The Book of Someday (26 page)

Livvi’s smile is instantaneous. “She’s got me wrapped around her little finger. And I love it.”

“I hope you understand the minefield you’re walking into. Grace is a great kid, but she’s not exactly a blank slate—she comes with a lot of baggage. The insanity with her mother won’t ever go away. And even if by some miracle it did, Grace’ll always be somebody else’s kid, not yours.”

“I’m aware of that, I am. But…” Livvi is trying to figure out how to make Sierra understand her bond with Grace and knows she can’t. “The only thing I can tell you is…the way I love her…it’s like she is my own.”

“Maybe so. But depending on how her mother wants to play it, the cost you end up paying on your love affair with that kid could be pretty steep.”

The thought of not being with Grace is too painful for Livvi to bear. She picks up the file folder containing the bookkeeping information and hands it to Sierra—making it clear she doesn’t want to discuss what the price tag might be for loving Grace.

Sierra puts the file folder aside, tilts her head in Grace’s direction, and says: “So…according to the little one, you’re taking a trip. Where to?”

“Aspen,” Livvi tells her. “Skiing. For a week.”

Grace, her attention still on the preening bird, is calling to Sierra from the edge of the patio. “Daddy’s coming with us! And we’re going on a plane.”

Sierra shoots Livvi a knowing look. “A private one, no doubt.”

Livvi blushes.

Sierra laughs. “The man’s got a pile of cash, nothing to be embarrassed about. And speaking of the man, where is he? Back at your place…sleeping in?”

“He’s at his office. He needed to take care of some things before we leave tomorrow.”

Sierra checks to be sure Grace isn’t listening. “What about his divorce…has he taken care of that?”

“He’s working on it,” Livvi says. “It’s a difficult situation.” She reaches for the file folder again—wanting to head off any discussion about Andrew’s wife.

Sierra studies Livvi for a moment. “I’m not saying this to rattle your cage. I’m saying it because I don’t give a shit about your boyfriend, and I care a hell of a lot about you.” She pauses, satisfies herself that Grace is occupied with the bird, then adds: “This bind he claims he’s in—the need to be so careful and take everything at a snail’s pace—how much of it is really about protecting the kid? And how much is about him still being in business with her mother?”

“I don’t know.” Livvi’s response is fast and flustered: Sierra has hit a raw nerve.

Livvi’s thoughts have gone to that afternoon in Rolling Hills:
Andrew
holding
a
phone
to
his
ear. Taking his wife’s call. And looking at Livvi—mutely telling her he’s sorry. While he’s turning away with his shoulders hunched. Making Livvi wonder, “Is he trying to shield me from his wife? Or shield his wife from me…?”

And Sierra is warning Livvi: “I don’t know what’s going on with your boy and his crazy wife, but I can give you the bottom line—he’s in no hurry to shut the door on her.”

Sierra levels a gaze at Livvi that says
“Go ahead. Try to tell me I’m wrong.”

Livvi puts down the file folder, glances in Grace’s direction, and signals to Sierra to walk with her to the other side of the patio.

Livvi is attempting to convince both herself and Sierra, as she’s saying: “I’ve seen Andrew’s wife. The only logical reason for the way he caters to her has to be that he’s protecting Grace. His wife is a mess. She’s horrible. There’s no way he could be in love with her.”

“It doesn’t mean he isn’t in love with her drama,” Sierra says. “Depending on where your kinks are…having somebody tell you you’re the center of their universe, and they’ll die without you, can be a real ego-stroke. Even if it’s coming from somebody who’s fucked up beyond belief.”

Livvi, wanting to think only about Grace and Aspen, is trying to push this idea as far away as possible. “What’s keeping Andrew stuck isn’t love,” she’s insisting. “It’s guilt.”

Sierra gives Livvi a steady, unblinking stare. “As long as he’s staying stuck, does it really make any difference what kind of fucking glue he’s using?”

Livvi flinches.

Sierra’s attitude immediately softens. “Honey, all I’m asking is how much of his not getting a divorce is about taking care of Grace…how much is about taking care of the wife…and how much of it is about taking real good care of Andrew. Because I don’t see where any of it is about taking care of you.”

Livvi doesn’t respond. She doesn’t know how to explain that none of this makes any difference—because, in her own way, she’s just as stuck as Andrew is.

As if she’s recognizing Livvi’s dilemma, and determined not to ignore it, Sierra asks: “So what keeps you from kicking him to the curb, kiddo?”

“A lot of things.” Livvi hopes Sierra is ready to let the discussion end.

Instead, Sierra puts her hands on Livvi’s shoulders, looks her straight in the eye, and after a long pause says: “Who was the first boy you had a crush on in elementary school?”

“Nobody.” Livvi ducks her head, embarrassed. “I didn’t go to elementary school, or high school. I didn’t know any boys.”

Sierra spends a long time looking at Livvi. Searching her eyes, and her face. Slowly connecting the dots of a story that Livvi has never told her.

“Holy shit,” Sierra murmurs. “No wonder you don’t know how to let go of him—Andrew was your first.”

“Not technically.” Livvi glances down, embarrassed. “There was an old man, a professor. When I was in college. It was only that one time. And—”

“—and then nothing till Andrew?”

“A few dates, here and there. But…” Livvi’s voice has trailed off. She’s being overwhelmed by shuddering sense memories. The passion. The intense physical pleasure. The sexual wonderland she’s been introduced to. By Andrew.

“It’s like before him, I’d never been alive,” she murmurs.

“Oh honey, that’s what everybody says when they get righteously laid for the first time.”

“I know…but for me it really is true. And the sex isn’t even the biggest part of it.” Livvi glances away, self-conscious. “Before Andrew, I’d spent my entire life in a box. Eighteen years, locked away in my father’s house. Then in college, locked up in my own prison. Too scared to even talk to anybody. And after college—for most of these last four years—I spent my workdays sealed in a research library, and my nights locked in my bedroom, pouring misery onto paper, writing
The
Book
of
Someday
.”

Livvi looks at Sierra and tells her: “Before Andrew, I honest to God had never known what excited, spontaneous happiness was. All I knew about happiness…or fun…was what I imagined it might be. And then there was Andrew—and he made those things real.”

Sierra winces. Then gives Livvi’s hand an awkward, affectionate squeeze. “You’re making this guy sound like God. ‘In the beginning, Andrew created the heavens and the earth.’”

Sierra’s tone is light—Livvi knows that she’s being teased.

“It almost feels that way,” Livvi says.

Then she adds: “I had never been anywhere. I’d never done anything. And I’d certainly never done anything just for fun. Sierra…Andrew showed me what joy was. He’s taken me places, taught me things I didn’t even know how to dream of.”

“Kiddo. The world, the fun, the joy, the great sex—it’s all out there. Open to the public. Andrew being the first one to show it to you doesn’t make him Master of the Universe—it just makes him a guy with a sense of adventure and a credit card.”

“Maybe. But I’ve never before known anybody even remotely like him…and I don’t think I could ever find anyone like him again.”

Sierra wraps her arms around Livvi, holds her tight, then steps back and says: “Oh baby, you have so much to learn.”

Livvi glances across the lawn toward her little guesthouse where she and Andrew, before they went to sleep last night, shared such intense, and spectacular, pleasure.

“He loves me,” Livvi says. “He’s the only man who ever has.”

“It doesn’t mean he’s the only one who ever will. You can do better, kiddo. While he’s playing around with you—having all that fun—he’s staying married to his wife. That makes him a jerk.”

Sierra has gently put her arm around Livvi’s shoulder.

And in the shelter of that gentleness, Livvi is admitting: “Sometimes I think, no matter what he does, I’m just lucky he wants me. There’re things about the weird way I grew up—the people who raised me. I’m not like everybody else. I’m different. A misfit. Sort of second-rate…”

Several minutes pass in silence.

Then Sierra says: “There’s a famous episode from an old TV show called
The
Twilight
Zone
. It’s about this woman who’s hideously ugly. Can’t even go out in public. Which is why she volunteers for this risky surgery, it’s her one chance to not look like a freak anymore. Her face is covered the whole time and all you see of the surgeons are their hands and arms. Then in the last scene, after the surgery, she’s lying there—miserable—because they’re telling her nothing’s changed, she’s still ugly. The camera tilts up to show the surgeons, and they’re all completely grotesque. Then the camera tilts down, to show the woman. She’s gorgeous—looks like she could be on the cover of
Vogue
.”

Livvi gives Sierra an uncertain glance.

And Sierra tells her: “What I’m saying is, you’re the beauty…and whoever raised you, they were the freaks.”

Livvi doesn’t have time to respond—her phone has begun to ring. It’s still on the ground near the spot where she and Sierra were sitting earlier. And Grace is dashing across the patio, calling out: “I’ll answer, I’ll answer!”

Before Livvi can stop her, Grace is picking up the phone and saying: “Hello?” After a quick beat, she’s frowning, insisting: “No. This is Livvi’s phone.”

Then she’s holding the phone out to Livvi, puzzled. “They want to talk to Olivia.”

Livvi takes the phone—her heart is hammering.

Something has gone unbelievably wrong. These calls always come late in the night. Never, ever, in the daytime.

Livvi is aware that all the color must be draining from her face. She can see the look of alarm in Grace, and in Sierra.

The voice at the other end of the phone is calmly informing her: “You’ve left me no choice. I’m here, Olivia.”

Livvi is shaking. “Where…?”

“I’m in your house.”

And Livvi’s skin begins to crawl—as if she has just brushed against a snake.

Her voice is strained and tight. “I have to go,” she tells Sierra. “I need for Grace to stay here with you for a while.”

“Is it about Mommy? Is Mommy mad at you?” Grace is full of apprehension.

Livvi can barely speak. “No,” she says. “It isn’t your mommy. It’s somebody else.”

***

The air in the room feels poisonous and stale. There’s a chill—a deadness—that has never been here before.

But, to her surprise, Livvi isn’t afraid. She’s defiant, ready for battle. The uppermost thing in her heart and mind is Grace. Livvi is prepared to do whatever it takes to keep Grace separated from this evil.

“How dare you come into my house?” she’s asking.

The answer is toneless, unapologetic. “Your door was unlocked.”

“How did you find out where I lived?”

A thin smile accompanies the reply. “I was brought here by the Lord, Olivia. He led me to a young man at my church who knows how to use the Internet.”

Livvi’s unwelcome visitor has been looking around the room, taking in every detail. Now the visitor’s flat, black gaze is coming to rest on Livvi. The same flat gaze that was in that other house, where the air was stale with the sour odor of boiled cabbage and the wintry funk of unwashed blankets. Where the nights were shattered by the rampage of demons.

“Get out,” Livvi tells Calista. “Or I’ll call the police.”

Calista is gazing down at her shoes, slowly shaking her head, as if she has been terribly wounded. “You always had a nasty disposition, Olivia.”

Calista, with her ink-black eyes and soap-white face, is fleshier than she was. Slightly wider and slower. She’s wearing a bulky, shapeless coat and rubbery, thick-soled shoes. While she’s crossing to the sofa, the soles of her shoes are squeaking on the rose-colored floor tiles. “I’ve been very afraid of coming here. And I was right to be afraid. May God forgive me for saying it, but you were an unpleasant, frightening girl, Olivia. And you’ve grown into a heartless and frightening woman.”

Now she’s sitting, stiffly—crowded against the arm of the sofa. Her hand going to her coat collar, meekly holding it closed over the base of her throat. As if she’s defenseless and this is her feeble attempt to protect herself.

The gesture—its stagey timidity—infuriates Livvi.

Calista’s hand remains on her coat collar. But her attention has been drawn to the pink pig and the little, pink-striped mittens lying on one of the sofa cushions.

“You have a child…?” For a moment, Calista’s mouth is slack, her eyes vacant. As if she’s being faced with something unnatural—beyond comprehension. Her tone is hushed, offended, as she says: “You? You have been blessed with a child?”

Calista is reaching for Grace’s pink-striped mittens.

Before she can pick them up—Livvi has hit her. Hard enough to snap Calista’s head back against the sofa. And send her eyes rolling in their sockets.

“Don’t touch anything belonging to people I love,” Livvi hisses. “Don’t bring your wickedness anywhere near them—or me.”

Calista, reeling from Livvi’s blow, is shrieking: “When I married your father, he told me your mother ran away and he never explained why. But now I think I understand. Her leaving had nothing to with him. It was because of you. The minute she laid eyes on you, your mother must have sensed what a dreadful creature she’d brought into the world.”

For a moment the hurt of that statement paralyzes Livvi, crushes her. And her only thought is to plead with Calista to leave.

But then Livvi sees Grace’s pink pig and is reminded of how little Grace is. How innocent and vulnerable. Livvi is thinking about the tender feelings of protectiveness she has toward Grace. And she is wondering how, when she was just a little girl, innocent and vulnerable, Calista could have done such unspeakable things to her.