he didn’t think the way we were, pressed together, his palms cupping my face, was unusual or intimate.

“Oh, right. She’s fine.”

My eyes narrowed. He was being intentionally shady, which meant they were still doing whatever it was he did with girls. I felt my resolve falter at the thought and peered behind me to see Rose giving me two thumbs up. I closed my eyes and shook my head, defeated. “Fine. I’ll ride in your damn truck.”

Preston grinned and started to reply, but then his gaze travelled past me to Rose’s office, his eyebrows shooting up. “Is that your therapist?”

I walked around him toward his truck. “Yes.”

“She’s waving at me.”

I sighed. Of course she was. Thank you, Rose. If I ever speak to you again, I’m going to turn you into one of those ghosts you love. “Are we going or not?”

I slipped into the truck, waiting as Preston stopped outside his door to see if Rose was still watching him. He raised his hand to wave, and I buried my face in my hands. I was going to need heavier medication to survive this humiliation. Damn Rose and her deliberateness. I knew she just wanted me to trust other people, to step outside my “safe zone,” but we were going to have to talk about her methods.

Preston finally slid in beside me and passed over the box. “It’s light.”

“What is?”

“The box,” he said, nodding toward it. “Have you guessed what’s inside?”

“No. But I’m pretty sure I know what it has to do with.” I pictured things from my bedroom or items from each of my friends or newspaper clippings about the fire.

He eyed the box. “I’m betting it’s empty. She seems a little out there. Maybe she’s messing with you.”

“I’m not that lucky.”

“Then, I bet it’s . . .” He tapped his long index fingers against the steering wheel, drawing my attention over, making me remember the feel of them against my skin. “Fake spiders.”

“What? She isn’t going to give me a box of fake spiders. Who does that? That’s stupid.”

Preston laughed. “Okay then, you take a guess.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“Try.”

“I can’t. I don’t know.”

“God, stop being such a girl and take a damn guess.”

“Testy! And I take offense. I’m not being a girl.”

“Then put your money where your mouth is and guess. Make it a good one.”

I shook my head again, but this time I was smiling. “Fine. I bet the box is full of worms, the squishy kind with glitter in them.”

“What brand? Because if we’re talking Strike King, then maybe I’ll just . . .” He reached for the box and I swatted his hand away, laughing.

“Hey! Find your own crazy box.”

Preston grasped my hand as I was swatting his away, his fingers gliding over my knuckles then fingertips before he released. Suddenly, the air in the truck felt thick, the space between us small. I swallowed hard, wishing I could ask him what was happening between us, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his answer. For now, I felt safe in the dream world, where I could imagine Preston wanting me without having to risk my heart. I knew I would eventually have to date again, feel again, but for now I’d rather play out the dream, which I guessed was exactly what Rose had meant by her stupid safe zone.

We reached Liberty and said goodbye, all the while my heart jumping in my chest, begging me to stay a little longer. I could avoid reality. I could pretend. But I couldn’t deny the truth to myself any longer.

I had fallen for Preston Riggs.