Page 65 of The Making of Marnie Jones

Empathy coursed through Marnie. “I sleep with a night-light.”

“I sleep with the light on.”

She squeezed Olivia's hand. “We do what we have to do to survive. We’re survivors, Olivia, never forget that.” She startled herself with her ferocity, but truth permeated her words. She refused to see herself as a victim. Was determined to be a survivor. Every day she reminded herself she’d come out the other side a stronger person. But had she really?

“A survivor.” Olivia echoed the words, sniffling. “I like that.” She glanced over at Jake. “Thank you.”

Marnie watched as potent emotions crossed his expression.

His eyes glistened and he blinked several times. He seemed grateful Olivia had a connection with him.

Olivia looked to Marnie. “We were going to make dinner.”

“We were. It takes a while, and I don't know about you, but I'm starving.”

“Me, too.”

“I have to agree.” Jake checked his watch. “How about Chinese? I can get the menu.”

Marnie tried to keep her voice even, as if nothing major had transpired. “Olivia and I are going to get cleaned up, then we'll join you in the kitchen.”

“Okay.”

His calm acceptance made her burst with pride.

He understood—and made sure Olivia saw her episode was no big deal. His easy, genial nature was perfect for this potentially awkward situation.

When he left the room, she encouraged Olivia to head to the bathroom. A few minutes later, the younger woman emerged, her face washed and her eyes less red.

Marnie took her turn quickly—aware Olivia waited. Unlike the other woman, however, she had no tear streaks to wash away. No red eyes to conceal.

Because Marnie Jones never cried.

***

The Chinese food would arrive in a half hour, for which Marnie expressed gratitude. It’d lessen the tension and awkwardness that’d overtaken the group. To combat the silence, Marnie encouraged Olivia to show Jake the contents of some parcels delivered that day.

The previous night's enthusiasm was missing, although Olivia's gratitude to Marnie shone as she showed her uncle several of the pairs of shoes they’d selected.

A particular pair of boots, however, brought out the younger woman’s impish nature. The heel was a mere two inches, but she now topped six feet. The supple brown leather was soft, and the boots fit up to her knees.

“They were fifty percent off.” Olivia’s enthusiasm was infectious. “The sales lady called them bitch—”

“Olivia.”

She had the decency to look chastised. For a moment, at least. Not that nineteen-year-olds didn’t use such language—but Marnie wanted to steer the young woman into less-crass options. For all the good it’d do.

Olivia pulled a second pair from their box, and Marnie blushed.

She’d have returned the boots bought in a moment of weakness—if not for the hurt it’d cause Olivia. The girl gushed about how they could go out with their matching boots. The fact she talked about future plans had not been lost on Marnie. Future plans meant her despair and depression were lessening.

When the food arrived, the women stowed their parcels while Jake paid the delivery driver.

Marnie was surprised at how many parcels were hers. Olivia's persuasive powers had been strong, and with her encouragement, Marnie’d gone a little crazy. Crazy enough she’d need another suitcase to get her haul back home, but she refused to let the guilt overcome her. By coming to Toronto and facing her own fears, she’d earned a little pampering of her own.

After securing the last of her parcels under the couch, she headed back to the kitchen where uncle and niece piled their plates with steaming, aromatic food.

Marnie noted the time. “Maybe we can watch the six o’clock news?”

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