It's One of Us(70)

“How do you know they’re in California, then?”

He has the decency to look abashed. “Social media.”

She turns her head away, tears sparking in her eyes. Park strokes her hair and whispers, “I’m so sorry. So sorry. You’re going to be okay, darling. We’re going to be okay.”

“Don’t call me darling,” she manages before she slides into the darkness.

When Olivia wakes again, she can hear many voices. She shifts—gasps a little at the sharp pain—then swings her legs to the side and manages to sit up. An argument, happening downstairs, harsh whispers. Lindsey. Park. Another woman. Her mom? No, can’t be.

She wavers a bit as she stands. She desperately needs the bathroom. Let them fight. There’s nothing she can add anyway.

Once the awkward job is finished, she glances in the mirror. She has a black eye and bruises creeping up her neck like a fungus.

The arguing has stopped, and Lindsey appears in the doorway. “Hey there. I thought I heard you moving around. Jeez, girl, you look like hell. Come get back into bed.”

Olivia allows herself to be towed to the bed, gently tucked in. “What’s the fuss downstairs? Who is that woman I hear?”

“That’s Lucía, my...your lawyer. She and Park are trying to hammer out what he should be saying, and she’s giving him an earful because he’s trying to tell her how to do her job, and Perry keeps telling him to shut up and listen to her. The reporter will be here within the hour. Do you feel up to talking? I could put your hair up in a twist and cover up that shiner. Nothing to be done for the sling.”

Olivia tries—and fails—to compute all of that. All she hears is Perry.

“Perry is here?”

Lindsey coughs a little laugh. “Yeah. Wild horses couldn’t keep him away. He was at the hospital, too, we all were. Your folks are catching a plane. They won’t be back for at least a full day—”

“No, no, please, I told Park I don’t want them to come back. Bring me my phone. I’ll call them and tell them to stay. They’ve been excited about this vacation for months. There’s nothing they can do here now anyway.”

“They were already heading to the airport the last I heard. We didn’t know if you were going to be okay for a while there. You got lucky, Liv. Everyone wants to help. Just let them. All you need to do is sit tight.”

“You know how much I love help.”

“For once, please?”

Olivia sighs. It hurts to breathe. Maybe it’s time for another pill. “Okay. I trust you. But I don’t want to sit up here while everyone is downstairs deciding our fate. Let’s do my hair and makeup.”

Fifteen minutes later, Olivia is presented downstairs like a stoned, bedraggled debutante to the oohs and awws—not in excitement, but pity—of her family.

Both Park and Perry start for her, but Perry draws up sharply and picks up a framed photograph from the table. Park, shooting his twin a death glance, reaches Olivia and helps her to the sofa. She tries not to flinch away from him. She is introduced to Lucía, who she vaguely senses is lovely and extremely put together. She is fussed over, made comfortable with pillows and a cozy throw, a cup of spiced chamomile set by her good elbow.

She takes as deep a breath as she dares with the pain and is immediately assailed with the scent of lilies. Again. She spies a vase sitting on the massive island in the kitchen—it is one of hers, a wedding gift, crystal cut with a wide lip and fluted edges—and is overflowing with white lilies, ripe and lush, their stamens open and disgorging stinking orange pollen all over her marble.

“For God’s sake, why did you bring those flowers home from the hospital, Park?”

He glances wildly over his shoulder, spies the vase on the counter. “I didn’t. That’s bizarre. I didn’t even notice them. Lucía, did you bring them? Perry? Lindsey?”

At the trio of shaking heads, Park gives Olivia a concerned glance.

“I’ll just go get rid of these.”

“Park, wait,” Lucía says. “If no one brought them, how did they get here?”

Silence. Uncomfortable silence.

She continues, “Are you sure someone hasn’t been in the house? You’ve had two break-ins already.”

He shakes his head. “We would get a notification from the front door, and there would be a history on the other doors, too. We always set the alarm when we aren’t home. I sometimes forget to set it if I’m just going into the back yard, but after yesterday...no, I set it before I left for the hospital, because I turned it off when we got back this morning. I don’t have it set to capture every movement around the house, because we were getting a thousand alerts a day. It’s quite sensitive, and birds and squirrels were setting it off. You can’t come into the house without tripping the alarm.”

“Better check. Just in case. You were upset. You might have forgotten.”

Olivia watches as Park opens his security app and looks at the timestamps of movement from the front door, stomach twisting into knots. He scrolls back to 5:00 p.m., right before he got the call that Olivia was being taken to St. Thomas. Yes, the alarm is on, and there he is, hustling out the door. She can see his car leave the driveway.

There is only one other taped event. At 11:28 p.m.

A man approaches the porch. He is wearing a hoodie with a zipper up the front. There is no car on the street; he seems to be on foot. He is carrying something in his arms, wrapped in brown paper.