8. Emily
8
EMILY
Died.
What an ugly-tasting word.
It fills my mouth, tainting the flavor of the entire evening.
I fight the urge to rush to the patio railing and vomit over the side.
“A week ago?” I croak. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“We didn’t want to bother you with something like this,” she says dismissively. “And honestly, we wouldn’t have under normal circumstances.”
Something like this? I want to scream.
The wineglass tips over as if a small earthquake has hit the table, but it’s only my leg banging up and down as disgust ratchets through my blood. I grab the glass before it can fall and shatter.
“This can’t be real.”
Her voice is strained—the way you’d talk to a toddler. “We all saw this coming. That junkie’s bad habits weren’t a secret. I know it’s hard for you to accept this, sweetie, but this was inevitable.”
I want to throw the glass. My mind is racing, tearing itself apart at my mother’s blunt, detached commentary.
Bad habits.
Inevitable.
Mom has a natural talent of being so effortlessly cruel and callous with her words.
But I refuse to believe that Olivia had relapsed. The last time I heard from her, she was still clean. But then again, that was more than a year ago.
Maybe …
No, I tell myself. I refuse to believe that. She promised me that she was clean.
She never broke any of her promises to me.
In the background of the phone, I hear my father’s annoyed voice. “Did you ask her?”
“I am asking her, Sam,” Mom grumbles quietly, then directly into my ear, “Anyway, can you find out for us? About that policy? Maybe the paperwork is in her apartment?”
“I don’t know if I can,” I say.
“Are you sure? Can’t you take a couple of days to just go check her apartment? For us, sweetie?”
Reeling from the onslaught of ghastly news, as well as my parents’ callous focus on money, I bite my tongue until it stings.
Is the money all you care about?! Olivia is dead, and the only thing you want to know is if you’re getting money out of it? She was your daughter! She’s my sister! I loved her more than either of you ever did. Why don’t you care?
“Emily?” Mom’s voice jolts me back to reality. “Are you there?”
I blink and taste blood as I open my mouth, inhaling the salty sea breeze.
I didn’t say a single word … I imagined it all in my head.
“Mom,” I begin.
“I know, I know.” She sighs in a great heave. “We shouldn’t bother you with news about that junkie. I know you’ve got more important things to worry about.”
“Yeah?” It comes out in a gritty whisper.
“Your father and I are very proud of how well you’ve been doing. Our little girl, soon-to-be veterinarian. Well, it makes up for our other failures, doesn’t it?”
The whiplash of this conversation is overwhelming.
Phil hasn’t been in touch with them. At least I’m certain of that now.
But the knowledge no longer leaves me giddy.
How will they react when I tell them that I’ve been expelled because of him? Will I be as good as dead to them, just like Olivia?
Years and years of their scowls being aimed at Olivia will finally be directed full-force towards me.
And Olivia won’t be there to stand up for me anymore.
“I’ll let you know what I can find.” My tone is cold as a Midwestern winter, only without the bite.
Bit by bit, the backbone that had started to grow melts away. I’m a pathetic piece of garbage. I don’t have an ounce of courage to tell my parents how cruel they are. How upset I am.
“Thank you, sweetie. We really appreciate it. I know it’s late. But give us a call when you can. Love you.”
“Love you,” I echo mechanically.
When was the last time they ever said that to Olivia?
The call disconnects and I slump in the chair, arm dropping into my lap. My neck cranes back until I’m staring at the stars fading into the pink smear of sunrise. They looked so beautiful earlier tonight.
Everything did.
But now …
Olivia is dead. A week ago.
And I didn’t know.
Rising out of my chair, I bolt down the stairs. It’s a miracle I don’t break my neck. I finish calling an Uber before I’m on the street. People, tourists and locals alike, are starting to wander the sandy shore nearby. It must be wonderful to feel the waves tickling your feet before the sun fully rises.
Konstantin really is lucky.
Konstantin.
With his name firm on my mind, I glance back at his place. I told him I’d stay and wait for him. I hate breaking promises, but this is an emergency.
I wish he’d given me his phone number so I could tell him I’m sorry. It hits me that I could leave mine if I just go back in and?—
The beep from the midnight blue Taurus that rolls up startles me. The driver waves at me through his cracked window.
“Emily Sullivan?” he asks.
Hesitating with a final look at Konstantin’s building, I climb into the car. “Yeah, that’s right.”
I’m sorry, Konstantin.
I can’t delay any further. I have to get to New York. The feeling is so pressing I begin fidgeting in the back seat of the car. My nails scrape over my naked knees, twisting the lavender hem of my dress until it begins to fray.