Could be exhaustion. She could be lost in her own mind. According to the doctor, it’s probably a mini-seizure. All part of the progression of her illness. The doctor said it as if this is some grand design by God. Olivia has had a few of these episodes lately. Too many for my taste. I fold my arms over my chest, trying not to let it bother me, but it does. It slays me.
A lump develops in my throat and I begin to count. On two, Olivia blinks back to life. “Don’t tell Eli I gave Emily the picture.”
She continues our conversation, pretending her mind didn’t temporarily vacate the room, or maybe she isn’t aware the episode happened. But it did happen and it’s hard as hell to keep the anger simmering within me from seeping out in my tone. “What’s my real name?”
“I’m not an invalid.”
I overpronounce the words. “My name.”
“Jonathan.” No slurring and she’s correct.
Guess to check for a stroke, the doctor said we should ask her several questions after we witness that vacant stare, but I value my life so I stick with the one. “You should be asleep.”
“Sleep is a luxury I can no longer afford.”
A pit forms in my stomach and I can’t stand how my soul free-falls within it. She’s too damn accepting of what doesn’t have to be. “This round worked. I can feel it.”
“That’s one of the things I like about you. You’re optimistic.” Olivia removes the scarf from her head and I have to fight not to look away. Her bald head kicks me in the gut, but it’s the horseshoe scar near her ear that rams me straight in the nuts.
I say nothing in response because I don’t feel optimistic. I feel like my world is unraveling. We’ve received bad news before and Olivia always found a way to survive, but this round has a foreboding sensation. I lean forward and push the thoughts away. I loathe the emptiness they create. “Do you want something to eat? Drink?”
Her eyes are closed. Olivia does this now, can drift easily into sleep. When she’s sick, we take turns watching over her. I’m a night owl by nature and prefer the later shifts. Cyrus, Eli and I are the only ones who can stay awake in the silent darkness for hours, waiting for the moment Olivia should need one of us.
My fingers weave together and my head automatically drops. Please, God. Please let her live. The drapes near the open windows move with a gentle breeze. If that’s a response, I don’t know what it means.
“I want to sit on the porch,” she says.
I glance out the door to her room. Cyrus is on guard and he worries over Olivia enough. I could ask Eli or call my own dad for permission to take Olivia out of the house...
“When did you take to disobeying me?” she says with a hint of attitude.
My mouth twitches sarcastically. “When have you known me to listen?”
Her laughter is weak, but existent. “Do as I say.”
Olivia hates being dependent and I hate having to say the following: “I’m going to have to carry you.” Because with the toll this day has had on her body and mine, I don’t trust her to walk or trust myself to catch her if she stumbles.
“Fine.”
I lift her blanket-encased body from the bed. Olivia should weigh more, but the cancer has ravaged her. I ease out the screen door to her room, careful to keep it from slamming shut, and step onto the back portion of the wraparound porch.
I walk until I reach her favorite spot: the porch swing. That’s where she prefers to sit, but there’s no way she can support herself. Instead, I tuck her into the Adirondack chair Cyrus built for her last summer. Her head collapses back against the chair and she scans the yard. The dim light in the east casts a glow onto the drive that leads to town, the large garage that doubles as the clubhouse, and the woods surrounding the house. This porch is her favorite spot on earth.
I settle onto the swing beside her. She may not be able to sit in it, but the creaking sound of the swing brings her peace.
“Have you considered going to school in the fall?” Olivia asks.
It’s her dream for someone in her family to go to college. Not one of her children made it. Hell, Eli dropped out of high school. Though I’m not blood-related, I’m one of Olivia’s. “No.”
“Why not? You’re smart and have potential. You can still be a part of the club. Distance doesn’t mean anything, not when it involves family.”
“What’s wrong with the family business?”
“Nothing,” she says with a sigh. “But they do what they do because their options were limited, especially at the time. Your options are not limited.”
“Next topic.”
“You think you can push everyone away, but not me. You can’t shut me out.”
Then I’ll change the subject. “Stone said Violet took on babysitting to make money.”
The mention of the daughter of a club member who died causes Olivia to grow reflective. Violet is a sore spot for Olivia and the club.
“Nice try,” she says slowly. “Bringing up Violet thinking it’ll blow me off course, but hear me—not working. Go to college. See what the world has to offer.”
“I can throw a knife straight. Does that mean I should join the circus?” Ridiculous, yes, but so is this conversation.
“Yes, if that’s what you want.”
“Joining the business with Dad and Eli is what I want.”
“How do you know?” Olivia raises her voice like she did with Eli when it came to Emily. “The only reason you want the business is because it’s all you’ve known.”
“Not true.”
“Oz—”
“Not true,” I say in a clipped manner that ends the conversation. Guilt twists my gut. Snapping at people is my norm, but I’ve minded my manners with Olivia since she got sick. “Can you drop it?” A beat. Then another. The crickets’ chirping grows louder. “Please?”
She releases a deep, throaty chuckle. “Oz being polite. I must be dying.” Olivia chuckles again. I don’t. She then mutters as if in a dream, “You don’t like her...you don’t like Emily.”
No, I don’t. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it does.”
I extend one leg on the swing, prop my back against the armrest and ground the other foot so I can make the creaking sound Olivia loves. Her condition has declined sharply since the party and I blame Emily. “I don’t see how. Emily’s leaving and won’t come back.”