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“Oh, I do.” A smile flickered on my lips but faded away. “But not today.”
Her eyes filled with tears, chin wobbling. She sniffled. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“I thought we’d be at odds like we have been.”
“I’m not a monster, Livi. I know I might act like one, but I’m not.”
The smallest smile touched her lips. “I don’t know. Bridge troll comes to mind.”
I huffed a laugh. “At least let me be something with style. Like a werewolf or something.”
With a chuckle, she smoothed my tie. “There. All set.”
“Thank you. Only person who ever knew how to do it was Frank.”
“Well,” she started, tamping down her tears for the sake of me, “I think he’d be quite proud of you.”
“Oh, I dunno. When it comes to you, I’m not so sure.”
“Don’t worry. There’s still time.”
When she smiled up at me, I was overwhelmed by the urge to draw her into my chest. To fold her up in my arms, to take away her tears. To shelter that delicate thing from what might harm her.
I almost did. Right then and there, for no reason at all, I almost did.
But before I could, the back door opened and Kit flew in looking like a mad scientist—hair in disarray, dress buttoned crooked, dashes of mascara under her eyes.
Olivia and I broke apart like an eggshell. She frowned, taking Kit in as she rushed to the oven to pull out a tray of biscuits.
“How can I help?” Olivia asked as she approached Kit like she was a wild animal.
“Oh, I’m all right, just in a rush. Didn’t want to burn the biscuits.”
“Whatever would we eat?” Olivia teased, gesturing to the two dozen biscuits already stacked on the counter.
“Hush,” Kit said, setting the baking sheet on the stove. “Come here and help me move these to the rack, Livi.”
“How about I help you fix your dress?”
Kit blinked, then looked down and laughed. “Why do I get the feeling the whole day’s gonna be like this?”
Olivia smiled sadly and stepped around Kit, smoothing her hair into a bun. “Bobby pin,” she commanded, holding out her free palm, the other holding the bun in place. When Kit patted her apron, Olivia added, “I know you’ve got some in there.”
“If I didn’t shed them like scales, I’d argue,” she joked, depositing a couple of bobby pins into Olivia’s hand.
I watched as they talked, as Olivia soothed and anchored Kit, lest she fly away. And once again, I was glad to have her by my side. I could see Frank’s kindness in her, that light that never went out glowing under her skin. She was unsinkable, facing her loss with a smile and her pink suitcase in tow, eyes on the future and sun on her face.
And in that moment, I didn’t even care that she might be the end of the farm as I knew it. Because if ever I needed that joy, it was today.
6
Hothouse
OLIVIA
The day was endured with a curious lack of oxygen.
My lungs seemed to have shrunk, and no matter what I did, they stayed pinned in my ribs with only enough room for sips of air. Jake and I stood in the receiving line and shook the hands of hundreds of people, and all the while, my voice was small and far away, someone else’s voice, one made thinner for lack of that all-important oxygen. We sat in the front of the pulpit with so many people at our backs, there was barely room left to stand. And songs were sung. Scriptures read. A speech by me, halted and squeaking with a paper in hand, damp from my palms and tears. A speech by Jake, endured with my hand over my lips and my shoulders shuddering in the circle of Kit’s arms.
And all the while, I couldn’t breathe. Least of all when everyone was gone, headed up to the big house for the wake, leaving Jake and me to say goodbye well and truly.
Frank Brent lay in a bed of satin, hands folded over the breast of his best suit. His silver hair was combed, his skin pallid but for an unnatural rouging of his cheeks. It wasn’t garish. But it wasn’t him.
He didn’t look asleep like they said the dead sometimes did. He looked empty. Even in sleep, his brow was animated. His lips broad with the smile that always seemed to be waiting. But when his heart stopped, the light in him went out.
He was gone. And saying goodbye shredded what was left of me.
There wasn’t enough air, not when I told him how I loved him. Not when I held his cold hand, resisting the urge to jerk it back for the knowledge it would be the last time I ever touched him. I smoothed his hair. I told him I was sorry. And Jake stood stoically at my side until I turned away, unable to catch my breath for the hitching sobs, unable to keep my eyes open. Then Jake wasn’t at my side. He was everywhere, all around me, crushing me to his chest and holding me in his arms. There were no words, only the quiet sobs I tried to contain but couldn’t. He held me for a long time, rocking back and forth, his big hand on my back, thumb circling gently.
