Blood of Others by Rick Mofina Read Free Book Online Page A

his four-year-old
grandson told him repeatedly on Sunday visits. “Know what the doctor said to
the sick banana? Are you ‘peeling’ okay?” It made Olivia laugh, blink back her
tears. Upon arriving at her house, he opened the taxi door for her.
    “Thank you.”
    “You take care of yourself,
miss.”
    He drove off and Olivia entered
her home, shutting the door, sliding against it to the floor, pulling her knees
tight to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and holding on.
    She sat that way, listening to
the grandfather clock and thinking. Thinking how close she had come on the
bridge to succumbing, to giving in to something so dark. So final. Something
she vowed never ever to consider again. Tightening her hands into fists, she
pounded her knees softly.
    Never again. That was stupid,
Olivia. Dangerously stupid. Get a hold of yourself.
    Olivia was at a crossroads. The
time had come to stop wallowing in self-pity, to get over this adolescent
shyness crap, to put Mr. Caselli’s advice into action and get busy living. Talk
to people. She would take control and she would start now. Right now. Olivia stepped outside of the house, something she never did at this hour, and
stood before it, as if seeing it for the first time.
    It was a pretty three-story
wood-frame Edwardian home, situated on a hidden serpentine lane between the
Upper Market and Twin Peaks. Its mature trees stood like sentinels offering
privacy on a neatly landscaped lot bordered by ornate wrought-iron fencing. Her
father, an accountant who had died in a car accident when she was a teen, had
purchased it decades ago. Her mother left it to her, and with her meager salary
from Caselli’s, Olivia managed to pay for its taxes, insurance, and upkeep.
    Reaffirming her love for her
home, her sanctuary, she picked a few roses from the front garden. Every day
she arranged flowers for other people, now it was time to do it for herself.
She carried them into the house, walking along the glistening hardwood floors,
opening the sliding glass parlor doors leading to her living room with its
crown moldings, its fireplace, then passed through the formal dining room with
its elegant chandelier, to the kitchen, opening a cherry-wood cabinet for a
vase. She filled it halfway with warm water, then placed the flowers inside,
inhaling their wonderful fragrance before climbing the staircase.
    Now that she had the perspective
of age, it was clear to Olivia that her parents had chosen to live restrained
lives. They had bequeathed her their legacy but with some regret. For she never
forgot her mother’s final words before the cancer finally took her.
    “Do not let strangers live in
our home, Olivia. Keep it. Fill it with life. Fill it with love.”
    Olivia took each step, determined
now more than ever to honor her mother’s dying wish, for it was her wish too. She
drew a hot bath, lit a scented candle, soaked and wept as if purging her soul
of a festering poison. You are going to be all right. You will have many
tomorrows, each one a new chance.
    After wrapping herself in her
robe, Olivia was not ready for sleep, or another romance novel, or a movie. But
she was restless and her attention went to a women’s magazine she’d left on the
seat of the master bedroom’s bay window. It contained a long article about a
shy couple who got married after meeting on the Internet. He was from New York,
she was from Portland. They had agreed to meet in Chicago. They dated, then got
married, now she was pregnant. Olivia had read it a couple of weeks ago.
    Her interest rekindled, she made
some raspberry tea and reread the story, remembering how it had inspired her to
check out a few sites, casual chat groups for singles.
    That was a few weeks ago. Now
Olivia went to her computer. She had initially just monitored some groups
before joining a few. She never revealed much of herself. A small generic bio.
No one seemed interested. She had forgotten about it.
    But that was then.
    Olivia’s