then waved my hand when I spotted the waitress two tables away. “Coffee, please,” I said when she arched her brows in question. “Black.” She nodded, and was off.
I tried another of my father’s favorite tactics: diversion. “I don’t suppose you have anything sensible in that bag of yours, do you? Aspirin? Tylenol? Anything?”
“No,” she said, then veered back to the track of her choice. “It’s fate, Jazz, don’t you see? Why else would the train be right there, pointing in the right direction, going right where we need it to go?”
Obviously my father’s techniques weren’t going to work; I’d have to do it my way.
“First of all,” I started, “it isn’t ‘right where we need it to go.’ Levi is not Cranberry Glades.”
“Rocky said it’s real close, and—”
“Second of all, why the hell are we having this conversation? The answer is no. I can’t and won’t let either of us be carted all over the state in a dirty freight train. I won’t chase after you, either, and you have to stop doing things that mean someone does have to chase after you. I mean that. I can’t do it anymore, Olivia, I have a real job now. And Dad wouldn’t have a clue how to rein you in.” I watched with satisfaction as the light in her eyes faded away, then for insurance added, “You think harping on things that meant so much to Mom is good for him? He needs to let it go.”
“There’s more than one way to let something go.”
“Yeah? Well, this isn’t one of them.”
Her gaze shifted from my ear to the window.
“There you go, sugar,” said the waitress, setting a steaming mug of coffee in front of me, only one of her blond curls out of place. “Can I get you anything else? There’s a menu right over there.” She indicated where the menus lay, wedged behind a chrome napkin holder.
I didn’t want anything, I told her, and seconds later she disappeared through a set of swinging doors. Mad, maybe, that I wouldn’t be adding substantially to the bill or her tip.
I regarded my sister again. Pale skin—too pale for summer. Cracked lips. Thick black lashes I’d coveted for the better part of a decade. Unruly eyebrows. Fingers busying themselves with a new braid.
“Olivia, listen.”
“I get it, all right?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think that you do. You’re talking about doing stupid, dangerous, illegal things here.”
“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” she said.
I leaned closer, lowered my voice. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you consider becoming a criminal over this bullshit trip.”
“It’s not a bullshit trip,” she said. “It means something to me. And it was everything to Mama.”
“Why does it seem that you can’t hear me? Maybe those braids of yours are too tight.”
She dropped her hands, made small fists on the table.
I took a breath. “Listen, Olivia, I think even Mom knew life wasn’t going to imitate Field of Dreams —‘If you visit the glades, the end of the story will come’—even if she wanted it to. And even if she didn’t, we know better, right?” I said, including her as a person of reason despite her nature, hoping she’d like feeling part of the club. “It’s pointless, taking a trip like this for a woman who’s no longer with us.”
“A woman who is no longer with us?” Her crazy brows jammed together. “What is that, funeral-home-speak? How can you be so cold? That’s Mama you’re talking about. Mama.”
Right. But one of us had to be practical. Sober.
“Look, I know things have been hard since she died,” I said, “especially considering how she died, but—”
“She didn’t kill herself. Don’t say she did.”
Heat spread through my spine at this—my sister asking again that the world bend to her perception of things, even if she shut her eyes to reality.
“Olivia Moon, you need to check yourself,” I said, struggling to keep my voice down. “It’s time to grow up, right now. It’s
I tried another of my father’s favorite tactics: diversion. “I don’t suppose you have anything sensible in that bag of yours, do you? Aspirin? Tylenol? Anything?”
“No,” she said, then veered back to the track of her choice. “It’s fate, Jazz, don’t you see? Why else would the train be right there, pointing in the right direction, going right where we need it to go?”
Obviously my father’s techniques weren’t going to work; I’d have to do it my way.
“First of all,” I started, “it isn’t ‘right where we need it to go.’ Levi is not Cranberry Glades.”
“Rocky said it’s real close, and—”
“Second of all, why the hell are we having this conversation? The answer is no. I can’t and won’t let either of us be carted all over the state in a dirty freight train. I won’t chase after you, either, and you have to stop doing things that mean someone does have to chase after you. I mean that. I can’t do it anymore, Olivia, I have a real job now. And Dad wouldn’t have a clue how to rein you in.” I watched with satisfaction as the light in her eyes faded away, then for insurance added, “You think harping on things that meant so much to Mom is good for him? He needs to let it go.”
“There’s more than one way to let something go.”
“Yeah? Well, this isn’t one of them.”
Her gaze shifted from my ear to the window.
“There you go, sugar,” said the waitress, setting a steaming mug of coffee in front of me, only one of her blond curls out of place. “Can I get you anything else? There’s a menu right over there.” She indicated where the menus lay, wedged behind a chrome napkin holder.
I didn’t want anything, I told her, and seconds later she disappeared through a set of swinging doors. Mad, maybe, that I wouldn’t be adding substantially to the bill or her tip.
I regarded my sister again. Pale skin—too pale for summer. Cracked lips. Thick black lashes I’d coveted for the better part of a decade. Unruly eyebrows. Fingers busying themselves with a new braid.
“Olivia, listen.”
“I get it, all right?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think that you do. You’re talking about doing stupid, dangerous, illegal things here.”
“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” she said.
I leaned closer, lowered my voice. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you consider becoming a criminal over this bullshit trip.”
“It’s not a bullshit trip,” she said. “It means something to me. And it was everything to Mama.”
“Why does it seem that you can’t hear me? Maybe those braids of yours are too tight.”
She dropped her hands, made small fists on the table.
I took a breath. “Listen, Olivia, I think even Mom knew life wasn’t going to imitate Field of Dreams —‘If you visit the glades, the end of the story will come’—even if she wanted it to. And even if she didn’t, we know better, right?” I said, including her as a person of reason despite her nature, hoping she’d like feeling part of the club. “It’s pointless, taking a trip like this for a woman who’s no longer with us.”
“A woman who is no longer with us?” Her crazy brows jammed together. “What is that, funeral-home-speak? How can you be so cold? That’s Mama you’re talking about. Mama.”
Right. But one of us had to be practical. Sober.
“Look, I know things have been hard since she died,” I said, “especially considering how she died, but—”
“She didn’t kill herself. Don’t say she did.”
Heat spread through my spine at this—my sister asking again that the world bend to her perception of things, even if she shut her eyes to reality.
“Olivia Moon, you need to check yourself,” I said, struggling to keep my voice down. “It’s time to grow up, right now. It’s
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