The Night Olivia Fell. Christina McDonald
room, put random items into little plastic bags. They took her laptop and some of her school notebooks, asked me more questions.
By the end, my neck ached from carrying the weight of my pounding head. I wanted everything to go back to the way it was. I wanted my daughter back.
‘Did you find her bracelet?’ I asked Detective Samson.
Her brow creased.
‘A silver charm bracelet. Olivia always wore it. Always. But it wasn’t on her wrist.’ I brushed a hand over my eyes.
‘No, we didn’t find it, but I’ll check again.’
‘Was Olivia with anyone that night? Drinking with friends?’ Detective McNally asked. Neither of them had bothered to sit down after searching Olivia’s room. They towered over me in the living room, and my toes curled at the invasion of my personal space.
‘What? No!’ I replied, startled. Olivia wasn’t a drinker. ‘All her friends were at the barbecue. And she doesn’t –’ Then I remembered the scarf, her haircut, her pregnancy.
Bile, thick and acidic, rose in my throat.
I jumped up and raced to the bathroom, slamming open the toilet lid just in time to heave up every last drop of vodka, retching again and again into the white porcelain bowl.
Afterward, I shut the toilet seat and rested my head on the lid. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. The insides of my eyelids were red. I was sweating, hot moisture covering my entire body. I shoved Olivia’s phone into the back pocket of my jeans and stripped off my hoodie, tossing it on the floor.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a slip of white plastic sticking up from the mess of tissues in the trash can. I sat up slowly, reaching for it. It was a pregnancy test. A pink plus sign practically glowed on the end.
Olivia knew she was pregnant. And she hadn’t told me.
The knowledge was raw inside me, jagged as a broken windowpane. As scared as I was when I found out I was pregnant, at least I’d had Sarah.
Memories of the day I’d told Sarah I was pregnant bubbled in my mind, like a pot of water boiling over.
‘Do you know who the father is?’ Sarah had asked.
The old mattress sagged under her weight as she sat next to me on the edge of my bed.
‘Yes,’ I snapped. Okay, maybe I used to sleep around a bit. I used sex as a way to get guys to like me. I drank and dabbled in drugs and stayed out late smoking and partying. But it wasn’t going to be like that anymore.
‘Have you told him?’
‘Of course!’
‘And?’
I looked away, and Sarah sighed heavily.
‘He doesn’t want to be in the picture,’ she stated.
I didn’t answer. The worst part was that he’d cemented everything I felt all over again – that everybody eventually left me.
Sarah slapped her hands on her legs and stood. ‘I’ll come with you to sort it out.’
I stared at her, horrified. ‘Are you telling me to get an abortion?’
Sarah looked confused. ‘Of course not. I just –’
‘This is my baby. I won’t abandon it. I’m nothing like . . .’
I didn’t have to finish the sentence. We both knew the ending. Mom had abandoned me, and I had been powerless to stop her.
Sarah’s face softened, and she sat back down. ‘Abs, of course you’re nothing like her. But a baby? You can’t . . .’ Her voice trailed away and she searched my face.
That was exactly what he had said, right before he threatened to hurt my baby and me if anybody found out it was his. So I’d gone to the abortion clinic and was going to do it. But I couldn’t go through with it. Being abandoned was my life’s greatest fear. I couldn’t do it to my own baby.
I looked around at the tiny storeroom I’d used as a bedroom in Sarah’s apartment since I was ten. A baby wouldn’t fit here. But I had a way to get out now. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it, but I wanted my baby to have everything I never did, a stable home, a solid middle-class upbringing, good opportunities.
‘I’ve registered at Valley,’ I said, referring to the local community college. ‘I’ll get a certificate in journalism. I like writing and I’m good at it. I can get a job at a newspaper.’
Sarah looked surprised. I was usually more of a joiner than a planner. She struggled with words for a minute, but I knew she’d give in. She was the only parent figure I’d had for most of my life, and she was nothing if not supportive.
Finally she said, ‘You know I’m here for you whatever you decide.’
‘Thanks, Sar.’ I leaned into my big sister, and she put her arms around me.
She brushed my hair off my forehead, and I pulled away, getting up and crossing to look out the window at the Christmas lights stringing the neighborhood. I hated it when she did things my mom used to do.
I’d looked down at my stomach, the first hint of a bump pushing out from my sweater, and imagined my baby curled under my heart. I would have someone to be with me no matter what. I’d love her more than I’d ever been loved. . .
In the bathroom, I stood shakily and splashed cold water on my face to help the memories fade. I grabbed Olivia’s pregnancy test and took it to Detective Samson in the living room. For a second, her professional mask slipped, and I thought I saw compassion flare in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. She pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, then zipped the proof of my grandchild away inside.
‘I don’t know if Olivia was with anyone that last night,’ I said, sinking back into the recliner. ‘I didn’t know she was pregnant. She didn’t tell me.’ The admission scraped like razor blades across my raw, aching throat.
Neither detective spoke for a minute, but when I looked up I saw them exchange a look.
‘Well.’ McNally stood and moved toward the door. ‘That’s all we need for now. We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions.’
‘Wait.’ I sprang to my feet and put a hand out. ‘The bruises, her bracelet – are you going to investigate?’
McNally sighed, and I wanted to scream. ‘We’re still in the early stages,’ he said, but he wasn’t looking at me anymore. ‘We’ll speak to witnesses, process the scene, analyze the bruises. . .’
Both detectives moved toward the door, but at the last second Samson turned and spoke. ‘We’re very sorry for your loss. We’ll be in touch, keep you up-to-date if we find anything new.’ She slid a business card into my palm. ‘Call me anytime. And, Miss Knight, just ignore the reporters. They’ll go away in a few days.’
I stood frozen in place, the front door flapping in the increasing wind, and watched as they got in their unmarked police car and drove slowly away. I hunched my shoulders against the cold and shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. My fingers knocked against something hard.
They hadn’t asked for Olivia’s phone.
ABI
november
November arrived abruptly in Portage Point. The sky was gray and wet; the wind tossed leaves across the ground in angry flurries. I scurried across the parking lot toward the hospital. By the time I reached the front, my hair clung to my forehead in damp tendrils.
Inside I headed for the elevators while dialing the numbers on the business card Samson had left me. It was the third time that day, but still it