“Very.” She never expected to speak to Ethan again, let alone see him. Amber knows their history. They were roommates and she was there after she broke up with Ethan over the phone. She even broke out the box of Kleenex and chewy chocolate chip cookies as they binge-watched Alias because Olivia couldn’t sit through a teary rom-com. When Olivia questioned if Dwight might have been wrong, Amber agreed he couldn’t have been. Why would her dad lie about the father of Lily’s child?
“Surprisingly less dramatic than I thought it would be. We were both civil, and . . .”
“And what?” Amber closes the fridge.
“He’s not Josh’s father.”
Amber leans her elbows on the island. “You’re sure?”
Olivia nods. “Josh says he knows his father. It isn’t Ethan. But Ethan did offer to do a paternity test to prove it.”
“Is he going to?”
She shakes her head. “It’s not necessary.”
“You believe him,” Amber adds as Olivia picks through the apricots.
“I believe Josh. But I knew it the moment they were in the same room.” Intuition kicked in. The feeling was overpowering. Josh and Ethan aren’t blood relatives. “Their hair color is similar, but that’s where it ends. Lily lied about Ethan. I’m sure of it. My dad must have really pressured her for a name.”
“What are you going to do? Wait for her to show up like that police officer thinks she might?”
At a loss, Olivia shrugs. Last night she sent an email to the address on the POA and immediately received a failed-to-deliver message. When she tried the phone number, she reached a disconnected-number recording. A quick search online showed the law firm went out of business years ago, and there isn’t any information about who took over their cases. Olivia was crushed. That law firm should have led her directly to Lily.
“The police aren’t much help yet. They need to know where she lives or where she went missing—otherwise the missing persons report is useless. We’re stuck with a courtesy report that doesn’t even have the right name.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lily changed her name.” Olivia closes the dried fruit and nudges the bag aside. “Josh couldn’t tell us at the station. He still hasn’t told me. I’m going to work on it with him later, after we go to my mom’s.” Since Lucas bailed on shopping, Josh will have to tag along. “I want to know why Mom’s worried about my dad. She might know something about Lily.” Olivia also wants to locate those photos on Dwight’s computer. He’s obscenely organized and saves everything, so it should be easy.
“Is Mike working?” she asks, wondering if there’s a work-around with Josh’s speech impediment. Can he improve enough while he’s with her? Is there something she can do to speed up his recovery? Can he recover?
“He never called?”
“Not yet. I thought about taking Josh to urgent care, but after what happened at the police station, I didn’t want to chance stressing him out. I mean, aside from his speech issues, he seems fine physically. Can we see if Mike answers his phone?”
“Sure.” Amber pulls out her phone. She moves next to Olivia and FaceTimes Mike. “Hi, hon,” she says when his face appears. A two-day scruff covers his jaw, a mask hangs off one ear. Amber met Mike a couple years ago when she sliced open her hand while breaking down boxes. They met in the emergency room, but it wasn’t until a few weeks later when they ran into each other at the grocery store that she asked him out. “How’s your day going?” Amber asks.
“Long.” He rubs an eye. “Just sat down for a break.” He shows her a coffee mug with two Shih Tzus in bows. His mouth twists sideways. “Not my mug.”
Amber grins. “Cute.”
Olivia chuckles.
“Real quick, hon, I’m at Olivia’s.”
Olivia waves when Amber tilts the phone toward her. “Hi, Mike.”
“Hey, Liv.”
“Remember what I told you about her nephew?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Mike perks up like Amber’s presented him a new patient, which isn’t really the case. Olivia understands whatever Mike tells her isn’t an official diagnosis. But at this point, anything he can share about Josh’s condition, possible therapies he can use to improve, would be a blessing.
“Sorry about your sister,” he says. “Have you heard anything yet?”
Olivia shakes her head. “We’re working on it.”
“Best of luck. Tell me about your nephew. Josh, is it?”
“Yeah.” Olivia scoots closer to the phone. “At first he told me he fell, but when we were at the police he said he was pushed.” She tells him about the surgical scar on his head and how he mixes, even forgets, words and numbers. “He called an orange a peach and trash, keys.”
“How is he physically? Any balance issues, dizziness?”
Olivia shakes her head. “None that I’ve seen.”
Mike listens, rubbing his palm on his chin. When she finishes, he folds his arms on the table and leans forward. “Sounds like he had a brain bleed.”
Amber sharply inhales. Olivia glances at her. That’s what she thought when she first saw the scar. She can’t imagine what Josh has been through, or Lily for that matter. His accident must have been a mother’s worst nightmare.
“How serious is that?”
“Very. It can be fatal. But your nephew seems to be in luck. They caught it in time. A neurologist would have performed a burr hole drainage surgery.” Mike goes on to describe how Josh probably had small holes drilled into his skull to release the pressure. A piece of his skull might have been removed to clean up the hematoma.
How tragic.
Olivia feels the unexpected burn of tears. A pinch in her chest aches behind her ribs. She glances over her shoulder and looks out the window where Josh sits at the table, worried he could fall over at any moment while under her watch. Her heart beats faster. He shouldn’t be here with her. He should be home with his mom and under her care.
Amber nudges her elbow. “What’s wrong?” she whispers.
“Worried about Lily. Do I need to bring him in?” she asks Mike.
“Not necessarily. Once the staples are removed and the incision has healed, there isn’t much need for follow-up. Every case is different, of course. Has he complained about headaches? Any vision issues?”
“He can’t read. He says it hurts his eyes and the letters are jumbled.”
“That would be the aphasia.”
“The what?” Amber asks.
“Aphasia. It’s a residual effect of his BTI. Sorry, brain trauma injury,” he says when they frown. “You can look it up, but it’s basically the brain’s inability to retrieve the right word. For instance”—he brings his mug into view—“he knows this is a mug and he knows what he’s supposed to do with it. But ask him to tell you what it is and he’ll say something else, like car or tree.”
“He gets frustrated when he tries to talk.” She gets frustrated when he can’t.
“I imagine he would.”
“Will he always be this way?”
“Hard to say. Aphasia can last several days to months. More extreme cases like those with stroke patients can be permanent.”