The other night, when he'd insisted Ricky join Olivia in her room upstairs, it had been, admittedly, an effort to prove their relationship didn't bother him. Of course, as soon as Ricky had climbed the stairs, and Gabriel realized how quiet the house was, and that he'd hear them if they engaged in anything, he'd felt very differently about the situation. Sure enough, the sounds from their room did drive him out of the house. But they weren't "that" sort of sound at all, simply them whispering and laughing, their voices too low for him even to make out what they were saying. That was enough, those whispers and laughs pounding through his skull like red-hot spikes.
That was exactly what he wanted from Olivia. That casual intimacy. That connection. They would go to dinner, and they'd relax and talk, share a bottle of wine, and it wouldn't matter if they were surrounded by people--it felt like just the two of them, wrapped up in the meal and the conversation. Or they'd be someplace together, talk turning light, teasing, and he'd see that glow in her eyes, feel the warmth of it. Then circumstances would intervene and the mood would evaporate, and he'd have no idea how to get it back again.
Ricky did. Effortlessly. In the midst of the worst situation, Ricky could engage Olivia as easily as flicking a switch. Change her mood. Make her smile. Win a laugh. He made it seem so easy.
It was not easy. Not at all.
But she'd spent the night in the police station for Gabriel. The officers occasionally came by his holding cell to tell him his "girlfriend" was still hanging around. He told them Olivia wasn't his girlfriend. Finally, one had said, "Well, then someone should tell her that, because she sure as hell acts like it." To have someone do that for him . . . it was confounding and almost unfathomable. He kept trying to tell himself that she had to have a reason beyond not wanting to abandon him. But she hadn't. She'd stuck by his side simply to say she was standing by him.
Gabriel checked his phone in case Olivia had texted, perhaps to say things were going poorly and she needed his help, his advice. He had messages. None from her. As he put his phone back, he noticed Ricky crossing the street, moving fast. Walking away from Olivia's building. Away from Olivia.
Ricky pulled on his helmet, climbed on his bike, and drove off without a backward glance.
Gabriel got as far as the front door before Rose made a noise behind him.
"I'm just going over--" he began.
"I heard the motorcycle."
"Yes, Ricky has left, which means Olivia is free. We have work to do."
Rose shook her head, looking very tired. "If there is anything worse than racing over because you're hoping she's been dumped, it's racing over to tell her to get back to work right after she got dumped. How about this: you're going over there to support her because she'll be upset, and she should have someone to talk to about it?"
Gabriel paused. Then he said, "Exactly."
Rose shook her head again. "Go on."
--
Gabriel tried to check his pace as he crossed the road. When he reached the apartment building, Grace called from the stoop, "Barely even waited until he got around the corner, did you?"
Gabriel ignored her. When he reached for the door, she said, "Presuming you want the girl, you're going the wrong way."
Gabriel followed her finger to see Olivia heading up Rowan. He calculated time and distance, trying to determine whether she might have left first--walking out after a fight. No, Ricky had, leaving Olivia upset, wanting to walk it off and . . .
And she was heading in the direction of the Carew house.
Gabriel took off at a slow lope, with Grace calling, "You're welcome!" behind him.
Ricky must not have believed what Olivia had told him about the omens and visions, and that had set her own doubts swirling again. She was wondering if she was imagining things. Heading to the Carew house for proof that she wasn't.
Olivia didn't need this. Ricky hadn't been there, not for any of it. He had no right to judge, goddamn him.
At the corner, Olivia stopped. Her head swiveled in the direction of the Carew house. Then she turned around and started heading back. It took a few steps for her to notice him. When she did, he tried to read her expression, but the sun was just beginning to drop, and long oak-tree shadows hid her face.
As she came close, he saw a tired, almost wry smile on her lips.
"Hey," she said. Before he could speak, she lifted a hand to stop him. "Yes, I was going to the house. Now I'm not."
"What happened?"
"I realized it was a very stupid idea."
He fell in step beside her. "Telling Ricky?"
"Hmm?" She looked over. "Oh, right. No. That's fine."
"You're all right with him taking off?"