“I risk losing my son’s respect. If I lose it, I’m not sure how much time I have to regain it.”
I focus on my toes because I’m lost on what else to say or do. That’s wrong. She’s divulging something personal with me, I can reveal something personal back. Something that I’ve been dying to purge since it happened. “I saw my mom and Eli hug at that warehouse.”
I hug my legs and rest my chin on my knees. It doesn’t sound like much, but witnessing that wounded me. More than the picture of me and Olivia. More than seeing Mom’s name on the tree. Maybe more than when I thought I was being kidnapped.
“It wasn’t a hey-let’s-hug-because-we-made-a-kid-together hug. It was a real hug. Intimate. The type that she should only share with my dad.”
A cold hand on my arm and I glance over at Olivia. “Whatever you find out, it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love you or your adoptive father.”
My frown deepens because that’s exactly what I’m afraid it means. “If this is as big as you make it out to be, then isn’t it possible that she’s lied about everything?” Integrity issues, as I explained to Oz.
An ache slices through me at the thought of her not loving my father and Olivia must sense it as she squeezes my arm. “I swear I’m not doing this to hurt you. I just want you to understand your past.”
Moisture stings my eyes and I rock slightly in a poor attempt to prevent tears from escaping. “All of this feels an awful lot like hurt.”
“Unfortunately, that’s something your mom and Eli were good at. Hurt. I’m trying to stop them from passing that hurt down to you.” Her hand slides along my arm until she reaches the fingers that are still clasped around my legs.
“Then maybe they were right to hide this from me. If what you’re saying is true, then maybe keeping the past a secret is the best way to stop me from hurting because this sucks.”
“The pain the two of them created was built on secrets and lies and regardless of what they think, the past would have caught up to you. Hiding and denying does nothing but cultivate the fear.”
“You sound a lot like my dad.”
Olivia smiles. “I told you already, he’s a good man.”
“He is,” I say. “He’s the best.”
I loosen my grip on my knees and let Olivia take my hand. She lowers our joint fingers to the comforter. While Olivia still scares the crap out of me, this moment feels right. Like how it should be between a grandmother and her granddaughter.
“I’m assuming Eli and your mom didn’t know you saw them hug?”
“No.” My face becomes a space heater. “I blackmailed Oz into letting me eavesdrop.”
She laughs so loudly that I’m both startled and amused.
“You are your mother’s daughter,” she says between breaths.
My eyes narrow on her and she holds up a hand. “I mean that in a good way. Meg and I were close once, which is why I’m assuming she sent you to the wake.”
Mom and Olivia were close once. I test the words in my head, but the entire sentence tastes sour. How could they go from being cozy to the bitterness they now share?
“We sat on this bed once—holding hands. In fact, she was the same age as you.”
I peer at Olivia out of the corner of my eye. “That sounded an awful lot like sharing. Are you sure you don’t want to go ahead and spill?”
She chuckles. “It’s late, I’m tired, and if I’m going to say anything else that will get me into trouble I might as well say this. Your father, Eli, he wanted you.”
A wave of agony devastates my soul. “My mother’s a great mom.”
It needed to be said. Even if she’s lied to me. Even if my worst fears are confirmed and my mother caused these people pain.
Weary and defeated, I collapse back onto the pillow. It’s soft and comfortable and Olivia pats my hand. The air conditioner blows on the bed and I’m suddenly envious of Olivia and her blanket.
“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.”