She turned to Chuck for what she swore to herself would be the last time. She was used to him digging in when they fought, but by the look on his face, he was finally at the end of his rope too. “Well, I guess I’m running one last time because this is over!”
“Oh, it’sso far overit’s like it never even started!” he seethed.
Olivia’s blood boiled again. She hated seeing the satisfaction he was getting out of the demise of their relationship. She’d wanted the upper, righteous hand. She’d come to do the dumping, and to her horror, the dumping was mutual.
“It’s so far over,you couldn’t pay me to get back together with you!” she retaliated. Her voice bounced off the high-rise apartments and echoed across the street.
Chuck scoffed like she’d wounded him. They were both strapped for cash—for very different reasons—so the insult carried an extra punch.
“At least give me my shirt back!” he shouted.
In a fit of rage and honest indifference—her dignity wasshredded by now—Olivia stopped and peeled his tee shirt over her bra. She wadded it up and threw it at him.
“I wouldn’t get back together with youfor a million dollars!” she added for good measure. She poked him in the chest again, also for good measure, and stomped off toward her car.
Chuck pulled his tee shirt back on. “Baby, there’sno pricehigh enough!” he said as Olivia sank into her seat and cranked the engine.
She lowered her window and threw her middle finger in the air as she drove away, flipping off the whole scene in part as a final act of solidarity with Chuck Walsh because for once he was right: there was no price high enough.
Chapter
2
On Sunday, Olivia faithfully madeher way to Willow Grove to visit Grandma Ruby. Anger from her fight with Chuck from the day before still swam in her blood like angry piranha. Spending Saturday cleansing her apartment of all his belongings had helped take the edge off, but the sting lingered.
At least she had severed the tie. Goodbye, Chuck.
The Willow Grove care facility nestled at the base of the Hollywood Hills in an as-advertised copse of willow trees. Olivia paid their eye-wateringly steep premium because Grandma Ruby deserved the best care. She had, after all, stepped in when Olivia’s parents lost themselves to the wiles of fame.
Olivia had never known either of them. Rebecca Martin and Bradley Harris had died in a car accident when they were run off the road by a frenzied mob of paparazzi on their way home from a party. She had only been a year old and at home with a babysitter. The only memories she had of them came from two sources: her mother’s old films and the vicious tabloid coverage of her parents’ affair that had resulted in her birth.
See, her father, a successful Hollywood talent manager, had been married when she was born—but not to her mother. To a very famous actress. It was a scandal of such epic proportion that Grandma Ruby stepped in after their deaths to shield Olivia from the spotlight and raise her as her own.
That was why Olivia had no qualms about forking out money to allow her grandmother a comfortable life after the sacrifices she’d made. It was as if Ruby had reached the finish line with her own daughter and circled back to the start for another lap with her granddaughter. The sense of familial duty wasn’t something Olivia could have swayed one way or the other as a child, but her gratitude that her grandmother hadn’t shipped her off to an orphanage was immeasurable.
The problem now was that money could, unfortunately, be measured, and Olivia was running out of it. Her mother’s estate had lasted most of her life. She’d used good portions of it to pay for college and graduate school and then her grandmother’s care when she needed more support than Olivia could offer with a full-time career. But the funds were drying up.
Some Sundays Olivia visited later in the day and had dinner with her grandmother, but she knew that midmorning she’d find her in the community room with her best friend Violet.
She parked and crossed the parking lot to the entrance. Willow Grove boasted a sparkling fountain and neat palms lining the main stucco building. Residents were housed in quaint cottages with around-the-clock access to whatever care they needed. The nursing staff were angelic in their patience and kindness. They knew everyone by name.
She walked up the front steps and entered the tiled reception area smooth with airy, arched walkways and serene oil paintings.
“Good morning, Ms. Martin,” the woman behind the reception desk greeted her. She automatically pushed a clipboard in her direction.
“Hi, Caroline,” Olivia said with a soft smile. “How is she today?”
“Oh, she’s lovely. She’s in the community room with Violet.”
“I figured,” Olivia said, and returned the clipboard after signing in.
Caroline replaced it on her desk. “She’ll be happy to see you,” she said, in what Olivia knew was an effort to soften what she said next. “Dr. Park wants to speak with you when you have a moment.”
Olivia gave her a dutiful smile, knowing that Dr. Marilyn Park, Willow Grove’s director, wanted to talk to her about money. “Of course.”
She’d hoped she could slip into the community room and enjoy her visit undetected, but she should have known better. She took care not to have any financial conversations within earshot of her grandmother so as not to worry her, and as soon as she turned the corner in the right direction, there was Dr. Park stepping out of her office as if she’d been waiting.
“Olivia!” she called with a pleasant smile. A striking woman with jet black hair neatly pulled back but still falling past her shoulders, Dr. Marilyn Park wore a smart pantsuit under her white coat. She clicked toward Olivia in her shiny heels and met her gaze with her sharp, dark eyes. She was easily twenty years older than Olivia and intimidating in a shrewdly intelligent way while at the same time exuding the comfort of a lifelong caregiver. “How are you?” she asked.