Inheritance Tax by InitialLuv
Chapter Eighteen (In which Olivia is sneaky, Mark is grateful, and Milt is talkative.)
Mark lay with his eyes closed, yet tensely alert, as the ringing in his ears fought the ache in his back and side for dominance. The noise in his ears was winning.
The pain was still numbed by the latest dose of painkiller he'd received, although there was the vague threat of a spontaneous flare-up, courtesy of the kidney stone that seemed determined to cause as much suffering as possible before exiting the premises. But the ringing – or rather, buzzing – in his ears hadn't reduced; in fact, now that he was more awake and had nothing to distract him, the inescapable noise was infuriatingly . . . deafening.
It wasn't like he'd never had ringing in his ears before. But it had always been an immediate reaction to a logical cause. When he was younger, it had occurred once or twice if he'd been in the pits – or sometimes even in the stands – of a race track without proper ear protection. More recently, the sources of tinnitus included getting clocked in the head, having a gun go off too close to his ears, or being in near proximity to an explosion. Never worried about those kinds of things before I hooked up with Hardcastle. On most occasions, the ringing in his ears had been brief and merely an annoyance. It also hadn't sounded exactly like this; typically, it had been a lower vibration that made everything sound like he had cotton in his ears.
The only thing that really compared to this current affliction was the way his ears had felt after the concert he'd gone to with Warren. It had been about three years ago, when he'd been seeing Andra Mason, the girl he'd met at night school. They'd been dating casually for a few months, and on a romantic impulse he had bought the tickets to see her favorite band in concert. Unfortunately, in between buying the pricey tickets and the date of the concert, Andra had broken up with him. It had been the standard "You're a really nice guy, Mark, but – " brush off, and after the initial depression, he'd actually been more upset about the money he'd spent than the dissolving of the relationship. He now had basically useless tickets to see a band from England that he knew little about – Tears for Fears.
As the date of the sold-out concert had drawn near, Mark had considered scalping the tickets. Hardcastle had put the kibosh on that notion pretty quickly, and considering he was still on parole, McCormick had reluctantly also abandoned the idea. But the younger man had still been moping about the lost money when Independence Day rolled around, and he'd been a somewhat moody host at the annual 4th of July get-together at Gulls' Way. Warren had been helping the two men clean up at the end of the party, and it was the judge who'd actually recommended that she accompany McCormick to the concert the next evening. Mark had been a little put out by the suggestion, not wanting to admit he needed a last-minute escort, but the outright permission to go out with the judge's only niece had finally trumped his wounded pride. He'd figured if he had to endure a band that he wasn't interested in, at least he'd be in good company.
The seats had been prime, right up near the stage and in front of several speakers. Mark had been captivated by the performance, amazed that he hadn't been more aware of the excellent band, and he hadn't even considered the closeness of the speakers. But well after he'd fought the after-concert traffic in Hollywood, dropped Warren off at home, and finally gotten back to Gulls' Way, his ears had still been ringing. He'd been helping himself to a midnight snack in the kitchen when Hardcastle had come in to ask how the night had gone. McCormick had begun to energetically extol the talents and creativity of Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith. It wasn't until he'd seen the judge wincing and scowling that he'd realized how loud he'd been talking, and that the ringing in his ears had affected his hearing a little, as well.
But that time, the tinnitus had already been pretty subdued when he'd gotten up the next morning. And by lunchtime, it had been mostly gone.
Mark didn't think he'd be that lucky this time.
He was concentrating on the cicada-like sound so intently that he didn't hear the first sneakered footsteps into his room. The abrupt jarring and scraping sound of the chair, occurring simultaneously with a crossly whispered "Shoot!" was a little hard to ignore. Mark opened his eyes and looked to his right.
Olivia was there, partially bent over, massaging her foot. Apparently her stealthy entrance had been hampered by a stubbed toe. She lifted her head, and seeing his open eyes, suddenly looked apologetic. "I didn't mean to wake you up," she said.
He smiled at her, feeling himself relax. "I wasn't asleep. Just thinking." He pressed the buttons on the bedrail, raising the bed into a sitting position, and then looked at his daughter with a kind of amused awe.
His daughter.
"Uh, hi, again," he said, still smiling.
She didn't respond, only sat on the edge of the chair, appearing nervous. She started to twist a strand of hair around her finger, and then pulled her hand away with a slightly embarrassed expression.
"Are you feeling better?" Olivia paused, then added haltingly, "You look a lot better."
Mark's smile turned into a half-grin. "Well, I guess that's one area where you're not like me. You're not a great liar."
"And you are?"
The smile faded. Mark sighed. "I was. I don't lie as much anymore. At least, not about things that are important."
Are you sure about that? He'd lied by omission to Teddy. He'd lied to Marty when he gave her the impression his doctor had cleared him to fly cross-country. And he'd kept the truth of just how ill he felt from nearly everyone, including Hardcastle. Although the person he'd hurt most with that deception had been himself.
If Olivia noticed his inner turmoil, she didn't comment on it. Instead, she said, "I don't really lie. I don't think Grandma would stand for it."
"Yeah, and she's the shining example of honesty."
McCormick had bit out the angry words without thinking. Olivia sat back a little in her chair, startled. "Sorry," he muttered, looking away.
"You know, she helped you yesterday. Bringing you here, and staying with you."
"I know. I'm sorry," he repeated. He turned back to see that Olivia was looking down, frowning. When she lifted her head, her eyes held his.
"I just don't know if she did it because she was worried about you, or if she felt guilty. About keeping us apart."
Mark felt a wave of gratefulness at the indirect admission. He was reminded of how Olivia had sat next to him on the bed the day before, how it had felt like she was joining forces with him in his fight against Sandra's misguided choices.
The mention of Sandra prompted McCormick to look closer at the girl. "Hey, you're not here alone, are you?"
"No. . . My mom's here."
"Where?"
Olivia hesitated. "In the cafeteria."
"She let you come up here by yourself?"
"I said I was going to the bathroom." A guilty look came over the girl's face.
"So, you lied."
McCormick watched with a grin as his daughter's expression of guilt morphed into one of pure disgust. "Shoot!" Olivia lamented. Then she extended her arm, holding out a closed fist. "I just wanted to bring you this, is all." She opened her hand so he could see the St. Jude medal, and the coiled chain, resting in her palm.
Mark was momentarily speechless. When he found his voice, he still couldn't make a coherent statement. "Where – How did you – I don't – " He reached for the medallion, grasping it tightly. "Thank you," he said quietly.
"You're welcome."
Mark attempted to put the chain on without getting it tangled in the IV line. Olivia stood to help him, slipping the chain on over his head. Then she backed up awkwardly, as if the contact had been a little too personal. Mark saw the reaction and felt he understood it – the day before, when he had gotten his first real glimpse of his daughter, a part of him had wanted to pull her into an emotional embrace. The other part of him, the wary, self-conscious part, had been afraid to even touch her.
"Why did you have this?" he asked, as he tucked the medal under the neckline of the hospital gown.
Olivia sat back down in the chair. "My grandma brought it home. You gave it to her."
McCormick stared at the girl blankly.
"You had to take it off for the x-ray. You don't remember?" Olivia gave Mark a worried look. "My mom has your watch, too. But your friend said this was more important."
"Wait. You met Hardcastle?"
She studied him with a furrowed brow. "You do that too? The last name thing?"
"Uh – "
"He was talking to my mom, in the cafeteria, and I don't know if he called you 'Mark' more than once. I thought you guys were friends or something." Olivia looked at Mark expectantly.
"We are friends," he confirmed. "It's. . . I don't know, habit?" Mark smiled, thinking. "We didn't start out as friends, and using the last names was a way of keeping our distance back then, I guess."
Olivia frowned, still seeming confused.
"I call him 'Milt' once in a while," McCormick went on, "but yeah, it's mostly 'Hardcastle,' or 'Judge.'"
Olivia shook her head. "Weird," she mumbled.
"So I take it I shouldn't start calling you 'Rivera'?" he teased.
"Not if you want me to answer." The grin that coincided with her words was the same one that he'd seen in her school photo – and he had a feeling it was the same grin that broke out on his own face at her response.
There was a knock on the door, followed by an orderly pushing an empty wheelchair. "Mr. McCormick?" the young man asked as he crossed the threshold. "I'm here to take you down for your ultrasound."
Olivia stood, moving aside. She watched quietly as the orderly helped Mark into the wheelchair, then hung the IV bag on a pole attached to the back of the chair. "How long is this going to take?" McCormick asked edgily.
"Most likely less than an hour," the orderly responded, "as long as they can get a clear picture. They might need to push your fluids." He indicated the IV.
"Yeah, have fun with that," Olivia murmured. Mark shot her a questioning glance, and she shrugged, smiling sympathetically.
The orderly pushed the wheelchair from the room, and then headed toward the elevators. Olivia trailed behind, not sure if she should follow, head back down to the cafeteria, or sit in the waiting room until Mark returned. She was still unresolved when she heard the elevator ding, and saw the orderly begin to move Mark's chair forward.
"Wait!"
The orderly paused, and Olivia moved quickly around to the front of the chair. Bending down, she threw her arms around Mark in an impulsive embrace. After a moment of shock, Mark returned the hug. And that was how Milt and Martina found them when they exited the adjacent elevator.
Once Martina and Hardcastle were reassured that nothing unusual had happened and that McCormick was just heading to his scheduled ultrasound, the orderly was finally able to get Mark into the elevator without any more delays. As the elevator doors closed, Olivia turned away and hurried to the waiting room, not looking back.
"I swear, that girl is going to run roughshod over me," Martina said. "First I felt guilty disciplining her because she was sick. And now, when she's feeling better, she pulls that disappearing act. . . That's not like her. All of this must be upsetting her more than I realized." She shook her head. "I don't want to get her even more stressed out. How am I supposed to yell at her now?"
"I don't know," Milt said, gazing in the direction Olivia had gone. "You're right – this situation probably has her mixed up and on edge. So it might be a good idea to get her side of the story, first, instead of just yelling at her." He looked back at Martina. "'Course, she's your kid. You do what you want."
A brief smile crossed Martina's face. "She's entitled to a defense, is that what you're saying, Judge?"
Hardcastle smiled back, cocking his head in a silent affirmative.
"Well, I need a minute. I'm still too shook up, myself." Martina sighed. "I'm going to call my mother. She wanted to know how Mark was doing." She looked around the hallway, then back at Milt. "Could you keep an eye on her for me?"
ooOoo
When Hardcastle entered the waiting room, he saw Olivia in the farthest chair in the corner, sitting with her legs curled under her and her body pressed into the corner of the chair. The girl's posture reminded Milt of how McCormick, when upset or moody, would sometimes worm himself into a similar position. Milt had always viewed the younger man's physical withdrawal as an attempt to make himself smaller, or inconspicuous. He wondered if Olivia employed the same tactic.
Of course she was also nine years old, and kids that age were prone to pouting. At least, that's what he remembered.
Olivia was staring sullenly out the window, and didn't notice his approach until he spoke. "Is it okay if I sit here?"
The girl looked up. She shrugged, so he took the chair near her. They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes.
Hardcastle spoke first. "Your mom's a little worried about you," he said, hoping to coax the girl into talking.
"What else is new?" Olivia kept her voice pitched low, looking at the few other occupants in the room. "But I don't know why. I'm not the one in the hospital bed this time."
"Well, I think she was worried about how you took off on us. Even though we had a pretty good idea where you went, she wasn't too thrilled that you felt like you had to lie."
"I just wanted to talk to him alone," Olivia said dejectedly. "I wanted to ask him. . . Well, I didn't get a chance to, 'cause the guy came to get him, but I wanted to know what happened. I mean, with him and my mom and my grandma." She unfolded her legs, sitting up. "Mark really doesn't like my grandma."
Hardcastle hmmphed. "Yeah, I know."
"You know, too? So I'm the only one who doesn't?" The girl glared at him. "Why? What happened?"
Milt shook his head. "I don't know if I'm the one to tell you, kid. I'm the only one in this arrangement who isn't related to you."
Olivia sat back in her chair, folding her arms in front of her chest. "If somebody doesn't tell me something soon, I'm gonna get really hard to live with."
Hardcastle shook his head again, but this time the gesture included a grin. Olivia sighed noisily. "Why are you always laughing at me?" she demanded. A few of the other people in the waiting room turned curiously at her increased voice.
Milt stood, then motioned at the girl. "You want to know what's going on? Let's go talk in your dad's room. Less witnesses."
Olivia scrabbled up out of her chair so quickly she almost beat the judge out of the waiting room.
ooOoo
Hardcastle looked at his still-incorrect watch, and then at the girl sitting perched on the foot of the hospital bed. "We don't have a lot of time. It might be easier if you tell me what you already know, and what you want to know."
Olivia toyed with the sheets on the bed, not meeting Milt's gaze. "You and my dad are friends, right?"
"Yeah, we are."
"And my mom and dad are friends – they're not together, but they like each other." Olivia raised her head. "I just don't know why Mark and my grandma are so mad at each other. Well, my dad was mad. My grandma was more annoyed. Like Mark being here was . . ." She tried to think of the right word. "Inconvenient. Because she didn't want him in my life. And I don't get that, either. Why she kept us apart, but now all of a sudden it's okay for me to know him."
"I think that's something you'll have to talk to your mother and grandmother about." Milt shifted in the chair, looking toward the doorway. "But I can give you an idea of why your grandmother isn't exactly McCormick's biggest supporter."
"Mark. Why is it so hard to call him that?" Olivia asked. "It's his name."
Hardcastle leaned back in the chair, smiling genially at the serious look on Olivia's face. "McCormick's his name, too." When Olivia's expression grew more severe, he conceded. "Okay, fine. Mark. Do you know how your mom and Mark first met?"
When Olivia shook her head, the judge continued. "It was at a hospital. Your mom was working there for the summer, I guess she was a candy striper."
"Why was Mark there? Was he sick?"
"No. His mother was."
"Oh." Olivia frowned. "Did she get better?"
Hardcastle sighed, wondering how detailed to get. "No," he answered. "She passed away."
"Oh." The girl's shoulders slumped, and she looked uncomfortable, as if she'd suddenly realized the past contained things she didn't want to hear.
"You want me to keep going?" Milt asked.
Olivia nodded earnestly.
"Your mom and dad were pretty young, and I guess your grandmother wasn't happy with how much time they were spending together. She thought Mc– Mark was a bad influence on your mother. He wasn't exactly a straight arrow – he had some bad breaks, and didn't make the best choices. So when your grandmother had the opportunity, she did whatever she could to keep them apart. Including interfering when your mom tried to tell your dad she was pregnant." Milt knew he was condensing the story quite a bit, but at this point it was a race between who would interrupt them first: Mark returning from his ultrasound, or Martina searching for her daughter.
"What could he have done that was so wrong, that my grandma didn't want him around my mom?"
Milt grimaced slightly. "Maybe you should talk to your dad about that."
Olivia's eyes widened. "He said something yesterday about being arrested. He was in jail, right? That's what you were talking to my mom about."
"You were listening. I thought you weren't paying attention." Hardcastle studied the girl.
"I didn't understand everything, but yeah, I heard. What did he get arrested for?"
Milt sighed again. "He had a tendency to take things that didn't belong to him. Mostly things on four wheels."
"Judge."
Hardcastle felt his stomach drop at the livid tone. He turned to see McCormick, sitting in the wheelchair in the doorway of the room. The expression on the young man's face was a mixture of disbelief and betrayal.