The Other Parts

III.

Olivia sang along with Billie Holiday and poured bubbling oil in the running water. She'd pin curled her hair, tied it up, and donned her mother's old housecoat. Friday nights were her favorite. No early Saturday rising, not even to clean since her mother kept the house in pristine condition. And since her father had gone to get her mother from Pascagoula, she was home alone. Olivia took the rare opportunity to play her records with the volume as high as the Victrola could go.

Preparing to get in the water, she heard knocking at the back door. She quickly buttoned the coat and headed down the stairs. A tall figure was in the kitchen's window.

"Who is it?"she called from the bottom of the stairs.

"Just Robin," a voice replied.

Suddenly nervous, Olivia thought to unroll her hair and change her coat. Her thoughts made her frown.

"And for what?" she fussed quietly. Deciding to be annoyed by his unannounced improper visit, she stalked through the kitchen. Her resolve flew out and over the pecan trees once she opened the door. Robin had his tall body leaned against the doorframe. She looked into his eyes first. Gray-blue, glad eyes with long lashes. His face was healed of the bruises he sported that night. Robin's dirty blonde hair was cut neatly, and all of his facial hair was gone. Olivia hated he was so good-looking and that she thought so.

"What you doing here?" she hissed.

"I've come to thank you," he said, giving her a dimpled smile that shattered her heart. She swallowed.

"You're welcome. Now go on. Ain't proper for you to be here."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I told you I don't have much sense, especially when pretty women are around." Olivia rolled her eyes.

"Then go find pretty ones of your own kind."

"What kind is that?"

"Foolish."

Robin laughed, a deep throaty sound that didn't match his boyish face. Olivia smirked, betraying her waning annoyance. He straightened himself and moved closer to her in the doorway. His scent was fresh— maybe soap and bay rum. Olivia had to look up to him, something she wasn't accustomed to standing at 5'9.

"I knew you were pretty, Miss Olivia, but I declare. You are something the Lord made."

"Ain't we all," she retorted, his voice making her ignore the cold December air. He laughed at her wit.

"May I come in?"

She thought to say yes for a split second, but she remembered her home training.

"No. You. May. Not. Good night, Robin."

He chuckled and ran his eyes lazily over her face. She was coffee bean brown, tall, and unusually pretty with eyes that slanted upward a bit. Robin thought maybe she wasn't aware of how lovely she was or how much he wanted to touch her.

"I shouldn't have waited this long to see you— thank you," he said seriously.

"It's alright," Olivia replied in a tone softer than she intended. They stood there for a few seconds looking at each other. Olivia wrapped her arms around herself.

"Let me go before you catch cold. I'm sorry for disturbing you, Miss Olivia. Thanks, again, for tending to me. Probably would've died if you weren't there."

She nodded.

"May I see you again?" he asked, surprising himself. Olivia's eyes grew wide.

"What for?"