“Um...”
“It’s me, Meg,” Olivia raises her voice so Mom can hear her, then walks over to the window seat and settles beside me. The skin on my neck itches as she moves into my space so she can be caught by the camera. “I brought food for Emily. You look well.”
Mom’s lips thin into a line. “You look very alive.”
Olivia does that cackle laugh. “That I am. You liked me better dead, didn’t you?”
My eyesight flickers between the two of them. Mom must have been trying to be cordial when she said that Olivia was nice because the death glares between them now suggests absolute hate.
Maybe they did meet and that encounter didn’t go well and Mom had a right to run as far from Snowflake as possible. Why bring up a conversation with me that would go like this: oh, and Emily, beyond the issue of your father not wanting either of us, I met your grandmother and she’s psychotic, so good luck with those genetics.
“Emily’s only there long enough for Eli to fix this mess,” says Mom. “Then her father will be there to bring her home and we can put all of this behind us.”
Mom smiles, but it’s not sweet. It’s possibly the nastiest look I’ve seen her give anyone. The smile fades as she turns her gaze back to me. “Besides the fact Eli’s family turned us away, the other reason I kept you from them was because of the situation we’re in now. I promise you, when you get home, you will never have to see Eli again.”
Olivia straightens beside me. “You promised Eli a visit once a year.”
“You both promised trouble would never end up at her doorstep. I was naive to believe you could make that happen. I was naive to believe that your group was a club and not a gang. That you played by the rules.”
“The club is legit. You know that,” snaps Olivia. “Don’t blame this on our way of life.”
That sets Mom into a tailspin and she’s off the bed, her tablet bouncing in her hand, and we get dizzying views of the hotel in Louisville. Olivia leans back so that her head is behind mine.
“Your mother always had a flare for the dramatic,” she tells me.
I say nothing in response because she’s correct.
“Eli promised your mom that if you stayed, the truth would stay buried,” Olivia whispers to me. “You’re calling her to see if she’ll tell you what you’re starting to realize is true, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Why would she do that when lying to you has worked so well?” Olivia pushes a stray hair of mine behind my ear. “You loved for me to brush your hair, but you don’t remember that, do you? Your dinner is on the nightstand. Of course, you’re more than welcome to join us in the kitchen if you’d like company.”
She leaves as easily as she waltzed in. The scene before me is blurred and then my father appears on the screen. “Calm down, Meg. Let me handle this. What’s going on, Emily?”
I draw my hair over my shoulder and twine my fingers into the strands. My father grew up in a gated community with parents who tried to shelter him. He craved to see the world. They demanded he stay home. He had courage, defied them and left. If he had never done that, he would have never met Mom, and he would have never adopted me.
How many times has he told me that story? A hundred times? A million? First as my own personalized fairy tale as he tucked me into bed at night. When I became scared of the dark at eight, it was the fable to show me what would be won if I found courage, then he recounted it several times over the past two years to inspire me to fly.
Well, I’m somewhere new and I’m flapping these new wings like crazy, and you’re right, Mom’s not going to spill. “Everything’s fine, Dad, but I don’t think Olivia and Mom like each other very much.”
Oz
MY BIKE PURRS beneath me and the wind blows through my hair. No helmet this morning and Mom will be pissed, but I don’t care. The open road calms me and since Emily’s popped into my life, I’ve been restless.
The first light of dawn peeks out in the east. Emily and I never did see that sunrise. Truth be told, I don’t know what to think of her. She’s hot, has an attitude, can kiss and she sure as hell is handling this insane shit better than I expected, meaning she hasn’t gone psycho and shot any of us yet.
It’s been three days since she said goodbye to her parents. I’ve been around but mostly keeping my distance, and I’m not the only one. Emily’s silent as a church mouse and spends most of her time in her room. At least she does when I’m at Olivia’s.