Shadowed Seats: (Oliana Mercer series Book 1) Read online

  Shadowed Seats

  Oliana Mercer Series

  Marguerite Ashton

  Edited by

  Ami Hendrickson

  Contents

  Criminal Lines Publishing

  Contributors

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Thank You

  7. Staged

  Meet Ms. Ashton

  Criminal Lines Publishing

  Shadowed Seats

  Oliana Mercer Series

  by:

  Marguerite Ashton

  Shadowed Seats

  Copyright 2017 by Marguerite Ashton

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, including but not limited to, digital, electronic, or print, without the written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted herein are the product of the author’s and do not represent any actual persons, living or dead.

  First published by Criminal Lines Publishing

  Contributors

  Cover by: Judy Bullard

  Edited by: Ami Hendrickson

  Acknowledgments

  To my husband and Fab 5 for their patience and for getting through meals without me, so I would have time to write. To my mom, Renee, a cancer survivor and cheerleader who at times just listened and offered the best mother’s advice any daughter could have.

  I would like to thank my writing mentor and editor, Ami Hendrickson. Her encouragement and honesty are something I will never forget. My appreciation to cover artist, Judy Bullard. To my good friends, Joe Giacalone and Bill Cannon for just being there.

  Chapter 1

  Sheltered

  Stone cold sober. Those were the words that filtered through my brain as I poked my head out of the opening of my bedroom door, straining to hear the voices of my adopted mom, Traci Mercer and her ex-boyfriend, Marc Drake. They spoke in sharp, loud tones while arguing over their only son, Daniel.

  Marc’s words, “I want my son to come live with me,” beat through my body as if I’d been the one standing in Mom’s shoes.

  Mom’s comfort zone was being tested. Hold it together, Mom. Don’t fall off the wagon.

  “Daniel is our son, and he needs his mother,” Mom yelled.

  “OMG.” I texted Devin, my best friend. “Marc’s here. He’s trying to take my little brother.”

  “What? That’s just not cool.”

  “Yup. To top it, Mom’s worried about Daniel’s seizures. Now here comes Marc. What a dick.”

  A dry lump formed in my throat as I thought about the struggles Mom had been through during her pregnancy with Daniel, along with the daily worries regarding my brother’s health. This new wave of bad news might push the only woman who cared enough to love me as her own back into craving the beer that once pulsed through Mom’s bloodstream daily like a disease.

  Now, it was as if she were on stage and Marc was in the audience, taunting her to miss her lines. Only this was a test of her sobriety, lingering in the rafters and lights waiting to bring down the curtain.

  Having a parent in recovery was tough. It was like walking a trail littered with shards of glass. With every little step you held your breath, hoping not to step on any jagged pieces.

  What can I do to help, Mom? I’m only seventeen, but there must be something I can do, even if it’s to get Marc to leave until Dad gets home.

  I slid my bare feet into a pair of tennis shoes, pulled the door open and stepped onto the hardwood floors leading into the front room. As I made my way down the hall and rounded the corner, the low tones became distinct.

  Marc turned and faced me. “Hey kid, how’s it going?”

  I’m not a kid. Kids are goats you wannabe Lothario. “Mom, I need to talk to you.”

  Mom tucked a strand of her salt and pepper hair behind her ear and smiled. “Can it wait?”

  “Not really. It’s important.” I walked over to Mom and hugged her, hoping to comfort her.

  Mom squeezed me back, holding me tight. “Take the car and go pick up your brother from band practice. We’ll talk when you get back.”

  Marc loosened his beige tie, plopped down on the quilted sofa and locked his eyes on Mom. “I’ll wait. Besides we need to finish our conversation.”

  Mom’s head snapped in Marc’s direction. “There’s nothing to finish. My husband will be here any moment.”

  “Tractor Boy can’t stop me from seeing Daniel.”

  “Your presence in Daniel’s life has nothing to do with my husband. It was your decision to put the law firm and your women ahead of our son. All of a sudden you have this itch to have him come and live with you? Not gonna happen.”

  Marc shot up off the sofa and lunged across the room. The stench of black pepper and fresh-cut wood followed, reminding me of the days I spent at summer camp. “You’re an alcoholic. It’s your fault that Daniel has seizures.”

  My heart raced as I felt Mom’s body tremble underneath my embrace. Marc was such a mean person. I will never understand what Mom saw in this guy, let alone sleep with him.

  There were enough boys at my school that were beyond hot, but once they opened their mouth, my desire to date—gone.

  Mom pushed me at arm’s length and closed the gap between them. “I’m a recovering alcoholic and always will be until the day I die. I will not let you, or anyone else beat me up for mistakes I made years ago. Daniel has grown into a healthy young boy, and my doctor assured me of that. Now get the hell out of my house!”

  Mom stalked over to the front door, opened and slammed it behind Marc after he left.

  What if it’s true that we create our demons? Is Mom being punished for drinking during pregnancy? Were Daniel’s seizures tied to Mom’s alcohol use?

  Even though we didn’t share the same DNA, my brother and I had forged a bond over the years—a bond I prayed was strong enough to withstand any battle that either of us might face.

  If Marc sued for custody and won, I’d be the only child left of our family of four.

  Later that night, Mom came into my room, smiling as she handed me an ivory colored envelope. Seeing her smile was a relief. It was as if the confrontation with Marc had never happened.

  I looked down at the return address and read the bold lettering on the envelope. It was from Reyersen Drama Academy. My heart raced. I had waited eighteen months for Reyersen to reply, knowing that they had a two-year waiting list. I tore open the envelope and read:

  Dear Oliana,

  Congratulations on your admission to the Reyersen Drama Academy! As you know, we’re very selective and take pride in our students. It was your portfolio and audition that landed you a spot at Reyersen.

  For forty years, RDA has watched aspiring talent walk through our doors with hope and leave with confidence as they set out to fulfill their dreams. As you settle into your classes, you’ll meet and learn from the best talent who’ve honed their craft and worked hard to get where they are. Welcome to our family. We look forward to your success.

  Jamie Thompson

  Director of Admissions

  “Are you headed to Reyersen?” Dad walked into the room, beaming a smile. His Texas accent had softened with age. But his need for a new pair of cowboy boots once a year, was a must.

  I ran into his arms and held up the letter. “I got in. I can’t believe it.”

  “I believe it,” Dad said, hugging me.

  Dad’s name is Norman. It suits him, along with his blond hair sprinkled with bits of
silver and his blue eyes. He looked sharp in his white dress shirt and tie. If you didn’t know, you would think he worked for the corporate world instead of in the hospital as a neurosurgeon.

  “I better tell Devin.”

  “Your mother and I are going to make dinner. Love you.” Dad backed out of the room with Mom leading the way.

  I snatched up my phone and texted Devin the good news.

  “I had no doubts.”

  “Talk to you at school tomorrow,” I said.

  “Did you find your old wig so I can use it for the play?”

  Shoot. “I’m getting it right now.” I darted out of my room and up the stairs leading to the attic where I tore through boxes labeled Stage. After a few minutes of searching, I stared at the opened boxes scattered around the floor. In a few weeks, I’d have to sort through everything and decide what costumes and accessories would stay with me and what one I would donate to the high school.

  Off to the left, I zeroed in on a small box covered with torn curtains. “Please be in there.” I scrambled to the box, shoved the curtains to the floor, and plucked it open. The wig lay there with loose strands draping a pile of shoes like spider legs.

  At least it still has some shine.

  I shook the wig out, stood, and took another look around the attic. In the far corner, covered in dust was a brown tote. As I neared it, I noticed Burned Bridges written in black ink on the top. I kneeled next to the tote, removed the lid, and dug through the balled newspaper inside. I found trinkets, bottle caps, and pamphlets on being in recovery.

  This must be Mom’s tote. Paper crinkled around me as I continued to dig deeper. As I neared the bottom, I discovered a stack of papers. I lifted it out, turning the notepad over in my hands. It had a dream catcher painted on the front cover with the letter “O” in the circle attached to the netting.

  Is this for me? Maybe something Mom wanted to share with me later. Like after graduation day? I opened and began reading. Further down the page, I realized the writings were songs.

  In all the tragedy, you gave me a miracle.

  There was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe

  And time’s cruel hands have swept away -

  My innocence is more than you’ve ever dreamed.

  My innocence takes on life and other means.

  No, it’s not for you to decide how much to make me cry

  I know it’s a game to you, but it caused me so much pain.

  And so today I pay

  For my head and heart,

  The time has come. I can wait no longer

  Or my miracle will endure more hate.

  And I wonder if I’ll ever be loved

  Oh, I wonder if I've ever been...

  Whoever wrote this was hurting. I flipped through the pages, skipping songs and rambling notes until I came across a letter addressed to Mom.

  Dear Traci,

  If you’re reading this letter, then I have taken that final step I have failed at for years, and the one thing that brought us together will tear us apart. Please don’t blame yourself. You were right, but there was no way I could be held up in a hospital again.

  As for Oliana, please make sure that she’s safe. Bruce has done all he can. If she winds up in the hands of the state, she’ll be tossed back and forth in foster care. If you make the decision that I’m hoping you will, Philip has all of the information you will need.

  I’m wishing you the best and pray that you find the love that you deserve with Norman. He loves you and wants you to be in his life. Please know that you’ve all been wonderful friends and I’m sorry it had to end this way.

  If you could do me one last favor, make sure that Oliana never knows who her father was. I want her to have a fresh start and not feel like she was some horrible person. I’d rather have her blame me instead of questioning herself. I’m begging you to keep this one last secret.

  I’m begging you: please let me be the final bridge between the horror of what my brother did to me and the hope the future holds for my daughter. Now that I’m gone let that bridge be burned, setting her free, as I am free.

  All my love,

  Olivia

  Numbness held me in place as I closed the notebook and tucked it inside the wig. What did this mean? Is the Oliana mentioned in the notebook me? It had to be. But what was this about being set free? My bio parents died in a car accident.

  For a second, I felt like I was standing next to a furnace, smoldering in its waves of heat. I hurried out of the attic and stood outside, trying to catch my breath.

  Rain pelted my face as I glanced up at my parents’ window on the second floor, then at the driveway where Mom’s minivan and Dad’s pickup were parked. Inside the house, the lights were on in the kitchen. Probably doing what they always do together, cooking dinner.

  Grief hollowed my insides. Now was not the time to confront them about what I found. Besides what was I going to do? Tell Mom, I was snooping and found something that freaked me out? The problem was I wanted to go in there and disturb their happiness, so I could get answers about what I’d read. Answers about the handwritten note to Mom by the woman I believed was my birth mother.

  I walked several yards away from the house, taking in the plush wet lawn and hostas decorating the rows of brick flower beds. Branches from the giant oak tree reached towards the sky, holding my sanctuary. The tree house.

  The ladder leading up to my hiding place dangled, swaying from side to side in the breeze as if calling my name. I dashed for the ladder, puddles splashing underneath my shoes as I retreated to the special place where Devin and I shared our secrets and dreams.

  I plopped down on the old bean bag and stared out the window at the small pond my Grandpa Mercer had built when he purchased the house in the late sixties. An angel statue loomed above as water spouted from her open hands, trickling back into the pond.

  When I was a little girl, I’d splash the water and watch it ripple as if it took my problems with it. I wished I still believed such a thing was possible.

  Chapter 2

  Best Friends

  When I arrived at school the next morning, I was surprised to see my boyfriend Austin, fumbling in his locker located next to mine. I spun the lock to its correct digits and retrieved the books for my next class.

  Austin wasn’t as popular as some of the other boys in our school, which was fine with me. However, I think his love for marching band came before our relationship. It was something I tried to understand, seeing as how my passion for the stage took up most of my time.

  “I thought you had rehearsal this morning,” I said, closing my locker.

  Austin faced me, his sea-blue eyes locked in on mine. “Today’s Friday. We practiced sectionals for the graduation parade. Are we still meeting after school?”

  “For coffee?”

  Austin’s hands dropped to his sides. “Did you forget?”

  “Shoot, Austin. I didn’t really forget. It’s just I received good news from Reyersen. Now Mom wants to visit housing units and—”

  “And you forgot.”

  I shoved my books into my backpack. “I forgot. Can we get together later? I’ve got rehearsal from 3:30 to 9:00 tonight. And all weekend.”

  Austin shook his head. “That’s cool you’re going to Reyersen and all, but I think you’re selling yourself short by choosing to be a student director. I love watching you on stage.”

  “How am I selling myself short? I’ve been in every play since freshman year, landing lead roles in all but one. I wanted to take a break and get a feel for what it’d be like behind the scenes.”

  “Whatever.” Austin slammed his locker closed.

  “Can’t you at least be happy for me?”

  “I’m trying to help you out.”

  Where’s this coming from? “Help me? You’re the coolest band geek I know, but you don’t know the first thing about acting. I’ve got this. What’s your problem anyway?”

  “Devin’s my problem. She’s spazzing
out on James.”

  Before I could ask Austin what my best friend had done to make him so cranky, the bell sounded, sending the other students and us darting into our classrooms.

  As I sat at my desk in history class, the discussion about our upcoming exam on prohibition and the Great Depression escaped my ears. I was desperate to talk to Devin.

  “Oliana. Answer the question please.” Mrs. Lynn raked her red fingernails through her dark hair and wrapped it into a twist. “When was Black Tuesday and what was its significance?”

  “That was the stock market crash of twenty-nine and the beginning of the Great Depression.”

  “Give me a date?”

  “October 29th.”

  “How long was the Great Depression?”

  “Twelve years.”

  “And what ended it?”

  “World War II.”

  Mrs. Lynn curled her lip and clicked on the power-point. “Correct.”

  That was close. Although, if she paid attention, she’d realize that history was my favorite subject and trying to trip me up wasn’t a good idea. I leaned back in my chair and went back to texting Devin. “I have something to tell you.”

  “Me too.”

  Twenty minutes later, class ended. Devin and I exited the room in single file and inserted ourselves in the open space lagging behind the crowd entering the lunchroom.

  “Did you get your letter from Reyersen?” I asked, placing a chicken salad on my tray.

  Devin watched her boyfriend, James as he mingled with guys from the basketball team.