Conviction Page 5

  I shook my head. “No, ma’am.”

  She burst out laughing. “No need for the ‘ma’ams’! Shit, that makes me feel old. I just assumed since I didn’t recognize you. I’m Wren.” She wiped her hands off on her apron and then held one out for me to shake, which I did, hoping my own palm didn’t feel too sweaty.

  “Well, I’m not a guest there or anything,” I said. “But I guess I am staying there. I work there,” I said. “At the ranch.”

  “You do? I thought I knew everyone who worked for Garrett. What’s your name?”

  Her gaze was both tantalizing and unbearable. It had just been so long since I’d been around a woman and I felt like I just didn’t know how to do it. Not that I was supposed to be doing anything right now anyway, other than answering her question.

  I forced a smile, and hoped it didn’t look as unnatural as it felt. “Funny you should ask,” I said.

  She pursed her lips together in a little smile. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

  Her tone almost sounded flirtatious. Though maybe I was just imagining that.

  There was a menu at the spot next to me, so I slid it over and pointed to the front, where Ollie’s was written in black script.

  “That’s it right there,” I said. “Well, Oliver, but growing up around here, everyone called me Ollie.”

  “Isn’t that something,” she said. “Quite the coincidence—” Her smile froze suddenly, though, and she gave me the oddest look. Had that been a completely messed up way for me to introduce myself? Should I have just told her my name was Oliver, instead of trying to make it sound like this restaurant and I had some sort of connection?

  “Oliver Boardman,” I said quickly, wanting to say something to fill the silence, though those words out of my mouth before I could retract them. Why the hell did I tell her my last name? It wasn’t as though that was going to improve things.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said. Her eyes darted from my face then off to the side. She backed up a few steps. “I’ve got to go check on something in the kitchen, excuse me.”

  She disappeared before I could say anything else. I sat there and stared into my coffee cup. I should’ve known; it had been going a little too well.

  5.

  Wren

  How had I not recognized him?

  I stood there in the kitchen, taking deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heart. I hadn’t recognized him. Oliver Boardman had walked into my restaurant, my restaurant that I had named after him, for fuck’s sake, and I hadn’t recognized him. I had, in fact, stood there talking with him for a good five minutes about phones, and I didn’t have a goddamn clue.

  Shaun looked over at me from the line. Pancakes sizzled on the griddle in front of him. “You okay?”

  “Fine!” I said, a little too brightly. Obviously, I was not fine. I couldn’t just stand there like this though; I hurried through the kitchen to my little office. I shut the door and tried to take a few more deep breaths.

  I hadn’t recognized him.

  That was more startling to me than the fact that he had walked in here to begin with. But he looked so much different than the pictures I’d seen of him online, and I’d barely even gotten a glimpse of his face that night in the parking lot with Isaac. No, the man sitting at the bar out there, nursing the cup of coffee, he wasn’t the energetic, fresh-faced boy in the online pictures I’d seen. He was older now, with a few days’ worth of scruff on his face, tattoos covering his arms, a haunted look in his eyes.

  Finally, my heartbeat slowed enough that it wasn’t pounding my ears. I counted to ten in my head and then turned and walked back through the kitchen. I shouldn’t have left so abruptly like that. I’d apologize. And then I’d thank him. I had always wanted to thank him for helping me the way he had. I at least owed him that much.

  But his seat was empty when I pushed through the swinging doors back into the dining area. There was his coffee mug, still half-full with coffee, and a rumpled five-dollar bill. A five-dollar bill for a dollar cup of coffee. I walked out from behind the bar and went over to the big plate glass window. Out in the parking lot, none of the cars or trucks were occupied; he was gone.

  I knew where he worked though. And I had a feeling that I’d see him again soon.

  It was hard to stay focused for the rest of the day. I couldn’t partake in the usual banter my customers had grown accustomed to, and more than a few of them asked me if I was doing all right.

  “I might be coming down with something,” I finally said, because I wasn’t going to tell the truth, and telling them everything was okay didn’t seem to fly.

  “Maybe you should go home,” Lena suggested. “It’s pretty slow this morning; we can handle it. You should get some rest.”

  She looked genuinely concerned, and I felt bad. Lena was the sort of person who made you wonder how it was possible that someone could be so nice, and I didn’t want to worry her with my fake ailment. If anyone were to understand about this whole situation, it’d be her, but I also knew she wasn’t very good at keeping secrets.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said.

  “I’ll go get you a container of chicken noodle soup to go,” she said.

  I took the hot soup and the two sourdough rolls she’d put in a brown paper sack. I stood outside for a minute, looking down the street one way, then the other. He wouldn’t still be out here, I knew that, but I looked anyway. A quarter of a mile down the road to my left was the Watering Hole. I wondered if he thought about that night when he had to drive by.

  I went home, debating whether or not I should call Dr. Mike for an emergency appointment, even though it wasn’t an emergency, per se. I decided not to, though, because I saw that Allison’s car was in her driveway. I took my soup and went over there.

  “Knock knock,” I said as I walked through the front door. “I come bearing soup.”

  Allison was my neighbor, and because of this, had inadvertently become a close friend. We didn’t even bother to ring the doorbell or knock when we went to each other’s homes. She was a few years older than I was, and she was married and had two children. The fact of this seemed to startle her, as though some days she woke up surprised to find that she had all these responsibilities. But her husband, Nigel, was handsome and clearly loved her, and her children, though they were certainly energetic, were sweet and usually well-behaved. At least it seemed that way to me. And so, Allison and I forged a friendship based at least in part on a mutual desire for the other’s life. I’d be thirty in two years and hadn’t been on so much as a second date; Allison, at times, wished she was in her twenties again, and single.

  “In the living room,” she called out as I stepped into the foyer. “And how’d you know I was starving?”

  I made my way into the living room, where Allison was sitting on the couch, her laptop open in her lap. She closed it and put it on the cushion next to her.

  “I didn’t bring a spoon,” I said. “Oh! But I do have rolls.”

  “I don’t need a spoon.” She popped the lid off the container and took a big gulp, as though she hadn’t eaten in days. “I’m about go out of my fucking mind,” she said. “This end-of-the-year PTO shit is madness. I don’t know why I sign up for this.”

  “Because you’re a good mommy,” I said. “And because you want to take an active interest in your children’s education.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you quoting directly from the PTO website? Because I wrote that, you know.”

  “I know you did. It’s quite good.”

  She took another big sip. “This soup is so good.”

  “You want the rolls?” I pulled the bag out of my purse. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” She opened the bag and pulled one out. “Wait a sec—what are you doing home right now? Is everything okay with you? You’re looking a little stressed. Or tired, maybe.”

  “Which everyone knows is just a kind way of saying I look like shit.”

  “For some people, yes. For you, it�
�d take more than a couple sleepless nights to look like crap. I mean, I have permanent bags under my eyes. But never mind that. What’s going on? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  “I never said I wasn’t sleeping.”

  “Well, if you’re overtired because you’re up all night having great sex, then I don’t feel bad for you in the least.”

  “It’s not that. I’ve been sleeping, but not that great.” The appeal of a good night’s sleep was certainly mitigated when there was also the prospect of having those godawful nightmares.

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “Someone came into the restaurant today,” I said.

  “I take it this was a ‘someone’ you weren’t expecting to see?”

  “Well, not exactly.” I hadn’t told Allison anything about my past, or at least not about that situation. “Do you know Oliver Boardman?”

  She frowned. “The name sort of rings a bell . . . . Oh, yeah, he was the kid who killed some guy in the parking lot at the Watering Hole. Right?”

  I nodded.

  “He worked at Wilson Ranch. Nigel and Jacob Wilson used to be pretty good friends.”

  “Well, he got out of prison.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yeah.” Now was the time for me to tell Allison how I knew him, but the words were suddenly stuck in my throat. “I’m going to go get a drink of water,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I went out to the kitchen and got a glass and filled it from the tap. Children’s artwork was affixed to the refrigerator. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have a husband and children to take care of. I knew Allison felt like it was a rut, like she was drowning in the responsibility of it all, but there was definitely a certain appeal. I went back out to the living room.

  “How do you know him?” Allison asked as I sat back down. “Wasn’t he in prison before you moved here? It was like seven or eight years ago, I think.”

  “Seven,” I said. I swallowed. My palms felt sweaty and a wave of nervousness wafted through me. It was like I was standing on a stage or something, about to give a speech in front of a huge crowd. Dr. Mike was the only one I’d ever told this to before, and he had a professional obligation to keep whatever I told him to himself. “It was actually right around the time I moved here.” I took another gulp of water and looked at Allison. “I’m going to tell you something, but I need you to promise me that you’re not going to tell anyone else, okay? Not even Nigel.”

  She leaned forward. “I assure you, I am not one of those women who are incapable of keeping a secret from their husband. I promise I won’t say a word.”

  “I’m the reason that he went to prison. He basically saved me that night. He came across me and that guy in the parking lot.”

  Allison’s eyes widened. “So, you’re the unidentified woman! I remember all that now. Everyone was wondering who she was, and then we figured she must’ve been someone who was out here on vacation or something. But it was you? Holy shit. Wow.”

  “But you can’t tell anyone.”

  “And Ollie doesn’t know?”

  I shook my head. “He doesn’t know. And—”

  “Wait a second—that’s why your restaurant is called Ollie’s? You named it after him?”

  “Yeah, I did. I know it sounds totally weird.”

  “No, it’s actually kind of sweet. Except that he doesn’t know about it. Wow, Wren, I had no idea.”

  “Cooking was the only thing that could keep my mind off of everything that had happened,” I said, thinking back to the first few years I’d been in Carmel. I’d had various jobs, but I’d spend all my free time cooking. There was something soothing about being in the kitchen, stirring, mixing, measuring. Sometimes I’d follow a recipe, sometimes I’d make it up. I wasn’t doing it for anyone else except for me, but word got out that the stuff I made was good. I’d donate cookies or muffins to the bake sale, or bring stews and soups to neighbors in the winter. And when I got the call from my mother that my grandmother had died and she’d left me a small inheritance, I knew I wanted to put the money into opening my own restaurant. And I knew exactly what I wanted to call it.

  “Well that’s just crazy,” Allison said. “I mean, wow. How’d it go?”

  “It went fine until I realized who it was, and then I kind of freaked out and ran into the kitchen, and by the time I came back, he was gone.”

  “This isn’t that big of a town, I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

  “He’s working at Wilson Ranch.”

  “Then you’ll definitely see him again. This is kind of like something out of a movie!” Allison had an excited look on her face, one I was used to seeing when I’d tell her about the latest guy I’d gone out with. “I want to come down there the next time he’s there.”

  “Will you stop it? He’s not some sideshow freak or something that you can just come down and gawk at.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just . . . I’m just curious, is all. My life is so fucking boring and predictable, I need some excitement!”

  I didn’t lead the most exciting life by any stretch of the imagination, but I had the feeling that since Ollie had come around, things were about to get a lot more interesting, though whether that was going to be in a good way or not, I still wasn’t sure.

  I decided that I did need a professional opinion. I’d gone home after talking with Allison and tried to distract myself with cleaning, then with trying out a new recipe, and finally with taking a nap, but when all of those things failed miserably, I called Dr. Mike.

  “I’m not trying to be dramatic,” I said, “but I need to see you. There’s some things I need to talk about, and I don’t think I can wait until my next appointment.”

  “Are you having suicidal ideations?”

  “Huh?”

  “Do you want to hurt yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Do you feel like you you’re going to hurt someone else?”

  “Hurt someone? No! Why—”

  “Then you could actually wait until our next appointment.”

  I paused. “Well, yes, you’re right, I mean, I’m not going to spontaneously combust or something if I have to wait, but . . . .”

  “As it so happens, I did have a client cancel. I was going to leave early, but if you’d like to take that slot, you can. It was for four o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there at four,” I said. “I’ll be there five minutes early, in fact.”

  “Four is fine. I’ll see you then.”

  I felt a sort of calm descend upon me once I was lying on that couch. Neither of us had even said anything yet, aside from the usual formalities of hello.

  “So,” Dr. Mike said. “Tell me why you had to come in today.”

  “He came into the restaurant,” I said. “He came into my restaurant, that I had named after him, and I didn’t recognize him.”

  “Do you think you should have recognized him?” he asked.

  “Of course I should have! I mean, shouldn’t I have?”

  “Seven years is a long time.” Dr. Mike had an infuriating way of never actually answering my questions, with say, a validating response. I wanted to hear him say, Yes, you absolutely should have recognized him! Or No, there’s no way you could be expected to recognize him. But he wouldn’t give me anything like that. He wanted me to come up with the answer on my own.

  “He didn’t recognize me, either.”

  “Is that what you were hoping for? For one of you to recognize the other?”

  “I don’t know.” I stared at the ceiling. There were no flecks to affix my gaze to this time. I really didn’t know what I’d been expecting. Would I feel better if he’d recognized me? If I had recognized him? It was quite possible I’d feel worse. What if he hated me? What if he blamed me for the fact that he’d just spent the past seven years of his life in prison? If I hadn’t gone out that night, if I hadn’t been foolish enough to sit with those guys and then go out with one of them by myself into the parking lot, t
hen Oliver Boardman would not have spent any time in prison. “This whole thing is my fault.”

  Dr. Mike sighed. We’d been through this before—me being to blame for the whole thing.

  “I thought we’d moved past this,” he said. “The victim is never to blame.”

  “But I realized when I saw him that I’m not the only victim. And am I even a victim? Because nothing bad actually happened to me. He’s the victim. He lost seven years of his life because of me. And now he’s out of prison and he looks so . . . he looks so . . . I don’t know, exactly. Not scared, but—out of place, I guess. And it’s all because of me. I want to make it up to him, somehow.”

  “You can’t change the past, Wren.”

  “I know that. And I’m not trying to; I’m trying to do something about the current situation. Should I give him free meals for the rest of his life?”

  “Wren.” Was I imagining it, or did Dr. Mike sound annoyed?

  “I knew he’d get out of prison eventually. And I always thought that I’d want to see him, just to make sure that he was okay. But now that he’s come in, and I’ve seen him, he doesn’t actually look okay.”

  “What do you mean? Did he tell you this?”

  “No, he didn’t tell me. And honestly, to anyone else, he’d probably seem fine. But there’s . . . I don’t know, I can just sense some sort of sadness, I guess. Or guilt. Or sadness and guilt coming from him.”

  “And who’s to say you’re not projecting your own feelings on to him?”

  I thought about this. The whole idea of projection was really irritating, because it seemed impossible to know if it was really happening or not. But I didn’t think it was just projection.

  “I don’t think it’s just that,” I said.

  “But you don’t know.”

  “Does anyone really know anything?”

  Dr. Mike sighed. I knew he was probably regretting telling me that I could come in. In a way, I was regretting coming in too, because I realized the only way I could feel better about this was if I saw Ollie again. And that wasn’t going to happen sitting here in this office.