Page 46 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

“But—”

“You’re wasting time dwelling on what was, man. It’s time to move on to what can be. Believe me, women are pretty much all alike and not worth all this grief you’re putting yourself through.”

“And you’ve never come up against a woman who made you rethink your philosophy?”

Once again he quashed the image of Olivia so young and eager to share all of herself, opening to him completely. “No, I haven’t,” he lied. “But I am ready to move on to a more suitably masculine topic. Like the the Braves’ chances this season, or how to tell if you’re about to get downsized.”

“Okay,” said Dawg. “I’ll let you get on with things. But don’t be so sure this’ll never happen to you, Ransom. It seems like sometimes love just sort of tiptoes up and bushwhacks you from behind. And then nothing is ever the same again.”

Chapter Fifteen

On Friday morning Olivia faced an incontrovertible truth: Being thirty sucked. It was her birthday and although she’d only been awake for five and a half minutes, the added year was already taking its toll.

Too old and too tired to get out of bed, Olivia stretched her arms above her head, kicked the rumpled bedsheets out of the way, and contemplated the ceiling. It was made of the popcorned plaster common in condos and apartments, and it had absolutely nothing going for it. She felt a strange sort of kinship with that bumpy ceiling and an awful sort of lethargy that she wished she could indulge.

In the bathroom, Olivia searched through her cosmetics bag until she came up with an ancient sample tube of anti-wrinkle cream. After smearing it liberally around her eyes, she faced herself in the mirror and attempted a smile. She still had all her teeth, but the longer she looked, the more pronounced the signs of her advanced age became.

Shimmying out of her pajamas, Olivia squeezed her eyes shut to avoid discovering any suddenly sagging body parts or newly bulging varicose veins, and stepped under the stream of hot water, keeping her back to the mirror while she lathered and rinsed.

Clean, but still thirty, she slipped into her clothes and headed out to the kitchen for the cup of coffee that she prayed would help put things back into perspective. Within minutes, she’d parked herself in front of the computer, coffee mug in hand, and saw Diane’s birthday wishes awaiting her on the screen.

Thanks, Olivia typed, unable to summon a more profound or lengthy response.

Diane gave her the vote count. Once again, donations and votes were relatively even. Olivia sensed it would take something major to obtain a real lead, but she refused to think about the consultant and his endless questions. Being thirty was bad enough.

The spaghetti looked pretty good last night, Diane typed.I’m putting on pounds just watching you and Matt eat.

Olivia replied,When I get out of here well try hypnosis. But I’m too old to think about food today.

Diane’s next missive read,You’re only as old as you feel.

Olivia sipped at her coffee.Then I must have turned a hundred and two.

You don’t sound so good. Should I wake up Matt?Olivia could almost hear Diane’s concern in the words she typed.

NO!Olivia typed.I’m planning to check out retirement communities as soon as I get off the air. Until then, I’d prefer to do my show in peace.

Okay.

You haven’t told anyone it’s my thirtieth birthday, have you?

There was the computer equivalent of dead silence while Olivia waited for the reassuring words to appear.

Diane, she typed.Tell me you haven’t said anything to...

The doorbell and the phone rang simultaneously. With only ten minutes until air, Olivia picked up her cell, clicked to take the call, and moved toward the front door.

“Olivia, it’s Charles."

She braced herself.

“Crankower,” he said, as if there were another. “I just wanted you to know that I—”

“Hold on, Charles. There’s someone at the door. I assume I’m allowed to open it?”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

Olivia turned the key in the deadbolt and pulled open the front door, an act that made her feel immeasurably better. Until she saw what awaited her.

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