Seeing the little girl’s tender affection ruptured something in Olivia’s heart. She could feel tears burning in her eyes and excused herself, murmuring something about having to take Haviland outside for a spell.
She headed for the water, but her customary source of solace failed to bring her peace. For the first time since she’d fled The Boot Top, she wondered how her friends were faring.
Brushing away her tears, she opened her purse and checked the messages on her cell phone. There were over a dozen. All of the Bayside Book Writers had called and she recognized both Flynn’s and Michel’s number as well. There were also several voice mails from local television and radio stations, but Olivia deleted these without bothering to listen to them.
Olivia was torn. She wanted to check on her friends but didn’t feel like talking about what she was going through in Okracoke. Paging through the names on her list of recent calls, she highlighted Millay’s number and dialed.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said when Millay answered.
There was a pause. “You’re worried
“Tied up like a Christmas gift,” Millay assured her. “There’s an extra creep factor to the whole thing though. Did you hear about the parents?”
“Just that they were injured.”
Millay made a choking noise. “That’s PC code for ‘their tongues were cut out by their own children.’ Then they tied their parents to chairs and left them to bleed to death.”
Olivia drew in a sharp breath. “My God.”
“Exactly. A total horror show. If the chief hadn’t sent men over there when he did, those people would be dead. Laurel’s been to the hospital. She was the only member of the press the Donalds would see.” Millay spoke the latter phrase with pride. “A surgeon is going to try to reconstruct their tongues, but even if the surgery is a success, that couple is going to talk funny for the rest of their lives.” She hesitated. “We can mull over the irony of
Olivia imagined Laurel using her new camera, fearful of being alone in the room with the wounded couple, yet determined to complete her assignment and pursue a career in journalism despite the many obstacles she faced.
“File’s been sent,” Millay said. After a hesitation, she asked, “Did you skip town because of that blood test?”
“Yes, but I did not test positive for a disease nor am I pregnant,” Olivia answered tersely. “I will tell you everything during our next meeting.”
Millay grunted in disbelief. “Just call Laurel. She was freaking out over having to see the Donalds without you.”
Smiling, Olivia promised to phone her friend. “Laurel needs to discover that she’s perfectly capable of doing this job without me or Steve or her in-laws giving her their blessing. Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah. Harris is dragging me to look at the house he wants to buy. He wants me there to see if my BS meter goes off while the Realtor gives him a tour. And before you lecture me on being careful with him, you don’t need to worry. He’s dating that bimbo we met at the Regatta.”
Olivia detected a note of jealously in Millay’s voice. “Let’s not forget that he built a giant gryphon boat in your honor. And he’s looking to you, not Estelle, to help him choose his first house. Just make sure to tell Harris not to sign any papers until I can have one of my contractors inspect every inch of that place.”
After giving her promise, Millay rang off.
It took a moment for Olivia to open the e-mail attachment on her phone, and when she saw Laurel’s photograph, her eyes widened. “I shouldn’t have jested about her winning the Pulitzer.”
Laurel had captured Mr. and Mrs. Donald lying in twin hospital beds. Their room held no flowers, no balloons, or any other tokens from well-wishers. The couple looked alike. Short, gray hair, lined faces, pale skin, and gauze bandages protruding from their mouths.
They stared at the camera with fierce conviction, their dark eyes daring the viewer to hold their gaze.
Olivia couldn’t look away.
Each of them held out a piece of white paper. On hers Mrs. Donald had written,
Mr. Donald’s was shorter. It simply read,
The photograph was alive with the emotions of the injured parents. Despite their wounds, what radiated from the Donalds’ faces was not anger or regret, but a blend of sorrow and defiance. Despite everything that had happened, it was clear by their expressions that they would not be changed by what they’d gone through. No matter what their children had done, Mr. and Mrs. Donald would stand by their parenting decisions. In a sense, they were almost as creepy as Ellen and Rutherford.
It was a powerfully disconcerting image.
Olivia was grateful when Haviland brought her a tennis ball that he’d unearthed beneath a nearby bush. She put her phone in her pocket and tossed the ball away from the docks onto a stretch of grass.
Summer had bleached the color from most of the island’s vegetation, but the local shopkeepers had filled wooden boxes and ceramic planters with an abundance of fall annuals so that the subdued colors of the village were punctuated with bright gold and crimson hues.
Olivia had just thrown the ball for Haviland again when Caitlyn came running toward her. “He’s trying to talk!” she cried urgently.
The child didn’t need to say anything else. Olivia raced back into the house and up the stairs.
In the sick room, Hudson was leaning over the bed. Her father’s eyes were blinking rapidly and his mouth opened and closed like a fish on a boat deck. He twisted his head to the left and right, searching.
“Dad!” Olivia cried and grabbed his hand, heedless of the IV wires or the presence of the other people in the room.
Her voice seemed to puncture the film over his eyes and he found her face, seeing her clearly for the first time in thirty years.
“Livie.” It was a whisper, the faintest breath of air.
She’d never expected her name to pass over his lips again and to hear it spoken so softly, so unlike her memories of his constant angry shouting, that she smiled down on him.
His tongue poked from his mouth in an attempt to moisten his lips. Betty dribbled some water from a washcloth over the chapped skin. He shook his head, signaling for her to let him be. “Missed. You. Livie.” He swallowed, coughed weakly. Olivia wanted to send her breaths into his body, to give him this chance to say what needed to be said. He struggled, but managed to push out a few more words. “So many mistakes . . . I’m sorry, my girl.”
He sank deeper into the pillows. He’d given everything to tell her of his regret. There was nothing left.
Olivia wasn’t ready for him to go. There were things she wanted him to hear now. “You can’t leave yet!” she yelled, the sound reverberating too loudly in a room where death hovered, filling every space. “You can’t leave me alone again!”
There was a tremor from the hand she held. “Not. Alone.” He did not open his eyes. The words were barely audible. Olivia leaned in, smelling the rotten odor of his spent body. In one last whisper, an exhalation actually, Olivia’s father said the word, “Brother.”
And then he died.
Olivia thought something in the room would change, that she’d feel her father’s spirit as it left the confines of his body, but there wasn’t even a stirring of the air. All was silent except for a sniffle, which came from Kim.
The noise reminded Olivia of the presence of the other people in the room and she swiveled with agonizing slowness to look at Hudson.
