Page 69 of Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia 1)

“I told Olivia that she should follow in her old man’s footsteps,” my dad chuckled.

I snorted and he glared at me. I’d pay for that later.

“Teaching is a very rewarding and respectable career,” I countered. “I’ll be teaching people, just like you do, father,” I smiled cheerfully at him, even though cheerful was the last thing I felt.

“No, not like I do, Olivia,” he narrowed his dark brown eyes at me, peering at me above the rim of his glasses. “I teach people about the meaning of faith and God. You’ll be teaching people useless information that won’t help them to reach heaven come judgment day.”

Somebody stab me in the eye. My father was one of the most ungodly men to ever walk the planet. Who was he to preach? I wanted to tell him we’d see where he went come judgment day. I’d bet money it wasn’t to heaven.

“Yes, well,” I muttered with a shrug. I knew I better stop talking before I got myself in trouble…well, into more trouble than I was already in.

“Kevin’s studying to be an architect,” Linda’s husband, William, informed me.

“I think he mentioned that already,” I replied, my sarcasm falling on deaf ears.

Thirty minutes later, the Kirkpatrick’s left, and I wanted to dance for joy.

“Olivia,” my dad’s voice boomed as he came into the kitchen. My shoulders tensed as I leaned over the sink, my fingers raw from scrubbing. “Your behavior tonight was unacceptable, a downright embarrassment.”

I swallowed thickly, shoving my hair out of my face.

“What exactly did I say that was unacceptable, sir?” I steeled my shoulders.

My mom had stiffened beside me, but she went on scrubbing, like nothing was happening.

“You completely ignored poor Kevin, the boy’s infatuated with you, Olivia. The least you could do is carry on a conversation and see where it goes,” he reasoned.

My hands clenched into fists beneath the water, thank God I wasn’t holding a knife, or I would’ve sliced my hand open.

“We were talking,” I argued, “Kevin was telling me all about his time at school and his volunteer work. It was fascinating,” I snapped.

His eyes widened. “Don’t sass me,” he barked and I flinched.

I held my breath so I didn’t cry.

“When you’re under my roof,” he roared, pointing to the ceiling, “you are to act a certain way! I knew letting you go off to college that far away was a bad idea! You should have stayed here where I could’ve supervised you! God only knows what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into! You’re a disgrace, Olivia! This is why I wanted a son!” He ranted. “A son would never disappoint his father this way! But a daughter,” he growled, striding over to me, and grabbing my hair. I yelped, tears burning my eyes. “A daughter is nothing but trouble.”

He had never grabbed me like this before; he preferred to hurt me with words.

“Let me go, please, let me go,” I begged.

He did, giving me a shove so that I went sprawling on the floor.

He stomped out of the kitchen, his steps echoing through the house.

Air crawled through my chest, escaping in strangled gasps. I wrapped my arms around my legs, holding myself together.

My mom sank to the ground beside me, wrapping me in her arms, and gently rocking me back and forth. Her fingers smoothed through my hair.

She didn’t say anything and I didn’t either.

There was nothing we could say.

But we still sat, united, both victims of a man we should trust.

c h a p t e r

Twelve

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