83. Viola
Viola
Nothing.
My hand brushed back and forth over the plush rug on my bedroom floor. I lay flat on my back, and the clear blue sky taunted me from the window. I considered drawing the drapes, but couldn’t summon the will. A patch of sunlight moved across the floor, across me, and left me colder with its passing.
Gray-winged seagulls circled dumbly on the wind, lacking purpose. “Go find him, you winged ninnies,” I said. If only I could fly… My whole body had become a knot, twisted and taut, fraying.
Muffled voices carried through the floor, but not words. Men’s voices. Greta’s slippered feet padded toward me. A light blanket snapped open and blocked my view as she guided it down to cover me. China clinked, and she retreated from the room with my untouched lunch.
The light faded. The seagulls went away.
Footsteps on the stairs.
My breath hitched. Slow footsteps. Men’s footsteps. I closed my eyes. Wanted to close my ears. Pulled the blanket over my head. The door clicked, and heavy footsteps plodded toward me. I heard their breathing. Father and George.
A warm, steady hand lifted mine. The blanket slid off my face, but I kept my eyes closed. My teeth chattered violently, rattled, and smashed together in some unbreakable code.
“Viola.” The low rumble of Father’s voice near my ear resonated with every minor chord I’d ever played. “I’m concerned, and I want you to prepare yourself for bad news. We’re waiting for confirmation…”
Silence. Father wouldn’t prepare me unless he already knew.
My mouth stretched unnaturally wide, as if my jaw had come unhinged.
Against my will, I swallowed something impossibly enormous.
I sucked in air until finally the flow of air reversed, and the howl of a mortally wounded animal filled my room and echoed out across Lake Michigan.
It burned through my throat and ripped every fragment of my self away with its roar until I was gone.
Everything faded but George’s arms cradling me, carrying me. Swaying. But he wasn’t Jacob.