As we hang up, a whole new set of questions runs through my mind. Though the top of my agenda is getting back to Kalamazoo, I start to scratch a few thoughts down on the tablet of paper I have near my laptop. After I complete my list—one that may or may not be connected—I send Becky a text message:
“BECK,I’M HEADED BACK TO BRONSON. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU LEARN ANYTHING ABOUT MARTY. I’LL KEEP YOU POSTED.”
Chapter
Nineteen
Liv and I set down our trays and sit across from one another in the hospital cafeteria. The table we found is as isolated as possible. It seems that no one is looking to sit close. Thankfully, being a bit after the lunch rush, our quest was successful.
People of all ages are scattered throughout the large room, their minds filled with their own concerns. There are healthcare workers, as well as family members and friends of patients. Conversations originating from every direction create a din of murmurs. There are a few who sport tired smiles, perhaps celebrating the birth of a baby or the success of a surgery. Other diners are more solemn, their chins down with creases of concern lining their expressions.
The floors above the cafeteria house a variety of cares.
As I peer about, the colors surrounding these people are varied, blues and pinks, orange and green. We’re a part of a never-ending kaleidoscope spinning withemotions, much like the dropping of colorful chips to create a new and different image. Each one is representative—happiness, sadness, growth, loss, hope, and despair.
As I stood moments ago near the salad bar, compiling my lunch and making important decisions such as blue cheese versus ranch dressing, I thought about Echo’s advice. Could any of the other people in this place have a loved one who experienced something like Julie? How many incidents like that have occurred? Did they reach the news platforms or were they hidden by family, not wanting the world to know?
“I think I piled too much on this,” Liv says as she pokes her fork into her mountain of lettuce, spearing a piece and dipping it into her small cup of dressing.
In only a short time, Liv and I have reverted to the closeness we once shared. It’s unspoken and at the same time as evident as a neon sign. Of all my siblings, I’ve been closest to Olivia. With only a little over a year separating our births, we grew up as nearly twins. “Irish twins,” my grandmother used to say.
By definition we don’t qualify. Irish twins are siblings born less than a year apart. The two of us are twelve months and four days. Nevertheless, there are albums filled with pictures of the two of us dressed alike. Easter celebrations were always a production, wearing white hats, gloves, and frilly dresses.
We shared a room until Dad built a fifth bedroom in the basement. Our interests were similar as were many of our friends. She’s the sibling I speak with the most.Our calls vary from frequent to infrequent as our personal agendas permit.
It’s true that time and opportunity caused separation. Yet life has brought us back together. The bond we once felt seems as strong as it always was. Not even snapping at one another can cause it to sever.
I look over at her salad, back to mine, and smile. “Yeah, I think I overdid too.”
The family decided, or our mother did, that we would work in shifts, never leaving Julie alone. She and Dad were with our sister throughout the night. I only passed them briefly in the hospital parking lot. While Mom hugged me, Dad didn’t say a word. In their defense, they both looked exhausted.
Ollie and Sandy—the latter his good friend, as she was introduced, who I’ve never met or remember hearing about—are with her now.
It isn’t difficult to understand that while Liv and I stay in touch, my other siblings have full lives that don’t include me. Our brother isn’t a fan of social media. He has all the accounts, but barely posts. Information on Ollie and Julie usually comes from my mother. For as long as I can remember, Mom wouldn’t mention a significant other until she’s convinced that person will be around for a while.
Since I’ve never heard of Sandy, meeting her today without previous introduction must mean that Mom isn’t certain that she’s a keeper.
“Tell me about Sandy,” I prompt.
Liv shrugs. “Nice girl. She’s from Lawton.”
“How long have they been dating?”
Liv’s lips come together as she stares out the window, swallowing a bit of salad. When she turns, her eyes are narrow. “I honestly can’t say. I think it’s a few years.”
“And I’ve never heard of her?”
“She’s quiet.”
“Does she live close?”
Liv smiles. “If Ollie’s place on Bloomfield Lake is close, then yes.”
“What?” I lower my fork to the tray. “Are you serious? Ollie is living with her or she’s living with him?”
“I’m living with Matt.”
“Yeah, but you’re older.”
