Protecting Olivia

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

ETHAN

The house of my mother's sister, Francis, is quaint. The front garden bordered with rose bushes along an old white picket fence that's in need of a new coat of paint, though not at all in a state of disrepair. The house itself is old, built some time in the early 1900's and added on to over time. But from the outside it seems well maintained, a stark contrast to the dilapidated house I grew up in.

Livy and I sat in the car, looking at the house in silence for a few minutes. She didn't say anything, or make a move to get out, instead just giving me the time, I needed to evaluate the situation at hand. I felt her hand slide over mine that still clutches the steering wheel and glance down at her soft delicate skin as she squeezes slightly, a show of support that I didn't realise I needed.

I don't know why I'm hesitating. I've been in situations that are far more dangerous, far more deadly, yet this seems to be even more daunting than running into a building filled with an enemy out to kill me.

I let out a long breath before looking over at Livy and nodding my head. She offers me a small smile as she releases my hand and undoes her seatbelt. We silently get out of the car and I make my way to her side before we walk up the little cobblestone path to the front door.

As we reach the rickety wooden steps of the veranda, I feel Livy's hand slide into mine, our fingers interlacing instinctively. I squeeze her hand and smile down at her, grateful that she is with me, that she is by my side where she belongs.

The wooden steps creak under our weight as we close the distance to the front door. Standing in front of it, I don't hesitate to reach out and knock on the door frame, noting that there isn't a door bell to press. I take a step back, inline with Livy, hearing footsteps inside the house as someone walks inside the house.

Livy squeezes my hand again, reminding me that she is with me, not that I could ever forget her presence, as the wooden door swings open, revealing behind the screen door a woman in her early fifties. She's a bigger lady, her dark hair cropped into a short bob, her face clear of makeup, the small crows' feet around her brown eyes hidden slightly by her thick rimmed glasses.

"Can I help you?" she asks, looking towards Livy before her eyes scan over me. She freezes for a moment, her eyes studying my face in recognition before she takes a step back in shock. "Patrick?" she gasps before she shakes her head, obviously realising that I was too young to be him.

"Patrick was my father..." I clench my jaw, hating having to admit that man is any relation to me. "My mother was Mary; I believe you are her sister."

She studies me through the screen door silently as we stand awkwardly on the veranda.

"You look just like him," she whispers, looking at me in shock but also warily. I feel Livy bristle next to me.

"He's nothing like him," she defends, the venom in her voice almost palpable, filling my chest with pride. I softly smile down at her, earning another squeeze of my hand.

"Sorry, I'm Fran," the older woman states, pushing the screen door open and stepping out to greet us. "I had no idea that Mary had any children."

"I'm Ethan, this is Livy." I introduce us, giving her a small smile, trying to stifle the awkwardness of the situation.

"Please, come in." she offers, holding the door open for us and gesturing into the small home. Livy thanks her as we enter the home, pausing momentarily in the entrance as Fran rushes past us and ushers us through to their lounge room.

The house is dated, but clean on the inside. The couches are covered in a floral material that matches the curtains making the room feel small and dark. Trinkets are carefully placed on each surface, appearing cluttered.

Fran pushes us towards the couch where we take a seat, Livy's hand still clutched in mine.

"I'll just put the kettle on," she mumbles before quickly disappearing into what appears to be the kitchen. I look to Livy who smiles unsurely, no doubt feeling as uncomfortable as I do. I can't help but lean over and place a kiss on her temple, mumbling a thank you to her earning a larger smile and slight blush from her. She looks at me, her crystal blue eyes locking with mine, and for a moment I forget where we are as I get lost in her. The urge to lean forward and kiss her is strong, and I would have given in to my instincts if it wasn't for the sound of Fran returning to the room, China teacups clinking together as she does so.

My eyes move from Livy's to see Fran's shaking hands try to carry a tray to the coffee table in the centre of the room. I stand quickly, taking the tray from Fran who smiles sheepishly. I place it down on the coffee table, returning to my place next to Livy as Fran sits on the couch opposite us.

"I'm sorry, this has all come as a bit of a shock. I haven't seen or heard from Mary in over thirty years." Fran says quickly.

"it's okay," Livy says gently from beside me, "we did just pop in out of the blue." I smile down at Livy, happy she is trying to put the woman at ease.

"I'm surprised Mary told you about us, last time I saw her, she said she wanted nothing to do with us," Fran states, a sad smile forming on her lips. I swallow the lump in my throat, knowing well that my mother never told me anything.

"She didn't actually," I pause for a moment, wondering how to tell her that her sister is dead. "I never knew anything about her until recently." I look to Livy who squeezes my hand, encouraging me to continue.

"Mary passed away, about a week ago," I say softly, watching Fran closely. She doesn't say anything for a moment before breathing out a long sigh and leaning toward the tea pot and cups, pouring tea into the cups with a shaky hand.

"Did Patrick kill her?" she asks, not looking at either of us. I look to Livy, whose eyes widen at her question. Clearing my throat, I face her again.

"No, it was a drug overdose." I tell her. She looks at me and nods her head, her lips pursed.

"I never thought that she would get into drugs, but then again, the woman that left here wasn't the same girl I grew up with." Fran sighs, pushing two tea cups towards Livy and I. "I suppose you would like to know about her and what happened between us?" she asks.

"Only if you want to tell me." I say honestly, noting Fran's struggle with emotion in that moment. She looks up and offers me a sad smile before looking back down at her cup of tea.

"Mary was a sweet girl. She was quiet most of the time, a bit of a bookworm, but when she had a guitar in her hand, she'd shine." Fran looks wistfully out the window, as if imagining her little sister. "She dreamed of being a country singer, and she honestly had the talent for it, but that all changed when she met Patrick."

Fran pauses for a moment, her eyes not leaving the window until she turns to me with a look of sadness.

"He was twenty-four when he turned up in town, Mary was only sixteen. The moment he saw her, he was obsessed with her. Mary thought it was love, he doted on her, made her feel special. We didn't know what was happening between them until it was too late."