Page 29 of No More Words

Olivia leaves the room before he senses her presence and wakes up. He’d open his eyes and think her a creepster.

It’s a quarter past midnight. She should sleep. She was up late the night before. She should also start working on her next series of panels. Instead, she replenishes her scotch and peers out the living room window into the dark void, willing Lily to pull up. She’s too frazzled after her conversation with Ethan, which means she should work. Illustrating soothes her, and she needs her rest. She and Josh have an early day tomorrow.

In her studio, she gathers a handful of charcoal and her sketch pad, intending to draft a rough layout. Bare feet take her into the living room where she plunks onto the buttery soft couch and sketches a face from memory. The drawing slowly evolves from Lily’s features with her sprinkling of freckles and auburn hair into a full-body action scene: Dahlia Crimson of the Crimson Wave, complete with shimmery pantsuit and streaks of electricity emanating from her palms. Defined brows dip low over intense, fiery eyes. Luscious red lips scowl as she delivers justice. The sketch is rough and done in black and white, so it’s not obvious Dahlia’s outfit shimmers or that her powers emit a low hum. But Olivia knows, and to her, Lily is Dahlia, wielder of electricity, mistress of energy, adept at manipulating natural forces. The glue of the Crimson trio.

She was always stepping in whenever she and Lucas didn’t get along. Their arguing upset her. Maybe because their parents didn’t get along.

Their childhood home has a wine cellar, a narrow eight-by-fourteen-foot room with concrete walls down a steep set of wood steps. Without the wine racks, the room that Lucas dubbed “the pit” could easily pass as a solitary confinement prison cell. It was darker than dark, lacking a window or second exit. The build-out was done under the table, nothing about it according to code. Though the room boasted a state-of-the-art cooling system to control temperature and humidity for the wine. And their parents had a lot of wine.

As a winery management consultant, when he wasn’t a wannabe politician, Dwight traveled throughout California and up into Oregon and Washington, working with wineries for weeks at a time evaluating and redeveloping their processes and procedures. The vintners often paid a portion of Dwight’s fees in trade, and her dad would return home with cases of wine, which he stashed in the pit. She and her siblings weren’t allowed inside without first letting someone elseknow they were going down. Lucas had once locked in their dad. He said it was an accident, but Dwight had been livid. He grounded Lucas for two weeks.

Despite the weird rules around the pit and how eerily dark it could get, Olivia stored her acrylics and oils with the wine. It was a temperature-controlled environment. But one afternoon, she unlocked the door and flipped on the light to find Lily huddled at the bottom of the steps, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. She whimpered, her lips blue from the chill.

At first Olivia thought Lily fell down the steps, but her little sister slowly stood and dusted her pants. Her legs weren’t broken or ankles sprained. She seemed to be in one piece.

“What are you doing here, weirdo?” Olivia asked, coming down the steps.

“Mom—” Lily stopped, her gaze veering to the door. A shadow fell over them. Charlotte stood in the doorway. Lily’s jaw tightened.

“Come here, Lily.”

“What’s going on?” Olivia looked between them.

“Lily,” Charlotte warned.

“Nothing,” Lily mumbled, moving past her. Lily trudged up the steps, her shoes leaden. When she reached the top, Charlotte moved aside. As her youngest child passed, she grasped Lily’s arm. They exchanged words, harsh, heated whispers. The only thing Olivia could make out was Charlotte’s question, “Are you ready to talk?”

Lily jerked her arm from Charlotte’s grasp. She started to shut the door.

“Hey, I’m down here,” Olivia yelled.

“Hurry up,” Charlotte sharply ordered.

Olivia did, collecting her paints. She jogged up the steps, flicked off the light, and bolted the door. Looking back, she wonders why she never stood up for Lily. She should have asked Charlotte whyshe locked Lily in the cellar, a punishment she never doled out for her or Lucas. She also should have checked on Lily when she heard her little sister crying herself to sleep. There were many times Olivia should have just stopped and seen her sister for who she really was: a frightened little girl trying to fit into a family that never went out of its way to embrace her.

CHAPTER 11

Summer of ’99

Twelve-year-old Olivia reclined in the canoe, her head propped against the starboard side and her legs, golden brown from a summer in the sun, draped over the port side. The aluminum gunwale bit into the back of her knees and the life vest dug into her chin, making her sweat. She wanted to take it off, but that would be against the Whitmans’ rules. If they rowed more than fifty yards from their dock, the life vests had to stay on.

Olivia was baking hot. So was Blaze, seated to her left in the stern. He paddled aggressively, his face flushed a deep red. Sweat sheened his forehead and dripped into his eyes. Lucas took up the bow. His back muscles rippled as he timed his strokes with Blaze. The guys were taking them to a private inlet. They’d been swimming there all summer, out of the Whitmans’ sight and Lily’s and Tyler’s incessant pleas to hang out with them.

When they reached the inlet, Blaze and Lucas dropped their oars in the boat and shed their vests. They stood, the canoe tilting violently side to side, and jumped into the lake. Water splashed, dousing Olivia.

“Hey!” she yelled.

“Get in, Liv,” Blaze hollered, treading water.

Unzipping the vest, she sat up slowly, not wanting the day to end. It was their last one at the lake. Underneath, her racerback bathing suit top was drenched through. She finished off her bottled water andclambered over the gunwale, dropping into the cool water. It felt so good against her heated skin. She surfaced with a sigh and floated on her back, eyes closed. If it weren’t for Lucas and Blaze making so much noise, she could fall asleep. She loved the damp smell of the lake, the scent of pine along the shore, and the sound of the water lapping against her ears. She could feel her hair floating on the surface, a halo around her head. The water tasted mossy and disgusting, but she didn’t mind when she’d accidentally swallow a mouthful because she was having a good time.

The guys swam ashore and climbed a fallen tree, walking along the trunk. They’d been doing it all summer, they no longer needed to hold their arms out to balance. With a whoop, they cannonballed into the water.

Lucas yelled for her to join them. She waved them off, lethargic from the heat. Temperatures had to be in the upper nineties, and since it was their last day, she just wanted to chill. It would be another year until she could spend a day doing nothing.

They were supposed to be at the cabin helping to close the house for the summer season. But they’d slipped out when Mr.Whitman ran an errand, sneaking past Lily and Tyler. Tyler would beg to come, and Lily would tattle.

“Cannonball!” Lucas launched in Olivia’s direction, drenching her with water. She ignored him, used to him leaping over or even on her. Sometimes he tried to pull her under with him. Today, she just wanted to pretend their summer wasn’t over, that their parents wouldn’t be there tomorrow morning to take them home. Last year was hard. Dwight and Charlotte argued about everything. Money, politics, and Lily. Charlotte pressed for Lily to receive the same treatment as Olivia and Lucas. Dwight argued they couldn’t afford to send a third child to private school. They could barely afford two.

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