Safe With Me Part 9

"Your destination is on the right," Hannah's GPS informs her as she pulls up to a tall, black iron gate and presses a blue b.u.t.ton on the wall, as Olivia instructed.

"You made it!" Olivia's voice comes through the speaker, and the gates slowly begin to swing open. Part of Hannah wants to turn her car around and make a run for it. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be doing this. But the other, more desperate part of her convinces her to stay.

"I did," Hannah says, placing her hands directly on ten and two on the steering wheel.

"I'll see you in a minute," Olivia says, and Hannah pulls through the gate and tries not to gasp at what she sees. The house rises atop perfectly manicured grounds-a red-brick mansion better suited for an English moor than the Eastside of Seattle. There is a huge fountain in the center of the circular driveway and a vast collection of giant rosebushes in front of the house. Hannah suddenly wishes she'd taken the time to wash her dingy blue Honda, and that she'd picked out a better outfit than jeans and a faded black sweater. She turns off the engine and stares at the front door, wondering if she shouldn't just sit Olivia down the minute she walks inside and tell her the truth, but then Olivia appears on the porch, wearing jeans and a poet-style white blouse. She looks happy to see Hannah.

"Hey, there," Hannah says, smiling as she climbs out of her car. "I think you might need a nicer house. This place is clearly bringing down property value in the neighborhood."

Olivia laughs. "I know, right? When James first brought me here, I felt like I should have worn a ball gown. Or remembered to shave my legs, at least." She trots down the steps and walks over to Hannah's car, giving her a quick hug. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me, too," Hannah says with what feels like a somewhat shaky smile.

Olivia loops her arm through Hannah's and they make their way inside. "By the way, James's business trip got cut short so he's here. He can't wait to meet you," she says, but the high-pitched trill of her voice makes Hannah think this might not be exactly true. She suddenly feels anxious about meeting him.

"Let me go get Maddie," Olivia says. "I can't seem to get that girl off the computer lately. Or the phone."

"That's like most teenagers . . . isn't it?" Hannah asks, knowing full well that Emily would have spent entire days online or texting if Hannah had allowed it.

"I suppose so," Olivia says, putting her hand on the end of the curved railing that edges the stairway. "I guess I was just hoping once she got out of the hospital she would want to spend time with real people instead of imaginary ones." She sighs. "Wishful thinking, I suppose . . . I'll be right back."

She runs up the stairs, and Hannah takes a moment to let her eyes wander over the subtle elegance of the entryway. She feels dwarfed by its vaulted ceilings and elaborate crystal chandelier, and she wonders if the gold-framed Van Gogh The Starry Night hanging on the wall is an original.

"You must be Hannah." A man's resonant voice jolts Hannah out of her thoughts, and she looks up to face James Bell standing about ten feet away from her. He is taller than she thought he'd be, well over six feet, broad shouldered, and unlike in most of the pictures she has seen of him online, his hair is definitely more salt than pepper. He wears Levi's, a wrinkle-free, short-sleeved blue linen s.h.i.+rt, and no shoes. His bare feet throw Hannah a bit-she imagined him as always fully dressed, topped off by coordinating belts and expensive Italian loafers.

"I am," she says, smiling. "It's nice to meet you."

"You, too." He takes a step toward her and holds out his hand, which she shakes. His skin is cool, and she s.h.i.+vers not because of that but because of the appraising look he gives her. She suddenly feels as though she's too tall, too plain, too flat chested.

"So . . . you're the magician who transformed my Maddie into a woman?"

Hannah hesitates before answering what seems more like an accusation than a question. Does James not like Maddie's new hair color and style? "I'd say at sixteen, she's still very much a young woman," Hannah finally says. "But yes, that's me."

James bobs his head once, as though satisfied with her response, and Hannah wonders if she's pa.s.sed some kind of test. "I wasn't supposed to be home from San Francisco until much later tonight," he says, "but my dinner meeting was canceled so I caught an earlier flight. What a surprise to learn you were coming over." He pauses to give her another look loaded with some kind of meaning-what kind, Hannah isn't sure. She holds his gaze, though, feeling like they are in some weird game of chicken-whoever blinks first, loses. She doesn't blink.

"A bad surprise?" she asks evenly.

"Not at all." He pauses. "You've made quite the impression on my wife. Maddie, too."

"A good one, I hope." Hannah gets the feeling that James wants her to bow to him somehow, to thank him for honoring her with his presence. She guesses he's the kind of man who needs a lot of adulation, and all other matters aside, this is reason enough not to like him.

"It's a beautiful night," he says, not commenting on what kind of impression she's made on his wife and daughter. "Shall we go sit on the patio?"

"Sure," Hannah says, following him through an ornate dining room and already wide-open French doors. The backyard is as beautiful as the front, every shrub and clump of flowers expertly arranged, the lawn lush and closely clipped. James gestures for her to sit in one of the padded Adirondack chairs, and she complies. "Can I get you a drink?" he asks. "A c.o.c.ktail or some wine?" He steps behind an outdoor bar, where there is already a half-gone martini resting on the counter. Maybe that explains the slightly gla.s.sy look in his eyes.

"No, thank you," Hannah says. Her nerves are jittery enough that she'd love a drink to take the edge off, but she knows she needs to keep her head clear so she doesn't end up saying something she'll regret. She needs to stay in control. "I'd love some iced tea, though, if it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all," he says and quickly brings her a gla.s.s with a wedge of lemon on the side, carrying his drink in the other hand. He sits down next to Hannah, uncomfortably close, but she doesn't want to offend him, so she doesn't scoot away. She wonders if this is part of his professional success, creating the subtle illusion of power over his business rivals by invading their personal s.p.a.ce.

She experiences a brief moment of panic that perhaps James is acting like this with her because he already knows who she is. Does someone with his kind of power have the connections to unseal confidential medical records?

He looks her over again, this time more slowly, and again, Hannah feels uncomfortable. "My wife says you live above your salon in an apartment?" He says this like it couldn't possibly be true.

"I do. It was easier to oversee the renovation that way. The whole place needed to be gutted, so my contractors did the apartment first, then tackled the downstairs." Hannah remembers how, at Isaac's request, Carl and his crew quickly transformed what had been a three-bedroom second story of the house into what is now a cozy, five-hundred-square-foot studio. She guesses from this line of questioning that James doesn't like his wife making friends with women not already in their social circle-that she has to somehow earn his approval. She also gets the impression that this is likely an impossible task.

"Ah, a businesswoman who likes control over her projects." He gives her a pointed look. "Am I right?"

Hannah c.o.c.ks her head at him. "If you mean I like to make sure things are done correctly, then yes. But I also think it's important to trust the people I hire to do their job."

"You're a better boss than me, then," James says with a low chuckle and takes a sip of his drink. "Olivia also tells me you've never been married."

"That's right." Hannah holds her breath, waiting for him to bring up Emily next. But he doesn't.

"Are you not interested in the inst.i.tution?" he asks, setting his gla.s.s on the table and staring at her with bright green eyes. "Or are you just picky?" He smiles as though he is joking, but there is a hint of mockery in his voice. He strikes her as the kind of man who thinks that women who choose to be single are either man-haters or lesbians, and Hannah briefly toys with the idea of telling him she's both, just to mess with his head, even though she's neither.

"G.o.d, Dad," Maddie says, as she and Olivia join them on the patio. "Leave poor Hannah alone. So she's not married. Who cares?"

Hannah stiffens a bit, certain Maddie's challenging her father will lead to some sort of immediate parental backlash, but James only chuckles. "I was just making conversation with our new friend." He looks at Olivia, who remains silent, and then back at Hannah. "Right, Hannah?"

Before Hannah can respond, Maddie flops down in the chair next to her and slings one leg up and over the armrest. "Please. You were interrogating her." She looks at Hannah. "Ignore him, okay? He thinks that every woman needs a man to be happy."

"And you think I haven't heard you on the phone this week, giggling?" James asks his daughter, but there is a teasing edge in his voice. "You think I don't know you're talking to a boy?" Maddie blushes, and she drops her gaze to the ground. "Aha!" James continues, triumphantly. "I thought so. What's his name? Do we know his family?"

"James, honey," Olivia finally says, though her voice is muted, less bubbly than it is when she speaks to Hannah. She sounds like Hannah used to when she attempted to talk Emily down from an impending tantrum-placating and vaguely pleading. "We have a guest. Maybe we should talk about this later."

"Maybe we should talk about it now," James says to his wife, and though on the surface, his tone seems playful, Hannah can hear the condescension shadowing the words. Olivia cringes and looks at the ground. No wonder she keeps secrets from him, Hannah thinks. She can only imagine what might happen if Olivia said something James didn't want to hear.

"His name is Noah," Maddie says, quietly. "And he's just someone I met at school. We have a cla.s.s together. That's all." She looks at her father with a strange light in her eyes. "You wanted me to make friends, didn't you? Isn't that why you made me go there?"

"Maddie," Olivia begins, but James holds up a hand to cut her off. "And what is Noah's last name?" he asks, ignoring his daughter's questions.

"Bedford," Maddie answers, and James smiles. "I know his father," he says. "Good man. Real estate investor."

"What's your favorite subject?" Hannah asks Maddie, hoping to rescue her from her father's focus. Maddie seems more willing to challenge her father than Olivia is, though there is still a hint of fear in her face when she speaks to him. Hannah wonders if she keeps secrets from her father, too. And maybe more important, what secrets he might be keeping from them.

"Math and computer science, definitely," Maddie says. "I think I might want to get into computer programming. Or digital graphic arts."

"Like CGI for movies, you mean?" Hannah asks, but James interrupts before Maddie can respond.

"Maddie has always had a fascination with technology."

"Dad . . ." Maddie begins, but James interrupts her.

"No, honey. It's true. Remember when you were five and snuck my cell phone out of my briefcase and tried to take it apart to see how it worked?"

Maddie grins and looks at Hannah. "I thought he was going to be mad at me, but instead he took it to work to brag to his friends about what I'd done. Of course, I couldn't put it back together."

James laughs, and Hannah smiles, happy to see that he has a softer side-at least, when it comes to Maddie.

"I'm sorry about the loss of your daughter, Hannah," James says quietly. "A car accident, I understand?"

Hannah snaps to attention, once again panicked. "That's right," she says, making sure to keep her voice steady.

"James, honey," Olivia says. "I'm sure Hannah doesn't want talk about that right now."

Talk about what, exactly? Hannah wonders. What in the h.e.l.l had she been thinking, coming here like this? What was she expecting to happen? The truth is that she genuinely likes Olivia and Maddie and wants to spend more time with them. Yes, there is the possibility of them being linked through Emily, but even without that, Hannah would want to get to know them better. She decides to focus on that, and nothing else.

"I'm just expressing my condolences, Liv," James responds.

"Thank you, James," Hannah says. "Like I told Olivia, I'm not really comfortable talking about the details, but I do appreciate your kind thoughts."

"See that?" he says, turning to Olivia, who nods in submission. "How's dinner coming along?"

"Almost ready, I think," Olivia says, flas.h.i.+ng him a toothy smile that matches his own. Their gestures appear false to Hannah like Here, look at us, gleefully smiling at each other. Olivia glances at Hannah. "Will you excuse me a minute? I should check the temperature on the roast."

Hannah rises from her seat. "Let me help you," she says, leaving Maddie in the company of her father. She follows Olivia through the dining room into the elaborate kitchen, which is full of restaurant-size stainless-steel appliances and an eight-burner stove. And even though the garlicky aroma of roasted meat wafts through the air and several pots simmer on the stove, the s.p.a.ce is immaculate, not a splatter of sauce or bread crumb to be found. "Your house is spotless," Hannah says.

"James likes things clean," Olivia says with a small shrug.

I'll bet he does, Hannah thinks as she slides onto one of the barstools at the marble-topped breakfast bar. I'll bet he runs his fingers over the top shelves, looking for dust.

Olivia reaches into a drawer and rifles around until she pulls out an electronic meat thermometer. "I'm sorry if he made you uncomfortable." She opens the oven and slips the metal p.r.o.ng into an enormous prime rib roast, then turns to look at Hannah. "He can be a little direct."

"That's okay," she says, thinking "direct" is a polite way to say "rude." She wants to ask what's really beneath James's smooth exterior, but instead she asks about Maddie. "So, if she's already talking to a boy, things must have gone better for Maddie the rest of the week at school?"

"I think it was the hair," Olivia says, seemingly relieved that Hannah has abandoned the topic of her husband. "Or at least, how she felt after getting it done. Thank you, again, for that."

"Just doing my job," Hannah says. "And it was my pleasure." Despite the brief moment of apprehension she felt when Maddie first sat in her chair, Hannah realizes this is the truth. She sees a bit of her daughter in Maddie-not in a weird, Maddie-might-be-possessed-by-Emily's-soul kind of way, but rather, in the way Maddie projects a sense of fragility laced through with defiance-the lift of her chin when she challenged her father a few minutes ago, but also, the way it trembled.

Olivia removes the thermometer, grabs a pair of oven mitts, and pulls the roast from the oven, setting it on the counter to rest. "I imagine that being around her isn't the easiest thing for you." She takes a sheet of foil and tucks it around the meat, then turns her gaze to Hannah, her palms resting flat on the counter in front of her. She looks a little shaky, and Hannah wonders why.

"The years when Maddie was so sick," Olivia continues, "when she couldn't even get out of bed to go to the bathroom, seeing other children in the park or just walking down the street was sheer torture. I resented their health, the way their mothers just seemed to take for granted the fact that they could run and jump and play." She sighs. "And then when we came so close to losing her, I thought about how if we did, I'd never want to see another little girl again. How hard it would be."

Hannah grips the edge of her stool, just as she had gripped the edge of her chair in the waiting room of the ER last year, desperate for Emily to survive. "It's not always easy," she says in a ragged voice, then clears her throat. "Maddie is the first one I've spent any time with, really, but she's older than Emily was." She waits a beat, wondering just how much she should share about how she feels, but then the truth comes tumbling out. "But they're everywhere, you know? I can't avoid them. I'll be jogging and see a little girl with black hair and skinny arms and think she's Emily. And then my heart will just stop. It literally skips a beat. For an instant, I'll think the doctors were wrong-that they made a mistake and it wasn't Emily who died." Her bottom lip quivers as she gives Olivia a wan smile. "Ridiculous, right?"

Olivia shakes her head. "Not at all." She walks around the island in the center of the kitchen, joins Hannah at the breakfast bar, and takes her hand. Hannah holds her breath, waiting for her to say something about the mother of the child who saved Maddie-she wants Olivia to be the one who brings the subject up-but then Maddie enters the room.

"I think Dad's head is going to explode if he doesn't have dinner soon," Maddie says, stopping short when she sees Hannah and Olivia holding hands. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Hannah says, pulling her hand back to her own lap. "Your mom and I were just talking about how great your hair looks. And I love your outfit." Maddie is wearing black leggings, which flatter her thinner limbs, and a lace-edged, Kelly-green peasant blouse, which camouflages her thicker middle and brings out the color of her eyes. "It's very hippie-chic."

"Mom took me shopping this afternoon," Maddie says, rocking from her heels to her toes and back again, clearly pleased by the compliment. "The woman at Macy's was way helpful in picking things out. I basically got a whole new wardrobe."

"A new wardrobe for your new life," Olivia says, and Hannah can't help but feel a biting twinge of grief in her chest. A life Emily might have made possible, she thinks. After meeting James tonight, she's become even more determined not to share her suspicion about their families' possible connection unless she's absolutely positive she's right. Then it can be Olivia's decision to tell James or if, in the end, she'll just have one more secret to keep.

Olivia

On Monday morning, James brings Olivia breakfast in bed. "Wake up, beautiful," he says as he sets a tray on the bed next to her. "The breakfast fairy has been hard at work."

"What's all this for?" she asks as she braces her arms behind her and uses them to push herself up into a sitting position. A glance at the clock tells her it's six thirty-she slept through her alarm, and she can hear the water running in Maddie's bathroom.

James takes the napkin and sets it carefully across Olivia's lap. "Do I need a reason to spoil my wife?" He moves the tray over her legs and lifts up a cup of coffee for her to take from him. "Two Splendas, no milk. Right?"

Olivia smiles and gently retrieves the white mug from his hands. "Right." She takes a small sip and gives him another smile. "And of course you don't need a reason. Thank you, honey." She wishes she could just accept this loving gesture from her husband at face value, the way she used to, instead of wondering what his motives might be.

"You're welcome," he says as he picks up the fork and scoots a bite of scrambled egg whites onto its tines. "It's the least I can do for my amazing wife." He hands her the fork, watching as she chews. "Good?"

"Very," Olivia says, nodding.

"I was thinking we should all take a cooking cla.s.s together. Maybe Thai food, since Maddie loves it so much."

Olivia sets her fork onto her plate and sips at her coffee. "Really? You could find the time?"

James nods. "It might not be until the first of the year, after the fourth quarter numbers come in, but it would be fun, don't you think?"

Olivia nods, and James leans over to give her a kiss. "I have to go," he whispers against her lips. "But I'll be back."

"I'll be front," Olivia jokes, and he laughs. A few minutes later, he heads to the office, and even though she knows better, even though she's been through this with him a hundred times before, Olivia can't help but wonder if she really needs to leave him after all.

A few minutes before ten o'clock, after dropping Maddie off at school, Olivia walks into her criminology cla.s.s with her belly squirming. She wonders if this is how Maddie felt her first day at Eastside Prep, twitchy and insecure, wis.h.i.+ng she could melt right into the floor. The room buzzes with the low hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional squeals of girls closer to Maddie's age than to Olivia's. Eyeing the boys wearing jeans that ride low on their skinny hips, exposing the tops of their boxers, she has to squelch the motherly urge to tell them to pull up their pants.

What the h.e.l.l am I doing here? Olivia thinks as her fellow students file through the wide double doors and into their seats in Whitaker Hall, practically carrying her along with them. James was so sweet to me this morning. Do I really need to go through with this? She clutches the strap of her purse, thinking she should probably just make a run for it. James might call her and she wouldn't answer, and then what would she do? Tell him you were swimming at the athletic club, she thinks, trying to calm herself down. Tell him you were vacuuming or taking a shower. Tell him whatever you have to. This is your plan. You need an education. You won't be able to take care of yourself or Maddie without one. He may have been sweet to you this morning, but you know all too well how quickly that can change. You can't back out now.

Her phone vibrates in her bag and she jumps at the sound, wondering if it's possible she's just manifested a checkup call from her husband. But then she looks at the screen and sees a text message from Hannah, wis.h.i.+ng her good luck. "Thanks," Olivia quickly responds. "I'm scared as h.e.l.l." A moment later Hannah answers: "Don't be. If you need a cover story, just say you were with me. I've got your back." Olivia smiles, then quickly deletes the messages, in case James decides to do a random check on her phone. She knows he wasn't crazy about Hannah, though once dinner was on the table Friday night, he'd been nothing but the most charming, animated version of himself. It wasn't until later, after Hannah had gone home and Maddie was ensconced in her room, that he told Olivia how he really felt.

"She's very guarded," James said as they got ready for bed. "And how successful can she really be if she's living in an apartment above her salon?" He leaned over the counter to peer closely in the mirror, then plucked a few stray eyebrow hairs with his fingers.

"She owns a house, too," Olivia explained, crossing her arms over her chest and resting her shoulder on the threshold of his bathroom, hating that her husband measured a person's worth by their level of wealth. "She just had a hard time living there after her daughter died, so she rents it out. Too many memories."

"That's another thing," James said, straightening, then staring hard at her in the mirror. "She barely mentioned her daughter the entire night. Don't you think that's strange?"

"No, I don't." Olivia took a measured breath, knowing she was walking a fine line with him by defending her new friend. "She's grieving, James. Talking about it-especially with someone she's just met-is probably like digging around in an open wound." And then, because she couldn't help but try to drive her point home, she continued. "You don't like to talk about how your father beat you . . . right? How your mother let him? When feeling our pain is too much to handle, we push it down. It's human nature."

He turned around slowly, and Olivia braced herself, thinking he might lunge at her, but he only stared, his green eyes wide and disbelieving that she had the nerve to challenge him. "And what are you pus.h.i.+ng down, O-li-vi-a?" He s.p.a.ced out her name into four distinct syllables, and his tone was shot through with contempt. He wanted her to say that she didn't have any pain, that her life with him was one beyond her happiest, wildest dreams. But Olivia only stared back at him, unwilling to give him what he wanted. She held her breath-it was dangerous to defy him like this, knowing how deeply her silence would offend him.

Finally, he blinked, and shook his head. "Just be careful," he said. "I don't trust her."

You don't trust anyone, Olivia thought, and now, as she slides into a seat in the last row of the auditorium, she wonders if Hannah picked up on how James felt about her, and if she senses the real reason why Olivia needs someone to have her back with her own husband. It's a little odd that Hannah is willing to lie for Olivia when they barely know each other, but it has been so long since Olivia felt like she had anyone on her side, she decides not to question Hannah's motives. It feels too good to have a friend.