woman. Only Jane and the other Pips knew the real Olivia. They understood her vulnerability because they were just like her.
“Oh yes, I was scared,” she said. “But I was also so astonished by his behavior I could barely think what to do, and I was angry, really angry. People shouldn’t bring guns to five-star restaurants.”
“Is that a rule?”
Olivia laughed. “It sounded like one, didn’t it? I guess I just didn’t want to die in such a lame way.”
“Getting shot during an interview
is
a lame way to die.”
She shrugged. “I can think of better ways. Don’t laugh at me. I’m giving you my blood, which happens to have antibodies you need, so be nice to me.”
A nurse came into the room to check Olivia’s IV. After saying hello, Jane switched to French as she continued the conversation. Because of their crush on Dr. Pardieu, all the Pips eventually had become fluent in his language. It was their way of saying thank you to him for saving them.
“I’m always nice to you,” Jane said. Then, in the blink of an eye, she became melancholy. “What if the transfusion doesn’t work this time? What if I don’t feel better and I have to start chemo again?”
“The transfusion will work,” Olivia assured her.
“You’re a real contradiction, you know that?” Jane said. “You’re such an optimist with everyone, but when it comes to yourself, you only see the negative.”
Dismissing her criticism, Olivia responded, “The transfusion helped in the past, and there’s no reason to think it won’t help now. You’re just a little anemic, that’s all. Don’t stop trusting Dr. Pardieu. He’s taken good care of all of us.”
Jane was in the mood to feel sorry for herself. “But you and Collins and Sam have all been cured. I’m the only one struggling after all this time. I don’t understand it. I was feeling great until a few weeks ago.”
“We’re in remission,” she corrected. “Not cured.”
“Dr. Pardieu said you’re safe now,” she said. “And none of you have had any symptoms for years. I’m the difficult one.” Jane knew she sounded pitiful, but she didn’t care. She usually tried to be the positive, upbeat one, but she knew she didn’t have to put up any shields with Olivia or the other Pips. She could cry like a three-year-old if she wanted to and not worry that any of them would think less of her.
“You’ve always been difficult,” Olivia said, smiling. “Sam says you can be a real pain in the . . .”
Jane burst into laughter. “I guess I’m not going to get any ‘there, there, you poor thing’ from you.”
“When did you ever get any of that from me?” She shifted position in the recliner and winced when the needle moved ever so slightly.
“Never.”
“If Dr. Pardieu isn’t worried . . .”
“He says he isn’t.”
“Has he ever lied to any of us?”
“No. In fact, he’s been brutally honest.”
“So, if he isn’t worried . . .”
Jane smiled because she realized she was actually feeling much better. A little whining wasn’t such a bad thing after all. “If I don’t have to do another round of chemo, I’m going to participate in the art show at the Scripts Gallery. The artists have to be there,” she explained. “I’ll have four paintings on display. Maybe I’ll get lucky and sell one or two.”
“Are you low on funds? I could give you—”
“I’ve got more money than I know what to do with from my mom’s life insurance. I’m just saying, getting paid for my work is validation. I want you to come to the gallery, okay?”
“Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”
“Logan’s going to try to come to the show, too.”
“Your brother’s out of rehab?” Olivia’s surprise was evident in her voice.
“Yes,” she replied. “And he’s doing really well this time. He seems serious about his sobriety. He’s going to meetings every single day, and he’s trying to make amends.”
“Like?”
“He comes
“Oh yes, I was scared,” she said. “But I was also so astonished by his behavior I could barely think what to do, and I was angry, really angry. People shouldn’t bring guns to five-star restaurants.”
“Is that a rule?”
Olivia laughed. “It sounded like one, didn’t it? I guess I just didn’t want to die in such a lame way.”
“Getting shot during an interview
is
a lame way to die.”
She shrugged. “I can think of better ways. Don’t laugh at me. I’m giving you my blood, which happens to have antibodies you need, so be nice to me.”
A nurse came into the room to check Olivia’s IV. After saying hello, Jane switched to French as she continued the conversation. Because of their crush on Dr. Pardieu, all the Pips eventually had become fluent in his language. It was their way of saying thank you to him for saving them.
“I’m always nice to you,” Jane said. Then, in the blink of an eye, she became melancholy. “What if the transfusion doesn’t work this time? What if I don’t feel better and I have to start chemo again?”
“The transfusion will work,” Olivia assured her.
“You’re a real contradiction, you know that?” Jane said. “You’re such an optimist with everyone, but when it comes to yourself, you only see the negative.”
Dismissing her criticism, Olivia responded, “The transfusion helped in the past, and there’s no reason to think it won’t help now. You’re just a little anemic, that’s all. Don’t stop trusting Dr. Pardieu. He’s taken good care of all of us.”
Jane was in the mood to feel sorry for herself. “But you and Collins and Sam have all been cured. I’m the only one struggling after all this time. I don’t understand it. I was feeling great until a few weeks ago.”
“We’re in remission,” she corrected. “Not cured.”
“Dr. Pardieu said you’re safe now,” she said. “And none of you have had any symptoms for years. I’m the difficult one.” Jane knew she sounded pitiful, but she didn’t care. She usually tried to be the positive, upbeat one, but she knew she didn’t have to put up any shields with Olivia or the other Pips. She could cry like a three-year-old if she wanted to and not worry that any of them would think less of her.
“You’ve always been difficult,” Olivia said, smiling. “Sam says you can be a real pain in the . . .”
Jane burst into laughter. “I guess I’m not going to get any ‘there, there, you poor thing’ from you.”
“When did you ever get any of that from me?” She shifted position in the recliner and winced when the needle moved ever so slightly.
“Never.”
“If Dr. Pardieu isn’t worried . . .”
“He says he isn’t.”
“Has he ever lied to any of us?”
“No. In fact, he’s been brutally honest.”
“So, if he isn’t worried . . .”
Jane smiled because she realized she was actually feeling much better. A little whining wasn’t such a bad thing after all. “If I don’t have to do another round of chemo, I’m going to participate in the art show at the Scripts Gallery. The artists have to be there,” she explained. “I’ll have four paintings on display. Maybe I’ll get lucky and sell one or two.”
“Are you low on funds? I could give you—”
“I’ve got more money than I know what to do with from my mom’s life insurance. I’m just saying, getting paid for my work is validation. I want you to come to the gallery, okay?”
“Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”
“Logan’s going to try to come to the show, too.”
“Your brother’s out of rehab?” Olivia’s surprise was evident in her voice.
“Yes,” she replied. “And he’s doing really well this time. He seems serious about his sobriety. He’s going to meetings every single day, and he’s trying to make amends.”
“Like?”
“He comes
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