Page 33 of No More Words

“Do you want to spend summers stuck at home?”

“No,” he whined.

“Neither do I. You prank us again and the Whitmans won’t let us come back.”

“Not true.”

“True. I heard them talking.”

Lucas’s face paled. “I was just having fun.”

“It wasn’t fun to us. Knock it off.”

Lily stuck her head out of her tent. “Why are you always being so mean to Lucas?”

“He deserves it.”

“Livy, apologize.”

“Never!” She left the loft with fingers and toes crossed. Lucas had better not have ruined next summer.

CHAPTER 12

Day 3

“Olivia.”

She opens her eyes and squints against the morning glare. Sunlight pours into the room. More glaring and sharper than the knife slicing her brain in half. She’d consumed one too many whiskeys while sketching her panels. Dahlia Crimson took over the scene, taking her off track. She veered off course from the plot her publisher approved, getting lost in memories of Lily and Lucas.

Her dreams were also wild, a recurring nightmare she’s had since she was five. She’s a little girl, alone on the beach. The sky is black as sin and the waves oily and angry. The wind howls like a pack of wolves. The scene is perfect for a bedtime horror story until it morphs into her own personal thriller. Her parents rise from the water, their hair and clothes drenched. Moonlight reflects off the blade Dwight tightly grips. Sometimes she sees a body floating offshore. Charlotte is distressed, as if she fears for Olivia’s life. Her viselike grip clings to Olivia’s upper arms, holding her in place. Her mouth moves, but Olivia can’t hear her over Mother Nature’s rage. She can’t make out the words. But she senses it’s a warning. She woke several times during the early morning hours drenched in sweat only to fall back into a fitful sleep.

She rolls onto her side, exhausted. The suede underneath her cheek is cool. Birds chirp outside the window she neglected to close. The scent of burnt toast wafts from the kitchen. Why is Josh up so early?

Josh.

She rubs her face, muttering into her hands. She wanted to be at the police station first thing.

“Olivia.” The sharp order jolts her fully awake. She looks up into Lily’s face, but older, and augmented. Charlotte had a recent Botox injection. Her bee-stung lips purse.

“What are you doing here, Mom?” Olivia’s throat is Velcro scratchy and dry as an empty motel pool. She peeks at the pack of cigarettes on the table. She’d burned through half the box. Normally, she limits herself to two smokes a day. She feels gross. But the past thirty-six hours have put her on edge.

“I want your opinion on my dress before I meet Nancy. I have another in the car, just in case. Did you sleep on the couch?” She sniffs, her chin lifting. “What is that smell?”

“Burnt toast?” Olivia guesses.

Charlotte’s nose crinkles. “You’ve been smoking again. Do you know what that does to your skin?”

Olivia stifles a yawn and swings her legs over the side of the couch. “How’d you get in?” She doesn’t remember leaving the door unlocked.

“That boy in the kitchen.” A dish clatters. Charlotte swings her head in that direction. “Who is he?” she asks curiously. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

“He doesn’t talk much.” Olivia stands, stretching her arms overhead. Her back aches from sleeping on the couch. Cool air kisses her torso where the fitted shirt from yesterday rides up. Before Olivia can explain about Josh and Lily, Charlotte heads for the kitchen. She turns back to see if Olivia is following.

“Really, Olivia. You slept in your clothes?”

She grunts, hitching up her jeans, and decides it’s best to ignore her mom. Olivia is already running late. She doesn’t have time to get into itwith Charlotte, who never hesitates to dole out large helpings of advice when Olivia’s plate is already full.

She pads barefoot into the kitchen to check on Josh, worried how he fared in the face of Charlotte. She’d told him to be ready first thing and is surprised he didn’t wake her. The microwave clock reads 8:54. They should have been at the station by now.

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