Page 92 of Nothing Less than Magic
“That’s what Austin says. He says I would’ve coded if I died, even if it was only for a few seconds.”
“It was just a stupid dream,” Lolly says.
“But . . . Jim Toomey. I don’t think I ever saw him before, and yet, in my dream, he looked exactly like the picture.”
“You just forgot about him. It was a long time ago.”
“Could be. I’ll be honest with you, though, it’s sort of shaken me. It’s made me rethink everything.”
“Like what?”
“Like the entire trajectory of my life.”
“Is that why you’re here? To make up for what a shitty sister you’ve been.”
“Partially. You know you were in my dream, too? You came to my lake cabin, and we went to the annual Halloween parade together.” I pause for a reaction, but Lolly is poker-faced. “It was nice, you and me spending time together.”
“Hmm, that’s funny. Apparently, I’m not fun in real life.”
“You used to be,” I say, but regret it. It was mean, and I’m here to patch us up, not out-cynical her.
“When? When I was twelve?”
The age is a thinly veiled cut. When she was twelve, I left for boarding school, in essence leaving her. “Let’s not dance around, Lolly, let’s just get it out in the open.”
“What would you like to get out in the open?”
“Us.” I wave my hand between us. “Why we don’t work anymore. Because I would like us to. I miss you.”
She pulls a bottle of pinot grigio from the refrigerator, pops the cork, and pours us each a glass. “Is this part of the new trajectory?”
“Perhaps. But even before the accident, I wanted to fix it. Fix us. I wanted to say I was sorry for leaving you when you needed me most.”
“And when was that?” It’s still there, that sting in her voice. The anger.
“When we were kids. I didn’t mean to abandon you, Lolly. But . . . and this is the hard part . . . I think I was going a little crazy. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard it. The gunshots. The moment Mom and Dad died. I got to the point where I thought there was something in the bed with me. The mattress would shake like there was an animal inside the coils and springs, running back and forth, as if it was trying to get out. I told Uncle Sylvester, and he took the whole bed apart while I watched. ‘There’s nothing here, Chelsea. See?’—he showed me. And then it happened at school. I was sitting on a wooden chair. At first, I thought we were having an earthquake. But when I looked around, nothing was moving. And that’s when I realized it was me. I was the one shaking. My entire body was vibrating. And the only way to escape was to run. I ran as fast and as far as a fifteen-year-old could go. Santa Barbara. Boarding school.”
“So basically, you’re the kid version of Big Al.”
Clearly, my story hasn’t moved her.
“Yes,” I admit. “I was the kid version of Big Al. We all have ways of taking care of ourselves. Ours, Al’s and mine, was to run. And you got left behind. And for that, I’m eternally sorry.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” She peers at me with slatted eyes. “This isn’t about what happened two decades ago, though I’m still pissed about that. I’m still angry that you left me here alone. But I’m not so selfish that I don’t understand why. But this is about what happened three years ago.”
I rack my brain to remember what happened three years ago, afraid that I’m missing something significant, and that if I admit I don’t know what she’s talking about, it will only infuriate her more.
“You have no freaking idea what I’m talking about, do you?” she says, and throws back half her glass of Pinot Grigio.
And then it comes to me. “Your divorce.” But I say it more as a question than a statement, because I’m confused.
“You’re a real piece of work, Chelsea. You know that?”
I want to say,What did I do wrong?Because I honestly have no idea.
“You divorced Brent.” This time, I say it firmly, no wavering. I leave out that we knew she would. Brent is nearly thirty years older than Lolly. It doesn’t take a psychology degree to know he was a replacement for Dad, and that it was only a matter of time before she realized she’d married him for all the wrong reasons.
“No one blames you, Lolly.”
