They went home and pulled into the driveway to find Oliver sitting in the rocker on the front porch. He was holding a glass of bourbon and Coke. He’d been in the house, then. He must still have a key. Ava hadn’t thought to ask for it back.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said.
“Came to check on y’all, see if you need anything. How are you? How you doing, Lanie?”
“Been a while, hasn’t it,” Lane said to him, and went in. Oliver followed.
“Lane, he’s not supposed to be here,” Ava said. “Remember?”
“Give me a break, why don’t you,” Oliver said. He turned to Lane. “Brought you some groceries, grass. Thought you might be running low.”
“Thanks,” Lane said. She sat down on the living room sofa. Ava had never seen her sit in there. She mostly walked through it to get to the painting. “Front room’s a mess,” Lane told Oliver. “Can you put it back together? And we’re out of shampoo, I think. We’re out of something.”
“Sure,” Oliver said. “I’ll check around and see what all you need.”
“I bought shampoo last week,” Ava said. “We don’t need anything.”
“For real, Iowa. Lay off for one minute. Please.”
“Lane, you fired him. Remember? He stole from you, he’s not supposed—”
“God, I’m beat,” Lane said.
The burst of lucidity that had propelled her out of the house earlier was gone. She wasn’t listening to Ava, she was not the least bit concerned to see Oliver there. Instead, she sat back on the cushions, one arm draped over the scrolled arm of the couch, the other resting in her lap. It was so rare to see her sitting still, Ava realized. Without the frenetic energy, the pacing, consumed by whatever vision she was seeing in her head, she looked skinny and old.
“Lane, do you want to maybe go lie down?” Ava said. “You could probably use some sleep.”
“Can’t I sit on my own goddamn sofa?” Lane said.
Oliver took the chair next to the couch, pulled a pipe and a lighter from his pocket, and handed it to Lane. She took it, lit it, handed it back.
“I missed you, Lanie,” he said.
Ava stood over them. There was nothing she could do to get Oliver out if Lane didn’t want him gone.
“Let’s have a drink, why don’t we,” Lane said. She looked like she was on the verge of sleep.
“Get her something,” Oliver said to Ava.
“No way. I’m not leaving you alone with her.”
Oliver sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Come in the kitchen with me. I’ll show you how to fix a manhattan.”
They went back together and Oliver mixed three drinks. He handed one to Ava. “If you’re gonna bitch at me all night, at least have a drink and be civilized about it.”
Ava took a sip and spat it back in her glass.
“Oh, come on. I make a great manhattan.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Ava said.
“It’s nice to see you, too. I mean it.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Gimme that back,” he said, taking her glass. “It’s too strong for you.”
He poured the drink into a plastic Mardi Gras cup and added ice and Coke from the two-liter bottle on the counter. He found a spoon and stirred it, then handed it back to the girl.
“Try it now, see if it needs more Coke.”
Ava sipped. “It’s okay, it’s better this way.”
“Alright, come on.”
In the living room Lane’s eyes were closed.
“She hasn’t been sleeping much,” Ava whispered.
“She goes through those phases. She’ll be alright.”
“She’s been working nonstop,” Ava said.
“That’s how she used to be a lot. It means the project’s going well.”
The project, Ava thought. He meant her mom, on that beach Ava had never seen. Her mom was both dead and a little girl, on the beach and in the front room. Ava had seen photos taken in that room, of Christmas presents under an enormous tree, of Louise watching television on the rabbit ear set in the corner, her hair in cheesy bows.
Ava kept the album by her bed along with the packet of photos that had finally arrived from Kaitlyn. She pored over them every night—pictures of her when she was a baby with her mom and dad, pictures of the old farm.
“You’ve done a good job,” Oliver said, startling Ava from her reverie. “With her, I mean.”
“We’ve been fine,” Ava said.
“Yeah, I see that. You’re taking care of her. Somebody like Lane, you just have to be there, not get in her way, let her do her thing. It can be tough, though. For you, I mean.”
The bourbon in the drink was hitting Ava. Her limbs felt watery and loose. She’d often wondered why everyone in this town was so drunk all the time. Now she was starting to get it. It let you talk to your enemy like he was a friend. Lightness, relief. Like setting down a heavy suitcase.
Ava nodded at Lane, head tilted back, asleep. “Should we wake her and get her in bed, do you think?” she asked.
Having someone to ask was a tremendous luxury. The isolation of the last few weeks and the effort of ignoring it seeped away.
“Let’s let her be,” Oliver said. “Come back in the kitchen. I came here to talk to you, anyway.”
“Me? Why?”
“I have something to show you.”
He carried Lane’s drink and his own. Ava followed.
“Sit down,” he said. He took his smartphone from his pocket and tapped at the screen before handing it to Ava.
“What is this?” she said.
“It’s my online banking app. This is a transfer of thirty-five hundred dollars from my account to Lane’s. I did it today, you can double-check hers if you don’t believe me. The money’s in there.”
“Thirty-five hundred dollars?”
“That’s all my savings. It’s the first installment. I told you I’d pay her back, and I will. It’s going to take a little while, but I wanted to show you I meant it.”
Ava handed him the phone.
“Ava? Don’t you have anything to say?”
“It’s good, I guess. It’s good that you’re paying her back. But why? You said she wouldn’t care, she wouldn’t notice. She doesn’t even remember it. What are you trying to do?”
“She doesn’t care. It’s not for her. It’s for you. So you can trust me again.”
“What do you care if I trust you?”
“Because you need me.”
“Not really,” Ava said.
“Look, Ava. You’ve been doing a great job. I mean it. I’m impressed. This shit ain’t easy.”
“We’re fine without you.”
“Yeah? And what happens next? School’s starting soon. You need to go to school. I’m guessing you were like a straight-A student, weren’t you?”
Ava shrugged.
“So you’re gonna what? Drop out, stay home, and take care of Lane? Even I went to fucking high school, Ava. Would your mother want that for you? You need help. You can’t even enroll in school without an adult to help you. Try getting Lane to do that shit.”
“I can manage,” Ava said, but he was right. The summer was ending soon. School would start and she couldn’t care for Lane alone.
“Now, maybe. How about when she gets worse?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“Right. Good luck with that.” At least she was listening, wasn’t trying to kick him out. “Hey,” he said. “Let’s do something. Let’s play cards.”
“Why?”
“Why not? It’s fun. You don’t have to be suspicious of everything I say. Do you know gin?”
“No,” she said.
“I’ll teach you. There’s cards in that long drawer in the pantry.”
“I know where they are,” she said.
“Course you do.”
She found a couple of ancient decks and they went through them, counting, to make sure they were complete. They played a practice game, showing their cards, then another one to teach her how to knock. The first two real hands, he let her win, let her tally the score. She made neat columns, tidy arithmetic. He finished his cocktail and started on Lane’s. Ava was still sipping her whiskey and Coke. She won the third hand on her own and Oliver started to concentrate. The girl was smart, a fast learner.
“So, hey. There’s something else I need to discuss with you. While Lane’s asleep.”
“What?” Ava said.
“I’ve put this off too long already, but I’m going to take her to see a doctor.”
Fear hit Ava in the stomach. “Why?”
“Well. I should’ve done it already. Maybe they can figure out what’s wrong with her. Maybe there’s something they can do. At least they could tell us what to expect.”
“She won’t go.”
“She has to. I think it’s past the point of letting her decide.”
Ava took this in, nodded. “At least let her finish the painting first,” she said.
“Yeah, I will. It’s almost done. It’s so fucking good. She’s amazing.”
“I know,” Ava said. “Anyways, gin.”
She laid her cards down, four jacks and two runs. She’d caught him out, he’d been waiting on the jack of diamonds.
“Shit,” he said. “You got me. Forty-three.”
He watched her add up the points with grim deliberation. He could see the strange whiteness of her skin in the part of her hair.
“See what I mean?” he said. “You can’t deal with this on your own. Nobody can, it’s too hard.”
“Can I ask you something?” she said. “Why’d you take all that money? How could you steal from her?”
“Damn, girl. Let’s have a nice time for a minute, okay?”
“The thing I don’t get is, you seem like you actually do care about her. How can you do it? Unless you’re faking the whole thing?”
“I do care. I love Lane. I’ve never met anybody like her. She’s…” He paused, drank, trying to figure out how to say it. “She’s a force. She’s like a storm, like a tide, maybe. You can’t tell her anything, but just being around her … it’s really something.”
“Then how could you do it?” She seemed genuinely curious.
“What,” he said. “You never hurt somebody you loved? You never acted like an asshole?”
“No,” Ava said. “Not on purpose.”
“God, you can really be sanctimonious sometimes, farm girl.” He said it softly, kindly. “You know she doesn’t care. I would never take something from her that she needed.”
“I know, but—”
“But what? It’s not right? She doesn’t care. Maybe you should try not caring, too. You’re wearing yourself out with it. Think how much easier things would be if you quit worrying about this shit.”
“You have a messed-up way of thinking,” she said. Her prim posture had a wobble to it. Her drink was nearly gone.
“I’m not a bad person,” Oliver said. “I realize you think I am, but I’m not.”
“I don’t think you’re bad. That’s why I don’t understand it. You could’ve just not done it and everything would be better.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m trying to fix it, though, I swear. Try to trust me. Think you can do that?”
“I don’t know. What’s gonna happen to us?” Ava said.
“Shit. Why you asking me? I don’t even work here anymore.”
She gave him a look of disdain.
“Hey, there you go, roll your eyes at me. You’re finally starting to act like a normal teenager.”
Before she could answer, Lane appeared in the doorway. She came in, picked up the pipe, and lit it.
“What’s going on here?” she said.
“We’re playing gin. Li’l Farm Girl is killing me.”
“I’ll take one of those,” Lane said, pointing at Oliver’s cocktail. “Guess I took a nap. I hate waking up when it’s dark outside.” She hit the pipe and set it on the counter. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Nine thirty,” Ava said.
“Why, you gotta be somewhere?” Oliver said.
“I s’pose not,” Lane said.
Oliver mixed her drink, fishing a maraschino cherry from a jar in the fridge. Ava noted the red drips he left on the counter and imagined them tomorrow, dried and sticky, envisioned wiping them away. Reordering the house in his wake. He handed Lane the drink.
“Hey,” Ava said. “What about me?” She held her empty cup out to Oliver. He poured in Coke over ice, skipping the bourbon this time. Maybe she could trust him after all. Oliver was right, it would make things a whole lot easier.