“I’m the biggest jerk,” he said, wrapping me in a hug. My brother hadn’t hugged me since we were toddlers, and I didn’t remember that. I only knew he did from pictures.
“Get off me,” was my response. Heartless, but then that made sense. Mine had only just drummed off into the distant unknown.
Oliver pulled back. He was crying. I shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t know why I told them. I thought maybe you were in something really deep and didn’t know how to get out. I didn’t know Dad was gonna hit you, Cadence. I almost went for him. I did, but I was afraid.”
I averted my eyes.
“You couldn’t tell how happy I was?” I demanded.
“Happy? You went through a whole sulking period. How the hell did I know?”
I shrugged.
“Couples fight, Ollie,” I explained in my most condescending voice.
“You told me he broke up with you after your pregnancy scare!” Oliver argued.
“Whatever. Don’t bring that up,” I snapped.
“Cadence, listen to me, okay?”
I stared at the opposite wall.
“Will you freaking look at my face, please?”
I turned to him reluctantly.
“I’m. Sorry. I’m sorry, Cay,” he said. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you loved him. I didn’t understand. And I don’t know about Dad, Cay, I really don’t. I think he’s gone crazy or something. But I’ll help you. If you wanna leave, I’ll help you.” He grabbed me again and wrapped me in a hug.
This time I hugged him back. And cried into his chest. And told him I was scared.
“Is he good to you, Cay? Because he broke up with you, and I think that’s pretty shitty.”
“He’s good to me, Ollie. I swear. He made a mistake. But he won’t ever do it again. I believe him. I trust him.” I pulled away from my brother and looked at his face. He studied my bruised eye.
“Do you want me to beat up Dad?”
I burst out laughing. “No. Are you crazy?”
“Well, we don’t have to pretend to be the perfect family anymore. I mean, look at your freaking eye. I’ll beat the shit out of him if you want,” Oliver said.
I kept laughing. I couldn’t stop.
“What?” Oliver asked, his mouth turning up in a grin.
“You think you could take Dad?”
“To the floor,” Oliver said, offended.
I shook my head and chuckled. “How about you just help me get the hell out of here?”
“Done.”
I spent the next forty-five minutes packing suitcases. Oliver gave me his, telling me he’d drop by to pick them up later. I didn’t understand what he meant. He couldn’t drive. I drove him everywhere. I knew I couldn’t pack my entire closet and dresser drawers in the bags, but I had to try. I didn’t want to come back to this house. So I worked hard and fast to pack as much as I could, making sure to grab all my favorite clothes and jewelry, my toiletries and make-up. It was haphazard, rushed packing.
Oliver cracked open the bedroom door and peered out. He turned back to me.
“Okay, we can’t roll them,” he said quietly, and I understood.
I hoisted the suitcase off the floor and grunted. The weight was too much, and I dropped it on accident with a loud thud. I cringed. Oliver shut the door immediately.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s okay,” Oliver said. “Listen, I’ll take the bags down the hall. You keep an eye out for Mom and Dad. All right?”
I nodded and spent ten excruciating minutes acting as a lookout while Oliver carried one large suitcase at a time quietly down the hallway to his bedroom. We never discussed what to do or say if Mom or Dad happened to round the corner. I thought absurdly that I should yell, “Fire!” to get Oliver’s attention. I didn’t know. I’d never sneaked out of my house before. And I’d certainly never sneaked out with the intention of never coming back.
Oliver slipped inside the room once more and looked at my bed. Only my purse and an over-the-shoulder bag remained. He picked up the bag and handed me the purse.
“You ready?”
I shook my head. Then I nodded. Then I shook my head again. And then the tears started flowing.
“Cay, you don’t have time to cry. You can’t cry and drive anyway. That’s not safe. Take a deep breath.”
I did as he instructed.
“Look at me.”
I looked at his face.
“You’ll be all right. Mr. Connelly won’t let anything happen to you,” Oliver said.
That statement made me cry harder. Oliver was doing what parents do to placate children. They tell them things with certainty—things they know nothing about—because they’re the adults, and children will naturally believe them.
“You don’t know him, Ollie,” I said.
“But you do. So will he take care of you?” Oliver asked.
I nodded.
“Okay then. Dry your eyes. It’s time to go.”
Oliver helped me sneak out through his bedroom window. It wasn’t easy, or rather, it wasn’t easy for him. He made four trips down the lattice, holding one oversized suitcase at a time. I was terrified the lattice would rip right off the side of the house from all the weight, Oliver and the bag tumbling down with a loud thud that would draw my parents outside to discover us. But it didn’t.
“Cay! Come on!” Oliver whispered from the base of the lattice ladder.
I took one last look at my brother’s room before descending. Once my feet were firmly on the ground, a new realization dawned on me.
“Oliver!” I cried, my stomach sinking. “I can’t just drive away! They’ll hear me.”
I wanted to cry all over again out of frustration and fear.
“Cay, it’s all right. Listen, we’ll put the car in neutral and back it down the street.”
I stamped my foot. “Look at me! You think I can help you push a car?!”
Oliver grabbed my arm. “You’ve gotta try, Cay! Okay? You wanna get out of here? Then you gotta try!”