A/N: Got a late start with this chapter again, sorry. I'll make this quick. Wow, I didn't win Serena any friends with chapter 18, huh? :P I'm a little curious if it's clear that she was having a PTSD-related flashback when she attacked Olivia, though. Not that I think that excuses what she did. At all. That chapter broke me a little too, and I have no love for Serena whatsoever, I just wondered if the flashback came through in the writing. Ok, I'll leave you to ch19... let the competition for Worst Mother Ever continue...
CHAPTER 19: Get Thee Behind Me, Satan
. . .
"—shouldn't be surprised, with her history of violence. It's a mistake to marry her, Amanda. How can you love someone like that, after all those years with your father?"
"Are you fucking kidding me right now? Liv is nothing like that piece of shit. She's nothing like any of you people. She's better than y'all. And me. Hell, if anything, she's too good for me."
"She certainly thinks so."
"Okay, Mama, you know what? You can just go—"
During Amanda's entire rebuttal, her voice had steadily risen, and now it hit a pitch that was dangerously close to shouting. Olivia recognized it as pure, unbridled rage, from the few times she had witnessed it coming off of the slender blonde like heat haze over summer asphalt. It was time to intervene, though Olivia wanted more than ever to turn and flee.
("—with her history of violence. . ." What the hell had Beth Anne meant by that? And how did she know about it?)
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Olivia stepped around the archway
(Click.)
just as Amanda was about to tell her mother exactly where she could go. When the two blonde women saw her round the corner, the entire room went still. The letters shuffled and flipped, and suddenly everything had changed.
For a moment, Olivia felt as if her slipper socks squished with milk and blood. She looked to Amanda wistfully, as if she had already lost her.
("—she's too good for me.")
"Liv." Amanda stood up abruptly from leaning against the sink, parallel to her mother, who had claimed the oven as her own. The older woman stood in front of the appliance with her arms akimbo, like a bouncer guarding the entrance to an exclusive club. She shot a nasty glare at Olivia when Amanda went to her without a glance back.
"Baby, why don't you go back on in with the kids?" Amanda suggested in a hushed tone, trying to usher Olivia from the room with a gentle hand under the elbow. "I can take care of this. Go on now."
"Let her stay, Amanda. This is her home after all, right, Captain?" Somehow, Beth Anne even managed to make that sound like an insult. As if being able to afford the apartment was shameful in some way. Olivia hated that she momentarily felt the urge to apologize. She'd felt the same way the first time she took her mother on a tour of her alma mater Siena college, a safe, beautiful campus where girls could walk from the library to the dorms in the middle of the night with no fear.
Truth be told, she had felt that way her entire goddamn life. Her very existence was a reason to apologize. Conceived by a monster. History of violence. A mistake.
"Your home, your furniture, your pictures on the walls. Why, I bet even these pretty little dish towels are yours, aren't they?" Beth Anne held up the tea towel with the peony design that looked hand-painted on, then slung the cloth over her shoulder. "I know my daughter didn't pick out much of anything in this apartment. Tell me, Olivia, what here does belong to Amanda?"
If they were being totally honest, Olivia had chosen the towels and most of the artwork that hung in the apartment, but much of it she'd already owned before living with Amanda. The detective herself had given Olivia free rein over decorating when they moved in, and happily spent her time drinking beer, keeping the kids entertained, teasing that every picture frame should be moved "a little to the left," and feeling Olivia up from behind whenever her back was turned. There were few things in their home that Olivia didn't consider equal parts hers and Amanda's, including their children.
But as Olivia was still recovering from the shock of the ridiculous accusation, Amanda gave up on leading her from the room and suddenly rounded on Beth Anne. "What the hell do you even know about it?" she asked, as loudly as she dared with the kids so close by. There was Christmas music playing on the television, but the volume had been turned down low during the gift exchange. "I hate decorating, so of course Liv picked out some of that stuff. But she's not selfish like you 'n Daddy. We share everything: rent, food, cars, parenting. Unlike your shitty marriage was, ours is a partnership."
Olivia felt a faint surge of pride at the vehemence with which Amanda defended their relationship. It was a relief, after the exchange she'd overheard prior to entering the room, and after her own exchange with Amanda weeks earlier, about her supposed desire for wealth. She had never thought of her fiancée as anything less than equal in all aspects—except officer rank.
She took Amanda's hand lightly and stepped forward to stand beside her, a united front. But the sense of victory was short-lived when Beth Anne rejoined her daughter's upbraiding.
"At least my marriage was real," said the woman, in a low, thrumming voice. She sounded like a rattlesnake ready to strike. Even her stance—bent forward at the waist to project the poison she oozed, head out in front of her body—made her appear as if she might spring forth from a deadly coil at any moment. "You can dress yours up however you please, but y'all will still just be playing house. In the eyes of the Lord, you will never be married to her."
It took most of Olivia's inner strength to hold back the hateful replies that came to mind, and a little of her physical strength to hold back Amanda, who took a threatening step towards her mother. The blonde liked to be in someone's face when she yelled at them, Olivia knew that from personal experience; however, what she knew of mother-daughter arguments was far more brutal than mere shouting. She didn't really care what Amanda did to the other woman right then, but she wouldn't let Beth Anne lay a finger on her fiancée.
"Okay." Olivia put up her palm as if she were showing a weapon she was about to toss aside. She'd gone into hostage situations unarmed and negotiated with far worse offenders than a close-minded Southern zealot who thought fringed vests and big hair were still the height of fashion. She could handle this.
"Look, Beth Anne, I don't know what your problem is with me, but I'm going to ask that you please keep it to yourself. You're in our home—" She squeezed Amanda's hand, clasping the back with her free hand. "—and it's Christmas. You can go back to Georgia tomorrow and hate me as much as you like. Until then, let's just pretend to get along and enjoy the rest of the day. At least for the kids' sake. And Amanda's. We both want what's best for her, right?"
"And you think that's you, I suppose?" Beth Anne sneered. For an attractive woman, she could pull some downright ugly faces. Serena had been like that too, after awhile—as if her shriveled liver was rotting her from the inside out. What must be rotting inside Beth Anne to make her such a miserable bitch?
"I do." Olivia looked to Amanda with surety. The detective offered a faint smile in return, but it was apologetic and a little sad. Olivia recognized the expression all too well; Amanda was ashamed of her mother. "I love her with everything that I have, and I would do anything for her."
"Are you sure you don't just want to fix her like all those other poor little victims you're so fond of?"
"Excuse me?" Olivia did a double take, staring at Beth Anne in disbelief. At the same time, Amanda barked, "What?" so loudly that it drew a responding bark from Frannie in the living room. Under different circumstances, it would have been funny, but no one laughed now.
Beth Anne still wore her sickening smirk, though. She nodded with satisfaction, as if she had just won some small victory. A hand of cards at which she'd cheated, perhaps. "You were so keen the other day to tell me how damaged she is by the way her daddy and I raised her. I just hope she's more than a project to you. Wanting to help someone is no reason to marry them."
Outwardly, Amanda didn't flinch or even react much at all to the accusation, but Olivia felt the fingers entwined with her own tighten reflexively, sensed the body next to hers tensing up to absorb the blow. She tried to draw Amanda's attention towards her, but it stayed fixed on Beth Anne, eyes narrowed to flinty blue slits.
"I said no such thing." Olivia shook her head adamantly, first at Beth Anne, then at Amanda. She hated the older woman for making it necessary to defend herself to her fiancée. Those were the kinds of mind games Serena had liked to play, and part of the reason Olivia had never introduced her to anyone she dated. "Amanda, I never said that. I told her witnessing abuse can be as harmful to a child as experiencing it themselves. I do not think you're damaged. Or a project."
"I know, darlin'." Amanda's voice came out warm, though her expression remained ice cold, her eyes never leaving Beth Anne's smug face. "I told you my mama's a liar and you shouldn't believe a damn word she says. Ain't that right, Mama? Anytime somebody has somethin' better'n you have, you gotta try and tear it down. You're just jealous I found someone who loves me, and you never did. And you never will."
That finally made Beth Anne's shitty little grin falter. She removed the tea towel from her shoulder, twisting and folding it into a cudgel, which she struck repeatedly against her palm. (Amanda had the same habit, usually with hairbrushes, folders, or anything that went thwap.) "How can you speak to me like that? I'm just looking out for my baby girl. I don't want you to get hurt again, the way you did in Atlanta. Think, honey. Why can't she find someone her own age and rank? She's using you, just like that man—"
"Mama, shut your goddamn mouth," Amanda growled, each word separate and filled to bursting with rage, like infuriated ticks about to pop. "You never gave one iota what happened to me in Atlanta, so don't go pretending like you care now. You know who does care? Who has been there for me when things are bad? Olivia. She would never hurt me. Ever."
"Violence begets violence, Amanda. You should know that better than anyone." Beth Anne wagged the bunched up towel, its pretty pink blossoms crumpled beyond recognition, at Amanda. "And the way she drinks . . . "
There was that word again—violence. All the euphoria Olivia had felt at the conviction in Amanda's words, the certainty of her belief in Olivia, was gone in a rush. For one mad second, watching Beth Anne smack the dish towel against her thigh, Olivia thought the woman was referring to
("I want you dead. I want a bullet in your head. I want you in the ground.")
beating Lewis with the metal rod. Surely Amanda hadn't told her mother about that?
But no, she'd said violence begat violence. That old Biblical term for fathering offspring had always sounded to Olivia like a cat hacking up a hairball. Begat. She had indeed been begotten by a rapist, but there was only one way Beth Anne could know about that, too. Then again, the tag line about drinking tied it back to Serena. Even Amanda didn't know the extent of that violence, though. Olivia hadn't wanted to trigger her with stories of physical abuse.
The stories she had shared were in confidence, so why the hell did this awful woman know about any of them? Olivia had become more guarded about the details of her conception and her mother's alcoholism since they were turned into water cooler conversations, thanks to Stabler, Cragen, and Munch. She'd thought those days were over.
"Yes, I know all about your mean alcoholic mama," Beth Anne said with triumph, when Olivia glanced uncertainly at Amanda. "How she knocked you around and blamed you for—"
"I SAID SHUT UP!" Amanda roared, her cheeks blazing as red as her robe. She had barely gotten the last syllable out before she spun in Olivia's direction, holding tight to the hand that had gone lax in hers. She scooped Olivia's other hand up with it, clasping them together uncomfortably, the engagement ring pinched between Olivia's fingers. "I didn't mean to tell her about your mom, I swear. It slipped out that day we came home from the hospital. You remember all the drugs they had me on. I didn't know what I was saying until it was already out. And the only thing I told her was that your mama drank and— and she hit you sometimes. I'm sorry, Liv. But that's all I said."
The desperation in Amanda's eyes, in her voice, was the only proof Olivia needed. She didn't like that Beth Anne had gotten those lacquered claws into such a painful part of her past, but if Amanda said it was an accident, Olivia believed her. She would believe her fiancée over the horrid older Rollins woman any day. "I know, love," she said, rubbing her thumbs across the backs of Amanda's sharply clenching fingers. "It's okay, you don't need to explain yourself."
In the doorway behind them, a small voice spoke up, cutting through the tension in the air like a swift, glancing
(straight razor)
scalpel. It sliced at Olivia so surely, she half expected to look down and see blood. Instead, she turned to find her son holding up her iPhone and asking, "Mommy, who's Alex Cab- Cuh- . . . C-A-B-O-T? Cuh-bot? Is that one of your officers?"
"Ask why Mama yelled," Jesse stage whispered from around the corner. Fleetingly, her hand appeared, goading Noah on with a quick poke to the shoulder, before darting out of sight again.
"Jesse Eileen, you better march your buns right back into the living room, missy," Amanda called out, more for show than actual scolding. She meant business, though, and Jesse knew it—the sound of her socked feet pattered off toward the living room a second later. "Hey, Noah, why don't you go on in there with her too, bud?"
She reached out to ruffle the boy's hair, but he dodged her hand, without taking his eyes off Olivia. Those somber, inquisitive blue eyes that were so much lighter than her own.
"Who is he?" Noah asked.
"Alex is a girl, honey," Olivia said hastily, hoping that detail would be sufficient enough to send the boy on his way. Living in a house with six females—four human, two canine—and taking dance classes, which had a much higher girl to boy ratio, had generated in Noah only minor interest in the feminine. Most days, girls were merely tolerated. "Just an old friend of Mommy's."
"Oh. Okay." Noah sounded disappointed, his shoulders sagging as he handed Olivia the phone. "She texted you. It said: 'Can't wait to see you in a few days.' And then another one with a bunch of heart emojis."
A terrible feeling rose up inside of Olivia, so unfamiliar that it took her a moment to recognize what it was—she was blushing. All eyes were on her, awaiting a response, and for some reason her cheeks were aflame. She cursed inwardly, accepting the phone from Noah and telling him to go play. He cast a wary look past Olivia at the other two women in the kitchen, namely Beth Anne manhandling the tea towel over by the stove, then he reluctantly trudged off for the living room. Olivia hated to think about what he might have overheard before making his presence known. She didn't want her children to find out about their dead alcoholic grandmother, about the verbal or physical abuse, not now or any time in the foreseeable future. Maybe ever.
"Why the hell's Alex texting you on Christmas Day?" Amanda asked, breaking into Olivia's thoughts. There was a hint of annoyance in her voice, a perturbed frown upon her face. She didn't let go of Olivia's hand, but held it so limply she might as well have. "And why's she seeing you in a few days?"
Olivia peered sidelong at Beth Anne, indicating that she didn't want to address the topic in front of the older woman. Ignoring the signal, Amanda released Olivia's hand this time, crossing both arms over her chest. Meanwhile, Beth Anne was eating it up, her delight at the budding conflict obvious, even from the corner of Olivia's eye. She was wringing the tea towel again, and practically bouncing up and down like a spectator in the stands of a rousing sporting event.
"I don't know why she's texting me today," Olivia said, keeping a low volume, in the hopes that Beth Anne might not discern every word. (Fat chance. She was craning her neck out so far, she resembled a cobra, wavering back and forth over a snake charmer's basket. There's a place in France where the ladies wear no pants . . .) "But she wants us to get together on New Year's. The three of us. I told her I needed to run it by you before I agreed to anything."
"Oh." Amanda let her arms fall back down at her sides, but she didn't reach for Olivia again. Instead, she thrust both hands into the pockets of her robe, which was so oversized and fluffy, it looked to be consuming her by degrees. All that remained visible was her bright, blonde head. Under better circumstances it would have been an adorable sight. "Okay."
"A.C. Alex Cabot," Beth Anne said thoughtfully, and rather gloatingly, if Olivia wasn't mistaken. Sure enough, one glimpse at the older woman's face revealed a fiendish little grin that was recognizable from seeing it on Amanda's face whenever the detective got something over on Olivia. The only difference was the malevolence behind this expression. "Something blue."
Immediately, Olivia recognized the caption from the note Alex had included with those damn earrings; Amanda did as well, her jaw clenching noticeably at its mention. But how Beth Anne knew anything about it was the real question.
"She's got pretty penmanship, I'll give her that." Beth Anne finally tossed the tea towel onto the countertop and bent down for a peek inside the oven. A delectable aroma of turkey meat, sage, and green bean casserole wafted out of the open door, settling over the kitchen in a rich, mouthwatering haze. "Nice perfume, too. Expensive. You do like your fancy, pretty things, don't you, sugar?"
Olivia wasn't certain to whom the question had been posed, until Beth Anne snapped the oven shut, righted herself, and gazed directly at her—or more precisely, at the watch on her wrist. "Save the sweet apple pie routine, Beth Anne," said Olivia, her patience finally reaching its limit. There were only so many snide remarks dressed up as cheerful quips that she could take, especially when they were intended to stir up trouble between herself and Amanda. "It's unbecoming in a woman your age. And since I can see you have no intentions of being civil, at least have the courage to say what you mean to my face. And stop calling me sugar."
A dark cloud passed over Amanda's features as she listened to her mother being called out. For one brief second, it appeared she might take up for Beth Anne, but when she finally did speak, her anger was focused on the same target at which Olivia had aimed. "Yeah, Mama, quit tryna make more trouble than you already have. What the hell do you know about Alex, anyway?"
"I know she sent a love note to your . . . fiancée, who keeps it hidden away in her wallet where you won't see it. Right next to Mother's Little Helper." Beth Anne delivered the news with vicious glee, pointing an accusatory finger at Olivia. "And now she and Little Miss Innocent there are sending flirty texts behind your back on Christmas Day."
"Are you kidding me?" Olivia asked, at first too stunned to be angry. But as the implications of Beth Anne's words sunk in, her temper and her pulse spiked dramatically. The kids' excitement over presents had given her no time for breakfast, other than a cup of coffee, and she suddenly felt so lightheaded she had to put her hand against the wall to remain steady. She was not going to pass out right now, goddammit; she was too pissed off. "You went through my wallet? My purse? What the hell is wrong with you? Those things are private. You had no right to touch them."
At thirteen, she had walked in on her mother reading her diary. Serena hadn't even apologized or tried to hide the violation, just stated that she was making sure Olivia hadn't gotten herself "into trouble." It would be at least two more years until Olivia understood what that had meant; four years after that for it to nearly come true. (And a couple more until it finally did.) But after that day with the diary, she'd learned that nothing was sacred to Serena, least of all her daughter's privacy. And nothing, it seemed, was sacred to Beth Anne Rollins. Least of all anything pertaining to Olivia.
"I don't hear you denying any of it," Beth Anne said coolly, another of her self-satisfied smirks in place. She had been up and dressed, her hair perfectly coiffed in that wife-of-a-televangelist style she favored, long before anyone else in the apartment awoke that morning. Standing there in her pearls, hands on her pencil-skirted hips, she looked far more in control than Olivia felt in her thermal reindeer pajamas and socks. "I think the more important question is, what exactly do you have going on with this Alex woman?"
"Mama." Amanda was shaking her head, pacing back and forth across the kitchen like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Every few steps she jammed her fists into the bottom of her pockets, as deep as they would go. "I swear to God . . . "
"Nothing," Olivia said, pronouncing the word with added weight and emphasis. She took a calming breath, removed her hand from the wall and pressed her palms together, using the prayerlike pose to gesture at Beth Anne. "You are way off base here. It's none of your business and I shouldn't have to explain anything to you, but that note came with a wedding gift, both of which I showed to Amanda. And I was not sending 'flirty texts' behind her back. I didn't even respond when Alex texted earlier, because today is about family. I have no designs on Alexandra Cabot whatsoever."
It would have been better not to include the former attorney's full name like that. In fact, it would have been better to leave off the final sentence altogether, but Olivia's inner editor was losing out to her frustration and intense dislike of Beth Anne. She wanted the woman out of her apartment. Now.
"Oh, Alexandra," Beth Anne repeated in a lofty, mocking tone. She rolled her hand in the air, imitating a queenly wave. "She an old flame of yours? Sounds more your speed than my Mandy does."
"Just because Daddy stepped out on you with every skank in town who'd spread her legs for him does not mean Liv'll cheat on me," Amanda said hotly, stopping directly in front of her mother, no more than two or three feet between them. Her fists were crammed so far into her pockets, the stitches in the robe threatened to pop. "She ain't like that. If you took the time to get to know her, you'd see."
"Honey, sooner or later they're all like that. You think someone as high-flown and power-hungry as she is won't get tired of you the second something better comes along?" Beth Anne motioned to Olivia with the revulsion of someone scrubbing bug guts off their windshield. Her eyes never strayed from Amanda. "You said it yourself—she's too good for you. She'll find another pretty young thing, one that's smarter, higher paid, and isn't content to just be a detective the rest of her life."
Olivia had barely registered the insults directed at her; she didn't care about those. It was the awful things Beth Anne said to Amanda that really hurt. She felt them as deeply as any of the cuts left on her soul by Serena's abusive words. Sometimes the words were worse than bruises and broken bones—those healed. But hearing your own mother tell you how worthless and unlovable you were did irreparable harm. She couldn't let that happen to Amanda. Not anymore than it already had.
Realizing she was frozen in place, scarcely daring to breathe as she awaited for
(you monster)
a physical attack, Olivia forced herself to step forward, to open her mouth and speak. "You need to leave," she said with a calmness she didn't feel. Her hands were jittery and she balled them into fists at her sides to hide the shaking as she took another step closer to Beth Anne. "You're no longer welcome in our home. I suggest you apologize to Amanda, say goodbye to your grandchildren, then get your things and get out."
"Or what?" Beth Anne scoffed, but her gaze traveled down to Olivia's fists and she backed into the handle of the oven door, bouncing off at the hip. "You'll hit me? Go ahead, you'll only be proving my point to Amanda. That she should get out now, before you turn into a mean drunk just like your—"
Amanda, who had paused to lean against the counter and hold her side, taking one of the frequent breathers she'd needed since the shooting, startled them both by standing upright, grabbing Beth Anne's arm, and tugging her towards the doorway. "You heard Olivia. I want you outta here too. Right quick," she said, but only made it a short distance before Beth Anne dug in her heels and wrenched free of the grasp.
The woman jerked around with little heed for her daughter's freshly healed wound. Fearing Amanda would get reinjured by the swinging elbows and carelessly flailing limbs, Olivia stepped in, caught an arm, and used it to guide Beth Anne aside. She had subdued so many perps, wrestled so many distraught women away from physical confrontations, she knew the precise amount of force needed. For Beth Anne, who clocked in around five-five, maybe one hundred and thirty-five pounds, it didn't take much. But when she suddenly wheeled around and slapped Olivia across the face, she had more than enough strength to make it count.
Already unsteady on her feet, Olivia fell back a step from the harsh impact. She collided with Amanda, who gave a soft grunt and put out an arm to keep her from stumbling any farther. The stinging in her cheek bloomed into a far-reaching heat, as if a hot iron had been pressed to that side of her face. She clutched at it, too stunned to do much more than stare, blink, breathe. Of the handful of slaps she'd taken from someone other than her mother, Beth Anne's was a doozy. Not on par with Lewis, Calvin, or Orion, but definitely worse than the angry mothers she usually encountered.
She worked her jaw a few times, trying to shift it back into place. Sometimes it clicked while she chewed, but that wasn't nearly as bad as when it locked up on her, even just for a few seconds. Which injury or altercation had caused the misalignment she couldn't say. This latest blow certainly wouldn't do her any favors.
"What the fuck," Amanda uttered, sounding truly unable to fathom what she had witnessed. She rounded Olivia, peeling aside her fingers to examine the flaming cheek underneath. She touched the other cheek so softly it tickled, ducking down and peering up at Olivia with wide, concerned eyes. "Baby, are you okay? What the fuck, Mama!"
"I'm okay. I'm okay." Though her face still ached like a bad sunburn, Olivia took her hand away from it and grasped Amanda at the elbows, hoping to prevent the severe backlash she knew was coming. She could hear it in Amanda's voice, feel it building up inside the small, slender frame that was already strung tighter than piano wire half the time. One good twist and it would snap. "It didn't hurt."
That was an outright lie, and the proof was right there on her cheek. It would be nice and pink for a few hours, a little swollen perhaps, and maybe even faintly bruised by tomorrow. But the thing that hurt most was her pride. Someone had gotten the jump on her again. And not even a particularly crafty or substantial someone—goddamn Beth Anne Rollins.
"She grabbed me! She has no right to put her hands on me," Beth Anne said, hugging herself about the arms and rubbing them as if she'd caught a chill. She shied away from Olivia, despite the wide berth between them.
Amanda dismissed the accusation with a disgusted wave and loud huff. "She barely touched you. You're the one who slapped her, you crazy—"
"Oh, that's right. Stick up for her." Beth Anne flung her arms out wide in a gesture that was almost identical to one Amanda often made, especially during arguments. There was a hardness to Amanda's anger that Beth Anne couldn't quite achieve with her flighty disposition and drama queen tactics, though. (For one brief second, Olivia wondered if that brutal edge came from Amanda's father.) "Just like you always did for him. No matter what he did to me, you just thought he walked on water, didn't you? Until you found out that he didn't. You'll find the same thing out about your precious Olivia one day."
Trembling with rage beneath the oversized robe, Amanda turned to retaliate. Olivia tightened her grip on the furious blonde, doing her best to hold on without using any real strength. She couldn't stand the thought of hurting Amanda too. "She's right, love. I shouldn't have taken her arm like that. Beth Anne, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you or—"
"Don't apologize to her," Amanda snapped, pulling free from Olivia's measured grasp. She shook her head, looking incredulous and a little betrayed by the attempt at reconciliation. "It's all part of her act. Everybody's out to get poor Beth Anne. Don't fall for it. You don't hafta put up with her shit like you did your mama's. Stand up for yourself for once, goddammit."
The last part stung almost as much as the slap. Amanda's anger at her mother's supposed weakness was deeply rooted in fear—of making the same mistakes, of becoming just like Beth Anne—and Olivia understood it well. She had the same fears about her own mother. But that didn't make it any easier to be lashed out at, or to know Amanda considered her in some way deficient. Incapable of standing up for herself. Too willing to lie back and take it.
With Beth Anne in the background grinning her damn hyena grin, so thoroughly elated to see Olivia getting bawled out, it was even more disheartening. It didn't anger Olivia, as it probably should have. Instead, she wanted to retreat, to find somewhere to take cover until the storm passed. That had been her solution as a child. But it wouldn't do for a captain, a mother, or a wife.
"I don't know what you're smiling about," Amanda said, catching sight of Beth Anne's expression at the same time Olivia did. She abandoned Olivia then, descending on the older woman like a hawk on a field mouse. At first it appeared she might repay the slap in kind, but she was only reaching for Beth Anne's shoulders, to spin her around and steer her from the kitchen. "I want you gone, ya hear? No more excuses. And you can forget comin' to the wedding. You're not going to ruin that for us, the way you just ruined Christmas. Get your stuff and get out."
As she spoke, Amanda had marched her mother towards the living room, Olivia following close at her heels. They stopped by the front door, in full view of Noah and Jesse, who were sprawled on the floor, coloring opposite sides of Noah's new sketch pad. The boy was proving to be quite the little artist, having inherited none of Olivia's atrocious drawing skills. He and Jesse looked up in unison, perhaps not fully aware of what had just transpired, but definitely noting Amanda's brusque voice.
"Amanda." Olivia tipped a subtle nod to the young and impressionable audience a few feet away. They had already overheard too much as it was, judging by their curious expressions and the torn out pages of scribbles that were scattered around them. As a kid, whenever things got especially tense at home, Olivia had taken her anxiousness out on paper too. She'd once cut every last smiling face out of her mother's magazine collection, drawn frowns on them in heavy black marker, and littered them around the apartment for Serena to find in all her favorite booze hiding spots.
Luckily, Amanda understood the toll that domestic disturbances took on children, too. She plastered on a tight-lipped smile and wiggled her fingers, beckoning the kids over. "Y'all come say goodbye to Grammy, now," she instructed with none of the usual good humor she reserved for them. Wary of her odd tone and its unnecessary volume, they hung back until she snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor in front of Beth Anne. "Hurry up, let's go."
"Where's she going?" Jesse asked, swiping the long blonde hair out of her face as she sallied forth, nightgown twisted around her skinny frame. The child always looked like she had just escaped an F5 tornado. "Who's gonna make dinner if she's not here?"
"Should I get Tilly so she can say goodbye too?" Noah asked quietly, lingering beside Olivia as his younger sister went on inquiring about Beth Anne's sudden departure while she was hugged and soundly kissed by her grandmother. He gazed up with uncertainty, his eyes drifting to Olivia's smarting cheek.
"No, sweetheart." Olivia gave him a sad smile and fluffed his unruly curls. She had so wanted to spare him—to spare all of her children—this exact type of family drama. Yelling, hitting, hatred, and the fear of not belonging. It had almost snuck in once, that dogged monster called Otherness which had plagued her since childhood, in the form of Sheila Porter. The woman who claimed Olivia was as insignificant to her son as she had been to her own mother. Not his "real" mom. Just like Serena could never see her as a real daughter, but the progeny of a beast. So different, so dark.
"Let's let Tilly sleep, okay? Go give hugs and kisses," Olivia said, sending Noah along with a pat on the back. Over his head, she stared Beth Anne down, silently daring her to reject his approach. It was one thing to push Olivia away; that was fine—she'd been rejected plenty of times before. But one false move with her son, and she would do more than drag the woman's suitcase to the front door, as Amanda did now; she would stuff Beth Anne inside of it and kick it down the stairs.
Beth Anne welcomed Noah into a warm embrace and bent forward to kiss him noisily on top of the head, as she had done with Jesse. Despite the occasional comment on his dancing ("Very light on his feet, or should I say 'in the loafers'"), she had shown the boy favoritism during her stay, for no other apparent reason than his maleness. "You be a good little man for your mommy now, mister," she said, clapping him affectionately on the rear. She shot a dirty look at Olivia. "Lord knows she needs some of that in her life."
"Mother," Amanda warned, parking the suitcase beside the door and glancing around for Beth Anne's purse. She spotted it dangling from one of the dining room chairs and trotted over to retrieve it, then seemed to have second thoughts, doubling back to rifle through her own bag that was crammed into one of the higher bookshelves where Jesse and Matilda couldn't reach.
Months earlier, after finding the contents of her purse—seldom used as anything beyond a place to store her wallet when she was home—strewn across the living room floor and an expensive lipstick strewn across their daughters' faces, Amanda and Olivia had both agreed on a better storage method for their bags. Olivia kept hers on a shelf above the credenza, where she could easily grab it on her way out the door. She went for it now, digging out her wallet and the fifty that was folded inside the zipper pouch. She held up her palm when Amanda, returning with a ten in hand, tried to object.
"Merry Christmas, sugar," Olivia said, affecting a cloyingly sweet delivery and smile as she proffered the bill to Beth Anne. If the older woman was going to accuse her of flaunting her wealth, might as well make good on it. Particularly if it got the bitch out sooner.
She only regretted that Amanda blushed slightly as she thrust out the ten, alongside the fifty. Beth Anne studied the offerings, smirking at the smaller bill, and plucked them both up like petals snatched from the eye of a daisy.
"I'll call you a cab," Amanda muttered, her posture stiff and resistant when Beth Anne pulled her into a tight, unrelenting hug. She scowled miserably as the woman took her by the chin, turned her face aside, and mashed a kiss to her cheek. "Other than that, you're on your own. Don't call me up in an hour, crying to come back. I appreciate you helping out like you did, but you won't be hearing from me or Liv anymore after this."
"You say that now, Mandy Jo, but one of these days you'll see that I was right. And when that day comes, you know where to find me." Beth Anne swung her purse strap onto her shoulder and extended the handle on her wheeled suitcase with a snap. "Best take out the green bean casserole before it burns. Turkey should be ready in another twenty minutes. Goodbye, Amanda. I forgive you for doing this."
Olivia expected the woman to breeze past her as if she didn't exist, but she was caught off guard once again, finding herself ensnared just as tightly as Amanda had been. It was much too forceful to be called a hug, and more resembled a chokehold when Beth Anne wrapped both arms around her shoulders, tugging her down until they were cheek to cheek. She drew back Olivia's hair with her clawlike fingers and, on the side not visible to Amanda, whispered in Olivia's ear, "I can see why your mama didn't love you. And just so you know, I'm the one who broke your watch, you arrogant, crazy bitch."
She cupped a hand to the back of Olivia's head and kissed her roughly on the same cheek she had slapped moments ago. Then Amanda was prying her off and practically shoving her out of the apartment. The detective slammed the door in her mother's face before the woman had time to get the final word, which she'd spun around quickly in the hallway to announce.
. . .