“What were you doing with him?” I burst.
My voice cracks up in the middle and lets out a big squeak, startling everyone in the room including me.
“That was my contact,” he answers.
I shake my head and look down at the floor.
“How much money did you get?” Owen asks.
“I’ll get it later,” Nicholas says after a moment.
“When?”
“Soon.” He nods vigorously.
There’s an earnestness to him that might compel someone to believe what he’s saying.
I’m lucky though. I know the truth.
“So, how much is it going to be?” I toy with him.
I want a number.
I want him to lie to me.
At this point, I am practically begging for it.
“I’d rather just tell you, Olive.”
“I was there for the job, Nicholas. What’s the big deal?” Owen asks.
He sits back in the sofa and crosses his legs with his ankle on his knee.
He doesn’t respond.
There’s tension in the air and I know he can sense it.
He must know that something is wrong.
“Can I talk to you?” he whispers under his breath. “Please?”
I let out a sigh and give Owen a nod.
He doesn't want to leave but I insist.
I need an explanation and I know that I won’t get one with my brother here.
“I’ll be right outside,” Owen says.
“Go to your room,” I say like a scolding mother.
“I’ll be in the hallway,” he says, closing the door behind him.
“Why did you show him the Monet?” Nicholas rushes over to me, taking me into his arms. “That was supposed to be our…secret. Our backup.”
“Our backup in case of what?” I challenge him.
My eyes narrow and I cross my hands in front of my chest.
“In case things didn’t work out with him,” he whispers.
“Oh, yeah? And what is my backup plan in case things don’t work out with you?”
He glares at me.
One blank stare follows another.
“I’m such an idiot,” I say, rubbing my temples. “I’m such a moron!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Art Hedison.” I say the name slowly, enunciating every syllable.
Blood drains away from his face.
“Yeah, you know who I’m talking about.” I point my finger at him. “That’s who you met with today. That’s who has our painting.”
“Olive—you don’t understand,” Nicholas starts to mutter.
“Why are you talking to the FBI?”
“I’m not.”
I laugh, tossing my head back with a loud snort.
“I’m not,” he says. “I mean, I am but I’m not. It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, yeah? ‘Cause I have a pretty good idea from watching your little exchange today.”
“He had me, Olive. They had a case on me and I had to be his informant to keep them from filing charges.”
I listen and then nod for him to continue.
He takes a deep breath.
“And then Art got into some trouble. Bad gambling debts. And he asked me to steal that painting. In return, he’d lose my file. I wouldn’t be an informant anymore. I’d be free.”
I shake my head.
“You lied to me,” I whisper.
“No, I didn’t,” he says, taking me into his arms.
I push him away but he doesn’t let me go.
I could force him off me but for some reason I don’t.
I hate him but I love him.
Even now.
Even after all that he has done.
“Who were you informing on?” I ask, looking up into his tear-filled eyes.
He looks away.
I wait.
He doesn’t answer.
“Who were you informing on, Nicholas?” I ask again.
My heart starts to race.
At first, it was just a question that I thought would have some generic answer.
But now, looking at him, I know that things are a lot more complicated than I ever thought.
“Owen,” Nicholas says quietly. “They wanted me to befriend him. Follow him. They have a case on him.”
I shake my head.
When he pats my back, I push him away.
“No, no, no,” I whimper.
Nicholas starts to explain but I can’t make out his words through the blood rushing in between my temples.
All I know is that I want him to go away.
I don’t want him touching me.
I don’t want to ever see him again.
“You need to go,” I force myself to say.
“Olive, please,” Nicholas pleads. “Let me explain.”
He launches into another explanation and I don’t hear this one either.
Instead, I open the dresser drawer and grab all of his neatly folded clothes and toss them into his suitcase.
He tries to stop me but I manage to do the same thing with the second drawer.
That’s when I see it.
Something bright peeks out through the clothes and catches my eye. When I rifle for it, I find a diamond bracelet, a diamond ring, and a diamond encrusted watch with the word Rolex on the face plate.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“That’s—“ he starts to say.
“You took that from the house, didn’t you?”
Nicholas nods.
“And you weren’t going to tell me? Tell us?”
“I was going to tell you,” he says.
“When?”
“You thought we were going to get paid for that painting,” Nicholas explains. “I needed to take something and sell it. The Monet was our secret stash. This jewelry was going to be the money that we split with Owen.”
“You.” I point my finger in his face, trying to think of just the right thing to call him. “You’re such a liar!”
We argue deep into the night but it only makes my resentment and anger worse.
The more he tries to explain, the less I want to listen.
The more I close off, the harder he tries to make things right.
We go in circles until we are both dizzy and exhausted, our relationship fracturing and breaking into more pieces with each word.
Finally, when I am too tired to keep going, I ask him to leave.
“I’m sorry, Olive. I’m sorry about everything.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
He zips up his suitcase with all of his clothes and then turns to me. “I’m going to take the jewelry and the watch but I want you to keep the Monet. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth but I just couldn’t. It wasn’t safe and I didn’t want to put you in danger.”
“Don’t act like you were doing me any favors,” I snap.
“It’s all true. Please believe me,” he tries again.
He puts his hands around my shoulders.
I shrug it away. “I have something for you. I was saving it for the right time but now I’m not sure we’ll have one.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I snap.
“You want this,” Nicholas insists and pulls a folder out of his suitcase. He lays it on the bed and leaves.