Wishing Pearl (3 page)

Oh no. Jordyn was in bad shape. She could hurt herself or someone else or get in really big trouble. Or all of the above. The way she saw it, Olivia had three choices. She could try to get permission from Charles to take Jordyn home. But then he’d want to know why Jordyn couldn’t drive herself home. That wouldn’t work. Second choice: sneak Charles’s keys and do it anyway. Yeah, that would work if she had a death wish. Plus he’d probably search her room while she was gone.

That reminded her—hide the empty cans before Charles came up for a visit. Olivia scooped up the three cans on the floor and two from the rumpled comforter. Where was the sixth one? She searched under the bed and behind the television.

Jordyn giggled and slinked a hand into her jacket. She pulled out a half-full beer and lifted it into the air. “I was saving a roadie.” Raising it a couple of inches higher, she chimed, “Cheers,” then polished it off and crushed the can. Without another word, she dropped it into Olivia’s garbage, turned on her heels, and made her way in a sort of zigzag pattern across Olivia’s room toward the door.

Third option. “If you won’t stay, let me at least call you a taxi.” There had to be numbers in the phone book for that, right?

“Yeah, and I’m supposed to explain that to my parents how?” Jordyn waved her hand. “Stop being such a baby. I’ll be fine.” She peered into the mirror and straightened one of her cockeyed braids. “I do this all the time. Everyone does. Besides, this is nothing, really.”

Olivia felt for the cell phone in her pocket. Maybe she should call Jordyn’s parents. Jordyn would probably hate Olivia for it, but at least she’d be safe. But then everyone would know Olivia had turned in her new best friend. No one would want to hang out with her, and she’d be alone again. She’d never made friends very easily. How smart would it be to betray the one good friend she’d found? But what kind of friend would let Jordyn drive drunk? Even if she made it home and nothing happened tonight, what about next time? Olivia would have to talk to her about this. She couldn’t just sit back and let it continue.

“Bye!” Jordyn sailed through the door, her braids whipping behind her.

Frozen in place, Olivia let her go.

H
ey! Open this door. I will
not
have locked doors in my house!”

Olivia bolted up from her sound sleep, pulled the covers to her chin—not that they could protect her…. Nothing could. She peeked at the clock. One in the morning. “I’m sleeping. Can we talk tomorrow?” Olivia tried to keep her voice from trembling.
Please go away. Please go away
. Would Charles break the door down again?

“You will open up right now, young lady.” Charles stopped rattling the knob after he bellowed his demand, obviously expecting her to obey. And judging by the slur in his words and past experience, Olivia figured she’d better. Like her entire body, her feet felt numb under the covers. How would she force them to walk to the door? She searched her suite for one last chance at help. Anything.

All the way on the other side of the room, her cell phone lay on the desk where she’d plugged it in to charge before she climbed into bed. Could she get to it and call Jake before opening the door? Probably, but—she shuddered at a recent memory—if she made Charles wait, he’d bust in and everything would be much worse for her. What about dialing 911? What would she say to them if she called? That her stepfather wanted her bedroom door unlocked? The police wouldn’t care about that. Charles hadn’t laid a finger on her yet, at least not tonight. Jake would care, but he wouldn’t be able to get home in time, and what could he do anyway? What could anyone do?

“I’m waiting and I am
not
happy.” Charles spoke with a measured, even tone. He had no intention of going away.

Olivia stretched a shaky foot toward the floor and slid from her bed. Goose bumps layered upon goose bumps covered her from head to toe. Why hadn’t she worn something more modest to bed? She tugged at her teeny shorts and stretched the bottom hem of the tank top that barely reached her waist. A mammoth sweat suit would have been way better. Where had she put that thick robe she’d gotten from Grandma last Christmas? Still in the box buried under a pile of shoes on the floor of her cavernous closet, most likely—which was all the way in the bathroom. She’d never make it there and find it in time.

“Charles, it’s just—I’m tired.”
Please go away. Please
.

“I don’t care if you’re tired or not. I’m your father. You’ll do what I tell you to do.”

My father?
Olivia clenched her fists and bit down on her tongue, drawing on every ounce of her self-control to not correct Charles’s last statement. He didn’t even deserve to say her beloved daddy’s name, let alone pretend to fill his shoes.

“If I have to break through this door, you’ll be very sorry. But don’t think I won’t do it.” Charles rapped on the door in a sinister rhythm.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap
.

She’d lost. Or had she given up? Arguing would only make matters worse and wouldn’t change his mind anyway. So what was the point? Olivia sent her mind and heart fluttering out the window to a far-off land while her body crept to the door. She slowly unlocked the fate she’d been living for years.

“Mom, we need to talk.” Olivia strode into the kitchen as her mom snatched her bag from the dark granite slab.

With a set of car keys in her hand, Mom sighed and looked beyond Olivia toward her escape, the garage. “Can’t it wait? I have a spa appointment.”

No. Not this time
. Olivia stepped between her mom and the door, blocking the way out. “It’s really important. I’ve been trying to talk to you all week since you got back from Chicago.”

Mom swung her keys in front of Olivia’s face like a pendulum. “I’m already running late, and they make you pay for the appointment even if you don’t show up.” She took another step forward and waited for Olivia to get out of her way. When Olivia didn’t move, Mom pointed the remote start toward the garage and pressed the button. Her Mercedes roared to life. “I know! Why don’t you come with me? You can get a pedicure, too. We’ll talk there. You can tell me all about the boys you like and the new styles that are coming out.”

Boys she liked? Styles? Could the woman be any more clueless? “This is serious. It’s not pedicure talk.”
Choose me, Mom
.

“Oh, Liv, anything goes during a pedi.” She cupped her hand around her mouth and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Those people don’t speak very good English anyway.”

“Whatever.” The conversation sure hadn’t unfolded the way Olivia had hoped it would, but she might as well go along for the ride. Maybe they could talk on the way. She picked up her purse and followed the trail of her mom’s perfume out to the luxurious car. “When are you going to hire a chauffeur?” Olivia turned her head away and rolled her eyes as she climbed into the front seat.

“Um. I’ve considered it, but that might be a little extrava–Hold on. Did I hear sarcasm in your voice?” Mom tapped her perfect fingernails on the steering wheel.

Clueless
.

“So, Mom.” Olivia tried to get back on the subject as she fastened her seat belt. “We really need to talk.”

“So you mentioned.” Mom checked the rearview mirror and backed the car onto the driveway. “I hope this isn’t about Charles. One of these days you’re going to wake up and regret how you’ve treated him.”

“You have
got
to be kidding me.” Olivia’s eyes welled up. Why wouldn’t Mom see the truth about Charles? Why wouldn’t she ever take Olivia’s side?

Mom’s lower lip puckered sympathetically. “You missing your dad, sweetie?” She rubbed Olivia’s thigh.

“Would you listen to me?” Olivia blinked back the tears. “This has nothing to do with Dad.” Except for the fact that Daddy never would have let anything bad happen to his little angel. “This is really hard to say. Charles … he … he scares me.”
He hurts me
.

Mom clucked her tongue and nodded. “I know. He told me you two had a disagreement and he forced you to open your door. Liv, you know he doesn’t like locked doors. Thinks they’re unsafe.”

A disagreement? That was what he called it? “No. That’s not at all how it happened.” Olivia took a ragged breath to calm her racing heart.
Just say it
. “He shook my door and pounded on it in the middle of the night. He rushed in on me when I opened it and then twisted the door handle until the lock broke so I can never lock it again. Then he pulled the chain lock right off the wall. I cowered in a corner while he stood over me and yelled at me—stuff I don’t want to repeat.” Olivia held up her hand to ward off any comments while she gathered her thoughts. “And Mom, I–I’m afraid he’s going to do something bad to me someday. He says things to me, and it’s scary when he looks at me. It creeps me out.” If Mom only knew that the
someday
of Olivia’s fears had already come—long ago—and many times. But Mom wouldn’t even face the
possibility
of the truth. What would she do if she knew the reality?

Mom whipped around and stared at Olivia before shaking her head and returning her gaze to the road. Her knuckles turned white from her grip on the steering wheel. “If you’re saying what I think you are, you should be ashamed of yourself. Charles has done nothing but make your life wonderful. And you’ve been ungrateful every step of the way.”

Unbelievable
. She still had no intention of defending her daughter against her husband? Olivia shrank back into the leather upholstery. That was exactly why she could never tell her the whole truth. Mom would never believe her, and the whole thing would get back to Charles as though
she
had done something wrong. And then … well … he’d kill her.

What would it take to just disappear? Permanently.

“Now, I’m not going to tell him you said these things. But you need to get a grip on yourself. This has gone too far, and I don’t want to hear another word of this nonsense.” Mom shook her head and picked up her cell phone. She pressed a speed-dial button and waited. “Yes, this is Mrs. Virginia Whitford. I have an appointment for a pedicure in a few minutes. I am suddenly in desperate need of a massage, too. Is it possible to squeeze me in?” She paused. “Great. Also, my daughter, Olivia Mansfield, would like a pedicure. Sure, I’ll hold.”

Mom
needed a massage?
Right
. Olivia was quite sure their talk had been very rough on her. How had her mother allowed herself to become this creature? When she and Dad were married, they had no money, but they were so in love. Olivia remembered the view from the backseat of their minivan where she and Jake would watch Dad play with Mom’s hair. Jake would roll his eyes at Olivia and make gagging motions at the lovey-dovey stuff. Olivia always laughed at his silliness, but deep down she loved that they were so affectionate. It meant security.

Mom and Dad held hands, giggled at private jokes, and whispered about exotic vacations they hoped to take one day. Their actual family vacations usually involved checking into a Holiday Inn, traipsing through caves, swimming in the hotel pool, and maybe visiting an amusement park now and then. But they were happy. All four of them—at least they were until she was seven.

Quite different from the vacation her
new
family took last summer. A week in the south of France. It had sounded wonderful during the planning stages—but Charles spent the whole time on his computer when he wasn’t barking orders and complaints at everyone in sight. Mom took up permanent residence in the spa, and Jake chased bikinis.
Fun stuff
. If Daddy had been there, he’d have explored with Olivia, and they’d have sat on the beach making up stories about the rich ladies in the funny hats. Come to think of it, Mom would have been right there with them. What had happened to her?

“Fantastic. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” Dropping the phone into her cavernous designer bag, Mom turned to Olivia. “Now, let’s put all of this behind us and have a girls’ day. We’ll get pretty and then go to lunch after the spa. You can even pick the place.” She reached her hand over to lift Olivia’s chin and gazed into her eyes. “Everything’s going to be just fine. I’m really glad we had this talk.”

Yeah right.
Just fine
was a dream that went up in smoke the day Daddy died.

Olivia rushed into her room, shut the door behind her, and then slumped against it to catch her breath from the long bike ride. She pulled the Home Depot bag from its hiding spot under her sweater, then tucked it under her pillow to deal with later—once she could sneak some tools to her room. Hopefully Google knew how to install a chain lock. Not that a new lock on her door could help her now. Much too little and far too late. Charles had made it clear that he could make her do anything he wanted her to do. Open her door. Listen to his berating shouts. Accept his apology … and his touches.
Sick
. Still, a new lock offered some measure of security, which was much better than doing nothing, and she had run out of fresh ideas.

There was always the option of going to the police. But no, Olivia had gone over that scenario a thousand times in her mind. The first thing they’d do is contact her mom. She’d seen how effective talking to Mom proved to be. Mom would be furious that Olivia had aired her lies to Charles’s adoring public. She’d convince the police that nothing was wrong and say Olivia was just a spoiled little liar. Charles would find out once and for all that he could get away with anything—not even the police would do anything about it.