Olivia (Logan 5)

"Don't make too much of it, Samuel. I don't want a lot of nosy people sticking their faces in my business."

"Don't make too much of having a baby? You can't make too much of it. It's . . . why we're here, Olivia. You always tell me that, tell me it's something your father taught you . . . family, right?"

"Right, Samuel," I said. "I just don't want a great deal of commotion at work."

"I'll call my dad. You'll tell your father at work?"

"Yes," I said, only that day, Daddy didn't come to work. He called in to say he wasn't feeling well and he would stay home and rest. The first chance I got, I left the office and went to the house.

During the early morning hours, the fog had rolled over the landscape in great billowing waves, turning everything cold and eerie. This dreary sky was still overhead when I arrived at Daddy's house.

Effie Thornton, the newest maid, greeted me at the door. She was a short, round-faced stout woman of forty-seven with rolling-pin arms and thick-fingered hands. She looked more like a peasant farm worker than a maid, but she was a hard worker who took her responsibilities seriously. I knew she would find fault with Belinda quickly, but unlike the other maids and cooks, she wasn't a quitter. The skin covering her feelings was so thick even Belinda's nasty remarks and actions couldn't pierce it. Belinda was always complaining about her, asking Daddy or me to fire her, but the more dissatisfied Belinda was with someone, the more I liked that person.

"Oh, Mrs. Logan, I'm glad you're here today so you can see what I have to contend with," she said on greeting me.

"What now?" I asked.

"Just follow me," she said and led me to the living room. I stopped dead in the doorway. It was as if I had been slapped across the face. The room looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. There were glasses and beer bottles strewn about, along with plates, some overturned, some caked with food. I saw food stains on the sofa and chairs, Mother's prized furniture. A lamp had been knocked over, the Tiffany shade shattered.

"What happened?" I asked when my breath returned.

"Your sister threw a late night party. She had at least a dozen people here and they carried on into the wee hours."

"My father let this happen?" I asked.

She scowled.

"Your father was dead asleep in his office, a bottle of whiskey in his lap. I think you're going to have to have some professional carpet cleaners and furniture cleaners here with their machinery, Mrs. Logan. I'll do the best I can, but . . ."

"Of course, Effie. I'll call them myself in a little while." "I'll get started on the room. I was waiting for either your father or you to see it first."

"Where's my sister?" I asked. "Is she home?"

"She is, but she's not alone," she added, her eyebrows lifting.

"And my father?"

"He went up to his bedroom early this morning without so much as glancing at the living room and has been there ever since. I tried to get him to eat some breakfast, but he had only a cup of coffee."

"Okay, thank you, Effie."

I turned, my heart racing, my limbs tightening like strung wire. I could feel my neck muscles harden. Anger built like a small tornado inside me, spinning up from my stomach to my chest and into my throat. When I reached Belinda's bedroom door, I took a deep breath and then I lunged at the door knob, surprised at my own strength. I shoved the door open so hard, it swung back and banged against the wall.

Belinda and her boyfriend, naked and entwined in her bed, opened their eyes with a jolt.

"Huh? Olivia?" she said sitting up slowly, the blanket falling away from her naked breasts. She wiped her eyes to clear her vision and perhaps hopefully clear away the image of me standing there.

"You're more disgusting than I could ever imagine," I said. The man beside her turned on his back and covered his eyes with his hands as if the light stung him. I just glanced at him and saw it wasn't anyone I knew.

"You should knock before coming into my room," she cried.

"I'm not talking about this. I'm talking about the disgusting mess you made in our house. How dare you bring those degenerates into this house? You might not have any respect for yourself, but you will have respect for this family," I charged.

She started to cry and stopped. Her boyfriend drew the blanket over himself and started to laugh.

"It isn't funny. I don't know who you are, but you better get out of here immediately," I said.

He lowered the blanket and smiled at me.