Pieces of Olivia Read online

  “Gertrude or Doris. Who is your favorite?”

  She tilted her head in thought. “Doris. Gertrude was too reserved. I never trust a shy person.”

  I grinned. The answer was so Rose. “What flavor of ice cream do you like?”

  Her face lit up. “Blueberry. I only eat blueberry.”

  ***

  The next morning, I made my way over to the pier to meet Rose, blueberry ice cream in hand even though it was barely eight in the morning. She smiled wide when she saw me. I’d grown to love the way Rose smiled; like Preston, her smile told the world she understood something about life the rest of us hadn’t yet grasped.

  I passed the cone of blueberry to her. I had to go to two places to find it, but I couldn’t imagine showing up without it.

  “Thank you, Olive. You’re officially my favorite patient.” She eyed the coffee cup in my hand. “No ice cream for you?”

  I laughed. “I’m a freshman in college, Rose. Coffee before noon, ice cream after eight. It’s like an unspoken rule. I don’t know how you’re eating the stuff this early anyway.”

  “Ah, see, when you get to my age, your day begins at four on a good day. So for me, it’s practically lunch hour.”

  She started down the pier. The morning light had just begun to coat the ocean in front of us, waking everything up. Seagulls soared around, seeking fresh fish and calling out to each other like old friends. There were very few people out this early, only the runners and the older folks who perhaps, like Rose, had begun their day many hours before.

  I leaned against the wooden railing and stared out over the water. The wind was light at this hour, the waves gentle. It reminded me how amazing the world was, how smart God must have been to create it. How did He know that life, even the water and the air, needed a moment to wake up, like the rest of us? I was continually amazed at this sort of thing.

  “A bite for your thoughts?” Rose asked, extending her cone to me.

  I laughed again. “I was just thinking how amazing it is.”

  “What?”

  I motioned around. “All of it. Like how is it possible that God created all of this? When you think about it, it’s hard for me to believe that there isn’t a God. How else can all of this exist in such perfect working order?”

  “So you’re religious, then?”

  I tilted my head. My parents had insisted on church from day one, but I had a suspicion that it had less to do with faith and more to do with our image within the community. Sundays were when ladies showed off their new Cartier jewelry and men boasted their latest business deals. I had never once heard someone actually talk about God who wasn’t an employee or volunteer of the church. “Not really,” I finally said. “But I have appreciation for religion. I think I could be. I just don’t know much about it. Like the Bible, I’ve never read it. I don’t even know all of the books. Isn’t that horrible?” I eyed Rose, expecting her to shoot me a traditional Southern glance of judgment.

  “Why would that be horrible? We only know what we know, Olive. The rest is learned. If you want to know God, know Him. If not, no big deal.”

  I was shocked. I had never heard someone her age ever suggest that believing and/or following God was an option. “Maybe some day.”

  “Maybe some day,” she repeated. “But for today, I would like to talk about that.” She pointed to the black box wedged under my arm. I pulled it out and placed it on the railing of the pier. “Okay. I am giving you two options today. Option one: You open the box and we take a look at its contents. Together. I will be here the whole time. You can look at as much or as little of it as you would like today as long as you look at something. Option two: We go our separate ways.”

  My eyes snapped up to hers. “Rose . . .”

  “We tend to allow ourselves to grow comfortable in the uncomfortable. We avoid it; we place it in an unused closet and hope that the dust mites eat it away. I can’t be your unused closet, Olive. We need to move forward. Otherwise, I think you need to find someone that can help you move forward.”

  I focused back on the box and then on Rose. “But you have helped me. I’m just not—”

  “You think you’re not ready, but you are. You just have to trust yourself.”

  I nodded slowly, set my coffee on the railing, and took the box back in my hands. I exhaled, hoping that a moment of sureness would find me, but after a long pause, I knew that I was hoping in vain. There was no sureness. There was only chance. I gripped the lid and slipped it off, peering into the box and straight into my friend Claire’s perfect face.

  The photo had been taken at a pool party at Westlake Country Club. We were celebrating the summer before our senior year. Claire and I stood close together in the photo, our arms wrapped around each other, our faces beaming with happiness. I stared at the photo, trying to find myself in the person I saw, but I couldn’t see me, not the me I was today. The Olivia in the photo was all makeup and sleek hair and pressed designer clothes. That girl wasn’t me. I focused back on Claire, and my hand began to shake as I remembered my last moment with her.

  I’ll be in Parker’s room if you need me, she had said with a wink. I wondered if that was where she died, passed out in his bed, unaware of the fire until it was too late.

  A shudder jolted through me, and I dropped the photo as though it had shocked me. “I can’t . . . This is . . .”

  Rose took my hand, bringing me back to her. “Leave the photo and look at me.”

  I forced myself to look up.

  “This is just you and I, Olive. I want you to take a deep breath and then tell me about her.”

  My teeth chattered together, but I wasn’t cold. I gripped Rose’s hand tighter, hoping to find strength through her.

  “You can do this.”

  I swallowed once, then twice, wishing I had brought water instead of coffee. “What do you want to know?”

  Rose pointed to the photo. “Who is that?”

  “You know who it is.”

  “Yes, but I don’t know who she is in your eyes. I want you to tell me.”

  I nodded. Rose and I had talked about Claire, but only on the surface. The focus was always on Trisha. I felt a wave of guilt surge forward at that realization. “It’s Claire. Trisha and I had been friends forever when Claire’s family moved into town, but she immediately became one of us. She wasn’t Trisha, but she was close. We were close.”

  “Good, go on.”

  Rose directed me over to a nearby bench and helped me sit down. “She and Parker were dating. She’s the one who invited me and Trisha to the party.”

  “Are you angry at her for that?”

  My eyes shot to Rose. “No.” I shook my head quickly. “No, I would never blame her. We would have ended up there regardless. Matt and Parker were like Trisha and I. Matt insisted that I come.”

  “So you blame Matt?”

  I hesitated, looking away. “No, of course not,” I said, but my voice wasn’t as sure as with Claire. “I would never blame them. They were my friends.”

  Rose nodded slowly. “Right. So, if one of them had survived, if Trisha had survived, would you want her to blame herself for living?”

  “No, but that’s not the same thing.”

  “Isn’t it? You did exactly the same things they did that night, right?” I didn’t respond so she continued. “It’s ridiculous to blame them for going to a party that you all planned to attend. And it’s ridiculous to think that Trisha would have blamed herself for surviving.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked, growing frustrated.

  “Don’t you see? Both those scenarios are crazy in your eyes. Just like it is crazy in mine for you to blame yourself for being alive.”

  I felt the weight of her words on my heart. “But I didn’t go back,” I whispered. “It wasn’t like a firefighter rescued me and I was too injured or whate
ver. I got out of the house on my own, turned around, and watched them die.”

  “Did you? Because that’s not the story from your hospital records. You had second- and third-degree burns on much of your body and were bleeding profusely. You could not have gone back into that house. Olive, look at me.” I blinked away tears and looked up. “You couldn’t have gone back in.” She stepped away from me, took the photo from where it lay, and sat it on my lap. “You couldn’t have saved Claire. You couldn’t have saved Matt. You couldn’t have saved anyone.” She took my shoulders in her hands, forcing me to look her straight in the eyes. “You could not have saved Trisha.”

  I bit my lip and closed my eyes, searching through my memory. I remembered scrambling up from the ground. How could I have done that if I was as injured as Rose claimed? “I was walking.”

  “Perhaps. But your legs didn’t receive the most damage.”

  I rubbed my left arm. Mom had begged me to see a plastic surgeon, but I couldn’t bear the thought of erasing what had happened. They all had died. And what? I was going to erase my scars and act like nothing had happened? Never.

  I thought about asking to see my hospital report. Would that help? Likely not. I took Claire’s photo back in my hands. “She was amazing, you know? Kind. The sort of person you wanted to be like. I never once told her how much I respected her, and now I never can.”

  “Maybe.”

  I glanced back at Rose. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Let’s say there are ghosts, like Doris and Gertrude. Maybe Claire is here, watching you this very moment. And if that was possible, if she was here, what would you say?”

  I tucked my hair behind my ears, feeling uncomfortable and exposed. I couldn’t talk about this, not in the open when my voice could carry with the wind, giving away my deepest thoughts to some passerby. “I don’t know.”

  “Fine.” Rose took the box from me and started to walk away. “We are done here.”

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “Home,” she called over her shoulder. “I told you. If you won’t—”

  I sighed heavily. “Okay.” Rose spun around, waiting. “I would tell her that I’m sorry.” She took a step closer. “I would tell her that she was the smart one of our group. The witty one. I would tell her that everyone stopped talking when she spoke, as if her words were truth and we needed to hear them to carry on.” A tear slipped from the corner of my eye, and I swiped it away. “I would tell her that she was the perfect friend, and that I’m sorry she felt like a third, when really she was what kept us all together.”

  Rose draped her arm around my shoulders. “I think if Claire were here right now, she would hug you and tell you that you were a great friend, too.”

  “Really?” I asked, the word barely escaping before I broke into sobs.

  “Really.” Rose hugged me close, resting her chin on my head as she patted my back. And for the first time, I didn’t try to hide my tears. I let them fall until the guilt and pain and sadness on my chest began to lift.

  Until, finally, I could breathe again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I walked into my dorm room twenty minutes later to find Kara on the phone, arguing, no doubt with Ethan. Since he had left on Sunday, they had argued nearly every day, securing my opinion that long-distance equaled disaster, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I crept over to my side of the room and dropped my bag, hoping I could get to the shower before she got off the phone.

  I had been taking concealer with me to my sessions with Rose for a few weeks now, so I was able to cover up the bulk of the damage from my cry-fest. But my eyes were still puffy and bloodshot and basically looked as though I’d either hit a bar or spent the last hour crying.

  I reached beside my bed for a fresh towel from the stack I kept there and heard Kara drop her phone onto her bed. Crap.

  “He’s going to one of those stupid sorority crush parties. Can you believe that? And as some girl’s date. I could seriously spit fire right now, I’m so mad.” I straightened, curious if I could hold a conversation with my back to her. “Olivia?”

  Okay, clearly not.

  I turned around, ready to launch into my advice—the same advice I always gave, because there was no good advice when it came to the complexity of relationships—when her gaze zeroed in on my eyes and she covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my God, what happened?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just windy outside today and I was out on the pier.”

  She cocked her head, her eyebrows scrunching together. “Yeah, no. Try again.”

  I opened my mouth.

  “Is this about Preston and whatever happened Saturday night?”

  I sucked in a breath. Had he told her? Surely not. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. You left the movie. Then he left the movie. And when I asked him about it later, he told me to mind my own damn business, which is the equivalent of Preston saying that something is bothering him.”

  I contemplated my options. I could admit the crazy thing, talk about Rose and my struggles there. Or I could openly tell her that I have feelings for Preston. But he was her best friend. How would she react?

  Kara stood up and walked over to me, turning me around so I was facing the mirror. “This is what you look like. Just so you know.” I stared at my wrecked face, saw the doubt and sadness in my eyes. I thought I hid it better. “I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but I care about you, and you look like this. I don’t think you would let me walk away if I looked like this.”

  I sighed heavily and started in on the truth . . . and realized I could almost tell her enough of it to make a reasonable excuse. She didn’t need to know how I felt about Preston. That would only complicate things, and we had established at the movie that there would never be an us. “I lost my best friend just before graduation. I see a therapist here to help me, you know, deal. Preston drove by one day when I was walking home, which is how he knew. The movie brought back memories, so I stepped out. He left to check on me, that’s all.”

  “So, were you just with your therapist? Is that why you’ve been crying?” She didn’t ask how Trisha had died or if I had been involved in the incident. It was one of the things I loved most about Kara. She never pushed. I suspected it was because she had her own closet of secrets, but I, like her, was never one to push, so I couldn’t be sure.

  I nodded. “Yes. Apparently, I’m unable to see Rose without crying. It’s pathetic, really.” I sat down on my bed and crossed my legs, and Kara sat on hers, mimicking my pose. “Enough of my dramatic crap. Let’s talk about yours.”

  Kara laughed. “Yeah, it feels like dramatic crap after what you just told me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .” She shrugged, trailing off. “It shouldn’t be this hard.” Her gaze settled on me, and I knew what she was going to ask. “What do you think I should do? Like really think, not the impartial crap you usually spout out. What do you think? You’re my closest friend, aside from Preston. I trust your opinion.”

  I released a long breath. The thing about voicing your opinion? You couldn’t take it back once you put it out there. But Kara and I would never become the type of friends I hoped we would become if I couldn’t be honest with her. “I agree, it shouldn’t be this hard, but I’m not sure it really is as hard as you’re making it. Don’t hate me.”

  She shook her head. “No. I think you’re right. I just can’t seem to trust him there. I’m all nervous and paranoid and so damn jealous. It consumes me.”

  “If you can, try not to let it. If he’s going to cheat, then he’s going to cheat. You worrying about it won’t change that fact. You have to decide whether you trust him. And if you don’t, if in your heart you really don’t, then I think you have your answer.”
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  Kara sighed, her eyes now filled with sadness, and I immediately wished I’d kept my mouth shut. Most of the time, we already knew the bad stuff, the answer, the problem. We didn’t need others telling us. It only made it worse. “We’ve just been together for so long, through so much.”

  “I know just how you feel. Was he your only boyfriend in high school?” I thought of Matt, how our names had become linked. Matt and Olive. Never just one. It used to annoy me toward the end of senior year, how whenever I went anywhere without him, someone would ask where he was and why I was alone. As though I couldn’t be just me, Olive, anymore. I glanced up, realizing that Kara had yet to answer. She was staring at me, her eyes full of something different. Like she was torn on how much to say. “Sorry . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” I said, but I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for exactly.

  “No, it’s not that. I . . . no, Ethan wasn’t my only boyfriend in high school. I had a serious boyfriend before him, but . . . Well, let’s just say it didn’t end well.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Kara went over to her desk and began sorting through the school papers she’d tossed there the day before. I watched her, watched as she busied herself to keep from looking at me. I’d done the same thing a thousand times when my mom or dad or one of my sisters would ask about the fire. I knew too well the signs of someone shutting down, closing up shop, unwilling to talk anymore.

  I stretched out my arms and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower. Want to go grab something to eat after?”

  Kara’s face lit up with relief. “Sure. I’m starving.”

  I smiled. “Okay, give me ten.” I went into the bathroom to shower up and get ready, but I couldn’t get the change in Kara out of my mind. The look on her face, so full of guilt. I wondered what had happened with that other boyfriend. Maybe he had cheated. Or maybe she had. Maybe it was even with Ethan, which would maybe explain her trust issues with him. If they had cheated on other people, then what would prevent him from cheating on her? I wasn’t sure. But one thing was evident: there was a lot more to my roommate than she let on.