want to get involved. Stay away from her.” His last words are a warning that he pins to the older woman.
“Dad,” I start, not sure if I want to condemn him for being rude or focus on the fact her words held a fraction of truth.
“I said let’s go,” he barks. The vein in his forehead grows, and his face turns red—a reaction I usually associate to him only with work. Several people stop, staring at us, as they try to ascertain the situation and potential threat level. Dad pulls in a deep breath and then forces a smile at a man who looks ready to say something. “Olivia, we need to get going. Ross has a soccer game in two hours.”
A soccer game I wasn’t invited to.
I didn’t even know he was playing soccer.
Another invisible coin flips in the air as I struggle to decide if I should care. If I do care.
Heads or tails.
Does it matter?
The woman gives a small nod. “He’s right. It was a lucky guess.” She continues to stare at me, her words a contradiction to the look in her eyes.
“Olivia,” my dad says my name like a final warning shot.
I turn, catching the reality of the scene we’ve caused.
“Thanks for your concern. It was just a simple misunderstanding,” Dad says, waving a hand like he’s giving a speech after a game.
I fall into the role of appeasing daughter, smiling when the onlookers turn their attention to me.
We walk with several feet between us back toward the store where Colton and Ross were left.
“What was that?” I ask, my voice timid and my heart unsure.
“That woman is a fraud. Trust me. You don’t want to get involved with anything she has to say.”
“She wasn’t asking me for money. I don’t understand why you care.”
“Yet,” he says. “She wasn’t asking you for money, yet. She’s a hoax, Olive Oyl. She says a bunch of crap and burns plants and then keeps charging people money to come back to hear more lies.”
“But, Dad, she knew about a woman mom used to be friends with.”
He looks exhausted by my words. “You heard her say it was a lucky guess.”
“She described her.” My voice is verging on impatient.
Dad stops outside of the store, his jaw working furiously on his gum. “I’m not having this conversation again. Leave it alone. She’s a fraud. Don’t waste your money.” He goes into the store, yelling at Colton as he knocks over an entire stack of folded shirts.
“Olivia,” Rose sings my name.
I groan in protest.
“Oh, no. It’s time to wakey wakey. Brushy brushy.”
“It’s early,” I say, without opening my eyes to confirm the fact.
“Not that early. Come on. We have brunch in an hour.” She sits on my bed, petting the cat who’s curled up at my side, though I’ve repeatedly moved it to the floor and my feet and the living room couch, only to have it keep coming back to this same small spot where it likes to snuggle in like a heating pad—a heating pad that sheds.
“I need a weekend from my weekend.”
Rose is ready, her hair and makeup perfect, her clothes from the section of her closet reserved for these brunches and other events with her dad. A blouse that cinches at her neck, with a black sweater and a pair of expensive jeans that don’t have any rips or tears and don’t follow every contour of her body. “Shower. We’ll talk about our issues on the drive to my dad’s.”
“Will he be wearing a kilt?”
“God, I hope not. Now stop stalling and shower.”
Rose takes the warm space on my bed as I yawn my way through my shower and brushing my teeth. As I’m heating up my curling iron, she knocks on the bathroom door and delivers a cup of coffee, the kitten in her arms.
“Where have you been?” I ask her. “Did you get home this morning?”
“Last night. It was really late, though.” She purses her lips and hugs the cat tighter.
“Are you okay?”
She does a small shake of her head. “Just under-caffeinated.”
I nod, watching her closely—recognizing this is an excuse, but I don’t call her on it. In twenty-four hours, I went from Arlo telling me half-truths, to my dad telling me half-truths, and now having Rose do the same. And I get it. We all keep our secrets—the parts of ourselves we don’t want others to see because it can be difficult for us to even face them.