The Retreat (Olivia Hart and the Gifted Program Book 2) Read online

  “Justin is in the kitchen upstairs. Make yourself at home,” Ms. Benz told me, still crouched on the floor. I gave The Great Catsby a pat on the head, and then stepped over the mound of fur.

  This was the first time I had been in Justin’s house. I was careful to take in all the details. I wanted to know about the place he spent time when he wasn’t at school. I needed to understand what atmosphere made him the most comfortable. Plus, I wasn’t in a rush to have this conversation with Justin.

  A vase of flowers stood in the hallway right past the door. I took my time walking up the stairs, which were covered with a light-grey plush carpet. I analyzed the contemporary and abstract paintings on the wall.

  On the next level, the stairs opened up to a living room, which was decorated with modern furniture. Two scented candles burned on the coffee table, filling the house with a clean, crisp fragrance. I took a deep breath in, hoping the aroma would calm my nerves.

  A dark grey couch covered with plump, red pillows looked comfortable and welcoming. I bent down to examine the side table covered with framed pictures of Justin. I lingered at the pictures of Justin as a happy toddler.

  I reminded my legs to keep moving and made my way through the living room towards the entrance to the kitchen. The white tiled floors were spotless, but the countertop was covered with kitchen utensils and spices.

  I entered the kitchen and spotted Justin balanced on the counter. His eyes were focused, concentrating on the hinge of the cabinet. I watched him hard at work, tightening the screw that held on the wooden door. It was always mesmerizing to watch Justin work. His hands were so adept. He knew where they needed to go.

  “Hello, Olivia,” he said calmly. His eyes never left the task in front of him. I should have guessed he could sense me in the room, but he still surprised me.

  He finished tightening the screw, jumped down from the counter, and wiped it clean with a kitchen rag. Switching hands, he used the rag to wipe down the screwdriver as he walked towards me.

  “Sorry, I’m a little busy. I’ve been putting off fixing the loose cabinet for my mom, and I finally got around to it,” he said. He still hadn’t looked at me. He was mad, but I expected that. I invaded his privacy, and surprises made it hard for him to anticipate what might happen.

  “I know I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry,” I said. He stopped wiping down his tools and looked up at me.

  “No, you shouldn’t be here,” he said, forcefully. His seafoam eyes bore into me, and I saw a harshness that he rarely sent my way. I looked down at my hands to break the connection. I had spent hours working up the courage to speak to him, and with one look, he sucked up my confidence. Maybe he was right. It was a mistake to come to him when I needed his help. He didn’t owe me anything.

  He confirmed what I feared to be true, that he didn’t care for me as much as I cared for him. I wasn’t angry. I nodded my head without looking at him and turned around to walk away.

  He moved fast and was standing in front of me before I could leave the kitchen. He put his hands on each side of my face. I looked into his eyes again, but this time there was sadness and hurt. He leaned down and kissed my lips lightly. The sensation sent a tingle through my body.

  “I’m not trying to upset you, Liv. I’m trying to protect you,” he said. What was he protecting me from? His abrupt shifts of emotion were slicing through my heart. Didn’t he realize that was the pain he should be protecting me from? I would have asked but it was a fruitless effort. I remembered the previous conversations we had on the same topic and felt exhausted. I gave him a weak smile instead.

  “What’s wrong? Why did you come here?” He asked, letting his hands fall down to his sides. I wanted to turn away and pace the kitchen as I told him, but I couldn’t leave those sad eyes.

  “My brother is having a girl over for dinner with my parents tonight,” I began explaining. My justification sounded like a silly reason to show up at his house. Justin stood still, waiting for the rest of the story. I fought the lump in my throat to get it out.

  “I told him that you would come, too,” I finished, leaving out all the other things I planned to say about not being afraid to show others how we felt about each other, and how it wounded me the way he kept our relationship a secret.

  I clamped my mouth shut because Justin was already shaking his head. He turned towards the kitchen counter, grasping it with both hands. I was anticipating this reaction, but it still pained me to watch.

  “Derek is nervous, and I wanted to comfort him,” I said, listing the reasons why I agreed. My voice was rising in pitch from nerves again. “My mom already knows about us, and so does yours,” I added. Justin sucked in a deep breath. The argument didn’t seem to help. “It would mean so much to Derek,” I added. I was running out of reasons to validate causing him to get upset with me.

  I dug my nails into my palms to subvert the pain I felt in my heart and tried one last time. “It would mean so much to me.”

  I put him in a terrible position. Agreeing to come to dinner meant exposing our relationship. On the other hand, if he didn’t come, he was risking the relationship altogether because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could put up with keeping it a secret.

  Justin turned around to face me, and I decided that I hadn’t made a mistake by going to his house. He needed to know how I felt. Even if he didn’t come to dinner, my visit was worthwhile. I wanted him to know that I would fight whatever he was scared of. I would sacrifice myself for him.

  I watched his jaw tighten and his hands ball into fists, and I saw just how hard he fought his conscience. He opened his mouth to give me an answer, but he didn’t have a chance to say anything. The voice of an old woman with a slight accent called out, “Justin.”

  He didn't speak for a few seconds. As the silence stretched on, he unraveled his fists and smoothed the tight muscles in his face until his face went blank.

  He stared off in the direction of the voice, and I realized he was contemplating a decision. “Since you are here…,” he said, trailing off without finishing his sentence. The mask of detachment covered his stoic features once again, and he motioned for me to follow him. I grabbed hold of his hand, linked our fingers, and followed him down two flights of stairs. I wasn’t ready to let go, even if he was.

  Two navy blue couches and a medium sized television set filled the den at the bottom of the steps. Occupying the corner of one of the couches was a little old woman with grey hair and the same striking jaw line as Justin, except feminine. She glanced up at us when we entered the room without cracking a smile. She zoned in on our linked hands, and then back up to my face. I looked at Justin and felt anxious again. For the second time today, Justin let his emotion slip onto his face. A hint of pride and admiration flickered in his eyes.

  “Liv, I want you to meet my Grandma Marie,” he said. His hand felt tense holding mine. It was important what Grandma thought of me.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I squeaked. Grandma Marie nodded her head in response and then turned to Justin. She said something in a language I didn’t understand, and Justin smiled. The effect was magical. It was genuine and happy, and it lit up his face. I couldn’t help smiling back.

  He responded to his Grandma in the same foreign language and then turned to me. “She said you are beautiful,” he told me. I couldn’t fight the heat that rushed to my face. “I told her that you were smart, too. She likes you,” he continued. I thanked her, and Justin lead me back up the stairs to the front door.

  Perhaps we were both drunk with the magic of meeting Grandma Marie, but as we reached the front door he leaned over and whispered, “I’ll come to dinner tonight,” and then lightly kissed me on the cheek.

  * * * *

  Chapter Six: Don’t Embarrass Me

  The house was filled with the delicious aromas of Italian cooking. Relaxed in jeans and a warm yellow sweater, Mom stood at the stove and stirred a pot of homemade tomato sauce. A strainer filled with freshly cooked ravioli w
as resting on the counter, and it took every ounce of control not to snatch a sun-dried tomato- and ricotta cheese-filled pasta.

  I sat at the kitchen table, and Mom and I watched Derek pace the kitchen floor. His nervous energy filled the entire room. As a natural extrovert, Derek had dated many girls in the past, some long enough to call girlfriends, but he had never brought a girl home for dinner with our parents. As he paced, he reminded us several times where we should sit at the table, and that she prefers her water without ice. He didn’t want anything to go wrong.

  Thinking about Justin, I was nervous, too, but I had a different way of dealing with it. I buried my anxiety in the pit of my stomach and drowned in my own worry. Unlike Derek, I had no faith that I would be able to please everyone. I was just hoping Justin wouldn’t turn and run before he even walked in the door. There was still time for him to call and back out, or worse, simply stand me up.

  After months of stress from trying to decipher Justin’s feelings and decisions, knots had taken residency in my lower abdomen, right next to the butterflies he stirred each time he showed he cared. That made the stress of this dinner nothing new. So I pushed my fears for the night to the back of my mind.

  My saving grace for the evening was that this was a family dinner. My family was my safety net and would do anything to make me happy. In the same way, that’s why all I could think about was soothing Derek’s nerves instead of worrying about my own.

  “Der, why don’t you sit down and tell us which classes you share with Lynn?” Mom asked. She was skillfully prying for more details about Lynn while simultaneously distracting Derek from his anxiety.

  Mom and I let out a sigh of relief as Derek took a seat at the table and the tension lessened. “Is she a history major as well?” I asked, going along with Mom’s line of questions.

  Dad came jogging up the stairs from the den before Derek could answer. I could hear the sounds of a sporting event on the television flowing up the stairs. He reached over Mom and sniffed the pot.

  “Mmmh, smells great,” he said and gave Mom a kiss on the cheek. “And so does the cook,” he added, which made Mom laugh. She swatted at him playfully, and he leaned up against the counter next to her. Derek jumped out of his seat to pace again.

  Dad pointed at Derek and said, “Tiger’s up four strokes.” He was either clueless about Derek’s anxiety or too focused on his favorite golfer to notice that all hope of Derek relaxing was thrown out the window.

  Derek didn’t look worried about Tiger Woods’s score. He could only concentrate on dinner. He walked right up to Dad and said, “No childhood stories,” and gave him an accusing look. Dad clicked his tongue in disappointment. His stories tended to be embarrassing and exaggerated versions of the truth, especially when he had a larger audience.

  “Are you sure I can’t explain how your younger sister learned to ride a bicycle without training wheels before you?” He teased.

  “Definitely not,” Derek confirmed gravely, and he turned away to pace in the opposite direction. Dad chortled soundlessly, and I gave him a warning look to be cautious.

  “How about the time we had to pick you up at sleep-away camp because you were homesick?” He teased. Derek turned around. “No, Dad. Please don’t make me regret asking Lynn to dinner.”

  Our two ragamuffin cats, Swisher and Carmelo, were circling at Dad’s feet, hoping to be given scraps of food. Dad grinned as he swooped down and picked up Swisher. She mewed at the attention.

  “Do you hear that, Swish? Derek thinks we are going to embarrass him,” he said to the cat in a baby voice, and then placed her back down on the floor. The cat mewed once more in agreement.

  The doorbell rang, and I jumped out of my chair. I announced, “I’ll get it,” and ran to the front door. Derek dashed across the kitchen and the foyer in record time and met me at the entrance. We both took a deep breath and then opened the door.

  “It’s just Justin,” Derek shouted back to Mom and Dad. I turned to give him a nasty look, insulted by his comment, but he looked so relieved that Justin’s arrival delayed Lynn’s that I let it go and said hello to Justin.

  Justin raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Don’t worry about it. He’s just nervous,” I said and then realized Justin was probably anxious as well. “Not that there’s anything to be nervous about. Derek just tries to please everyone. Not that he was doing a good job pleasing you when he answered the door. And I’m babbling.” I shook my head and looked down.

  To my relief, I heard Justin chuckle. I looked up. He was wearing a half smile that appeared on rare occasion and always made my knees melt.

  “You’re cute when you’re babbling,” he said, and I felt my heart beat quicken. He may have been keeping his Gift in check, but he still caused my blood to rush to my cheeks.

  “So…can I come in?” He asked. I smiled, and then made room for him in the foyer. I was standing there like a lovesick schoolgirl. I eyed the box in his hands, but he didn’t offer an explanation, so we walked towards the kitchen.

  Justin hadn’t confirmed my suspicion that he was nervous but there were small clues that hinted at his anxiety. His face was pale, and his hand felt clammy as I linked it with my own. A few months earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to read him at all. I hoped that he remembered how to speak once we made it to the kitchen; otherwise, this was going to be a long dinner.

  Dad was the first to approach him. He stuck out his hand and said, “Justin, my man. It’s an honor to meet you. Olivia has told us so much about you.” I rolled my eyes at Dad’s overzealous introduction and handshake.

  I watched as Justin clasped Dad’s hand in his own and gave him a firm handshake. The pleasant surprise was evident on Dad’s face. He expected the quiet boy who grew up around the corner to be weak. I couldn’t help the pride that bubbled up inside me.

  Mom was calmer than Dad and tried to put Justin at ease. She smiled and said, “It’s very nice to meet you, Justin. Will you help us set the table?” She handed me a load of forks and passed Justin a pile of napkins. She innately knew that he would be more at ease when his hands were busy.

  Justin nodded his head, grabbed the pile of napkins, and said, “Thank you for having me over. This is a hazelnut cake from my Grandma. She likes to bake for special occasions.” He handed Mom the box, and she thanked him. The gesture warmed my heart. I wanted to run up and kiss him, but I didn’t want to embarrass both of us.

  The doorbell rang once more and Derek shot off to answer it. Dad ambled over to Justin again.

  “So, do you play any sports?” Dad asked. I cringed. If Dad was looking for common ground, he probably wasn’t going to find it.

  “Not particularly,” Justin answered, looking apologetic. “I’m more of a tools and cars kind of guy,” Justin explained. Dad looked thoughtful. He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his chin with his index finger. I was suddenly nervous that this dinner was going to be extremely awkward.

  “How about jokes?” Dad asked with a smile.

  “Love ‘em,” Justin responded with a grin.

  “None of your jokes, Dad,” I cut in, trying to save us all from the misery. Both Justin and Dad laughed, and I began to relax.

  Derek entered the kitchen. His face was lit with excitement. I was the first one to get a good look at the girl beside him. Lynn was petite with striking blue eyes and long, straight blonde hair that she had pulled back with a shiny metal headband. Standing comfortably in tight jeans and a bold, long-sleeved shirt, she exuded confidence. She was exactly Derek’s type; gregarious, blonde, and beautiful.

  He brought Lynn around to introduce her, and I heard Justin suck in a breath. She was beautiful, but I doubted a reaction like that was caused from her good looks. Justin was usually more discreet about his feelings.

  I looked at his face and for a flash of an instant he looked stunned. Quickly his face returned to its unreadable expression. Lynn’s smile never faded. If she caught Justin’s reaction, she didn’t let on.<
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  “Everyone, I would like you to meet Lynn,” Derek said, using one hand to motion to us and putting the other hand protectively around Lynn’s waist. He gazed at her like she was a precious gem, or like she might spout out all-knowing prophecies at any moment. “Lynn, this is my mom,” Derek said.

  Lynn ran forward and gave Mom a warm hug. “Mrs. Hart, it is a pleasure to meet you. You have a lovely home,” Lynn said. Mom was taken aback by Lynn’s outgoing behavior, but she thanked her and smiled pleasantly.

  “Lynn, this is my Dad,” Derek said. Dad stepped forward and clasped Lynn’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you Lynn. As a guest in my home, you are entitled to know the ten rules in this house,” Dad said. He was already smiling at his own joke. Lynn was beginning to look nervous.

  I rolled my eyes and dutifully asked, “And what are the rules, Dad?” I couldn't stop my lips from curving upward. It was a classic “Dad saying.”

  “Let's see. I can’t quite remember,” he said, stroking his chin and pretending to be deep in thought. Lynn stood there uneasily, waiting for Dad to explain. After a few seconds of letting her squirm, he said, “Ehh, it doesn’t matter. The only important ones are one, six, and seven.” He was grinning so widely that I couldn't help but join him.

  “What are rules one, six, and seven?” Lynn asked, curiously.

  In unison, Mom, Dad, Derek, and I shouted, “Have fun!” Then, we exploded with laughter. Lynn joined in, and I was happy to see that she had a good sense of humor.

  Derek continued the introductions. Each time, Lynn gave us a hug and commented on how many stories Derek had told about us. I didn’t know why Derek had been so worried. If the rest of the night continued like this, dinner was going to be easy.

  * * * *

  Chapter Seven: In Your Face

  “Did Justin recognize her from somewhere? What did she look like?” Helen asked. She wanted details from last night’s family dinner, also known as “The Lynn Show.”