Chapter Eighteen

“HOW’S THE WATER?” Ellie dropped Olivia’s duffel on the bed. Through the open bathroom door, she could see her head above the tub, blonde curls stained dark with water.

“Hot. Glorious.”

“Stay low to keep your shoulder warm. I’ll be there in a second to work out the kinks.”

“You’re being very kind to a woman who showed up late for our Valentine’s date.”

“Technically, Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, so you’re four hours early. And it’s not your fault your mom got stuck in traffic.” Ellie shed her clothes, tossing them into the hamper. “How did she seem? Still okay with everything?” Olivia had told Alice about them last weekend.

“She’s fine. Coming up for the night to be with Ben is her way of saying she supports our relationship.”

“Scooch up. I want to sit behind you.” She lowered herself into the steaming water and gathered wet strands of Olivia’s hair behind her neck. “I just noticed…why do you never wear a ponytail?”

“Ben hates it. Reminds him of the hospital, when they tied it back to make it easier with dressing changes. The first time I put it up at home, he freaked out, so I stopped.”

Olivia’s life was filled with these asterisks on behaviors. The discipline to follow them astounded Ellie. “So what happened at climbing today?”

“My right hand slipped, and my left arm took all my weight. Something popped.”

A faint scar marred Olivia’s left shoulder, one Ellie had missed before. “Did you have surgery on this?”

“It was broken in the accident.”

She probed the area, then manipulated the joint. It didn’t take a goniometer to see the range of motion was affected. “Does this hurt?”

“It’s stiff, but whatever you’re doing feels good.”

Digging into the muscles around the area, Ellie tried to release the tension. “Will you tell me about it? The accident?” She’d never asked this explicitly before. When only the lapping water filled the silence, she refocused her attention on the shoulder.

“The drunk driver was in our lane.” Olivia’s flat, terse words made her flinch. “This hill rose toward a bridge, and as we crested it, he just…appeared. He hit us, and our car clipped the railing. We rolled several times before landing at the bottom of a ditch.”

Ellie shifted to the right shoulder to compare the range. If she kept Olivia moving, maybe more words would follow.

“I heard the accident before I felt it. The sound was incredible. When we rolled, it was like a giant dog shook me by the neck. By the time we stopped, my side door had caved in, and the steering wheel crushed my ribs.” The water sloshed as Olivia gestured toward her side. “It’s how I got the scars.”

“Ben?”

“Concussion. Broken arm. Lots of cuts and bruises.”

“And you?”

“Broken shoulder. Compound fractures of the ribs. They said I was lucky the ribs didn’t cause more internal bleeding, or the lung didn’t fully collapse. That was the worst of it. A nasty concussion, ugly bruises, whiplash.”

Picturing Olivia trapped and bloody… Ellie’s hands trembled too much to maintain the massage, so she wrapped her in a hug. The web of scars pressed into her right palm. “Sophia?” She took a risk, asking, but this was her best chance.

“Dead. Internal hemorrhaging. They said she never felt a thing.” Olivia’s voice cracked on the last word.

“How long were you in the hospital?”

“Five days for Ben. Ten for me. They wanted to move me to rehab, but Ben… Christina took him, but he kept begging for me, raging, crying, running out the door. They put him on sedatives to keep him safe. His blank stupor when I picked him up—” Olivia’s shuddered sigh rippled through them both. “I stopped the drugs immediately. It didn’t matter how bad it got for us, I never wanted to see him like that again.” She splashed water on her face, rubbing it with rough strokes.

“And the other driver?”

“A twenty-four-year-old who’d been drinking all night with his girlfriend but hadn’t slept it off before he drove home.” No rage colored Olivia’s tone, not even a streak of bitterness. Just weary, miserable resignation. “He survived. He got eight years.”

Eight years. Ben’s age when Sophia was killed. “So he’ll be thirty-two when he gets out.”

“Younger than I was when Ben was born.”

Ellie shifted in the tub until she could see Olivia’s face. It was as melancholy as her words. “You weren’t—aren’t—angry at him?”

“I don’t do angry for long. I can’t sustain it. Besides, I never had room for anything but grief, and more grief. This guy didn’t stalk Sophia. He made a terrible, stupid decision, and she died. If I’d woken up five minutes sooner, if I’d stopped for gas the day before like I planned…”

“The accident wasn’t your fault.”

A harsh chuckle escaped. “It took a year of therapy to say that out loud.” Here was the sharp edge Ellie had expected, but Olivia had flipped the blade, pointing it inward instead of out.

“How much longer to actually believe it?”

Hazel eyes lifted. The surprise in them, the pain… “I believe it now. Most of the time. How did you—?”

“You take everything to heart. I’ve known you long enough to see that.” When Olivia dropped her face, Ellie tucked a finger under her chin. “I want to hear all of it, not just the fun, easy parts.” She kissed her forehead. “How about we get ready for bed?”

Olivia rested a hand on her forearm. “I know it’s Valentine’s, but is it okay if—”

“We don’t need to have sex every time we’re together. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.”

A small smile dispelled some of the shadows haunting Olivia’s face. Ellie wondered what would chase the rest away.

“Let’s get dried off and snuggle. I’ve never been the big spoon for anyone taller than me. You keep hogging the spot. My turn.”

 

THE SUN STREAMED through the passenger window, making Sophia’s tea-colored eyes glow from within. Olivia’s hands were steady on the wheel, her gold ring tapping in time to the music. Sophia was speaking, but there was no sound, just a low droning. They were about to cross a bridge. A tree-lined river stretched to their right. Faster than thought, a black car appeared in front of them. She flinched. The bridge railing appeared.

She jerked awake. Jagged pants scraped the silence. Unfamiliar curtains hovered in her vision. A warm body pressed close.

“Olivia? Are you okay?” Ellie’s drowsy voice penetrated the fog.

“Just a dream.” The words were a croak. She fought to clear her throat, but the residue of panic coated it like sand. “Go back to sleep.” Another croak as she waved off Ellie’s question and rolled from the bed.

The nightmare hovered at the edge of her consciousness, a shadow she couldn’t shake, and she staggered to the kitchen. She yanked open the refrigerator. Jars clanked and chattered in the door, protesting her clumsy force. Squinting against the fridge light, she grabbed a water bottle, then stood in the open door and let the cold wash over her.

The compressor’s droning hum. The snap-crack of the lid. Long, icy swallows. She focused on one input at a time until the nightmare was stowed away. Still too restless to face the tight circle of Ellie’s concern, Olivia retreated to the piano in the far corner. Gentle pressure let her play without sound, a slow sink into resistance, then a silent settling at the bottom of the stroke. Her fingers walked a mute pattern across the board—resist, settle, resist, settle—until her heart found an even rhythm.

Behind her, a latch clicked. A hinge squeaked. Feet swished on carpet. The piano bench creaked as Ellie sat down.

“I didn’t know you played.”

Olivia stilled her hand. “I don’t.”

“It’s a nice tactile sensation, isn’t it? The first time I touched a piano as a child, I thought it was magic. You press here—” Ellie mimicked her silent stroke. “And sound comes out there.” She pressed again, and this time a soft note trembled from behind the panel of the upright.

Sheet music lay open in front of them, the notes a black spatter. “Adele?”

“Her range suits my voice.”

“Will you play for me?”

“Sorry. Condo rules. No instruments until nine.”

The thin plastic of the water bottle crinkled as Olivia rolled it between her palms.

“Can you tell me about it? Please?”

The nightmare belonged to another time, another bed. To have it intrude now, in the refuge of Ellie’s arms…the disorientation was too much.

“Hey.” Lips brushed her bare shoulder.

“I can’t. I’m not trying to be difficult, but…I can’t.”

“How often do you get them?”

“Varies. Not so much recently. Our conversation probably stirred it up.” Olivia leaned forward and set the bottle on the piano, seeking distance from Ellie’s warm focus.

“Is it just nightmares? Or is there more?”

“Only nightmares these days. I had a couple of panic attacks early on, but they stopped after I changed jobs.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was an ER nurse, before. But when I returned to work, I couldn’t handle it. The rattle of a crash cart, the smell of iodine, the beeping—” She shuddered at the memory of those attacks, the panic crawling up her throat. It was like drowning on dry land.

“So you didn’t leave because of the schedule?”

“It was both. I needed different hours for Ben, but I also couldn’t be the nurse I was before. The person I was before.”

“I’m sorry.” Ellie brushed a hand along her spine. The gentle touch was almost too much to bear. “I’ve never asked, but is Sophia buried somewhere? It might help to visit.”

“She hated cemeteries. Didn’t want to take up space when she was gone.” Olivia closed the lid over the keys and pressed her palms to the cool, glossy wood. “We cremated her, and her mother kept the ashes. Ben couldn’t stand the idea of her remains in the house.”

“Were you okay with no plot? You sound ambivalent.”

“At the time I agreed, but having lived through it with Ben, I think he’d like to sit near her stone and talk to her. He does it with my dad—the physical anchor is helpful. But I can’t bring myself to violate her wishes.”

Ellie ran a hand down her forearm, then slipped fingers through her own, splayed on the lid. “Why don’t you come back to bed?” She curled around Olivia’s hand, waiting.

“I’m not sure I can sleep.”

“Let’s try. Please.”

If she resisted, Ellie would stay. If she stayed, they would talk. So Olivia squeezed her hand in return and let herself be led to the bedroom.

Ellie stretched out on her back, and Olivia tucked into her shoulder. The spicy tang of her skin mingled with the buttery scent of sleep. Ellie stroked her side in long passes, palm rasping her scars. Fearful echoes from her nightmare rushed to fill the silence.

“Sing something for me?”

“Any requests?”

“You choose.”

Ellie cleared her throat and began a low, soft melody. The confidence and emotion in her voice carried Olivia past the darkness.

“What’s that song?”

“‘Remedy.’ It’s the sheet music you saw on the piano.”

“I love your voice. It’s so effortless. Will you sing it again?”

“Sure. That was the chorus. Want to hear the whole song?”

She nodded against Ellie’s chest. The gentle hover of her voice filled Olivia’s last memory as sleep possessed her.

 

OLIVIA STRUGGLED TO wakefulness, alone in the bed. Sharp panic had faded to a twinge this morning, matching the one in her shoulder. A glass of water and two orange pills sat on the nightstand.

“Ibuprofen,” Ellie said, entering the room. Her breasts swayed under a faded gray tank top. Desire flared in Olivia, then receded in a tide of guilt for an evening filled with old wounds and sad stories. She shifted into a sitting position, and Ellie perched on the mattress. “How are you?”

“Still sore, but not as tight. You have magic fingers.”

“I meant about the nightmare.”

The compassion on Ellie’s face made her chest ache. “It’s not how I wanted last night to go. You deserve more romance.”

“I asked, remember, in the bath? I want to have every conversation, light and dark. Being with you is all the romance I need.”

“Thank you.” She leaned in and kissed Ellie softly at first, then with more intensity, until Ellie abruptly broke it off.

“Let me hold you.”

“But last night, we never got a chance—”

“I don’t care about the sex. I just want to be with you when you’re hurting.” Ellie crawled over to the headboard and drew her close.

Dappled sun danced across the sheets as Olivia let herself absorb the warm comfort of the embrace. “I’m sorry if I retreat or deflect. I’ve been doing this alone awhile.”

“Why is that? I mean, I know there’s Arti, and your families, but…”

“It’s my fault.” She paused, finding the words for that dark time. “After the funeral, all these people pressed in, wanting to help or talk or…I don’t know, be close.”

“It’s a common impulse.”

“I know, but I didn’t want anyone close. I didn’t want anyone there at all. Even Arti was too much, at first, but there was no way I was getting rid of her. She’d sit across the room and work on her jewelry or cook in the kitchen while I hid on the back deck. Friends did check in, but I ignored the phone, the doorbell. Eventually they gave up. I don’t blame them.” She nuzzled her forehead under Ellie’s chin. “Anyway, that’s a long way of saying old habits die hard, but I am trying.”

“I’m glad you’re trying with me.”

“I’m trying because of you. Which reminds me, I got you a present. It’s in my bag. Do you want to open it?”

“Sure. You can open mine too. I’ll get it.”

Ellie scooted down the bed and unzipped the duffel. “Hey, what’s this?” She pulled a colorful sheet of paper from the bag, along with her present.

“It’s from Ben. His social group made valentines for their families, but they also made one for a new person in their life, to show that it’s good to be open to new friends.”

“And he picked me?” Ellie’s delighted face lifted Olivia’s gloom.

“Yep. He really wanted the tree to have rainbow leaves, but TTC didn’t have those stickers, so he settled on rainbow hearts. I’m pretty proud he made the compromise. A year ago, he might have had a meltdown about it.”

“I’m super proud! And so touched.” Ellie’s eyes shimmered with tears. “Open yours now. I need a minute.” She set Ben’s valentine carefully on her dresser and retrieved a wrapped box from her closet.

The box was heavier than Olivia expected. Inside was a small but substantial object encased in fabric. Peeling back the wrap revealed a sculpture of a reclining woman, her arms, torso and upper legs.

“The way you spoke after the fundraiser, about Rodin’s sculptures, learning a woman’s body. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. When I saw this, it reminded me of our first night.”

The figure was arched in passion, and one arm was thrown over her unseen face. Olivia followed the line of a hip with her finger. “‘The Torso of Adèle.’ It’s one of my favorites.”

“I see what you meant, about the eroticism and the emotion in his work.”

“It’s a beautiful present. Thank you. I love it.” The words fought through the thick emotion clogging her throat. “Open yours. I hope you like it.”

Ellie tugged at the paper. “I’ll like whatever you give—” She froze, riveted by the black-and-white portrait. In it, Ellie lay naked on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, one hand tangled in her hair. A huge smile lit her face as she looked to the side. Her full cleavage peeked through the gap in her arms, and the sweep of her back accentuated the round curve of her ass. It was sexy but not scandalous, and the humor in her face added spontaneity.

“I brought my camera last month, remember? After our first night in the bath, when you talked about your body, I couldn’t let it go. That you would ever feel anything but beautiful was impossible. I wanted to show you. This is how you look to me.”

“Olivia, you said you weren’t artistic, but this is art.” Ellie stared at her own image in wonder.

“You are the art. I clicked a button.” She took the frame from Ellie and set it aside. Drawing the tank top over Ellie’s head, Olivia guided her to her back, then slipped the boxers from her hips. Morning sun drenched the lush landscape of her body. Every gilt rise and bronze hollow pulled Olivia farther away from the dark paths in her own mind. She trailed a hand between Ellie’s breasts and over her stomach’s lavish swell. Floating her lips next to Ellie’s ear, she whispered, “I always want to make you feel beautiful.”