But damn, the kid was strong. She held on all the way to the kitchen, letting go and plopping down on the warped tile only after I pulled a juice box out of the fridge.
“You want this?” I shook it in the air, just out of her reach.
Her eyes narrowed as she swiped at it.
“Okay. You can have this and a package of cookies of your choice if you stop crying.”
Olivia whined, wiggling her fingers. “Can’t we go tomorrow?”
“No.” I peeled off the straw and unwrapped the plastic. Slowly, I stabbed the straw into the top and took a sip while she whined some more. “Mmm, this is really good.”
“All right!” she shouted.
Triumphant, I handed over the juice box. “What’s your deal, anyway?” I asked as I went over to one of the cupboards.
“I just don’t wanna go. I have a bad feeling, Emmie.”
I rolled my eyes as I yanked open the cabinet. The handle popped off in my hand. Fabulous. I scanned the sparse shelf, dropping the handle on the scuffed counter. “We need to get food, like now.” I reached inside, frowning. “All we have is generic mac and cheese and canned green beans.”
“I like beans.”
“We can’t just have green beans for dinner, Olivia.” I moved onto the fridge. The leftover vegetable soup was gone, meaning Mom had decided to feed herself at some point today. That was a step back into the land of the living, right?
While Olivia sulked at the kitchen table, I scribbled down a quick and dirty grocery list. I’d kill for some Doritos, but the budget only allowed for that or milk.
Olivia liked milk.
I made her some mac and cheese, which she took into the living room so she could watch cartoons.
Probably wasn’t the best pre-dinner snack. The sound of children laughing and singing lulled me to a blissfully blank state of mind while I washed the dishes from last night. Hopefully Olivia would be in better spirits before we made the trip to the store. I wasn’t in the mood to pull a screaming child through the produce section.
Sighing, I dried my hands and went upstairs to get the cash, trying not to let the everyday worries creep up on me. I didn’t want to think—not about Dad or the life I’d lost since the accident, or how Olivia had been able to bring me back, or why I couldn’t touch anything. I didn’t want to give too much thought to being the sole caregiver for a little girl who surely deserved better than me. She deserved a mother—a real one. But all she had was a sister who couldn’t touch her and a lifeless shell of a mother hiding in her bedroom.
Sometimes I wanted to do what Mom was doing—say “screw it” and just waste away. Who’d blame me? But then, who’d take care of Olivia? Out of nowhere, I thought of Hayden Cromwell. Hours after the weird library incident, I was pretty sure I’d imagined him standing by the window.
No one that good-looking had a reason to be that creepy.
A quick check of Mom’s room induced the same urge I felt every time I looked in on her—the rampant need to throw something at her sleeping head. She sprawled across the bed, a broken, beautiful doll with deep red curls and porcelain skin. Mom was utterly useless. Was it even humanly possible to sleep as much as she did? Maybe she just pretended to sleep so much. I really didn’t know. Each day that’d passed after the accident, my mom had simply faded further away. Just like the memory of my dad’s face.
I approached her bed, folding my arms around me. “Mom?”
Silence.
“Mom, if… if you’re listening, Olivia really needs you.”
Nothing.
A burning kicked up in the back of my throat, and my chest felt like it was weighed down with cement.
“She deserves better than this. She needs you to be her mom.”
Still nothing.
I whipped around and left her bedroom. The heaviness in my chest lingered as I pulled out the cash, separating just enough to cover the bare essentials.
We were running out of money. Dad’s life insurance would be gone within the next year. What would I do then? College was out of the question. Hell, finishing my senior year might be out the window if I needed to get a job sooner than I’d planned.
Downstairs, Olivia waited for me; her face stained with the remnants of her earlier tears. I looked away, feeling like an epic failure. “You ready?”
Tipping her chin down, she shrugged her tiny shoulders. She didn’t talk to me the whole way out to the Jeep. While she buckled herself in the backseat, I eyed the needle on the gas gauge and mentally counted the leftover funds.
“Emmie?”
I glanced over my shoulder at her. “What?”
Her eyes were wide, a vibrant jade color. There was something in them that gave me pause. Unease unfolded in the pit of my stomach, making my hands tremble.
“I have a really bad feeling,” Olivia said, picking at a patch of glitter on her dress. “Like the one I had before… before Daddy died. Do you remember? I have that feeling again.”
Of course I remembered
But Olivia had been three at the time of the accident, and I’d barely paid attention to any of the babble that’d come out of her mouth.
I still remembered, though.
She’d leaned across the backseat and grasped my arm. “Something bad is going to happen,” she’d whispered.
And I’d frowned at her and ripped my arm away, annoyed because our parents had been arguing again — arguing about her. Shaking myself out of those memories, I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache starting in.
“Emmie?” Olivia gripped the back of my seat.
I forced a smile for her. “Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise you.”
She looked doubtful, and it was like a punch in the gut.
“We’ll be in and out, and then Adam will come over later. You like Adam, right?”
She let go of the seat, falling back. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Good,” I whispered.
Since Olivia had successfully freaked me out, the trip to the store took longer than before. I was extra-
wary of stoplights and other drivers. I breathed a sigh of relief when we pulled into the back of the packed parking lot.
Rain clouds had darkened the sky, causing several of the street lamps to flicker on. Fat drops splattered the dense woods surrounding the parking lot. I glanced at the clock on my cell, surprised to find it nearly seven o’clock.
Olivia hopped out the back, trailing behind me. “Can I push the cart?”
I welcomed the change in the mood. “Promise me you won’t run over any old people this time and it’s a deal.”
Olivia giggled as she wiggled between me and the shopping cart. There was no deal. She was death on wheels behind a shopping cart, but it helped me keep an eye on her and it would prevent another epic breakdown.
Old people, watch out.
Her head barely reached the bar as she inched the cart through the automatic doors. The place was packed for a Thursday, full of women in heels and men frowning at shopping lists.
Olivia rammed the display of bananas and then the back of my legs when I stopped to grab a bag of apples. “Beep! Beep! Beep!” She shrieked as she backed the cart up.
Limping over to the bread, I grabbed a loaf. My cell vibrated in my back pocket. Sticking the bread under my arm, I slid the beat-up thing out and flipped it open. It was a text from Adam. Any news?
Still at store. Will text u when done, I sent back.
