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I push my bike past Olivia’s car and prop the rusty frame against the brick wall of the house. I unzip the trailer’s cover and unfasten Bailey, who’s wearing her Service Dog in Training vest. My fingers sink into her hair, gaining strength for this interview. I don’t know Olivia at all, other than when Simone introduced her to me last weekend after Troy was arrested. But I do know she and her daughter are part of the reason Troy is organizing the festival.
The reason Troy wanted to buy Iris’s house and flip it.
Bailey and I walk to the front door, and I ring the doorbell. I wasn’t expecting Olivia to call me the other day and tell me she’d decided to go through with the interview. Just knowing she’s a close friend of Troy’s amps up my nervousness, and I shift on my feet.
The door opens. Olivia stands on the other side of it, a grinning older toddler balanced on her hip. The streak of bright-blue paint smeared on her T-shirt matches the one Nova is wearing across her pink top.
“Come on in,” Olivia says, a nervous smile ghosting her face. “The place is a bit of a mess. Because, well…you know.” Her gaze drops to her daughter.
My own smile is soft, hiding the heartbreak behind it. “Don’t worry. I more than understand.”
“Doggie!” Nova reaches for Bailey.
Bailey presses her body against my leg, instinctively knowing what I need even without her advanced level of PSD training.
Olivia lets me into the house, and I toe off my shoes. She leads Bailey and me the short distance to the living room. The house is small and messy and perfect. It feels like a home.
Olivia puts Nova on the floor and begins removing toys and blankets from the couch. Nova stares uncertainly at Bailey, her arm hooked around her mommy’s leg. The look Bailey returns is pure playful puppy. She’s hoping Nova will want to play with her even though Bailey is wearing her vest, which means it isn’t playtime.
I sit on the couch and put my hand on Bailey’s back, soaking in her warmth. Bailey stays still, awaiting my next instructions. I tell her to lie down, and I give her a treat for positive reinforcement.
“Nova loves Butterscotch,” Olivia tells me. “But other than that, she doesn’t have a lot of experience with dogs. And definitely not with service dogs.” She takes Nova to the kid-sized armchair, and Nova climbs onto it. “The puppy is working,” Olivia explains to her daughter. “Do you want to play your favorite game?”
Nova nods. Olivia passes her the iPad from the coffee table and helps her start the game.
Olivia sits on the other end of the couch. “Troy told me you’re dealing with PTSD.” Olivia studies my face, and I suddenly feel naked, exposed. He hadn’t mentioned that to me.
“I am, but I prefer not to discuss the cause of it.” The words are spoken softly, almost as if they’re a secret themselves.
Part of me expects Olivia to change her mind about the interview, and I wouldn’t blame her if she did. I’m asking her to open up about the worst time of her life, to bleed for the sake of an article that will hopefully help others in her situation. But at the same time, I’m not willing to open a vein and bleed myself.
She gives a small nod, her thoughts seemingly somewhere else. “Colton and I were high school sweethearts. He was Porthos. I was Aramis. And Troy was Athos. The Three Musketeers. It had been that way since we were kids. We did everything together.
“The summer before our junior year of high school, Troy went away with his family for a few weeks. Colton and I were hanging out in his backyard one night, sitting together in front of the firepit.” Olivia’s gaze turns dreamy, like she’s in another time and place, and the curve of her mouth follows suit. “We were just talking, and he was sitting so close to me. And I remember thinking how amazing he smelled. And the next thing we knew, we were kissing, and it was the most incredible thing in the world.” A light flush spreads across her cheeks.
“By the time Troy returned home, Colton and I were a couple. Although it did take us another two weeks before we confessed to him we were dating.” Olivia laughs softly under her breath.
Her smile bleeds away, leaving behind Colton’s widow, who’s still picking up her broken pieces.
I can’t begin to imagine how she feels. I’m a widow, but all I feel is relief in that. Olivia and Colton didn’t just love each other, they’d been best friends.
Olivia tells me about when she realized she was in love with Colton, about their life together before they got married. About learning she was pregnant with Nova and how much Colton loved his daughter. About how everything changed after the tragic bus accident that stole so many young lives. He was one of the first responders to arrive at the scene.
As clichéd as it sounds, Colton really was the center of Olivia’s universe. He was the oxygen she breathed. I can’t even fathom what that would be like—to love someone that way, that fully.
She smiles at her daughter, her love for Nova shining wet and bright in her eyes. Love for her daughter and for her late husband.
“I miss him so much,” she whispers and sniffs.
I cover her hand with mine. I can’t take away her pain, but I wish I could. Like I wish I knew how to take away Violet’s pain.
“I don’t know what I would have done if not for Nova,” Olivia says. “She was my reason for getting up each morning. For remembering to breathe. But the truth is, Colton died long before his heart stopped beating. The PTSD had done that to him. Troy and I tried to get him help, but Colt’s pride and pain and stubbornness made that impossible. I don’t want any wife, girlfriend, child, parent to go through what Nova and I did.” She brushes away her tears, and I do the same with the couple branding a trail down my face.
But my tears aren’t only because of what Olivia shared with me. They’re because Amelia had been my reason for getting up each morning when my brain just wanted to shut down during my marriage. Shut down and drag me deeper into a world of depression.
Thinking about her while I was incarcerated had been the oxygen I’d needed to keep on breathing. To keep stumbling through each day. Even after I signed away my rights to be her mother, there was still a part of me that clung to the belief I would one day see her again and she would forgive me for not being there for her growing up.
It was only after I was stabbed that I finally surrendered all hope.
