Chapter Nine

LIV

Mrs. Bedwin tells me I’m out of sorts. In other words, I haven’t talked much to her or my grandfather in the last few days. This card she handed me when I got home from school today didn’t help.

The red envelope in my hand has no return address, only a postmark from Richmond and a small heart drawn on the back. The card inside should make me happy, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t sound like Jack at all—not the cutesy picture of the boy kissing the girl under an umbrella nor the verse inside:

No matter how much time passes

You are always on my mind

And this Valentine’s Day

I want you to know

My love is yours

Forever.

The word Forever has a heart around it, hand-drawn with a red pen. Nothing else, not even a signature, is included in the card. Not to mention that it’s days past Valentine’s Day.

Nobody in Richmond sends me cards—except for the one I received at Christmas from Bernadette and Marc, the foster parents I lived with before I moved to live with the Carters. That one had been forwarded to me from the Child Welfare agency in Richmond.

And Jack…he’d never send me a card out of the blue. Especially after we left things the way we did.

I video chat with Emerson to tell her about the creepy-ass card. “I think you should tell your grandfather you have a stalker,” she says seriously when I hold it up to the camera.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not? I don’t get how you’re so calm about all this. I’d be freaking out, big time.”

I stare at the card, biting my lip. “My grandfather would probably overreact and never let me out of the house.”

“It takes a lot to get you out of the house on a normal day. That’s not it, is it?” She waits, but I don’t say anything. What can I say? One weird thing on top of another, and I still don’t know who sent me the bracelet.

She frowns, sitting back in her chair. “Just one more thing you don’t want to tell me, huh?”

I must look like such a jerk to her. I’ve had friends before, but only the shallow kind, where you eat lunch at school together and talk about homework and boys and that’s pretty much it. Not the real deal.

Why she’s friends with me, I have no idea.

I know she’s frustrated, and for the hundredth time I wish I could confide in her. She knows nothing about my life before coming to live here. In the beginning, I was too skeptical. And even now, knowing Emerson has such a huge, kind heart, I can’t tell her. What would she say about my being abused? About being abandoned by a mother on drugs? Would she feel sorry for me? Be disgusted? Think I’m some hapless kid from the foster-care system?

Not to mention the secret I still have to keep about the Monroe Street gang of criminals and the fact that I was naïve enough to get caught up in their scheme.

And fall in love with one of them.

“I suck at friendship, I guess,” I finally say.

She sighs. “No, you don’t, and I’m sorry I made you think that. I think you’ve just been burned a lot, am I right?”

“No, I—I’ve just never had a friend where we tell each other things. I don’t know how to do that stuff.”

She tilts her head. “Ever?”

“Ever.” I did with Jack, though it was different with him. We were two lost souls with little in common except a shitty past.

She sits up straight and clasps her hands together, all business. “Okay, so here’s how it works. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want. You only should tell me what you want to tell me. Things that are burning a hole in you and you feel like you’re going to explode if you don’t tell somebody.”

“What does that do?” I ask, my voice sounding stupidly small.

“It shares the problem so it’s not just yours. Helps relieve some of the pressure. Well, it does for me, anyway. Try it. Tell me something that’s been bugging you that you haven’t told anyone. Even something small.”

Something small that bugs me, except there’s nothing that fits that description. It’s more like huge things I’m terrified of. The list is way too long, and most of them I can’t tell her at all. “Okay. So that guy I liked back in Richmond—he was here a couple days ago.”

Her eyes widen. “Your Richmond boyfriend was here? Liv, how could you keep that a secret? I’d be freaking out!”

I half laugh. “Yeah, I sorta did, but it wasn’t that kind of visit. I mean, he was here with a friend and came by to see me because I had texted his friend about the roses I’d gotten and so he was worried about it and came here and it turned out it wasn’t from him but we aren’t, like, seeing each other anymore so it doesn’t matter and, you know…”

We’re both silent for a moment, then both of us break into laughter. “Wow, when you spill, you spill,” Emerson says.

“I’m sorry. I told you I wasn’t good at this.”

“No, you’re perfect at it. Let’s go back a bit.” She pulls her blond hair over her shoulder and purses her lips in thought. “Okay. So your ex-boyfriend was here and you guys broke up—wait, I thought you were already broken up. Did you break up again?”

“Well, we kind of were. Long story.”

“And he lives in Richmond, so he probably sent the card.”

“I don’t think so.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” she says. “Call him.”

“But that’d look weird. Since we’re not together anymore and all.” I pick up the envelope to shove the card back inside, but it catches on something. I fish around and pull out a small square picture.

Emerson is saying something, but the words don’t go through to my brain. This picture—this was taken at the restaurant on Valentine’s Day. I’m smiling across the table at my grandfather. It’s close enough where it looks like whoever took it is either sitting at the next table over or farther back with a high-power zoom lens.

What the—

I flip it over, but there’s nothing on the back.

“Liv!” Em says. I look up quickly.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay? You look freaked out.”

I shake my head. “I have to go,” I whisper. “I—I’m not feeling too good.”

“Oh. Okay,” she says. “But call him. And then let me know.”

We hang up, and I stare at the picture. It could be Natalie, the girl I awkwardly waved to, but then no…this is a different angle. And the envelope was postmarked Richmond.

Screw this. I pick up my phone to call Jack. It goes straight to voicemail, his recording short and to the point. When it beeps, I start babbling: “It’s Liv. I’m wondering if you know anything about this, um, card and picture that someone took of me that I got in the mail. The postmark is from Richmond. You and Sam are the only people I really know there. You don’t have to call me back, just text me yes or no. Okay, thanks, bye.”

Immediately, even before I hang up, I regret the call. I wish there was a way to delete the recording. Jack would never in a million years do this. What is he going to think?

Roses, jewelry, now a weird card and an extremely creepy picture taken of me. I open my bag and take out the box with the bracelet, running my finger over the gold A&P initials imprinted on the interior white satin. I do an online search for an A&P jewelry store. Nothing comes up. I search for jewelry stores that start with A in Norfolk, but nothing shows up. Gritting my teeth and already knowing what I’ll find, I do the same for Richmond and find an Abbott & Peterson’s Jewelers. In the same swirling font. Of course.

I jump as my phone buzzes. Jack’s name lights up the screen. At the same time, Mrs. Bedwin taps on the door and calls to me, so I flip up the automatic response window and send Jack a text saying I can’t talk, then turn the phone over on my lap. I don’t need Mrs. Bedwin to hear me talking to him.

“Dinner, sweetheart,” Mrs. Bedwin says, opening up the door a bit.

“Okay, thanks,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Your grandfather is already downstairs, waiting for you.” She waves for me to hurry, then pulls the door closed behind her.

The last thing I want to do is go act normal and happy at dinner. But unless I want to pretend I’m sick and have Mrs. Bedwin ferret out the truth, I have to go. I quickly change from my sweatshirt and jeans into a simple blue dress and join Grandfather downstairs in the formal dining room. The room only gets used when we eat together; otherwise, I eat my dinners at the breakfast table in the kitchen or up in my room. Lately, he’s been so busy at work that he ends up missing dinner at home. I wish this were one of those nights.

“You look lovely,” he says, standing to pull out my chair. He glances at my wrist. “And I see you’re wearing your mother’s charm.”

I touch the charm dangling from Jack’s bracelet. “Yes, I love it.”

He beams. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re just saying these things to make an old man happy. It’s working, you know.”

I smile, trying hard to focus on his words instead of Jack, the card, the picture, and the jewelry store in Richmond. I seriously doubt the store is so amazing that someone from Norfolk would order from there. It’s possible it could be someone here who’s trying to make it look like it’s coming from Richmond, but that would make no sense. Regardless, whoever it is sent that picture to freak me out. But why?

“Olivia? Are you okay?” Grandfather asks.

Oh, crap, what was he saying? “Sorry. Just thinking of something else for a moment.”

He moves his hands back as Juliette places a bowl of French onion soup in front of him. “I asked if you have big plans for the weekend.”

“Not really. Studying for a test I have on Tuesday.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Studying? That’s all?”

I nod, sipping on a spoonful of soup. His face is expectant, and I feel the “why don’t you have a life” speech coming on. “Well, I might go over to Emerson’s for a while. We’ll probably go hang out at the mall or see a movie. Maybe meet up with a couple other girls in her neighborhood.” Which is a bunch of bull. Emerson always complains about her neighborhood having no other kids her age. But I know that’s what he wants to hear. He’d probably be thrilled if I told him I was going to a big party at someone’s house, just to show I had some kind of social life.

“What about this secret admirer of yours?”

I drop the spoon in my bowl a little too hard. “Oh. I told Theo I wasn’t interested.”

His lips twist as he considers that. “That’s probably wise, considering the jewelry he thought appropriate to give you before even asking you out. Did you give it back to him?”

I hesitate.

“You haven’t.” He lifts his chin. “Is there something else going on? Is this young man getting aggressive with you?”

“No! It wasn’t even from him.” I bite at my lip. I didn’t mean to tell him that.

His eyebrows pinch.

“I’m not sure who it’s from. Another secret admirer,” I tell him, trying to laugh casually. “I guess people here like me more than I thought they would.”

“That doesn’t mean they should be buying you expensive jewelry out of the blue.”

“I know. I…I just have to let whoever it is down nicely. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Best to do it quickly. That way he knows immediately how you feel. Relationships are difficult to manage when you’re so close to graduating and heading off to college, too.” He tilts his head, his eyes softening. I know this look—and the question that usually follows. “Are you happy here, Olivia?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“You have everything you need? I know it’s hard not having a parent around—someone younger who can give you advice about things like love and boys, um, things like that.”

Love and boys and things like that. Surprisingly enough, I actually appreciate my grandfather’s attempt at “the talk.” Much better than Derrick’s awful sex talk last year. Of course, Derrick had other things on his mind. I shiver slightly. “I’ve had plenty of foster parents in my life,” I tell him. “Most of them knew less about these things than you. I haven’t missed out on anything by being here. I’m grateful for all you’ve given me.”

I should’ve left out that last part about being grateful. It doesn’t sound family enough. Sure enough, Grandfather frowns, his fingers twirling his wineglass slowly. “I worry sometimes that you feel uncomfortable here. This is your home, Olivia. You own it as much as I do, and I’m proud to have such a wonderful, smart girl as my granddaughter.”

This isn’t the first time Grandfather’s had this conversation with me. It warms my heart, but at the same time, the more he tries to tell me I’m part of this family, the more I worry he has this expectation of me that I’ll never live up to. Half of me is my father, the person who stole Grandfather’s precious daughter away. The one time I asked him about my father, he went stone-cold silent on me, later apologizing for his reaction and telling me he knows my mother’s character is stronger in me than my father’s, that I have the better half inside me, and that I’m better than “that lowlife” ever was. I can’t help worrying that I’ll say or do the wrong thing and he’ll see that side of me and realize I’m not fit to be a part of this family. Knowing I feel this way would probably upset him, so I just put on my brightest smile and tell him what he wants to hear.

After dinner, Grandfather leans back in his chair. “Mrs. Bedwin informed me that you received a card in the mail.”

I should’ve known she would’ve told Grandfather. He probably told her to alert him to anything unusual that concerns me. “Yes. I’m not sure who it’s from. It wasn’t signed.”

He tilts his head. “Mrs. Bedwin said there was a heart drawn on the back of the envelope.”

“Maybe my secret admirer.” Maybe not. The last thing I want to do, though, is worry Grandfather. If he saw the picture someone took of us in the restaurant, he’d freak out.

“With a postmark from Richmond?”

I sigh. “It’s not who you think it is. I haven’t seen that guy in a long time.” As far as I’m concerned, Jack showing up at my school for a few minutes doesn’t count. “Maybe the mail got misdirected.”

His eyebrow rises in skepticism. I glance at the clock over the fireplace. “Oh, crud, it’s already eight thirty. I told Emerson I’d watch Boston Watchman with her tonight.”

“You’re going to her house this late?”

“No, we’re just talking on the phone while we’re watching it. I’ll be up in my room.” I stand and he follows. “Thanks for dinner.”

I cringe at his disappointed expression. I shouldn’t have said that. He’s probably worried again that I’m looking at everything as charity. Maybe I should give him a hug. I don’t know. That’s the weirdest thing about being in the foster-care system for so long—you learn all the school stuff and things like how to survive in a group home and how to handle changing schools every year, but nobody bothers to teach you about basic things like how to give casual hugs and be a good friend. Or a good granddaughter. Things I didn’t realize I was missing until I came here.

“Olivia,” he calls out as I walk away.

“Yes?”

“You’ll return the bracelet as soon as you find out who gave it to you, right?”

“Of course I will. I don’t want it.” That’s the truth. I smile, and he nods, satisfied. I have to admit, I love that he cares this much. I remember when I was in seventh grade, one of my friends at school kept talking about how her parents nagged her all the time about boys and school and stuff. I was really jealous of her—my foster mother at the time couldn’t care less if I had clothes to wear, much less whom I was hanging out with.

As soon as I get up to my room, I check my phone. It shows a missed call and a text from Jack, asking if I’m okay. I run my thumb over his words, picturing him in his room, picking at his guitar or tapping away at his laptop. I miss him, I’ll admit. It’s not easy to pretend I feel nothing for him anymore.

Contact with Jack is doing nothing to help me get over him. I shouldn’t have called him. I text that I’m fine, apologize for the call, and let it go at that. My eyes move to the picture that was in the envelope. Whoever sent me the bracelet I’m sure took that picture, too.

My phone rings and Jack’s name lights up the screen. Shoot, I should’ve turned it off. At the same time, I’m the one who called him and freaked him out. Like the mature person I am, I throw the phone into my nightstand drawer and wait for it to stop ringing before I take it back out. Jack left me a voicemail.

“Hey. I know you’re not fine, and I figure you aren’t answering because you think I’ll get the wrong idea about us. Don’t worry, I know we’ve both moved on. But I wanted to apologize for showing up there randomly the other day. That wasn’t cool. And this bracelet you got—well, there are some weird things going on here, too. I think someone’s trying to link us. I don’t know why. Just…be careful, please.”

There’s a pause, then the voicemail ends. I play it again. And again. What does he mean, someone’s trying to link us? With the bracelet?

I sit at my computer and go back to the A&P jewelry store website. There’s not much there—just a picture of the storefront, a map with the location, women who look like they’re from the sixties displaying arms loaded with diamond bracelets and rings, and an “about us” page featuring how the store is one of the oldest in Richmond. Old is right—they don’t even have any of their jewelry listed for sale online.

I start to navigate away from the site when I notice a small shield at the bottom corner of the screen. I click on it and it takes me to Avatar Security. Why would they need website security when they don’t sell jewelry through their website?

The answer hits me as I look at Avatar Security’s services. I go back to the website and zoom in to the storefront window. It’s not a clear image, but there appears to be a sticker on the door that resembles the Avatar Security shield on the website. Surveillance cameras—it’s got to be.

I call the store and tell the saleswoman who answers that I am looking for a particular date that someone bought a bracelet. She is nice enough to give me her work email address, so I send her a convenient link to a picture of the bracelet. She responds about a half hour later saying one of the salesmen in the store said he sold a couple bracelets like that a day or two before Valentine’s Day but doesn’t know anything else and apologizes for not being more helpful. I smile as I capture the IP address—she’s helped plenty.

Hopefully, the storeowners haven’t figured out that they need to change the factory settings on their security system. I do a quick search online to walk myself through the hack. Surprisingly simple. It takes all of five minutes to get in after only a couple attempts at username and password—“admin” and “1234.” It’s so weird to me—the more technology people have, the more careless they are about their security.

I start at the archived footage for February thirteenth. Mostly I fast-forward until someone appears, then I fast-forward again.

By midnight, I’ve sorted through all of February thirteenth without so much as seeing one bracelet sold and all I’ve accomplished is to give myself a massive headache. Yawning, I open up the February twelfth footage. Tomorrow is going to be hell, but I can’t sleep until I know. Which sucks, because it might’ve been purchased a week before.

The clock reads 1:00 a.m., and I find myself nodding off while scanning through the video. I’ve had to rewind a couple of times. Of course, it’s when I finally decide to shut it down that I see a salesperson holding out a bracelet to a man in a hood. I jerk up straight and rewind it. The man is completely hidden by the hoodie, which sucks because all I can see is his hand. Nothing like a tattoo or missing finger or anything, and the grainy footage on this cheap camera system isn’t helping with any other details. The salesperson comes back with a receipt and places two identical-looking boxes in a bag. Two? I watch the man sign the receipt. The way his hand moves, it looks like he’s signing an initial for the first letter. I rewind again and again, but I can’t get a better view. It could be a 2, or an L…or a Z. But this guy seems taller than Jack.

The man walks away, and it looks like he’s gesturing to someone off camera. I save the video to my computer and try to find other camera angles. There is only one other—pointed at the desk in the back office.

The guy obviously bought something else in addition to my bracelet, so maybe there’s some mistake. Maybe the bracelet was actually intended for someone else. I shake my head. I’m not naïve enough to believe a coincidence that big. Jack said someone is trying to link us. What does that even mean?

Something about this nags at the back of my mind, but I’m too tired to sort it out. I’m sure tomorrow it’ll make more sense.

Though, nothing so far has, so why would this be any different?