Page 14

I rounded the winding curve of the pathway, and there she was: Olivia, elegantly perched on the edge of a sun-bleached lounge chair beside the infinity pool, a shimmering ribbon of water that melded seamlessly with the sprawling horizon. The pool’s surface caught the glint of the sun like scattered diamonds while its edge slowly faded into the vast unknown. Her steady gaze remained fixed on that distant point where the sky tenderly embraced the endless ocean, her body coiled with tension as taut as a wound spring.

"Hey," I called out softly, my voice a gentle ripple in the quiet evening air, careful not to disturb her fragile composure.

She did not turn around. "Hi, Mom," came her whispered reply, laced with a reluctance that spoke of hidden turmoil.

"Mind if I sit?" I asked, offering a welcoming gesture toward the now empty chair beside her—a silent invitation mingled with hope.

"Go ahead." Her tone was flat, as though the words themselves couldn’t carry the weight of her emotions.

As I eased into the chair, the fabric whispered against my skin, its soft rustle a stark contrast to the charged silence between us—a live wire humming with the raw energy of unspoken fears and buried truths.

"Beautiful day," I ventured, studying her every blink and slightest twitch as if trying to decipher a secret message hidden within her eyes.

"Sure," she replied, her voice barely audible above the gentle, rhythmic lap of pool water against the cool, tiled edge, blending with the ambient murmur of a distant evening breeze.

"Olivia," I said softly, leaning forward with my elbows resting on my knees, my eyes earnest and imploring. "You're like an unread book right now. Please, talk to me."

Her shoulders drooped in resignation. "There's nothing to talk about," she muttered, her posture shrinking into itself as though trying to hide from something unseen.

"Sweetheart, you're like a clamshell locked tightly shut. What's happening inside?" I pressed, my tone tender yet insistent, desperate to unlock the hidden corridors of her mind.

"Nothing I can't handle," she snapped, her eyes flashing with furtive defiance as they finally met mine. Defensive walls rose between us, her gaze full of unspoken narratives her lips refused to unveil.

"Is it about Mark?" I dared to ask, each word heavy with suspicion and genuine concern. “Okay, that was a dumb question.”

Her silence was louder than any declaration, a poignant testament to her internal struggle.

"Because if people are whispering—" I began, my voice steady though my heart fluttered with anxiety.

"Mom, stop." A sharp edge marked her tone, her words imbued with a finality that brooked no further intrusion. "Just stop."

"Can't do that," I replied, firmness laced with tenderness, unwilling to let the distance between us widen further. "Not when it comes to you."

"Please." She murmured as she turned away, her face briefly softening into a tender plea before hardening once more.

"Olivia, look at me," I insisted, waiting patiently until those guarded eyes met mine again, clear yet laden with worry. "I know you didn't do it."

"Doesn't matter what you know," she retorted, bitterness threading through her words like dark smoke rising from a smoldering fire.

"It matters to me. It matters to the truth," I countered softly, each syllable a promise to protect her innocence.

"Let's just drop it, okay?" A veil of resignation fell over her face, her gaze drifting back to the vast, restless waves.

"Can't do that either." I stood up slowly, brushing off the invisible grains of sand clinging to my shorts, my voice laced with determined warmth. "We'll get through this. Together."

"You say that all the time, Mom, yet you know this is my battle—" she began, her voice trembling as she bit her lip, holding back a torrent of pent-up emotion just barely contained under the surface.

"Trust me," I urged, extending my hand. "We'll clear your name. I’m working on it already. I want you to know I’m not just going to sit here and do nothing."

Her fingers quivered before slipping tenderly into mine, a silent pact woven in the space between us.

“Thanks, Mom. I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I know you’ll do anything for me. It means a lot to me.”

"Come on," I said, gently drawing her up and guiding her away from the edge of despair. "Let's head back."

Together, we walked along the stone path back to the bungalow, side by side, yet feeling like we were traversing separate universes. Each step was filled with the weight of doubts and the murmur of dark possibilities.

There was a murderer on this island, and we were all stuck there until it was discovered who it was.