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Nine

Olivia was happy. She woke early on Sunday morning—her birthday—and luxuriated in bed while the last dregs of sleep left her. It occurred to her that she should be adding up the years, which now totaled a rather shocking number. Better yet, she should review her accomplishments and align them with her goals, which was what she did every birthday.

Yes, she should probably be doing that. Birthdays were a good opportunity to assess one’s life. Instead, she was grinning to herself and mulling over the way she’d “run into” Jack at the theater, all the silly subterfuge they’d indulged in. But they’d had such a good time together. Jack possessed the ability to make her laugh, and she valued that, more than almost anything. All pretense between them was gone now. It was clear how genuinely glad he’d been to see her again, and the truth was, she felt equally delighted.

They’d spent all afternoon together and all evening. After the movie, they’d had dinner at the Taco Shack and lingered for hours over coffee, talking about every subject except one. Stan. He didn’t ask, and Olivia certainly didn’t bring her ex-husband’s name into the conversation. It was as though neither of them wanted to say or do anything that might set back their relationship.

They parted reluctantly and talked for another thirty minutes in the parking lot.

Even though Jack had bought her a birthday gift the year before, she was sure he’d forgotten the date. She could’ve mentioned it, probably should have. Another should…but she had no intention of informing him that she was about to turn a whole year older.

Charlotte insisted on cooking her breakfast, so after church services, Olivia went to her mother’s place.

“Come in, come in,” Charlotte called from the kitchen when Olivia let herself in the house. Harry, her guard cat, sprawled in the front window, basking in the autumn sunshine. The scent of cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven made Olivia’s mouth water.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” her mother said warmly, coming out of the kitchen wearing an apron. She enveloped Olivia in a tight hug. “You look wonderful.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Olivia wasn’t ready to admit that Jack was responsible for the sparkle in her eyes. Not when her mother was guaranteed to give her a hearty “I told you so” in return.

“Everything’s ready,” Charlotte said. The dining table was set with her mother’s best china, the orange juice poured in tall crystal goblets. Humming something Olivia didn’t recognize, Charlotte bustled back to the kitchen. Come to think of it, her mother seemed to be in a mighty cheerful mood herself.

“Can I help?” Olivia asked, following her.

“All I need to do is bring everything to the table,” Charlotte assured her. “I baked your favorite breakfast casserole and cinnamon rolls.”

Olivia swallowed a smile. The breakfast casserole was her mother’s favorite, but far be it from Charlotte to cook it just for herself, so she always took advantage of a convenient excuse—like her daughter’s birthday.

“This looks so good.” Olivia pulled out the chair across from her and surveyed the feast.

They bowed their heads and her mother said grace before she served the casserole, made up of bacon, onions, hash browns and lots of cheese. “Shall I tell you about the day you were born?” Charlotte asked.

“Mother, I’m fifty-five years old! I’ve heard the story for fifty-four of those years. I know everything there is to know about that day.” Every minute detail had been conveyed countless times. “I know how Daddy had to rush you to the hospital at nine in the evening and how you were in labor for twenty hours. I know there was a big storm the very next day and nobody could visit until the day after. And I know I screamed for three solid hours—or so you say.”

“It’s the truth.” Charlotte nodded stubbornly.

Olivia laughed. As silly as it was, she found herself passing on this tradition of her mother’s to her own children. On the morning of her son James’s last birthday, Olivia had phoned long distance to describe the day he was born. James had listened politely and then informed her she’d told him the same thing, almost word for word, the year before.

Through breakfast, they chatted about family and friends and then her mother casually said, “I invited Ben Rhodes to join us, but he had other plans this morning.”

Ben, Olivia mused. She vaguely remembered hearing her mother mention Ben. It might seem peculiar that Charlotte would want to include a stranger in Olivia’s birthday breakfast. But her mother was like that. She collected people the way some women collected china cups or brooches. For instance, Tom Harding, Cliff’s grandfather, a man in his nineties.

She’d befriended him a couple of years back. The old man had been a stroke victim and had lost the ability to speak, but he didn’t appear to have any problem communicating with her mother. It was Charlotte’s gift, Olivia decided, to seek out those who needed her attention most.

“Justine and Seth invited me over for dinner,” she said, purposely turning the subject away from her mother’s latest charity project.

“So I heard.”

“And Grace and I are taking the ferry to Seattle to have lunch on the waterfront next weekend.”

Her mother nodded, but seemed a bit hurt at Olivia’s decided lack of interest in her new friend. “Ben’s stopping by later and we’re going to visit the pumpkin patch.”

Olivia considered it a bit odd that two elderly people would want to do something traditionally reserved for young families, but she didn’t say anything. More than likely, her mother’s friend was senile and had reverted to childhood memories and this was an activity he’d enjoy.

“Have a wonderful time,” she said.

“Oh, we intend to,” Charlotte murmured.

If she didn’t know better, Olivia would’ve thought she’d seen her mother blushing.

Later the same day, she asked her daughter about it. “Have you noticed anything different about your grandmother lately?”

Justine, who was busy stirring gravy, glanced up. “Grandma? What makes you ask?”

Olivia held her infant grandson and paced the small kitchen, gently patting his back. Leif cooed at her, and for a moment, she was caught up in the sheer wonder of holding this baby close to her heart. When she realized Justine was waiting for her answer, she returned to the subject of her mother. “Oh—we had breakfast this morning and, well, your grandmother seemed…oh, I don’t know, secretive.”

“Secretive? How?”

Olivia shrugged.

“Mom, I’ve been so busy with the restaurant and with Leif that I haven’t had a chance to notice.”

“It’s nothing, I’m sure, but after last year’s cancer scare I want to keep an eye on her.”

“I do, too. It’s just that I have so much going on right now.” Justine, always responsible, was far too willing to accept blame for her shortcomings, imagined or real.

“Sweetheart, it’s not your job to be your grandmother’s guardian. Just pay attention when you do see her and we’ll compare notes.”

Justine removed the pan from the stove top and poured the contents into a gravy boat just as the doorbell chimed. Seth, who’d been putting the finishing touches on the table, answered it.

Stan stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. “I’m not late, am I?” he asked as he breezed into the small house. “Happy birthday, Olivia,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Dad?” From Justine’s blank look, Olivia could tell that Stan’s visit was a surprise to her daughter, too.

“I thought I’d crash the birthday party. You don’t mind, do you?” He smiled at Justine and Olivia.

“Of course not,” Justine said, recovering first. Seth quickly added another place setting.

“Hello, Stan.” Olivia’s response was polite and cool. She hadn’t talked to him since his less-than-subtle invitation to dinner in Seattle—dinner that included a night in a hotel room.

Justine took the flowers and arranged them artfully in a vase, which she set in the middle of the table. With Leif asleep, Olivia settled her grandson in his crib and joined everyone at the table.

Dinner—roast chicken and gravy, roasted root vegetables and salad—was wonderful, although Olivia felt slightly on edge. That passed, however, as the meal progressed. Perhaps the wine relaxed her. Whatever it was, she was soon laughing and joking with her family and it seemed…so natural. She could almost believe that she and Stan had never been divorced. Stan was his warm, ingratiating self. Funny, witty, clever in ways that Olivia had all but forgotten.

“So,” Stan said as Seth and Justine went into the kitchen to prepare coffee. “Are you going to forgive me?”

Olivia saw no point in pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

He shrugged. “I was a little too pushy, I think.”

“Your problem is that you need a woman who adores you.”

He chuckled and saluted her with his empty wineglass. “You once did, and I’m hoping you will again. I adore you, you know.”

It flattered her to hear it, but Olivia was older and wiser these days. She’d once loved Stan with all of her being, but their marriage hadn’t survived the loss of their son. The divorce had battered her emotionally, and it had taken her years to recover. Even now, she couldn’t reflect on the summer of 1986 without sadness.

“I was wrong,” Stan said, lowering his voice. “I want to make it up to you.”

Make it up to her? Olivia nearly laughed but held on to her composure. “There are other women for you out there.”

“Don’t tell me you’re interested in that…that newspaper guy. Olivia, no! Anyone can see Griffin’s all wrong for you.”

“I think I’m the best judge of that.”

Stan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. Slowly he shook his head, intimating that he just couldn’t imagine her with Jack. “He’s a loose cannon,” Stan muttered. “You realize that, don’t you?”

Olivia disagreed, but she had no intention of arguing with Stan over her relationship with another man. So she said nothing. Thankfully Seth and Justine returned with the coffee and birthday cake, and the matter was dropped.

Later that evening, when she got home after a full day of celebrating, she discovered two messages on her machine. One was from James and Selina, his wife, who’d phoned with birthday greetings. The second message was from Jack.

Olivia returned his call first. He answered immediately, as though he’d been sitting by the phone waiting for her. It was a pleasant thought.

“Hi,” he said, and he sounded thrilled to hear from her. “Where were you all day?”

“Out.”

“Yes, I know. I called six times and drove by once.”

“Jack!”

“I wanted to see you. I don’t suppose it’s proper etiquette to tell you that, but I did…. I still do.”

“It’s too late now.”

“I know.” He groaned the words. “Where were you?”

“If you must know, it’s my birthday, and I was at dinner with Justine and Seth.”

“Your birthday! Damn, Olivia, I forgot. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

“As long as you don’t ask me how old I am.”

He chuckled. “Don’t ask, don’t tell?”

“You got it.”

“Anybody else there?” The question was a blatant request regarding her ex-husband.

Olivia had the option of lying and avoiding any chance of another dragged-out misunderstanding. She hated to risk upsetting him just when they’d reconciled, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t deceive him. “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “Stan showed up. Unexpectedly.”

“Bearing gifts, no doubt?”

“A few.”

“Flowers?”

“Not as pretty as the ones you sent a while back.” Olivia had left Stan’s bouquet with her daughter.

“Candy, too?”

“No candy.”

“Wine, then?”

“Wine,” she confirmed.

He growled something under his breath. “You still want me to put on a pair of boxing gloves and fight him?”

Olivia smiled. “I never wanted you to get into a fistfight,” she said. “I just wanted you to prove you cared about me.”

“Okay,” he said. “Should I call him or do you want to do it?”

“Call Stan?” Jack wasn’t making any sense.

“I think we should duke it out, just the two of us. Man to man.”

“Jack Griffin, that’s ridiculous! Tell me you’re not serious.”

He paused, and she thought she could hear him shadowboxing in the background. He was definitely moving around.

“You could simply declare me the winner,” Jack suggested hopefully.

“I could,” she agreed, “but first you’d have to win my favor.”

Jack groaned again. “And exactly how am I supposed to do that?”

“You don’t know?” She feigned surprise.

“Apparently not, but I’ll study on it.”

“You do that.” Olivia gave a full-throated laugh. “I have a feeling you’ll find a way.”

Oh, yes, it was good to have him back in her life.