The Best Thing He Ever Wrote

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

14. If two wrongs don't make a right, do two rights make a wrong?

I repeat number fourteen a few times over in my head telling myself that I will not forget it because I want to write it down in my notebook later on during the day. I have work soon, work that involves finishing the last of the bookwork because I know that Percy would have left it for me. Work that also involves stocking the last of the three boxes in the storeroom because he wouldn't have done that either. I hear a subtle thunk as the cheap and old front door meets the wooden frame of the house. The sound tells me that my father has left for work in which I have to get up and ready for work too. It means that I have to wake Olivia up who lies motionless beside me, other than the soft murmur of her breathing and my breathing, the house is silent. Even though I know that Cindy will be up and in the bathroom, taking what she calls five minutes in there but I know is actually an hour and a half. I roll over pressing my chin on Olivia's shoulder I say, “Are you awake?” Which is a pretty stupid question because I'm more than certain that she is asleep.

But she groans moving a little but not answering. It's then that I realise that she is awake and I wonder just how long she's been lying there silently.

I don't ask, instead I just lay here a moment longer looking at the painting, the window, the calendar of naked girls... maybe I should take it down.

It still has another month and a half on it. Says Sydney. Don't waste it.

I quietly laugh at him knowing that if he was still alive he would have grilled me for tearing down those old posters. One for taking them down and two for not giving them to him. I remember when we were both young and it was so hard to get hands on the magazines with the pictures because we were way too young. I can remember the adrenaline rush that came with trying to buy them let alone actually managing to do it. If I come to think of it, I'd let some young teenage kid buy one from me, smut never hurt anyone. It's discovering. I mean the men who served us never really cared much about selling the magazines to under aged people. The woman more or less did.

“What are you laughing at?” Olivia murmurs.

“Sydney.”

“What about?”

I don't really want to say dirty magazines so instead I say, “Just some old posters I use to have.”

She's silent for a while, “We should get up.”

“I know.”

She sits, running her fingers through her hair she slowly gets up. She's wearing an old t-shirt of mine because she didn't bring any spare clothes. Which reminds me that I have get hers off the line.

Olivia reaches back up again to grab her clothes that still hang from the clothesline. It's cold, but that doesn't really take me by surprise, because in Havenstone winter last for at least eight months. Even summer wouldn't classify as being actual summer weather, maybe spring, but defiantly not summer. As Olivia reaches up I quickly push my hands underneath her armpits, tickling her and in only seconds her arms are back down and she's trying to push me away.

“No, stop it!” She gasps through her laughter.

I let go of her and let her catch what's left of her breath before waiting for her to grab for her clothes again. This time her knees buckle and I have to catch her and stand her back upright, we're both laughing, a sound that I'm sure this house hasn't heard for a very, very long time.

“Brandon!” Olivia complains, “We're going to be late if you keep this up.”

I nod as though completely and utterly understanding each word she's saying. Then I reach up and grab down her clothes, “It wasn't that hard you know.” I say handing them to her.