Olivia Twisted (Entangled Teen) (19 page)

I clear my voice. “Anyway, I’m not going to let this happen again, Nancy. You should know better than anyone what that life is like.”

Nancy looks offended, as she always does when we reference her past. “Maggie knew what she was getting into. And the chances of something like that happening are slim. You’re overreacting. He’s going to put Liv through his usual crackerjack tests. Nothing else. Then he’ll leave her alone and we can go easy on her.”

“Just promise me you won’t say anything to Bill.”

“It’s not Maggie’s fate you’re worried about, is it? You think Liv’s too good for us?” Her expression is more hurt than angry. She sits on the sofa, her head down.

I sit next to her and take her hand. Nancy has been like a mother to me for so much of my life. The last thing in the world I want to do is upset her. Well, the next to last thing… “Please promise me.”

She touches my cheek. “I won’t say anything. But please, please think about what you’re doing, what you’d be giving up if you join her. As good as you are, Bill’s better. If he finds you, he’ll kill you. And I can’t protect you.”

“I know. I’ll have to take that chance. There’s no other way to get her away safely.”

I walk out of the room, pulling the door shut with a
click
. The lie is easy. In my mind, at least, there’s no alternative that I’m willing to consider. Nobody needs to know about Brownlow.

For the first time in a while, I’m not worried. I can run with her. It will work.

…

Liv

I stare at the monitor, stunned, the file Z handed to me loose in my fingers. Ever since my mother died, I’d believed I was alone. No cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings—nobody. But here, in the millions of people in the state, in the billions of people in the world, I find out I’m not alone.

I have family.

Not just any relative, but a grandfather. My mother’s father.

And of all things, I find him this way—as my first target. My eyes move back and forth from the enlarged picture on the screen to the tiny picture in the locket to the square picture on the file that Sam gave me. Exact same long nose, same serious gray eyes, same dark, wavy hair. If there was any doubt, the name of his deceased wife—Olivia Westfield Brownlow—put an end to that.

My stomach turns as I stare at the images. I didn’t know he was even alive. I remember asking my mother about the people in the picture when I was little, and she told me her parents died. She told me she had no family left. And I think she looked sad. Of course, she always looked sad, so I don’t know.

How am I supposed to deal with this information? One thing is for sure, I can’t do this to someone I’m related to. I can’t steal from him. Not that I can steal from anyone.

The click of the door handle behind me interrupts my thoughts. Jack slams the door and drops into the chair next to me. His eyes are blazing. “Do you still want to leave?” he asks. “With me, I mean?”

Whoa.
Something happened. “Yes, definitely.”

He nods shortly. “Fine.”

What?
“Wait, are you serious?” My heart does ten leaps over the moon. “Where would we go?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out. I just need to get enough money without drawing attention. Here,” he says, nodding at the open file. “I’ll handle that for you.”

My heart falls from the moon like lead. He wants to handle this account? My grandfather’s account? I know I can’t do it. Can I even let him?

“No.” I nod at the image of my mother with her parents. He stares as I point to the caption:
Carlton Brownlow, pictured with wife Olivia and daughter Agnes.

I lift the locket up on my fingers. “Agnes was my mother’s name.”

A shadow seems to cross his eyes as he stares at the picture.

“It’s my grandfather,” I supply quietly.

He closes his eyes for a long moment, then opens them to stare again at the picture on the screen. “Your eyes are just like your mother’s.” His voice is hoarse, barely recognizable.

“I know,” I say, staring at the wide brown eyes that crinkle slightly with her grin. “It’s weird to see her looking all happy in this picture. I don’t remember her as happy.”

“How come you never knew he was alive?”

“My mother’s last name was different. She must’ve changed it from Brownlow to Westfield, her mother’s last name, when she left. I never found anything on her the few times I looked.”

Actually, I never really spent much time looking up my mother, except for a quick search for her name, which provided no results. If I had spent time looking for her, maybe I would’ve found this. Maybe if I had even looked up myself, I would’ve discovered my grandmother. The thought is a little disturbing.

Jack looks at me intently. “What are you going to do now?”

“Nothing, I guess. But I’d rather not work this account. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t you want to meet him, though?”

I shake my head firmly. “No. He’s never been in my life, and I don’t need him now.”

Jack nods, frowning at the monitor.

“So, what did Nancy want?”

He doesn’t say anything right away, lost in thought as he considers the picture of my grandfather. It makes me wonder if any of the kids here ever found family members this way or if I’m the first.

“Jack?”

He sighs. “Nothing. Just stuff about some accounts.”

…

What are the odds?

The minutes blur as I shuffle through marriage records of Carlton Preston Brownlow III and Olivia Margaret Westfield, then the funeral announcement of Mrs. Olivia Westfield Brownlow, survived by her loving husband and teenage daughter—my mother.

I sort through the files I printed off the Internet, spreading them over my bed. I barely recognize this happy girl from the tired, sad woman who trudged through streets and shelters with me.

Someone taps on the door. I quickly gather the papers into a stack and shove them under my pillow. “Come in,” I say.

It’s Nancy. “I just wanted to check to see how you’re doing,” she says, sitting in my desk chair to face me.

“I’m fine,” I say nervously. I wonder if she normally meets with new kids or if she has another agenda. Or if this has something to do with Jack running with me. I don’t know if he said anything to her, but mostly, I hope he didn’t mention my grandfather.

“That’s good. You know, we’re all glad you’re here. Sam and Z think so highly of you, and you’re a wonderful addition to our family.”

I don’t know what to say to this, but I try to smile. To me, this translates to,
You’re going to be a wonderful thief.

Nancy continues. “I know you’re wondering why I’m here. The meeting with Bill must have made you a little uncomfortable.”

A little?

She clears her throat. “You know, he’s very careful about who lives here, for obvious reasons. He doesn’t know you yet, so he is a little rough around the edges until you get to know him better.”

She pauses, maybe to wait for my response, but what can I say? Bill scares the crap out of me. I can’t imagine being comfortable with him. Plus, there’s the way even Jack reacts when someone mentions Bill’s name.

“What are you thinking?” Nancy asks. Her voice is pleasant enough, but her smile is tight.

“Just…um…Bill was kind of intense.”

Nancy laughs. “Yes, he can be. Everyone finds Bill intimidating when they first meet him. But you know, he’s responsible for all of this.” She waves a hand around. “Did you know it was his idea to take kids in from the streets in the first place?”

I shake my head.

“Well, it’s true. I know it’s hard to see his good intentions under his tough exterior, but he’s not that bad. He got me out of a tough situation.” Her voice trails off and she looks down for a moment, making me wonder if
she
sometimes has a hard time seeing his good intentions. Or maybe she thinks she owes him something for getting her out of that “tough situation.” She clears her voice. “And yes, as Z has explained to you, we use this house as a business operation. We’re hackers. But only for the purpose of making our lives better, especially the lives of those kids who might otherwise be living on the street.”

I stare down at my hands. I don’t see how she can convince me that Monroe Street is anything more than a way to make easy money.

“There’s more to this place than you know,” she says softly, as if she can read my thoughts. “Like Micah. He was on his way to a boot camp with a very bad reputation when we discovered him. He’d been messing around with the computer files at his old school, screwing with the school’s budget. They expelled him, of course, and his so-called adoptive parents decided to send him away, saying they couldn’t put up with him any longer. We rescued him right before they sent him off. They were all too happy to give him up.”

She steeples her fingers together and touches them to her lips. “He’s one of the most intelligent, funny kids you’ll ever meet. But if he had gone to that camp…can you imagine? And then, of course, there are even younger kids like Dutch who just fall through the cracks of the system after enduring terrible physical and emotional abuse. Trust me, Olivia, if it weren’t for this home, these kids would be so much worse off, if even alive.”

The thought of anyone abusing little Dutch—who clings to Jack as if he’s his big brother—tugs at my heart. “I know. You’ve done a lot for these kids. And I’m really lucky that you took me in, too.” I
am
grateful, even if I’m not sticking around.

She nods. “I’m glad you appreciate it. Just remember, it takes hard work to keep this place going. Everyone does his or her fair share, Z included. Without him, this place would fall apart. And if that happened, all these kids would end up back in the system. I’m sure you can imagine how traumatic that would be.”

I go cold inside, thinking of Derrick. Yes, I can certainly imagine that.

Nancy stands up. “Just remember, we’re all here for one another, just as a family should be. If you ever need help with these accounts, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks, Nancy.”

After she leaves, I fall back on the bed, throwing my arm over my eyes. What the hell? This place depends that much on Jack? After being here even a little bit, I can kind of see that.

So what am I supposed to do now?

Chapter Twenty-One

“’I am chained to my old life. I loathe and hate it now, but I cannot leave it. I must have gone too far to turn back—and yet I don’t know.’”

—Charles Dickens,
Oliver Twist

JACK

While the rest of the house is sleeping, I’m glued to the computer monitor, my stomach churning. For the hundredth time, I zoom in on the familiar gold heart-shaped locket the woman in the photograph is wearing. And her daughter—the same large brown eyes, same serious expression as Liv. I was right—she has her mother’s eyes.

You switched the file on purpose. You gave it to her, hoping she’d figure it out
, I have to remind myself. I want a better life for her. Carlton Brownlow is rich enough to afford the finest universities. He could help get her into any Ivy League school she wants. She deserves that. If we ran, we would always be running.

So why am I so upset?

I wish I’d never seen this file.

Do the right thing, Jack. For once.

My heart sinking, I dial the private number for Carlton Preston Brownlow III.

Liv stares at me, her burger untouched. It was easy enough to get her to think we were just stopping at a café in this little town on our way out of Richmond. I shove my sweating, trembling hands under my legs. She doesn’t need to know how sick to my stomach I am right now at having to tell her the news this way.

“What do you mean, my grandfather’s coming?” she asks.

The waitress brings our check and places it next to me, but I don’t take my eyes off Liv. “He’ll be here soon. He lives in the next town, outside Norfolk.” The town that is two hours from Monroe Street. From Bill.

From me.

The tears begin to roll down her cheek. “Wait, why are you saying this? What happened to our plans?”

“You belong with him. He’s your family.”

“I don’t have any family. Just you.”

Her words tempt me to drop this whole plan, but I only shake my head. “You deserve so much more than a life with someone like me—a criminal.”

“No, Jack, that’s not—”

“Yes, it
is
true. Think about it. You want college. I want the easy life. It’s not going to work. And he’ll be here soon…”

She jumps to her feet and storms out of the café.

I open my wallet and toss some bills down on the table before heading out to follow her. I make my way across the street to the park, where Liv is staring at the lake, her long dark hair whipping about in the wind.

She doesn’t turn when I approach her. “That’s why you wanted to take Sam’s car instead of your bike, isn’t it?” she asks. “To bring my stuff here. I should’ve known. You never planned to run away with me.”

Her voice is so bitter. I’m just another person in her life who’s let her down. Hopefully for the last time.

“If you ran away with me, we’d always be running. Always. If you stayed with me at Monroe Street, you’d become a thief, just like the rest of us. That’s not in you.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“Liv, talk to me.”

She doesn’t move, though I can see her hands shaking. “About what? How you’re dumping me with some stranger? I told you—I don’t have any family. I don’t
need
any family.”

“I’m not dumping you.”

She whips around. “Bullshit. You still think I can’t fit into your life, don’t you?”

“Look, I’m doing this for…” I break off as my eye catches a long black Mercedes sedan pull up to the curb next to the café. A man in a black suit and cap gets out to open the back door.

“Don’t you dare say you’re doing this for me,” she says, her voice loud but shaky. “What are you, my father? If you care for me at all, you’ll run away with me. But that’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want to leave Monroe Street.”

She almost spits the last words out. Damn it, she’s so stubborn. But now it’s clear what I have to do.

A tall, elderly businessman steps out of the back of the Mercedes, buttoning his suit coat and speaking with his driver. They are looking at the café. My eyes move back to Liv’s teary ones. At that moment, I take every happy memory I’ve had in my life—all spent with her—and shove them down. Deep, deep down inside of me where they won’t interfere. I harden my eyes, my posture.

My heart.

I tuck my thumbs into my jeans, assuming that cocky look I’m most familiar with. “You’re right. I don’t want to run away with you. My life is at Monroe Street. You don’t fit in there.”

She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait a second, this doesn’t sound like you at all, Jack.” She reaches for me, dropping her hand when I step out of reach. I can’t let her touch me, or I’ll fall apart.

“Nancy and I agreed. We can’t take the chance that you wouldn’t follow through. Bill would eat you alive if he saw you hesitate even a little.”

“But…”

I cross my arms and release an exasperated breath. “Look, I like you a lot. You already know that. But I also like being a thief. You don’t. And your grandfather
wants
you. Do you know how many of us would give anything to have a family member actually want us?”

Her eyes soften and I silently curse myself. I slipped there. I didn’t mean to bring up my own history—it weakens me. I look back at the Mercedes. I’m not lying; she is lucky. “You know how important this is to me. You have an easy way out that anyone would take. So this is it, okay? You have your family and I have mine.”

“So that’s it? That’s all?” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe you.”

I keep the hard exterior while my insides evaporate into nothing. “Monroe Street’s my family, my life. Knowing that it’s not yours is what makes me a good recruiter. And whether you believe it or not, a good friend.”

She believes me now. I can see the hardening in her eyes when I said
recruiter
.
Why would you believe this, Liv?
But I’m relieved. It’s the right thing; I know it. Doesn’t matter if it makes me feel like absolute shit.

She swipes her hand across her eyes to brush away the tears and straightens her shoulders. “Fine. Get my bags. I don’t want to see you ever again,
Z
.”

I wince as she turns abruptly to walk toward the Camaro. I follow her, wondering what I’m supposed to say or do now. I don’t want it to end like this.

I open the trunk and Liv grabs her suitcase, shrugging off any help from me. She starts toward the café, then turns back to me, dropping the bag. She removes the bracelet and throws it at me so hard I barely catch it.

“You’ll want this back to give to the next sucker,” she says. “I’m sure the story about it being your mother’s is just one more lie you told to screw with me.”

She picks up her bag and walks toward the car. Her grandfather and his driver are staring at us now. Liv’s steps slow as she approaches them. I catch up and walk next to her. I want to check out this guy again for myself before I abandon her.

His liquid gray eyes are fixed on Liv’s face. “Carlton Brownlow, this is your granddaughter, Olivia Westfield,” I say quietly.

“Olivia Westfield,” the old man says, his voice hardly rising above a whisper. “Your grandmother’s name. You look like her, like your mother.”

His eyes drop to her neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “May I?” he asks.

Liv drops her bag and unlatches the locket from around her neck, handing it to him. He opens the clasp and draws a quick breath, his eyes filling with tears. “Agnes.”

He pulls a worn photograph out of his wallet and unfolds it. It’s the same picture of her mother that’s in the locket. Liv glances once at me, her eyes filled with tears. I can’t even force myself to look away.

Brownlow returns the locket. “Olivia, I know you have a lot of questions about why Aggie…why your mother left. I have a lot of questions about what happened to her. When she ran away almost eighteen years ago with her boyfriend…” He trails off, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

Liv’s face pales.
Oh, shit, don’t make this sound like her fault.

He folds the handkerchief into his pocket, sighing. “I’m sorry. She swore I’d never hear from her again. I looked everywhere for her. I didn’t know anything, not even that she was pregnant. My wife had just died…” He clears his throat and smiles. “You were named after my wife. I think—I hope—Aggie planned for us to find each other.”

Liv doesn’t say anything. Maybe she’s still in shock. Maybe I should’ve told her first thing this morning. Or yesterday, when I made up my mind.

“Thank you, Jack,” Brownlow says, turning to me. But my eyes are fixed on Liv, who’s staring at me now. I gave Brownlow my real first name hoping she’d realize I still care about her. Her attention moves back to her grandfather. I don’t think it makes much of a difference to her. Not now.

“I’m in your debt for bringing Olivia home,” Brownlow continues. “I’ve started the process to change her last name, as you asked. And if there’s anything I can ever do for you—”

“Yes, there is,” I interrupt. “Forget you ever saw me. Forget everything you think you know about me.”

I intend the last as a warning to both of them. It’s probably a little dramatic, but I’m pretty much past caring. I can’t have him looking for Monroe Street. My eyes are starting to burn, and I know I need to go now or I’ll lose it. I turn to walk back to the Camaro, stopping for a moment when I pass her. She doesn’t look at me.

“Bye, Liv.” I barely manage the words without choking on them.

My feet carry me forward, my chest constricting so much I can’t breathe. I’m straining to move against a rubber band that wants to snap me back to her. I want to turn around, to say the words I was always too afraid to say. I want to grab her hand and run, getting us the hell away from everything and everyone.

I almost do it.

Instead, I slide into the driver’s seat of the Camaro and watch as Liv gets into the car with her grandfather. She won’t ever think of me without hate. The realization makes me sick.

As the Mercedes pulls away with my heart inside, I rest my head on the steering wheel. For the first time since my mother died, I allow myself to cry.

…

Liv

The car is too quiet. Maybe the fancier the car, the more it blocks out sound. It sucks that probably for the first time in my life, silence bothers me, allows me to dwell on Jack’s words and go over and over our conversation until I feel like screaming.

This man who is my grandfather tries to start a conversation, but I can’t talk to him. The only one I could talk to isn’t here and never will be. All I can do is stare out the window, forehead pressed against the cool glass, willing myself not to cry.

I don’t understand what happened. Jack seemed eager to leave town with me, telling me he couldn’t care less about the life he was leaving behind. Said the kids at Monroe Street would be fine with Nancy and Bill. Said they didn’t need him at all.

He lied to me.

I want to punch something or someone. I can’t exactly hit the gentle old man next to me, so I just pinch my hands in my lap. I’m sure I’ve drawn blood by now. How could Jack do that to me? I know he was falling for me. Or I thought he was, anyway.

That’s why he’s a good recruiter.
Jen was right. I couldn’t do the job, so he got rid of me.

I know he’ll be back at school in the fall, preying on some innocent girl, getting her to fall for him and then dumping her once he gets her to Monroe Street. Just like Jen. Maggie. Me. The list goes on.

I hate him. More than I ever despised Derrick or Bernadette or anyone else in my life who hurt me. Jack crept all the way into my heart and then smashed it.

Carlton Brownlow clears his throat. “The school is the same your mother went to. It’s private, one of the best in the country. What do you like to study?”

What do I like to study? Computer programming. I swallow hard and say “English lit” instead. My voice sounds weird, squeaky.

He starts talking about how he minored in English lit in college, but I don’t hear most of what he says. My eyes are now drawn to the neighborhood we’re driving through. Massive houses are set back from the road with long driveways and almost unnaturally green lawns, some with fountains, all with wrought iron gates.

The car slows and turns into the driveway of the last home. It is closer to the street than the other homes, flanked by huge oak trees.

“Olivia?” the old man says kindly. “This is my home. Your home.”

This is my new home? When the car stops, I stay frozen to the seat for a moment. I thought Bernadette and Marc’s house was huge. I thought Monroe Street was like a castle. But this obscene display of wealth can’t be real.

The driver opens my door as I take in the hulking mansion. The pristine white columns stretch up three stories. It’s like one of those pictures of the old Southern plantation homes in the history books, minus the horse and carriage.

“You live by yourself?” I ask.

He laughs. “Well, sort of. There’s a wing in the house for the servants.”

Servants? Who calls people servants? I guess old men with a buttload of money can call people whatever they want.

The driver takes my suitcase from the trunk and smiles at me.

“Olivia, this is James.”

Oh, well, of course he’d have a chauffeur named James. I’m convinced now that I’m in a really weird dream. Maybe Jack will be there when I wake up…

I follow James and the man who is my grandfather into the house. I’m prepared for a huge entryway, so I’m not completely shocked by the extravagant foyer.

I am, however, blown away by the grand marble staircase leading up to the next floor, then the one that climbs above it. I feel so insignificant in this massive house. If I lived here, I’d go insane.

Of course, I do live here now, so maybe I will go crazy.

A short, round woman appears from nowhere, her plump face one big smile. “Olivia,” she says in a surprisingly deep voice. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“This is Mrs. Bedwin, our housekeeper. She’s been with our family for a very long time,” Carlton Brownlow says.

Mrs. Bedwin wraps her arms around my shoulders in a big hug. I’m too surprised by her familiarity to pull away. She is warm and friendly and smells of rosemary and cinnamon. Okay, I’ll go with it, since I’m dreaming anyway.