Nowhere But Here
Page 45
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Mom does that thing where her lips flinch up because she wants to pretend it’s okay, but it’s not. We left the land of okay without passports hours ago. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you with much.”
I lower my head and scratch above my eyebrow, searching for the courage to confront her. Unfortunately, arguing with my mother has never been my strong suit. “You were really upset when you thought Olivia was dead. Did you know her?”
Mom blinks as her expression falls. “Has Olivia said something to you?”
The door to the room opens and Olivia steps in with a plate of food. My stomach plummets. She does not need to be here for this.
“Emily,” Mom presses. “What did Olivia tell you?”
I attempt to hide the wince, but it’s hard to do while staying focused on my mother and ignoring Olivia. The intensity of Olivia’s gaze creates red-hot heat on the back of my neck. I lock down my muscles to prohibit the fidget.
I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, but truth is, Olivia never instructed me not to ask...she merely explained that no one but her would tell me the truth.
Normal people would leave during a private conversation. Olivia’s obviously not normal. She lays the plate on the nightstand, sits on the bed then turns her body toward me and cocks her head as if giving me permission to continue. She’s evil and she’s bold.
“Well...Olivia told me you two had met before.” Not a lie and Olivia smirks as if she approves of how I handled that.
Mom’s shoulders sag. “Yes, we had.”
“You never mentioned that.”
“I didn’t see how it mattered. When I left Kentucky, I never thought either one of us would return. I was young and I was stupid and I made an impulsive decision with Eli that in the end gave me the greatest gift I have ever been given, but there was nothing but heartache in Kentucky for me so we left. Olivia was kind to me when a lot of people weren’t. That’s why it hit me so hard when I thought she was dead.”
“Did she want me?” The words come out fast and sharp. “Was she willing to help us?”
Mom’s face scrunches like she tasted something nasty. “Where’s this coming from?”
The sheets on the bed rustle and my focus darts to Olivia. When my gaze switches back to Mom her eyes are narrowed on me. “Who’s there with you?”
“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.
I lower my head and scratch above my eyebrow, searching for the courage to confront her. Unfortunately, arguing with my mother has never been my strong suit. “You were really upset when you thought Olivia was dead. Did you know her?”
Mom blinks as her expression falls. “Has Olivia said something to you?”
The door to the room opens and Olivia steps in with a plate of food. My stomach plummets. She does not need to be here for this.
“Emily,” Mom presses. “What did Olivia tell you?”
I attempt to hide the wince, but it’s hard to do while staying focused on my mother and ignoring Olivia. The intensity of Olivia’s gaze creates red-hot heat on the back of my neck. I lock down my muscles to prohibit the fidget.
I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, but truth is, Olivia never instructed me not to ask...she merely explained that no one but her would tell me the truth.
Normal people would leave during a private conversation. Olivia’s obviously not normal. She lays the plate on the nightstand, sits on the bed then turns her body toward me and cocks her head as if giving me permission to continue. She’s evil and she’s bold.
“Well...Olivia told me you two had met before.” Not a lie and Olivia smirks as if she approves of how I handled that.
Mom’s shoulders sag. “Yes, we had.”
“You never mentioned that.”
“I didn’t see how it mattered. When I left Kentucky, I never thought either one of us would return. I was young and I was stupid and I made an impulsive decision with Eli that in the end gave me the greatest gift I have ever been given, but there was nothing but heartache in Kentucky for me so we left. Olivia was kind to me when a lot of people weren’t. That’s why it hit me so hard when I thought she was dead.”
“Did she want me?” The words come out fast and sharp. “Was she willing to help us?”
Mom’s face scrunches like she tasted something nasty. “Where’s this coming from?”
The sheets on the bed rustle and my focus darts to Olivia. When my gaze switches back to Mom her eyes are narrowed on me. “Who’s there with you?”
“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.
