No Need to Talk Pt. 03: Olivia

No Need to Talk, Pt. 03: Olivia

I would like to thank Astordatair for giving me permission to write this sequel to his story, "I Needed To Talk To You." I would also like to thank those who have offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories.

Apologies for taking so long to get this up, but I have been very busy with life and other projects. And to make life more interesting, I just got out of the hospital after a heart attack, something I would not wish on anyone. To those who reached out, I am doing much better now, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Note to detractors: Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Sorry to disappoint. Well, not really...

The premise of the original story was simple - A man learns his wife is leaving him with their daughter for another man the same day he learns he has terminal brain cancer. In the original, the wife leaves for a month to be with her lover. When she returns, her husband has already passed away.

Although I enjoyed the original story, I felt it was a little too short (about 982 words), and the cheaters needed a dose of what I like to call the "Saddletramp Treatment." This story is broken into three parts. The first is from the husband's perspective, the second is from the wife's, and the third is from the perspective of the young daughter, Olivia - in my opinion, the real victim in this sad tale. I had originally planned to put the whole story in one post, but it grew a life of its own, so it will be split into three posts (Over 29,000 words total), and yes, they are all complete.

And now, the disclaimers:

For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... In addition:

1. Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.
2. All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.
3. Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

End of Part 2:

I looked over the forms and showed them to John. They seemed straightforward enough, so I signed on the dotted line.

Jack went to the door and called for the guard, who entered the room.

"Here is a set of transfer orders. Ms. Coleman is now in federal custody and she's leaving with us," he said. The guard looked over the papers, then spoke to someone over her radio. We heard someone reply, then the guard looked at us.

"All right. Follow me, please. I'll need to process her release," the guard said.

After my hands were unshackled from the table, we followed the guard out the door. It took a couple of hours to go through the release, after which time, I took a much-needed hot shower, then dressed in the clothing I wore when I was arrested.

I felt somewhat more human when I left the jail. I stopped and looked back at the large building. Goodbye, Anne Coleman, I thought. Hello Anita Coles. And may God have mercy on the piece of shit known as Michael Simpson. Because I wouldn't.

...

Part 3: Olivia

Thirteen years later:

I lay back on the small bed in my room and let the air from the ceiling fan wash over me. As I waited for sleep to come, I pulled out the yellowed letter written by my birth father so long ago and read it for the hundredth time.

"My dearest Olivia," it began. "I hope this letter finds you safe and in good health.

"I wish I could hold you in my arms just one more time to tell you how much I love you and how much you mean to me. Unfortunately, that will not happen. I promised your mother I would let you know what happened and what kind of man she had picked to be your replacement father, so here goes.

"The day you left for Cancun with your mother and Michael Simpson, I learned that I had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. The doctor said it was aggressive, and I would probably not last the month. I tried to tell your mother, but she dismissed me, saying that I 'would survive.' She also said it would be best if I cut ties with you as fast as possible. That, she said, was Michael's idea.

"While you were in Cancun, a private investigator learned as much as he could about your mother's boyfriend, and what he found was not good at all. Your mother said he had an incredible network, and she was right. Politicians, judges, business leaders, you name it. But his network also included some very unsavory characters - the kind of people who take advantage of young women like you.

"Working with my lawyer, Robert Horton, we did everything we could to protect you from Simpson's influence, and I can only hope we were successful. I also did everything I could to make sure you would be financially well-off for the rest of your life.

"I can only hope that you have had a good childhood and that your Uncle Bill was able to get custody of you. I am so sorry I could not be there with you to watch you grow into the fine woman I'm sure you are now, but I want you to know that in the few years we got to spend together, I loved you more than life itself.

"With all my love and kisses, Dad."

With tears in my eyes, I carefully folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope before carefully packing it in my bag. Dad - that is, the man I now call Dad, who is really my Uncle Bill - gave me the letter on my 18th birthday, along with an account book that had more numbers than I could imagine.

Dad explained that my father had worked very hard, made some sound investments, and sold his company before he died so I would get the results of his hard work instead of my mother. Dad was the guardian of the trust, along with Mr. Horton. All my educational expenses would be covered, and I would receive a monthly stipend that increased as I got older. The trust would get turned over to me when I was 30. I hadn't cried about my father in a long time, but I did then.

I recalled that trip to Cancun so long ago. I remember being confused about why Dad couldn't come with us. Mom gave some excuse and said that maybe he could join us later if he could get off work. But that never happened. I begged her to let me talk to him, but she always said he was too busy to talk with me. That lie grated against my soul now.

I had a good time swimming in the ocean and met a lot of different and interesting people. There was one man named Julio that Michael said was a friend of his. He is the one who took that picture of us on the beach - the one Michael sent to Dad. Julio seemed nice enough, but there was something about him that made me nervous.

For the most part, I had a good time, but I missed my dad terribly. There were several nights I heard Mom and Michael in their room, and I knew she was doing things with Michael that she only used to do with Dad. I may have only been an eight-year-old child at the time, but I wasn't stupid. I was pretty sure my dad wouldn't like that.

There were a few nights when my sinuses made me feel bad, so Mom would give me a small dose of medicine. It usually helped me sleep, but it was different this time. I often woke up the next morning confused, not remembering what happened the night before, and it scared me.

When we returned, Dad wasn't at home. Mom said he was probably working, so I went across the street to play with my best friend and tell her about my trip.

The next thing I remember, Mom got me and said we had to go see Robert Horton, Dad's friend, and lawyer. When we got to Robert's office, I was asked to speak with a woman named Jennifer.

She seemed like a kind woman with a nice smile, and we had a good talk about my trip. Then she said something about wanting to make sure I was okay, so she took me to a hospital, where doctors took blood from me. I was a little worried about being away from Mom, but Jennifer was very nice and seemed quite concerned, so I went along and didn't make a fuss.

When Jennifer brought me back to Robert's office, Mom and Michael were gone. Robert, Grandma, and Uncle Bill sat me down and explained that Dad had died from something in his head. They held me as I sobbed. I never got a chance to tell him goodbye and that I loved him.

But it got worse. They said Mom and Michael had done something bad by taking me away from my dad without his permission. They told me the police needed to talk to them, and they would probably be gone for a while.

In the meantime, they said, I would stay with Uncle Bill and Aunt Lisa. I was okay with that because I really liked them a lot, and I always had a good time with my cousin, Marie, who was a year older than me.

A day or two later, I saw something on television that really bothered me. They were talking about my mother, and they were saying some horrible things about her. At the same time, they praised my father as a hero and pillar of the community. Uncle Bill turned the television off and sat down with me.

"Why were they saying those horrible things about Mom?" I asked.

"I guess they don't know her like we do," Uncle Bill said. "Don't pay any attention to that stuff, okay?"

A few days later, Uncle Bill made an announcement when he got home from work. Mom had been taken into custody by the federal government.

"What does that mean?" I asked. I was scared. I had lost my dad and I didn't want to lose my Mom too.

"I don't know, exactly," he said. "Maybe they need her testimony to put some really bad people in jail." Knowing what I now know, I understand he was trying to minimize my pain since I hadn't been allowed to see her since that day at Robert's office.

"Will I ever see her again?" I asked. I remember fearing the answer.

"I don't know. I hope so," Uncle Bill said. "We'll see."

But I never saw her again. Not long after that announcement, we received news that Mom had killed herself while in federal custody.

I was now a child with no parents, an orphan. It was a very lonely word.

My whole life was over, and I was inconsolable for days. We had just buried Dad, and now Mom was dead as well. I spent days crying my eyes out.

Everyone tried their best to comfort me but to no avail. More than once, I thought the only way I would ever see them again was to die. In my child-mind, I thought that if I were dead like them, then we would all be together again.

Fortunately, Uncle Bill and Aunt Lisa recognized what was happening to me and got help. It took months, and lots of long talks with Doctor Kathy and Pastor Jacob, but I was finally able to move forward. But there was something missing. Once again, Bill and Lisa came to my rescue, only this time, Marie helped.

"Sweetheart, you know your Aunt Lisa and I love you very much, don't you?" Uncle Bill asked.

"Yes..."

"And Marie loves you as well."

"And I love you guys too," I replied.

"Well, since your parents are... gone, we'd like to fill in for them, if that's okay with you," Aunt Lisa said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"We'd like to... adopt you as our child. We'd like to be your new Mom and Dad," Uncle Bill said.

"And that will make you my little sister," Marie said with a smile. "I've always wanted a sister."

"You would be my big sister?" I asked. The idea of having parents again with a big sister sounded good to me.

"Yeah. Wouldn't that be fun?" Marie asked. The more I thought, the better it sounded to me.

"It would be fun," I said. "Promise you won't leave me?"

"We'll never leave you, sweetheart," Uncle Bill promised. And so it was that my Uncle Bill and Aunt Lisa became my new parents. And my cousin Marie became my new big sister. On that day, I smiled with joy for the first time in months. I was no longer an orphan!

I had a good childhood from that point on. Oh sure, there were little squabbles from time to time, but we always ended the day with smiles, hugs, and kisses. My new Mom and Dad were wonderful loving parents, and Marie turned out to be the best big sister a girl could want. We shared all our secrets with each other and even double-dated a few times, much to the chagrin of our male companions.

Dad liked to go shooting, and frequently took Marie and me to the range with him. He taught us how to handle a gun safely, and when we were old enough, bought us each a.22 rifle. He made sure we completed a gun safety course before allowing us to shoot and supervised us carefully when we went to the range.

I found that I liked shooting - a lot! And I turned out to be damn good. Dad was amazed as he watched me put one round after another right into the bull's eye. Marie was pretty good as well, but not as good as me.

"Damn. We got our own little Annie Oakley here," Dad bragged as he looked at my target. "You wanna try shooting my Savage?" Of course, I did! He walked me through loading the rifle and watched carefully as I took aim.

The rifle had way more of a kick than my.22, but it felt so satisfying, especially when I saw the round hit the bull's eye at 200 yards. Dad let out a yelp when he saw the target. Marie let out a gasp when she looked at the target through her binoculars.

"Remind me never to piss you off, sis," she quipped. By then, a group of people had gathered around us to celebrate my shooting.

"You know, the local high school has a shooting team," one man said. "You ought to try out for it. I'd bet you'd get on."

"Yeah? What makes you say that?" Dad asked.

"I'm the team coach. Dean Allred," the man said with a broad grin, shaking Dad's hand. "We're always looking for new talent. What's your name, young lady?"

"Olivia Coleman," I said.

"Coleman. Any relation to Andrew Coleman?" I knew the library had been renamed for my dad after news broke of his death. I nervously looked at Dad and was grateful when he answered for me.

"Andrew was my brother," Dad said quietly but proudly.

"He was a good man, your brother," Dean said, nodding.

"Yes, he was. The best," Dad said.

"Well, Miss Coleman, why don't you come to see me the first chance you get? You know where the school's indoor range is, don't you?"

"Yes, sir, I do," I told him.

"Good. I look forward to seeing you soon," Dean said with an even wider smile. He shook Dad's hand and left. Little did I know that encounter set the stage for my life up until now.

I met with Dean the next school day, and he gave me a tour of the range. We talked about range safety, and he showed me the match rifles the school used for competition. These rifles were far more expensive than the.22 Dad gave me.

"You wanna try it out?" Dean asked.

"Sure," I said. I put on a shooting jacket, a pair of glasses, and hearing protection. Dean showed me the proper prone position and watched as I loaded a magazine with five rounds. He sat behind me and watched as I took my first shot. It was high and to the right, so I cleared the weapon and adjusted the front sight as he had shown me.

When Dean nodded his head, I reloaded the magazine and fired the remaining rounds, which ended up in the bull's eye. I cleared the weapon and let Dean inspect it to make sure there were no live rounds in the chamber. He took the weapon from me and brought the target to the firing line.

"Impressive," he said. "I can work with this. Can you spend an hour here after school three days a week?"

"Yes, sir, I can do that," I assured him.

"Good," Dean said. "Of course, you know that you'll have to keep your grades up if you wanna stay on the team?"

"Yes, I figured that," I said. I knew extracurricular activities were a privilege, and academics were the first priority.

"Have your parents sign the consent forms, bring them back and we'll get you started. Welcome to the team," Dean said. We shook hands and I practically floated the whole way home.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Mom asked.

"Yes, it is," I said.

Mom looked at Dad and I could see the unspoken communication between them. Dad looked the paperwork over before nodding his head.

"All right. We'll let you do this, but you keep your grades up, you hear me young lady?" he asked.

"Thanks, Daddy, I love you!" I squealed, throwing my arms around him. After he let me go, I hugged Mom, telling her I loved her as well.

I spent the next three years on the team, becoming proficient with all kinds of firearms, from rifles to pistols and shotguns. My favorite was the competition rifles, and I almost always scored in the top ten percent, leading my team to one championship after another.

My senior year of high school was the best, and I led the team to the state championship with my long-distance shooting, beating the next-best student by several shots. We won that competition, and I received a trophy for my efforts. I was busy cleaning my rifle when I heard a man approach.

"Ms. Coleman?" the man asked. I looked up to see a well-built man in uniform, ribbons covering one whole side of his chest.

"Yes?" I asked.

"I'm Sgt. Major Brett Wilkerson, U.S. Army Recruiting. I saw you shoot today. I must say, I haven't seen shooting like that in a very long time. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Sgt. Major," I said politely, impressed by his bearing and uniform.

"Any idea what you plan to do after high school?" he asked.

"I haven't quite made up my mind yet," I told him, which was the truth. By then, I had the first installment of my trust but hadn't decided where I wanted to go for college.

"You have a natural gift. It'd be a shame to see that go to waste. How would you like to get paid to shoot the way you do?" I wasn't expecting this, and I didn't know what to think. Hitting paper targets and metal disks is one thing - shooting a live person is something else.

"You mean... like a sniper?" I asked.

"Something like that, yes. The Army spends a lot of money training its snipers. From what I see, it comes to you naturally."

"I didn't know the Army let girls be snipers," I replied.

"There was a time when we didn't. But the Army has changed its attitude about a lot of things over the last few years. Besides, some of the best snipers in history were women. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't," I told him, somewhat surprised.

"Of course, you'd have to undergo additional training, qualify just like everyone else. But you seem to be physically fit, you're very proficient with firearms, and I suspect you could do anything you set your mind to."

"And what would I get in return?" I asked.

"Give us four years, and the Army will pay for your college education, give you veteran's benefits, and you'll have the satisfaction of knowing you made it on your own steam. What do you think?"

"I'll have to think about it, Sgt. Major. Talk to my parents," I said.

"Of course. This isn't something to take lightly," he said, handing me a business card. "Think about it, Ms. Coleman. Talk to your parents. Then come to my office and we'll talk some more, okay?"

"Okay," I said, taking his card.

"It's a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Coleman. And congratulations again," the Sgt. Major said before leaving.

Mom, Dad, and Marie took me out for dinner to celebrate my victory, but my mind wasn't on the celebration. It was on something the Sgt. Major said about making it on my own. The more I thought about it, the more it appealed to me.

"I know you, sweetheart. There's something on your mind," Dad said after we got home. "You've been awfully quiet ever since the competition." I told him about the visit with the Sgt. Major and what he offered me.