Six Months Earlier - Part 1

The Stan Family Diner stood on the corner of Vine and Harbor streets, eleven blocks away from the slick storefronts of South Portland. It was a squat building that sat among old brick warehouses and was covered in cracked grey stucco, broken off in chunks around the foundation. The neon sign was turned off; an aura of abandonment surrounded the diner despite the brightly lit interior. Inside, Olivia drew stars on the window, her finger erasing the condensation that had formed by the violent polarity of toasty diner air and frigid December winds.

"So, let's see..." Olivia's grandmother, Camille, sat across the Formica table, a crisp map of Portland spread out in front of her. The corner of the map was discolored from Olivia's hot chocolate, which had spilled as the waitress sat it down in front of her. "If we go straight down Harbor, we can hit McLeod's first. That's the one Bess recommended." Camille traced the route with her long, thick fingernail.

"Can we see a movie after that?" Olivia asked. Camille hadn't yet realized it, but antique shopping really wasn't Olivia's thing.

"I don't know, Livy." Camille folded the map back up and stuck it in her purse, a massive beige tasseled bag with bulging pockets. Her grandmother's bag embarrassed her. Olivia looked down at her own purse, which she'd just begun to carry. It was small and dark, barely large enough for her wallet and lip gloss. Do purses just grow as you get older?

"The traffic will be bad tonight. Full of holiday shoppers. And it’s going to turn nasty. A nor’easter’s coming."

Olivia absently picked at the edge of the wood-grain Formica, trying not to be too disappointed. She wiggled one of her nails, chipped and half painted, under the laminate. Her grandmother seldom left the house, let alone drove all the way into Portland. Olivia's fifteenth birthday, though unfortunately positioned in the year, had been occasion enough to warrant a trip into the city. The laminate gave slightly under Olivia's finger, revealing a gummy black underside.

"I know! Why don't we decorate our tree when we get home?" Camille's voice warbled a bit, excitement laced throughout. Her Christmas bell earrings were heavy, elongating her earlobe. For the first time since they'd entered the diner, Olivia was aware of the tinkle of Christmas music, just under surface of the rowdy breakfast crowd. She glanced at the tiny tree sitting on a plastic stand near the cash register; a silver tinsel garland wound crookedly up its length, the red felt tree skirt holding fast to the creases created by eleven months of storage. It had been three years since Olivia had a Christmas tree. Her dad was almost never at home. After her mother walked out, he’d left it up to Olivia to decorate. She'd put the tree up twice before deciding it was a waste of time. No one was around to enjoy it anyway.

"Sure, gran." Olivia drained the last of the hot chocolate, tipping her mug to catch the concentrated chocolate puddle at the bottom.