I knew then that he wasn’t out of reach just for me, but for himself, too. He hid himself so well that he forgot that he was Oliforever.
The French doors to the house were open, the light in the kitchen was on, and the white chiffon curtain that fluttered in the breeze on the second floor’s balcony, told me that Oliver was in there somewhere.
I went into the cabana first and began making it look like someone was living there. Like a home.
Just the sight of the table, the lack of a broken mug on the floor, and the bed made my skin prickle with memories of Oliver’s body against mine, wrapping me, filling me.
And as if I wasn’t sweating enough, the rap on the door made my heart pick up its rate.
I took an inaudible deep breath at the sight of him. “Hey.”
“You have rooms made inside the house. You can’t all sleep in this tiny space,” he opened without a greeting.
“I thought I could sleep on the—”
“You’ll sleep in the house. The room at the top of the stairs is ready.” His usual stern self was there. The man who had devoured my body, wiped my tears, licked my skin, made me come, held me tight, and supported me with just a look at Vi’s funeral was somewhere behind this beautiful and hard façade that insisted on remaining on the threshold.
“The kitchen is fully stocked. I heard teenage boys raid fridges like locusts,” he added. Only the tiny flicker in his eyes showed me that Oliforever was in there.
“Oliver, it’s—”
“It’s all yours. I’ll be upstairs,” he cut my thanks before I could utter them.
“It’s your house—you can be wherever you want to be. I can’t thank you enough for—” I insisted, but just then, the loud, rhythmic honking that was so out of place in the fancy, quiet street indicated that the spring break twins had arrived, driving Stephanie’s car, as they had said they would.
“Thank you,” I repeated. “It’s just for twenty-four hours.”
“January.” This one word in that tone was enough to shut me up.
I hurried outside and out the gate, which I had left open, and in a moment was enclosed in two pairs of arms. A mix of “Mom, I missed you,” and “I’m sorry about Vi,” and “I missed home,” were all uttered at the same time.
My sons had been taller than me ever since they had turned fifteen, but now they seemed even taller, stronger, and more mature. Yet, they were still my babies, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that I had been their age when I had conceived them and a little older than the pretty girl who stood bashfully on the side when I had them.
“Mom, this is Stephanie Andrene,” Will said, beaming with pride as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
She reached out her hand for a shake, but I pulled her into a hug.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, squashed in my arms.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you.” I couldn’t say I heard much about her because my son was pretty secretive, but I respected his need for privacy. Wasn’t I keeping things from my family, too?
“Wow, Mom! This is amazing,” Lennox said, standing slightly to the side, his gaze glued to the view of the house, garden, pool, and the beach and ocean beyond the bougainvillea-adorned fence.
“A pool! I mean, I knew it was a pool house, but the actual pool part kinda slipped my mind,” Will said, chuckling.
“It was actually empty until you guys said you were coming,” I told them, pivoting to look behind me.
Oliver was making his way into the house. I caught sight of him just as he passed the threshold past the French doors.
“Oliver, the owner of the house and … he’s an old friend from school … filled it when he heard you were coming.”
“He lives here, too? Can we meet him?” both Lennox and Will asked simultaneously.
“Yes and yes,” I replied and added, “He’s away a lot.” Then, wrapping my arm around Stephanie, I said, “Let’s go inside. I’ll show you your rooms.”
“There’s more than one room here?” Will asked as he and Lennox pulled out large backpacks from the trunk of the car.
“They’re small but sufficient.”
