Chasing Olivia, page 21
I smiled at the girl’s picture. She appeared to be about five or six, with straight dark brown hair that reached her shoulders and bangs straight across her forehead. A dimple indented each cheek. She was absolutely adorable and she was my family…my cousin. Holy crap, I had a cousin.
“She’s beautiful,” I handed his wallet back. “What’s her name?”
“Ella,” he answered.
“Do you see her often?” I ventured to ask, praying it wasn’t a sore spot for him.
“Every weekend,” he smiled sadly. “I wish it was more. She’s such a joy. Can’t say the same for her mother though,” he laughed humorlessly. “So,” he pointed a finger to Trace and me, “you two dating?”
“Married,” Trace answered.
Dex narrowed his eyes at Trace’s left hand. “I don’t see a ring.”
“That’s because we got married two days ago,” I supplied. “We’ll exchange rings when we get back home.”
“Mhmm,” Dex hummed in disbelief, sizing Trace up. “Don’t hurt her,” he warned.
It secretly pleased me that Dex was putting on a father act. I had grown up believing Aaron was my father, but he’d never been very…fatherly. I didn’t know what it was like to have a normal father/daughter relationship. Heck, my relationship with my mother had been far from normal with the constant fear she lived with.
The sound of a garage door going up had me on edge.
“Showtime,” Dex waggled his brows.
Trace’s hand sought mine, entwining our fingers together. “It’ll be okay,” he said confidently.
I held my breath, waiting for one of my grandparents to enter the room.
“Dex? Where are you?” A man’s voice called out. “That little punk at the hardware store was less than helpful. Honestly, America’s youth. What are they teaching those kids in school these days? Obviously not manners,” he grumbled. “And did you see that Camaro parked out front?” He continued to rattle as the sound of plastic bags being set down met my ears. “I haven’t seen a ride that nice in forty years.”
“Dad?” Dex called out. “Why don’t you come into the living room, there’s some people I’d like you to meet?”
“What are they selling? Tell them I’m not interested. I might be old but I’m not stupid.”
“Dad,” Dex said a little more sternly. “They’re not selling anything.”
“Then why’d you let them in? Are they holding a gun to your head or something, son? Where’s my shotgun?” He muttered and I heard his feet shuffling against a tile floor. I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Dad, just get in here,” Dex rolled his eyes and mouthed, ‘old people.’
“Alright, alright, I’m coming. You don’t need to be so demanding. What happened to treating your elders with respect? I did give you life, don’t forget that.”
An older man with a slightly stooped back and white hair appeared in the doorway. His face was heavily lined but there was a light in his eyes that made him seem much younger.
The breath left my lungs in a gust as his eyes met mine.
This man…he was my grandpa.
He studied me with a look of puzzlement.
“Dexter, you have a kid I don’t know about? Or am I getting senile and Ella’s older than I remember?”
“Dad,” Dex stood, putting an arm around the older man. “This is Olivia. She’s Derek’s daughter.”
The man—my grandpa, I corrected myself—crumpled to the ground sobbing.
My mouth fell open and I looked up at Trace hoping he would tell me what to do, but he was as stunned as I was.
“Dad?” Dex knelt on the floor in front of him. “Dad, are you okay?”
He continued to sob and his tear filled eyes met mine. Reflected in his orbs was delight and wonder.
“I never—” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this.” Dex helped him to his feet and I stood, hesitantly making my way to him. He looked me up and down in disbelief. “You…you’re beautiful…and you look so much like your dad. I can’t believe you’re real. I thought after he died—” He choked, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his face free of tears. “Can I hug you?”
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face against his robust chest.
“Olivia,” he said my name softly, like he was testing the sound of it, and patted my head like one would a small child.
I pulled away and my eyes roamed over his face. He had thick brows and a strong jaw. He was handsome, and I’m sure back in the day he’d broken many hearts. I found that my cheeks were stained with tears and I hadn’t even realized I was crying. I wiped them away, laughing slightly in embarrassment. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name but I don’t know yours.”
“Douglas,” he smiled. “But you can call me Dougie.”
“Can I—” I stopped myself, scared to ask, but finally I forced the words out. “Can I call you grandpa?”
He started crying again. “I would love for you to call me grandpa,” he wrapped his arms around me in another bear hug. “In fact, I’d be honored.”
He took my hand and led me back to the couch. I ended up sandwiched between my grandpa and Trace as Dex plopped in the chair once more.
“I’m Trace,” he held out his hand to my grandpa. “Olivia’s husband.”
My grandpa let his hand drop. “Husband? You’re married?” He asked me. When I nodded, he said, “You don’t look older than twenty.”
“Twenty-two,” I blushed.
“You’re a tiny thing,” he chuckled. “Stay around here long and your grandma will have you fattened up,” he patted his round stomach. “She’s an excellent cook.”
I knew there were a thousand and one questions I should have been asking him, but at the moment all I could do was sit and stare at my grandpa in awe.
“Your grandma should be here any minute,” he glanced at his watch. “She always comes home for a late lunch before going back to the shop.”
My heart skipped a beat in excitement.
In a matter of minutes, I had gained an uncle, cousin, and grandparents. I had been content to carry on my life never knowing them, figuring they wanted nothing to do with me. In all honesty, it was unfair for me to have believed that. After all, my mom had confessed to me that she’d never told them about me.
“I’ll call her and see where she is,” he patted my knee. “And then you can ask us any questions you want to know and we can get to know you better.” He heaved himself up from the couch and shuffled out of the room.
“Well,” Dex smacked his hands against the arms of the chair, “my day got a whole lot more exciting. This is like one of those bad soap operas that’s always on TV.”
I giggled at his words. How often in the last two years had I compared my life to a soap opera? A lot, that’s for sure.
“You don’t even know the half of it,” I told him.
Douglas came back into the room a few minutes later. “Maggie should be here in a few minutes. She’s going to be beside herself,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe you’re Derek’s daughter. He’s been gone for twenty-two years. When someone’s been dead for that long it gets kind of difficult to remember that they were ever even alive.”
“That’s just because you’re old, dad,” Dex chimed.
Douglas eyed his son. “Even after all these years you’re still a smart mouth.”
“It keeps life interesting,” Dex winked. “To be honest,” he laughed, scratching his beard, “when I opened the door, I thought you were my kid or something and that I’d knocked some girl up back in the day. Then you called me ‘dad’ and I thought, ‘Holy shit! She really is your kid, Dex!’”
“Sorry,” I giggled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Nah,” he waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m just happy to know that good ole’ Derek didn’t die a virgin. He was always a goody two shoes. He was their favorite,” he whispered conspiratorially, pointing at his dad. “They think I didn’t know, but it was obvious.”
“That’s not true,” Douglas’ face grew red. “We loved you both equally. Derek never caused all the trouble you did though. If I could get back all the hours I lost bailing your sorry as out of jail, I’d be a young man again.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Dex chuckled with a roll of his eyes.
“Twelve times. Does that sound like an exaggeration?” Douglas countered.
I smiled at their familiar banter.
“Okay, so I was a bad kid,” Dex shrugged. “At least I’ll have some kick ass stories to tell my grandkids one day.”
“I’m home!” A female voice called out. I hadn’t heard the garage door open since I’d been so caught up in listening to my grandpa and Dex bicker.
I held my breath, bracing myself to meet my grandma for the first time.
Heels clacked against the floor and when they stopped I slowly brought my eyes up.
My mouth fell open and I’m pretty sure I choked on my saliva. Why? Because, I was looking at Margaret, the lady that owned the store with the origami stars. My eyes widened further as I recalled her mentioning a son that had died.
Margaret looked between Trace and I with a bewildered expression. “What are you doing here?”
“You know each other?” Douglas looked from Trace and I to his wife.
“I don’t know them, but they came into the shop yesterday.”
Trace began to whistle the tune to ‘It’s A Small World” under his breath. I smacked my fist against his thigh to get him to stop.
“What’s going on?” Margaret asked.
I couldn’t seem to get my voice to work. I sat frozen, staring at her like a weirdo. I hadn’t noticed yesterday, simply because I hadn’t known to look, but we had the same slender nose that was upturned on the end. The same heart shaped lips and slightly rounded cheeks.
“Mom, meet Olivia,” Dex swept his hand from Margaret to me, “your granddaughter. Oh, and she’s Derek’s daughter, not mine, FYI.”
Margaret’s mouth fell open and she looked at me with shock.
For a moment, she didn’t move, then suddenly she was in front of me sobbing hysterically. Gosh, I was making everyone cry today.
“You? You’re? Oh my God!” She pulled me off the couch into a hug, swaying us back and forth. My arms wrapped around her, holding her close, and inhaling her scent of lavender and juniper. She patted my cheeks, tears streaming down her face. “Derek’s daughter? I-I-I didn’t know.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I chose to say nothing.
“You’re so beautiful,” she fingered one of my curls. “You look so much like him.” She shook her head, gazing at me in disbelief. “I can’t believe this.”
“Me neither,” I admitted.
“How did you find us?” She asked as we scooted around to make room for her on the couch.
Trace cleared his throat and her gaze flicked his way. Rubbing my back, he said, “I hired a private investigator. I wanted Olivia to know her family.”
“Well, thank you,” Margaret wiped her face with the backs of her hands. “This is very forward of me, but can I ask who your mother is?”
“Her name is Nora. If you knew her, you would’ve known her as Nora Owens.” My eyes flicked away from hers guiltily. If they knew who my mom was, then they would know that she was married to Aaron when she got pregnant.
“I remember her,” Margaret smiled and my stomach plummeted. “She was very sweet but she always seemed so sad. She was married, wasn’t she?”
I nodded reluctantly.
“Aaron, I believe his name was?”
I nodded again and Trace squeezed my hand in reassurance.
“Derek told me about him. He said he wasn’t…” She paused, unsure if she should continue.
“He was a bad man. I know,” I sighed.
“Is your mom still married to him?”
“No,” I answered.
“Good for her,” Margaret smiled.
I swallowed thickly, debating on whether or not to tell them what had really happened to Aaron. In the end, though, I decided against it. They didn’t need to know what I went through. I wanted them to look at me, and see me, not the girl who was traumatized by the abusive father figure who’d tried to kill her.
“Are you hungry?” Margaret asked us. Before we could answer, she went on to say, “I’m starving. Why don’t I make us all a nice lunch and we can catch up some more?”
“Sounds good,” I smiled.
“Would you like to help me?” She asked with a wide smile as she stood.
“Of course,” I pushed myself up off the couch to help her. Before I left the living room, I turned to look over my shoulder at Trace, fearing he might be mad that I was leaving him alone. But he was already carrying on a conversation with my grandpa, completely at ease.
The kitchen was bright and cheery with cabinets painted a pale green and a white tile countertop. It needed some updating, but it was cute and well maintained.
“I thought we’d make some sandwiches, nothing fancy,” she opened the refrigerator, laying different items on the countertop. “Bread is over there,” she pointed to a pantry.
I opened the doors and located the loaf of bread.
Margaret was already getting out plates so I undid the twist-tie and counted out the right amount of slices.
“Are you in college?” She asked, trying to make small talk.
“I recently graduated,” I replied, taking the mayonnaise jar from her and untwisting the lid since she was struggling.
“Good for you,” she smiled, clapping her hands together in excitement. “What’s your degree in?”
“English,” I supplied. “I’m going to be a teacher.”
“That’s really wonderful!”
“Really?” I questioned.
She frowned. “You don’t think so?”
“No, it’s not that. I’m excited to be a teacher. Some people tend to be really negative about it though.”
“People…like?” She probed.
“Just people in general,” I shrugged. “My mom’s supportive and so is Trace but…”
“But what?” She asked, spreading the mayonnaise on the bread.
“It’s nothing.” I opened the baggie full of deli meat and started pulling out slices of turkey.
“You can tell me, Olivia. I know you don’t know me that well. But I’m a good listener and I am your grandma,” she smiled kindly.
“Well, I once told Trace that I wanted to write a book. He’s afraid that if I start teaching I’ll never do it.”
“Is he right?” She began laying slices of cheese on the bread.
“Probably,” I admitted.
“If you want to write one, why don’t you?”
“I don’t know what I’d even write about,” I groaned.
“Why do you have to have a story mapped out? Why can’t you sit down and just…do it?”
Trace had said basically the same thing the first time I’d ever mentioned writing a book. He’d brought it up several times over the years, especially in the months before I graduated. I think he was as concerned about me being stuck doing a job I hated, as I was about him.
She looked at me, waiting for me to respond.
“I don’t think I could do that,” I finally said.
“How do you know if you haven’t tried?”
She had me there.
“Maybe one day,” I shrugged as she put the food items away. I helped her set the plates on the table and she grabbed five water bottles.
“Lunch is ready!” She called and the three men joined us.
Trace took the seat across from me, letting my grandma and grandpa sit beside me.
“After we eat, Trace, is going to drive me around in that Camaro,” my grandpa announced proudly. “That’s a nice car.”
Trace chuckled. “I’m glad you approve, sir.”
“Dougie. Not sir. Sir sounds like…well, I better not say what it reminds me of,” my grandpa chortled.
My cheeks flamed and Trace snorted, turning it into a cough to cover himself.
“What do you do for a living, Trace?” My grandma asked.
“I’m currently working as a mechanic, but my grandpa is grooming me to take over the family business,” he replied.
“And what exactly is your family’s business?”
Oh, God. This was getting embarrassing. These people may have been my grandparents, but they didn’t know me, and they were already giving my boyfriend the third degree. Husband! Not boyfriend! Hopefully, in a few days, I’d be used to the fact that Trace was now my husband. It still seemed surreal. We’d gotten engaged and then married so quickly that none of it had quite sunk in yet…maybe it never would.
“We make ammunition,” he answered.
“Ammunition,” my grandpa mused. “You hunt?”
“Some. Not as much as I used to,” Trace shrugged.
“I like you,” my grandpa announced, enthusiastically pointing a finger at Trace. Turning to me, he added, “You did good.”
I smiled over at Trace, my body flooding with warmth. “I think so too.”
“So,” Margaret started, “I remember you saying yesterday that you weren’t from here. But you grew up here, right?”
“Yeah,” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, “I lived close to here. When it came time to go to college I…I needed to get away.”
“Where are you living now?”
“Virginia,” I answered.
“That far away?” Her eyes widened.
I frowned. “Yes.”
Her lower lip trembled with the threat of tears. “You mean, I’ve only just met you and I’m going to have to say goodbye so soon?”
I nodded sadly.
“Please say you’ll stay with us for a few days. We have a spare room ready for guests and I’d love to get to know you better before you leave,” she pleaded with me.
I looked across at Trace and he nodded.
“We can do that,” I answered. “You know,” I ventured hesitantly, “when we get back home, we’re going to have a wedding ceremony, since we didn’t have a real one here. Our moms want to see us…you know…actually get married. You should come.”
