Page 1 of Valor
Chapter One
Olivia
The living roomwalls tell the story of our lives.
There’s the thin stripes of color near the dining room where I’ve been testing out paint colors, but haven’t made a decision yet. Ben tells me I should just choose one because they’re all the same shade of beige, but each time I make up my mind, I have second thoughts. Is beige too boring? Too Suzy Homemaker? Is the green-tinted beige too risky or will I get bored with it in two years? Sometimes I drive myself mad thinking about these things.
In the corner, by the TV, there’s a little framed section where Cole and Phoebe had gone chuck wild with the crayons one day and drew a dinosaur and a butterfly, respectively. Or at least, that’s what they said they were. Instead of painting over it, Ben had decided to frame them and wouldn’t listen to my pleadings otherwise. Looking back, I’m glad he didn’t listen to me. Now that the kids are six and four, and have mostly outgrown those kind of antics, the memory is a sweet one to look back on.
In the entryway by the front door, there’s a tumble of boots, my flats and sandals, and the kids’ shoes that have left scuff marks near the baseboards. I keep meaning to scrub them down, but there never seems to be any time for those things. Besides, with my kids it would only end up scuffed again the second I turned my head.
There are a cluster of portraits I had done when Phoebe was a newborn. It was probably the happiest time of my life. The terror of Cole’s kidnapping was far enough in the past that I was able to keep it tightly under lock, and the joy of sharing my life with Ben and our children was enough to blot out any shadow of darkness. Cole’s heart transplant had taken spectacularly and he’d been out of the woods for a couple months by the time Phoebe was born.
The pictures hang over our fireplace mantle in a grouping of three, two smaller ones on each side and a larger one in the middle. Cole is on the left in a sweet little button-up shirt the color of cornflowers. He’s smiling so big you can see a mouthful of teeth still a little oversized for his boyish face and one only halfway grown in. He looks so much like his dad, seeing the picture makes my heart squeeze. On the right is Phoebe with a capful of strawberry blonde hair, her almond-shaped eyes relaxed in sleep, and her plump pink lips pursed with attitude. Her hair and her creamy pale complexion are about all she gets from me. She’s her father’s daughter through-and-through, with boundless sass and stubbornness in equal measure, even as an infant.
The center portrait is of the four of us. I take a step closer with my morning coffee—decaf because it makes me jittery otherwise—clasped in both hands as I wait for it to cool. Wrangling two kids to sit still for the photographer hadn’t been easy, especially for Cole, who always had to be careful because of his heart condition, but it had been worth it.
Ben stands next to me with an arm around my shoulders. He has Phoebe propped up on his chest, still fast asleep. Cole stands in front of me, allowing me to rest my hands on his shoulders. We’re all wearing shades of blue and green and on the backdrop of a gorgeous Florida spring afternoon, we look stunning.
The perfect apple pie family.
My dream come true.
I hear a thud above my head and smile to myself. Cole is awake. Due to wreak terror on anyone in the vicinity. I wait for a second, studying the lights twinkling on the mantel over the fireplace. Then, turn back to the kitchen for another cup of coffee as a second thud sounds. Phoebe, never one to be left out, follows close behind as they both stomp down the stairs to begin their day.
“Mo-om,” Cole shouts as he reaches the bottom. “Do I have to go to a stupid wedding? I hate weddings.” He says it like he’d rather eat a plate full of Brussels sprouts. “They’re all about love. Gross.”
Phoebe hefts herself up to the breakfast bar next to her brother and rolls her eyes at him. “They are not. It’s a grown-up party with food and dancing.”
“Thank you,” I say to Phoebe, as I butter toast and plate up eggs for their breakfast. “Besides, this is Scott’s wedding. You love Scott.”
“I like playing video games with Scott,” Cole says around a mouthful of toast. “That doesn’t mean I want to go to his wedding. All people do is kiss and be all gross.”
Sighing, I instruct, “Don’t talk when you have your mouth full.”
“Plus, there’s going to be cake!” Phoebe adds brightly. “A big, huge cake.”
I give her a stern look. “One piece.”
Her happy expression falls. “But Mo-om.”
Pointing my spatula, I say, “Don’t ‘but Mom’ me. One piece. I need you two sugared up like I need a hole in my head. Cole, did you take your medicine?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I took my medicine. It’s not like I haven’t been doing the same thing for the past forever.”
Making a face, I exchange the spatula for orange juice. “You two can play for a few minutes while I finish getting ready, then you’ll have to put on your fancy clothes. There will be no dirtying them up once they’re on, do you hear me?” They’re too busy stuffing their faces to answer, so I repeat myself, “Do you hear me? Yes, ma’am?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they both intone.
“That’s better. Now, finish your breakfasts, then stay inside the fence while you play. No killing each other, but if you do draw blood, then go find your father because he’s the one with the first aid training.”
I kiss their heads, pausing for a second to inhale the scent of children’s shampoo, then take my mug of coffee and head upstairs. With my free hand, I snag a NERF gun and a Barbie doll, then toss them in their respective rooms. Somehow, the toys never seem to find their way back to their designated space, but today, I have other things on my mind.
The sparkling lavender dress I’d bought special hangs on a hook on the back of my closet door. I’m not quite the size four I used to be, but the shape was flattering and accentuates my breasts, and the pale purple compliments my light skin and red hair. I’ll admit, I half had Ben’s reaction in mind when I bought it, hoping he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off me.
The thought lingers as I strip off my robe and step into the shower, adjusting the spray until it’s near-scalding. I let the warmth soak through me and allow the tension to seep from my muscles. Today is a happy day. Faith and Scott deserve all the love and joy in the world.
I hear the bathroom door open and close and spin around with a head full of suds, hoping the kids won’t be interrupting. “Kids?” I call out, my eyes closed against the soap. I swear I can’t go five minutes without one of them interrupting me once I shut the bathroom door. It’s like they have some sort of internal alarm.