“I won’t say there isn’t bad blood between us and your mother,” says Olivia, “but it would be tough to argue that she didn’t do a good job raising you.”
Was that a white flag? “See, it wasn’t so hard to say something nice, now, was it?”
She smirks. “Don’t get used to it.”
What’s shocking is that I’m not swamped with animosity for her, nor is there any pulverizing terror that I’m next to the lady who voluntarily lay in a casket. And what’s kick-in-the-head surprising? I’m genuinely grinning. I notice the bruises dotting the inside of Olivia’s arm and my happy moment fades. “How sick are you?”
Olivia produces the sad smile. The type where the corners of the mouth tilt up, but the lower lip is yanking down. The one my mom does when she pretends everything is okay and it isn’t. My stomach cramps seeing it on Olivia.
“Sick enough that I threw my own wake.”
A shiver runs through me and I push the conversation forward, away from coffins. “What type of cancer?”
“You’ve been hanging out too much with Oz. He focuses on details he can’t change, never on what he can.” Olivia’s eyelids flutter and my time with bio-grandma is coming to an end. I extend my legs to slide off her bed and Olivia stops me. “Stay.”
“But you’re tired.”
“Stay,” she demands in the kind of voice that causes me to immediately comply. “I’ll give you another clue tomorrow. This one should be easy to figure out, especially if you can convince Oz to help you.”
“You realize that this is a messed-up scavenger hunt, right? You have to admit it’s a little deranged. What do you do for birthday parties around here? Load up piñatas with snakes? You are, by far, the strangest group of people I have ever met.”
I expect Olivia’s witty comeback, but nothing. Odds are she’s heard the same distant rumble of motorcycles that has caught my attention. “Maybe that’s Eli.”
And what’s weird is the happy anticipation of seeing him again. Does it make me a bad daughter if I’m looking forward to the next few days?
The sheets shift and then my hand begins to tremble. A deadly cold overtakes my body. It’s not me that’s shaking. It’s Olivia. Her body flinches uncontrollably. Quaking in a way that’s unnatural. Her eyes roll back in her head and her arm drops off the bed.
I hover over her as I hold on to her hand. “Olivia!” She continues to shake and panic bursts inside me. “Olivia!”
Terrified to leave her, unsure what to do, I turn my head and scream, “Oz! I need you!”
Her body still twitches under my touch and she needs help and I don’t know what to do. Her body moves closer to the edge and I lean over her to prevent her from slipping off. My eyes search frantically for a phone and when I come up empty my head whips over my shoulder again. “Oz! Plea—”
My cry is ripped short as a large man in black leather barrels into the room. Fear spikes into my chest and as I shield Olivia with my body, he speaks. “How long has she been seizing?”
I blink at the familiarity of the voice. It’s Cyrus. My grandfather. Her husband. He rushes to Olivia’s side of the bed and his eyes dart to mine. “How long, Emily?”
“A few seconds,” I answer. A dip on the bed and Eli’s by my side. He attempts to tear me away from Olivia, but I dig my fingers in. If I let go she’ll fall. If I let go she could die. My throat burns and wetness fills my eyes. “I turned the air conditioner on and I shouldn’t have and we talked and this happened.”
“Holy fuck,” another guy mutters as he enters the room then yells down the hallway, “Someone call Izzy.”
The convulsing stops. Cyrus crouches next to Olivia and brushes a finger slowly along her cheek. “Olivia?”
She opens her eyes, but there’s no awareness t
here and what frightens me more is how her hand remains lifeless in mine. “Is she okay?”
Cyrus looks up at me and then behind me. Nausea rages in my stomach. This man is huge. Death-defying. He should be answering yes. He should be able to fix her. That’s how strong he is, but he’s not fixing her. His eyes are glassed over and he’s a mirror of Olivia—broken.
“You were real strong staying with her,” says Cyrus in this gentle voice. Too gentle. So gentle that I check to make sure that Olivia’s chest rises with air. It does. Her eyes are still open, but this feels final. “Why don’t you let me take over?”
“She asked me to stay.” My voice sounds hollow. Echoed. As if I’m floating. Detached from the entire situation.
Fingers in a black glove slide along the hand I’ve linked with Olivia’s and then slowly extract my hand from hers. In a heartbeat, my body moves and I’m in the arms of someone as they carry me out of Olivia’s room.
Oz
EVEN IN ELI’S arms as he carries her away, Emily’s hand stays outstretched toward Olivia. Tears pool in her eyes and a pulse of protectiveness races through me. I step forward and Dad pounds a hand on my chest with such power that it nearly knocks the wind out of me. “Let Eli take care of his daughter.”