Mary's feet slowed the moment she stepped into the compound. The Author mansion stood before her, grand, polished, exactly as it had always been. Everything looked the same, except, the air was thick with grief. No sound of a laughing, playing boy. No sight of Ann sitting out, reminding her boy at intervals to be careful. Flowers bloomed in neat rows. The hedges were trimmed. The gravel driveway crunched softly beneath her slippers. Everything looked… normal. Too normal. It wasn't lively. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and took a few more steps forward. Then she heard it.
Laughter. Not the polite, controlled chuckle she had grown used to hearing from Oliver. Not the restrained sigh of a grieving man trying to keep himself together. This was loud. Free. Careless. Not restrained. Mary stopped completely. Oliver was seated in the garden, one leg crossed over the other, phone pressed to his ear. His head tilted back slightly as he laughed again, hand gesturing animatedly as though he were speaking to someone standing right in front of him. He looked happy, peaceful, satisfied even. He couldn't care less about a thing in the world. Mary's heart skipped. She stood there, frozen, hidden just enough behind the large hibiscus bush by the walkway. "…you should have seen his face," Oliver said into the phone, still smiling. "Completely stunned." Another laugh followed. Mary felt her chest tighten. Is this… right? she asked herself. Her mind flew back to the hospital room. To Ann's hollow eyes. To the way her body had shaken as she cried into Mary's shoulder. To the way she looked a shadow of herself. She had completely become what no one ever imagined. My child is dead, Ann had whispered. My parents are gone.
Mary swallowed. Here was Oliver, laughing.
She felt something twist inside her. Grief doesn't look the same on everyone, she told herself quickly. People mourn differently. She nodded faintly, as though reassuring herself.
Yes. That must be it but the unease refused to leave. Mary took a step back, intending to quietly slip into the house without drawing attention. That was when Oliver turned his head. Their eyes met. The laughter died instantly. Oliver straightened in his chair, his expression changing so fast it startled her. The smile vanished, replaced by something sharp, something alert. He ended the call abruptly. "Mary." Her heart jumped. "How long have you been standing there?" he asked, rising slowly to his feet. "I" Mary's voice caught. "I just got here, sir." Oliver took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"You just got here?" he repeated. "Yes," Mary said, nodding quickly. "Just now." He studied her face closely, as though searching for something hidden beneath her words.
"Were you eavesdropping on me, Mary?" he asked quietly. The question hit her like a slap.
"What?" she exclaimed, shocked. "No, sir! How could I?" Oliver didn't respond immediately. He circled her slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "You were standing very still," he said. "People who aren't listening usually don't freeze like that." Mary's palms began to sweat. She didn't like this attitude. She had never seen him this way. It surprised her. It scared her. "I wasn't listening," she insisted. "I swear it." His gaze hardened. "Then why are you shaking?" Mary looked down at her hands. They were trembling. "I'm old," she said softly. "My hands shake." Oliver stopped in front of her.
"And where did you go today?" he asked.
Mary's heart began to pound loudly in her ears. Think carefully, she told herself. Very carefully. You can't afford to mess things up.
"I… stepped out," she said cautiously.
Oliver's eyebrow lifted. "Stepped out?" "Yes," Mary replied, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "For fresh air." "Fresh air?" he echoed. "Yes." "In the middle of the day?" he pressed. Mary nodded. "The house felt… heavy." " I just couldn't breath, so I thought to step out for a bit". Oliver tilted his head slightly. "Heavy?". "Yes, sir," she said, choosing her words with care. "With everything that has happened, sometimes it feels suffocating inside." Silence fell between them. The wind rustled the leaves overhead. Oliver stared at her for a long moment. Then he chuckled softly. "You're right," he said. "It has been a difficult time."
Mary relaxed slightly, though her heart still raced. "You may go," Oliver added casually.
Relief washed over her. "Thank you, sir," she said quickly and turned to leave. As she walked away, she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Thank God, she thought. Thank God. Behind her, Oliver watched her go. His eyes followed her until she disappeared into the house. His smile returned, slow, deliberate. "She's not a threat," he murmured to himself. "What can she possibly do?". "Just an old woman." He picked up his phone again and unlocked the screen but something lingered in his mind.
Why did she look so shaken? He shrugged the thought away. Even grief has its limits, he reasoned. He dialed a number. "This is done," he said into the phone. "Everything is under control." Mary reached her small room and leaned against the door once she shut it.
Her knees felt weak. "That was close," she whispered. She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing deeply. "I should let Ann know about this. Something does not feel right. As she thought to herself, Ann's face appeared in her mind again, pale, fragile, broken. Mary closed her eyes. "No". "She has gone through a lot". "My child," she murmured. "Be strong." Outside, laughter echoed faintly once more. And somewhere between the garden and the quiet room upstairs, the distance between truth and lies grew thinner.