When Shadows Fall (10 page)

"What's that?" Eleanor asked.

"Whose idea was all this—about the book? Was it yours or Molly's?"

"It was Molly's idea, but I agreed with her, and I want to honor her wishes. She's been a dear friend to me for many, many years."

"Is the story you want the writer to hear Molly's story, or does it involve all of you?"

"I guess that will depend on what Olivia thinks is important." Eleanor paused. "Did you meet her yesterday, Colton?"

"Yes. She was on her way out of the center when I arrived." He didn't bother to add that they'd had dinner together.

"She's a pretty girl with her beautiful green eyes and long, curly brown hair, isn't she?"

"I hadn't noticed," he muttered.

His grandmother smiled. "You never could lie to me, Colton, so why on earth would you start now?"

"Fine, she's gorgeous. So what? She's only here for a few days."

"You never know what a few days can bring," Eleanor said wisely. "If I've learned anything in life, it's that."

Chapter Eight

On her way to the senior center late Monday morning, Olivia decided to stop by the hospital and see if there had been any improvement in Molly Harper's condition. Upon arrival, the nurse told her there was no change, but she was welcome to sit with Molly if she wanted. So Olivia made her way into the room of the woman whose letter had intrigued her enough to come to San Francisco and use her vacation days to research a story that she still didn't understand.

Olivia paused a few feet from the bed. Molly Harper had short brown hair with at least a half inch of gray along the roots. Her face was pale, her skin so thin it was almost translucent. There was no color at all in her cheeks and no real sign of life. The only sounds in the room came from the machines that appeared to be keeping Molly alive.

She moved a little closer and impulsively put her hand on Molly's wrist. Her skin was cool, another sign that life was slipping away.

"I don't know if you can hear me," she said quietly. "But it's me, Olivia Bennett. I came to see you and your friends, just as I promised." She paused, thinking she was probably just talking to herself, but the words kept coming. "I wish you would wake up, Molly. I have a lot of questions, and I'm afraid you're the only one who can answer them. You told me how much you wanted me to tell your story. I need your help to do that. When you wake up, I'll be ready to listen."

"Who the hell are you?" a male voice demanded.

She turned in surprise to see a man enter the room. He had on a black suit and a maroon tie, and judging by the gray in his hair and the age lines around his eyes, he appeared to be in his fifties or sixties.

"I'm Olivia Bennett," she said, stepping away from the bed. She was glad she'd put on a dress and heels today. She felt more professional in her attire and more confident with a few inches added to her five-foot-four frame.

"Do you know my mother?"

"Your mother?" she echoed. "You're Molly's son?"

He nodded, his gaze narrowing, his expression somewhat stern. "Yes, I'm Peter Harper. I don't think I've ever heard my mother mention your name."

"We haven't actually met. Your mother wrote to me a few weeks ago and asked me to come and meet her. I arrived yesterday only to find out she had had a stroke."

"You're the writer she mentioned."

"Yes. Your mother thought I might be interested in helping some of the women at the Sunset Senior Center write down their stories."

"Why would you be interested in doing that?"

"I'm a biographer. I write books about people's lives." She didn't bother to draw the line between her career goal and what she was actually doing as a research assistant.

"Well, as you can see my mother won't be telling you her story."

"I'm very sorry," she said quietly. Maybe the man's brusque manner was the result of his sadness about his mom's condition. "Is there any chance she'll wake up?"

"The doctors don't know." His gaze moved to his mother. "They're doubtful. This is the third time she's been here, and each time her condition gets worse."

"I'll leave you alone then."

She was almost to the door when he said, "Wait."

She turned around. "Yes?"

"Leave my mother out of whatever you're doing at the senior center, all right? Whatever those women have to say about her is just their opinion. If she can't speak for herself, I don't want anyone else speaking for her."

"I understand," she said, but as she left the room she realized she didn't understand at all. Peter Harper had had the same reaction to her visit as Patrick Callaway. Why? What were these men so worried about?

Molly's voice rang through her head again…

I grew up in a time when women were silent, when men did the speaking for them
.

Well Molly might have grown up in that time, but Olivia had not. And she was now more curious than ever to talk to the women at the senior center.

* * *

After arriving at the senior center, which offered a lunch buffet of sandwiches, fruit, vegetables and cookies for a five-dollar fee, Colton grabbed a sandwich and sat down at a table with his mother while Eleanor joined three of her friends for lunch to be followed by a game of Bridge.

There was no sign yet of Olivia. Maybe she'd read Molly's journals and decided there was nothing left to pursue. That thought should have made him happy, but he felt decidedly restless when it came to Olivia. He didn't know whether he wanted her to go or wanted her to stay. Either option seemed problematic in some way, especially the option where he didn't get to see her again, where he didn’t have a chance to kiss her.

There had been a moment last night when he'd thought about kissing her, but he'd hesitated, and then she'd left. At the time, he'd thought it was a smart decision not to complicate things with a kiss, but now it felt like the most stupid idea he'd ever had.

Shaking his head, he devoured the rest of his turkey sandwich in two big bites, washing it down with a swig of cola.

His mother was checking her email on her phone while munching on a plate of raw vegetables. "Anything interesting?" he asked, wondering what had gotten her attention.

She looked up at him with a smile. "Nicole just sent me the latest reports from Brandon's new therapist."

"I didn't realize he was going to someone new."

"Dr. Rita Bentley. She's quite good. She has some innovative approaches to autism, and she's been working with Kyle and Brandon together as well as with just Brandon on his own. Fortunately, Kyle is happy enough to come with his brother no matter what the activity. He's such a great little boy. He somehow understands that Brandon needs him to be with him, speak for him. It's that amazing twin connection." Her eyes filled with moisture.

"Hey, don't cry," he said quickly. "This is good news, right?"

She nodded as she pulled tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes. "Yes, it's good. I just know how long Nicole has been waiting for a break-through, and it seems like it's finally happening. Brandon is starting to make eye contact with people and during his latest session with Dr. Bentley he was able to follow directions and point to appropriate objects as directed. He's slowly reconnecting with the world."

Colton was thrilled to hear that. He still remembered when Brandon had been a perfectly normal little boy—up until the age of two. And then everything had changed. "I'm glad he's getting better."

"Kyle really changed everything, but you probably understand better than anyone the intense connection between twins. You and Shayla had it when you were little. I don't know if you still have it now, but I can remember when you knew what each other was about to say before the other said it. It was kind of eerie."

"That was weird. We're not that close anymore, but we'll always have a connection, a different relationship with each other than with everyone else. At least, that's the way I feel." As he finished speaking, he looked around the room. They'd been at the center for forty-five minutes. Where was Olivia? Had she decided the story wasn't worth anything after all?

"What is going on with you?" Lynda asked.

"Nothing," he said, impatiently drumming his fingers on the table.

She directed her pointed glance at his hand. "It doesn't sound like nothing."

"This is not what I was thinking I'd be doing today, that's all."

"It was your choice to come."

"Not really. Does Grandpa have a reason to be worried about this interview?"

"If I thought he did, I would have supported his efforts, but he couldn't give me a good reason why Eleanor shouldn't write down her memories, and I think it could actually be a wonderful opportunity for her. She's supposed to exercise her brain. I know that Patrick is devoted to her, and I try to respect whatever he wants, but she wants this, and I don't know how much longer she'll be able to speak for herself. While she can speak, I'm going to encourage it."

That made sense. "You're right, but I'm still going to stick around. At least, I can look Grandpa in the eye when he gets back and say I did everything I could do."

"That's true." She slipped her phone back into her purse. "If you're so determined to play bodyguard, I'm going to take advantage of your presence and run a few errands. Eleanor will probably play cards for at least another hour. You can call me if you need me. I won't be too far away."

"Go. I'll be fine. Grandma seems in good condition today," he said, watching Eleanor laugh at something Ginnie had just said.

"She loves being here with her friends. She feels young when she's around them, and I can understand that. When I'm with the women I grew up with, there's a feeling of real understanding and deep friendship."

He nodded. "I get that."

As he finished speaking, he saw Olivia enter the room, and his heart skipped a beat. She saw him almost immediately, and he liked the spark that flashed through her eyes when she met his gaze.

She was here to get what she wanted. And he was here to make sure she didn't. He felt oddly excited about the thought of doing battle with her.

"Is that her?" Lynda asked. "The writer?"

He sat up straighter. "Yes, that's Olivia Bennett."

"She's as pretty as your grandmother said. I only caught a glimpse of her yesterday, and in all the chaos of the party, I didn't even realize that she was the writer Eleanor was so eager to speak to."

He got to his feet as Olivia approached the table.

"Hello," she said tentatively.

"Hey," he said, shockingly happy just to be looking at her.

His mother stood up. "Are you going to introduce us?" she prodded Colton.

"Sorry. This is my mother, Lynda Callaway. This is Olivia Bennett."

Olivia shook his mother's hand. "Nice to meet you."

"You, too. I've been hearing a lot about you."

"I hope at least some of it was good," Olivia said lightly.

"Well, I don't judge until I meet someone."

"I don't, either," Olivia said. "I like to keep an open mind."

Lynda picked up her purse from the table. "I'll be back in about an hour, Colton. I hope you enjoy your time with the ladies, Miss Bennett. They're a fascinating group."

"So I've been told," Olivia said.

As his mom walked away, he said, "Why don't you sit down?"

"I didn't come here to talk to you, Colton."

"Do you really want to interrupt their game?" He tipped his head toward the ladies who had finished lunch and had moved on to their card game. "They're having fun."

As if on cue, his grandmother gave a wave and said, "We'll be done shortly, Olivia."

"Take your time," Olivia said, sitting down in the seat recently vacated by his mother. "Your mom seemed nice and not at all displeased to see me. Does she not know of your grandfather's concerns?"

"She knows. She doesn't care what my grandfather thinks or what I think."

"Interesting."

He tilted his head to one side, giving her a contemplative look. "Let's talk about your family for a change. I know you said your dad died. What about your mom? Is she alive? Is she in your life?"

"Yes, she's alive and well. We keep in touch at least once a week. She lives in San Diego where I grew up, so we don't see each other all that often, but we're still close."

"That's nice. So you're a southern California girl," he mused.

"That I am."

"San Diego has some great surf."

"I know. I used to surf when I was a teenager."

"Really?" He had to admit he was surprised. She didn't seem the type to do something so daring. "You know I'm not talking about body surfing. I'm talking about swimming out a half mile and catching a wave into shore."

She met his gaze head on. "I got my own surfboard when I was thirteen. I went out every weekend after that. My dad was a surfer. He taught me how to stand on a board when I was about five. I loved it as much as he did." Shadows filled her eyes. "I haven't been surfing since he died."

"He'd want you to go back out."

"Probably. And maybe I will—someday."

"Does your mom surf?"

"No." Olivia gave him a smile. "My mother is strictly a sit-on-the-beach woman, and that is usually under an umbrella. She's very fair and burns like crazy. Do you surf?"

"I have, but not for a while. The water is a lot colder up here."

"I wouldn't think you'd let a little cold water stop you."

"Maybe we'll have to hit the beach before you go back to New York."

"I don't think so. I'm here to work."

"Look at those ladies—do you really think they're hiding some juicy scandal?" he asked.

"Like I told your mom, I'm keeping an open mind."

"Does that open mind extend to me?" he challenged.

"What do you mean?"

"You made a snap judgment about me the second you heard I was a firefighter."

"I don't care that you're a firefighter. It doesn't matter to me how you choose to live your life."

"It might matter if you started to like me a little."

She gave him a somewhat nervous smile. "Even if I did like you a little, I'm only here for a few days, and my focus has to be on your grandmother. And knowing that you want to stop me from talking to her, I can't help wondering if your interest in me is really all that pure."