The Piper by Lynn Hightower Page B

don’t want to fight about this, Olivia.’
    â€˜And anyway, that was years ago, Hugh. Years ago. You know damn well I changed my mind. Sometimes you have to leave your home to appreciate what you’ve got.’
    â€˜Yes, yes, I know, you’re right. I should have taken the job, or at the very least, discussed it with you when they offered.’
    â€˜We might still be married if you had.’
    â€˜And we might still be married if you hadn’t read my emails.’
    â€˜I don’t want to talk about it anymore.’
    â€˜I’m still sorry, Olivia. About that, about all the constant moving.’
    â€˜I’m a big girl, Hugh. I could have said no.’
    â€˜Look, about Teddy. Something she said last night really bothered me. Is there any good reason she’s
afraid
to go to sleep?’
    â€˜She actually said that to you? That she was afraid to go to sleep?’
    â€˜Yes. I didn’t know if she was just, you know, being dramatic and up to her tricks. But she seemed so sincere. And I wondered if it might be something to do with your brother. Him dying in the house.’
    â€˜That, and maybe one of her cousins. Saying things to scare her. Listen, Hugh, what about Teddy coming to see you in California for Labor Day? That would give her something to look forward to, a familiar place to go, to see her old friends.’
    â€˜I won’t be here. I was going to tell you. I’ve accepted a job in Seattle.’
    â€˜You’re moving again?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Of course you are. Goodbye, Hugh. I’ll have Teddy call you before bedtime. On
my
phone. I’m taking the other one away.’

TEN
    T here were no blinds or curtains to block out the sun on the Palladian window in the living room of Charlotte’s L-shaped house. The garage doors were open, Charlotte’s Honda SUV on the left, and Chris’s Ford Explorer on the right.
    Olivia pulled into the driveway, left her briefcase on the front seat, and paused by her brother’s car on her way up the walk. She ran a finger across the layers of pollen and dust on the hood. Her brother’s UT ball cap was still on the dash.
    For some reason, the orange appealed to her. Olivia had opinions about color, and she went through phases. Although all the clothes she owned, except blue jeans, were always either black or white. Just lately she had been attracted to the color of Italian blood orange. It felt like the onset of a completely new phase.
    She was on the front step when she heard soft sobbing coming from an open bedroom window in the front of the house. She frowned, and rang the bell. Saw Charlotte, through the window, motioning her to come in.
    â€˜Maybe I lived in Los Angeles too long, but you ought to keep that front door locked.’ Olivia set her purse down in the hall and kicked off her shoes. Several months of unemployment meant she was going to have to get used to being in heels again, rebuild those calf muscles. She cocked her head to one side. Heard nothing but the faint noise of a television from one of the bedrooms at the back of the house. ‘Which kid’s been crying? Yours or mine?’
    Charlotte frowned. ‘I didn’t know anybody was crying. I don’t hear anything.’ She had a pencil tucked behind one ear. She wore khakis today, and an oversized man’s white shirt, probably one of Chris’s. She worked from home, architectural scut work for the firm that laid her off but kept her going with contract work. ‘You look tired. Bad day at work?’
    â€˜My assistant is a bitch and the last financial advisor left the clients in a mess, but God am I glad to have the job.’ Olivia unbuttoned the snap on the side of her skirt. Her work clothes had gotten mysteriously tight.
    Little girl screams brought Charlotte’s head up. ‘That can’t be good,’ she said, leading Olivia down the hall.
    Charlotte was one step ahead, and