Thursday, late afternoon
“GRANT, OH MY GOD! YOU’RE HERE!” OLIVIA CRIED WHEN SHE GOT HOME.
SHE HAD TREATED HERSELF TO A MENTAL HEALTH DAY. CHAP S WAS CLOSING EARLY, SO REALLY IT WAS ONLY LIKE CUTTING HALF A DAY. SHE WENT TO THE COSTUME INSTITUTE AT THE METTO SEE AN EXHIBITCALLED “JAZZ BABIES” AND THEN CAUGHT A MOVIE STARRING CLIVE OWEN. ALL AFTERNOON SHE TRIED HER BEST NOT TO THINK ABOUT HER BROTHER. AND NOW THERE HE WAS, SITTING IN THE BREAKFASTNOOK, EATING A MELTED CHEESE SANDWICH.
CARLOTTA SAID, “YOUR PARENTS, THEY WITH THE LAWYER UPSTAIRS.” CARLOTTA POINTED HER SPATULA AT GRANT. “A COP BROUGHT HIM HOME. LIVVY, HE WAS HIGH. HE THINKS I’M TOO STUPID TO KNOW. OH, YES, I KNOW,” SHE MUTTERED, WIPING GREASE OFF THE GRIDDLE ON THE VIKING RANGE. “YOUR BROTHER, HE’S NEVER GONNA LEARN. NEVER.”
“OLIVIA, WHY’D YOU TELL THE COPS ABOUT ME SEEING TUT—”
“THEY ALREADY KNEW! THEY CHECKED ALL THE CALLS ON M Y CELL. THEY—THEY SAW A CALL YOU MADE TO SOME DOMINO’S IN NEW HAVEN. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO EXPLAIN THAT!” OLIVIA FELT LIKE A ROPE WAS KNOTTED TIGHTLY AROUND HER SKULL. SHE SANK DOWN ON THE EDGE OF THE BOOTH AND RUBBED HER TEMPLES.
“YOUR SISTER LOVES YOU! YOU WANTHER TO GETIN TROUBLE, TOO?”
“WHY COULDN’T YOU JUSTSTAY AT WINDWARD?”
“I—I PANICKED,” GRANTSTAMMERED. HE’D BEEN STAYING UP AT COLUMBIA AGAIN, AT ERIC’S SINCE TUESDAY AFTERNOON. “OKAY, I’M SORRY. I KNOW I FUCKED UP. I—”
“Don’t use that filthy talk in this house!”
Grant ignored Carlotta and extended a triangle of sandwich, which Olivia pushed away. “After Ledbetter finishes with Mom and Dad, I have to go to the precinct…. My luck, they’ll say I gave Hollins a push.”
“How’d the cops find you?” Olivia asked.
“Nate Lorimer saw me.”
“Nate?”
“The next thing, we’re on the ground and he’s punching me. A cop broke it up.”
She took a closer look at her brother. Yeah, Carlotta was right. Grant’s eyes were glassy. “You told me you had almost a year, Grant.”
He started to give her some b.s., but she shook her head.
He sighed. “All right, yes, I’ve had a couple of slips. I’m not happy about it either. But it’s not the end of the world, and it’s not your problem. So let me deal with it, okay.”
“Livvy, you supposed to be at the doctor’s at five-thirty, don’t forget.”
Oh shit. Dr. Ehrenburg! She’d forgotten. She could also hear her parents and Mr. Ledbetter coming downstairs from the parlor floor.
Grant put down the crust of his sandwich. “Now the fun begins.”
Olivia got her bag, which was hanging on the louvered doors that hid the washer/drier. When he realized she was leaving, Grant jumped up and said frantically, “Where are you going? Come on, don’t go!”
Olivia didn’t know what to answer so she shrugged. “It’s not my problem. You just said so yourself. You deal with it.”
As Olivia walked to Dr. Ehrenburg’s office, the evening air on her cheeks felt soothing and the pounding in her head grew fainter. And even though she burst into tears almost as soon as she settled into the black leather recliner, using up one Kleenex after another, it wasn’t the usual kind of crying that left you feeling hopeless and horrible; she actually felt better.
Olivia found herself telling Dr. E. about a book she’d read over the summer. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.
“I got it because I heard it was about a girl working at a fashion magazine,” Olivia explained. Her favorite part was when the girl threw all her new clothes off the roof of a hotel. It was supposed to be a sign that the girl, her name was Estelle—no, Esther—was going crazy. Each piece of clothing went sailing off into the night, like a big bird, floating down until it landed on some building. Esther was getting rid of things she didn’t want anymore, things that were a burden. And to Olivia, the more she thought about it, that didn’t seem crazy at all.
“I agree,” Dr. Ehrenburg said. “Sometimes the best thing, the only thing, you can do is let go. It doesn’t meant you stop hoping. Olivia, your brother has his whole life ahead of him. Letting go isn’t the same thing as giving up on him.”
Olivia dug into a hangnail. She thought she understood. She also desperately needed a cigarette. You weren’t allowed to smoke in the office, but there was a little garden outside that faced the gardens of other brownstones.
“Olivia, come on. You can wait. We only have a few minutes left. And I had a new security system installed. I’m not even sure how to use it.” Dr. E. pointed to a panel with numbered keys on the wall. Olivia had never seen it before.
“If anybody opens that door, from inside or outside, a siren goes off that can wake the dead. Then, unless I punch in an eight-digit code in the alarm box, the police come. All very high-tech, all very complicated. Way beyond me.”
“So you’re never going to open the door again?” The little garden was beautiful, especially in spring.
Olivia managed to forego the cigarette, and soon Dr. E. was glancing at the small travel clock she kept on the table beside her, positioned so that she alone could see its face. “I’m afraid our time’s up.” Then she smiled, the new unnatural smile where her mouth widened but her cheeks barely moved and not a single laugh line crinkled at the corner of her eyes.