Livia Lone (Livia Lone #1)(37)

Portland, she thought. Nason.

“What kind of policeman?”

Mrs. Lone stood. “Livia, my brother had a long drive from Portland, and he’s probably tired. So . . .”

Rick gave his sister a strange glance—half amusement, half annoyance—then looked at Livia again. “You know how you can tell you’re getting older? When your little sister starts treating you like an invalid. I’m a homicide detective, Livia. That means—”

“Murder,” Livia said.

Rick laughed. “Sorry. I should have known you’d know the word. Anyway, yes, just a humble Portland cop, taking a few days to visit his sister and her family.”

Knowing again that Mrs. Lone wouldn’t like it, Livia said, “What about you? Your family?”

Rick shrugged. “Being a cop can make it hard to have kids and all that. So no, Dotty and my four nephews are my family.” He smiled. “And now you.”

She didn’t know why, but that shrug was the first thing Rick had done that didn’t strike Livia as genuine. And while his answer about not having a family of his own had been smoothly delivered, Livia wondered why he felt he needed to explain. At least when he said she was his family now, it didn’t bother her—unlike with Mr. Lone, coming from Rick it didn’t sound like a threat or a trap. And he’d left out Mr. Lone when describing who was his family—what did that mean?

She didn’t know what to make of it all, and wanted to think about it later. So for the moment, she just said, “Okay.”

“I’m going to be here for a few days. If you ever feel like a break from studying, I’d love to hear about how things are going—school, life, whatever.”

The whole time they’d been talking, she’d been expecting him to say something about her “ordeal” or her “bravery.” She was intrigued, and glad, that he hadn’t.

Mrs. Lone’s pinched look became even more cramped. Not wanting to upset her or to offend Rick, Livia only nodded.

Rick reached for her hand and shook it again. “All right, then. It’s really nice to meet you, Livia. I hope we’ll get a chance to chat some more.”





25—THEN

During the same holiday Rick was there, the Lones’ four sons visited. Mr. Lone briefly introduced them to Livia, and they all reacted to her with varying degrees of curiosity, discomfort, and pity. Ordinarily, Livia preferred to eat alone in her room, using homework as an excuse, but while the sons and Rick were in the house, Mr. Lone insisted on taking everyone out to restaurants. These dinners were painful affairs, during which Livia could feel acutely that everyone wished she wasn’t there—everyone but Mr. Lone, who seemed to enjoy showing her off in public, and Rick, who was the only one who talked to her, even though her responses were awkward and uncertain.

One morning, Mrs. Lone came to Livia’s room and told her Mr. Lone was taking everyone to brunch. Livia understood this wasn’t an invitation, and that Mr. Lone was insisting. But she thought she couldn’t stand another meal with these people. So she said, “My stomach hurts. I think I’m going to stay in bed.”

Actually, her stomach did hurt. A few months earlier, she had started to bleed, and it was happening now. She knew what the bleeding was—it had to do with making babies, and in the village, the women used rags during the days when it happened. Here, they didn’t use rags; there were special pads that absorbed better. Mr. Lone had told her to ask for anything she needed, but she didn’t want him to know about the bleeding. Her body was beginning to change, with hair between her legs and bumps on her chest where before there had been only skin and muscle, and his bathroom visits had become more frequent, his staring while he touched himself more intense. So she used some of the spending money he gave her to buy the pads in a store, hiding them under her bed when she didn’t need them, and putting the ones she’d used at the bottom of the kitchen garbage when no one was around.

Mrs. Lone stood in the doorway, her pinched face looking like someone was squeezing it from both sides. “Your stomach? Nothing contagious, I hope?”

Livia wondered why the woman was asking—she’d never given any indication before that she was concerned about Livia’s health, or anything else about her. Was she really afraid someone might catch something from Livia? Or did she suspect Livia was bleeding, with the question a way to try to confirm?

Not knowing what was the right course, Livia decided on ambiguity. “I’m not sure.”

“All right. I’ll tell Mr. Lone.” She closed the door, her footfalls fading as she walked down the hallway.

Livia understood the “I’ll tell Mr. Lone” was Mrs. Lone’s way of indicating that if it were up to her, Livia wouldn’t even be allowed in the house, let alone receive invitations to brunch. But she was used to Mrs. Lone’s little indications, and they bothered her less now than they had at first. The main thing was, she didn’t have to suffer through another meal with all of them.

She went back to her books. The echoes of conversation downstairs became more animated, then were cut off by the slam of the front door. She heard car doors opening and closing, engines starting, tires on gravel . . . and then, finally, the house was mercifully quiet.

Five minutes later, she heard one of the guest room doors open. She frowned—someone must have stayed behind. She heard a cough, and thought it sounded like Rick. She heard his footsteps moving down the corridor, then the buzz of coffee being ground in the kitchen.