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I get into my car, switching on the engine, and find her next of kin, wanting to kick myself. I should have checked this out sooner… or better still, looked at it before I fired Livia.
I sit, staring at the screen for a moment. According to this, her next of kin is Mrs. J. Hopkins, and the address given is in Falmouth, Maine. That doesn’t really help or tell me anything. Okay, so Doreen said that Ken Bevan’s wife was called Julianne, and Livia’s mom’s initial is ‘J’, but that’s hardly evidence of a conspiracy… and I’m learning the hard way not to jump to conclusions.
Instead, I tap the address into my Sat/Nav and let out a slight sigh when it tells me the journey time is going to be a little under two hours… although, that’s assuming I’ll be sticking to the speed limits…
An hour and thirty-five minutes later, I pull up in front of a gray-painted colonial, single-story house. There’s a garage off to one side, and the driveway is empty, although I don’t presume to park there, and leave my car on the street, walking up a narrow footpath to the front door. The lawn on either side is neatly mown, and the flower beds are brimming.
This time, I don’t hesitate, or pause to take a breath. I just ring the doorbell. The drive up here has made me impatient to see Livia, although as I hear footsteps approaching, my heart pounds in my chest.
The door opens and I’m faced with a woman who shares Livia’s coloring, her blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. She must be Livia’s mom, and when she tilts her head and raises her eyebrows, I know for sure. Their mannerisms are the same, too.
“Mrs.… Hopkins?” I say, hesitating over her name.
“Yes?”
I nod my head. “Is Livia here?”
She looks over my shoulder, focusing on my car. “Are you Hunter Bennett?”
“Yes, I am.”
She nods and then glances back into the house, pausing for a moment before she turns to me again, her brow furrowing.
“Livia’s not at home, I’m afraid.”
I can’t call her a liar to her face, but we both know she’s not telling the truth. I also know Livia must be just inside the house, out of my sight, but visible to her mom.
“What you mean is, she’s not at home to me.” She doesn’t say anything, but her silence speaks volumes. “I’m not here to make trouble, Mrs. Hopkins. I just wanna talk to your daughter.”
She glances into the house again and then looks up at me. “I’m sorry, but she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
I guess that tells me everything I need to know. Livia might not be slamming the door in my face, but she’s getting her mom to do it for her.
I’m not about to give up, though.
“Okay,” I say, raising my voice, so I know Livia will hear me. “In that case, will you tell her, if I got this wrong, then I’m sorry. Even if I didn’t get it wrong… even if everything I think about her is true, I’m still sorry. I want to work things out between us, if we can. Can you ask her if she’ll let me try?”
Mrs. Hopkins looks away yet again, and although her expression doesn’t change, she stares into the house for a lot longer this time, before she turns back to me.
“She still doesn’t want to…” Her voice fades, and I nod my head. It was what I expected.
“It’s okay.” She steps backwards, about to close the door, but I raise my hand and she pauses, tilting her head again. “Can you tell her I love her?”
She nods, but says nothing, and closes the door. I stand, staring at it for a full minute, before I turn and walk back to my car.
This might have been what I expected, but it still hurts, and I sit and stare out the window for a long time, gazing at Livia’s home. Just knowing she’s in there makes me feel closer to her, even if she doesn’t want to know me.
I’m not sure what to do. I don’t have any answers and I’m not ready to give up yet, although I can’t see the point of knocking on the door again, or sitting here all night.
That doesn’t mean I’m going home, though, and I pull out my phone, checking to see what hotels there are in the vicinity.
I find several in Portland, and call up the first one on the list.
“I need a suite for tonight,” I say to the woman who answers the phone.
“Our Ambassador Suite is available. It’s eighteen hundred and fifty…”
“I don’t care about the price,” I say, interrupting her as I tap the hotel’s address into my Sat/Nav. “I can be with you in fifteen minutes.”
