Josh sits at the table eating jellied, burnt toast. The paring knife from her parents’ wedding set, the one they gifted her with the house, stabs a cube of butter. She remembers when she found the set in the attic. She told Dwight about it and he brought the knives down, dusted off the block, and presented them to her. She recalls the way her parents exchanged a look as if the set held memories from the early years of their marriage when she’d like to believe they once got along. It was a wedding gift after all.
A sketch pad and pencils sorted by hue are laid out within Josh’s reach. He smiles at her.
“Morning, Josh,” she says.
“Hi.” He shoots Charlotte a nervous glance.
Olivia grinds beans. While water heats in the electric kettle she grabs a to-go tumbler from the dish rack. “Sorry we’re running late. You should have woken me up.”
“Tried.”
Charlotte peers at him like he’s finally showed some manners. “You do speak. Olivia, aren’t you going to introduce me to your young friend?”
Her back to her mom, she gently rests the tumbler on the counter and realizes she’s stalling. Each time Olivia brought up Lily, which wasn’t often over the years, Charlotte shut down the conversation. She flat-out refuses to discuss Lily. Talking about her is too painful, she claims. In Charlotte’s eyes, Lily abandoned her, which is why Olivia didn’t call her mom about Josh. She knew Charlotte wouldn’t willingly discuss her. But now she’s here. And she would have eventually heard about Josh through her or Lucas. Or Dwight. Her dad was bound to call soon.
Olivia takes a breath and turns around. Charlotte arches a brow, waiting. Olivia closes the distance between them and rests a hand on her arm. “Mom, this is Josh, Lily’s son. Your grandson.”
Josh gives Olivia a funny look before staring openly at Charlotte. He struggles to speak. Charlotte pales, and for a heartbeat Olivia thinks she’s going to pass out, which happens when her nerves inch up the anxiety meter like mercury in a thermometer. The hotter the topic, the higher the temperature. Charlotte’s hand flutters to the thin gold chain with the pearl drop. A gift from Olivia last Mother’s Day. Charlotte replaced the diamond Dwight gifted her ten years ago for their anniversary. Lucas says unless they’re arguing, they aren’t talking.
“You okay?” Olivia asks.
The kettle boils behind her and clicks off. Charlotte’s arm drops. “I’m late,” she whispers. “Come with me.” She rushes from the kitchen.
Josh slouches in his chair. He nudges toast crumbs with his fingertips. His gaze swings to her, then back to the table as if he doesn’t want her to catch him looking at her. He might have been hoping Charlotte could help them find Lily. Olivia does.
She touches his shoulder. “I’m going to check on her. Will you be okay?” He nods and she smiles faintly. “Be right back.”
Olivia finds her mom in her bedroom. Charlotte studies her reflection in the full-length mirror, turning side to side. “Are you all right?” She enters the room. “Trust me, he was the last person I ever expected to see.”
Charlotte’s complexion is waxen. She doesn’t look at Olivia. “This dress. What do you think?”
“Mom, Lily is missing.”
Charlotte stares at her, lips slightly parted. Her fingers touch the white patent belt at her waist. She rotates the belt and gently clears her throat. “The dress, Olivia. Please. I’m late,” she whispers with forced calm.
Charlotte is scared. Her arms tremble. Olivia recognizes the onset of a full-fledged panic attack. She’s learned the best way to help her mom get her emotions under control is to not force the subject. Folding her arms, she leans against the wall. “Who’s the designer?”
“St. John. I picked it up yesterday in Santa Barbara. Which reminds me.” Charlotte visibly relaxes. She even smiles. “Jean is finally selling her house.”
“Jean St. John?”
“Mm-hmm. She hired me as the listing agent.”
Uneasiness curdles in Olivia’s empty stomach. “Is that ethical?”
Charlotte looks down at the dress as if a stain magically appeared. “What do you mean?”
“Jean’s husband, Benton, the one who drowned. He was stabbed like what, eight times?” The St. Johns lived a few doors down from the Carsons and he was murdered six months after they moved in. When Benton’s body washed ashore, Dwight had been a suspect. All the neighbors had been questioned, but the publicity tarnished Dwight’s campaign. He pulled out of the race. That was thirty years ago. Jean moved to Texas ten years ago, but she’s been leasing her house. Olivia is amazed she’d hire Charlotte as her listing agent given their history. “Don’t you feel weird working with her?”
“Hush, Olivia.” Charlotte glowers at her. “We don’t talk about that. You know better.”
Olivia sits on the tufted bench at the end of her bed and drags a pillow across her lap. The summer Benton St. John died was a dark summer for the Carson family. The St. Johns have always been a sore subject for her parents. Around that time was the first of three congressional campaigns that never came to fruition. Charlotte always resented Dwight for being incapable of delivering what he promised before they married: a prestigious lifestyle. They’d mingle in the same political circles as California’s family dynasties. But if Charlotte can work with Jean St. John, she should be able to talk about Lily.
“The dress, Olivia. Please,” her mom begs, her expression vulnerable. “What do you think?”
“Where are you going?”
“The Cliffs. Nancy’s wearing a Beaufille.”
Olivia chews a hangnail. “The dress looks fine.”
“But does it make me look good?”
Charlotte’s vulnerability becomes more apparent as it navigates across the terrain of her cheekbones and jaw, softening her skin. She looks young for her age. She’s fifty-seven but can easily pass for midforties. Olivia sighs. “You look beautiful.” She can only hope she looks half as gorgeous as her mom at her age.
Charlotte turns back to the mirror. She adjusts the clasp on her belt, taking it in a notch. Her eyelashes dust her cheeks and she smooths the front of the dress, flattening the creases that formed during her drive here.
“What is it?” Olivia asks gently, sensing Charlotte’s mood shift. Is it sinking in she just met her grandson? Is she finally registering something could be seriously wrong with her youngest daughter? Olivia glances at the clock. She and Josh need to get going.
“I think your father’s cheating on me,” Charlotte whispers as if Josh can hear them from the kitchen.
Olivia yanks off the cuticle with her teeth. “What makes you think that?” Again. This isn’t the first time Charlotte has suspected Dwight’s having an affair. She grows edgier the longer he’s away. Olivia wonders as she always does why Charlotte hasn’t left him yet. They haven’t gotten along for years.
Her thumb stings. She kisses the tip and presses her tongue to the bead of blood.
“He’s not returning my calls.”
“It’s conference season. He’s busy,” she says, coming to her dad’s defense. “When is he due home?” Between clients and exhibiting, Dwight’s been on the road for over a month. Olivia had lunch with him the day before he left. When he’s not traveling, which isn’t often, they meet for lunch once a week. He’ll call her several times a week while on the road. He’ll probably call her today or tomorrow.