Page 53 of Waking Olivia

I close my eyes. Am I? “No.”

“Then come on,” he says gently, pulling me up by my hand.

“Where am I going?”

“To the farm,” he says. “I’m not letting you sit in that apartment alone all afternoon thinking about this, and there’s no way I’m letting you sleep there.”

This tight ball in my chest, this vacuum in my stomach … they are never going away, whether I’m alone or not. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“You aren’t fine and you won’t be fine.”

Normally that bossy tone of his makes me want to fight. Right now I’m just glad one of us knows what we’re doing.

“Let’s go home.”

37

Will

There’ssomething frighteningly vacant in Olivia’s face.

For the first time during her waking hours she seems fragile, the way she does in her sleep. We leave straight for my car and she follows me blindly. I’m not sure she’s even aware that we’re moving and that I’m here.

“Are you okay?” I ask as we drive.

“Uh huh,” she replies, but she’s shaking.

I reach out and grab her hand. “It’s going to be okay.” She looks at me and nods but doesn’t release my hand the entire drive to the farm.

Peter has forewarned my mother about our visit, and she’s waiting on the porch for us. She’s at Olivia’s door the minute we pull into the driveway, enfolding her in her arms. “Oh, honey,” she says, tears streaking down her face. “I’m so sorry.”

Olivia shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she murmurs. “I’m fine.” She’s still shaking. I’m not even sure she realizes it.

“I think she should lay down,” I say, directing Olivia toward my room with a hand on her back. I bundle her in the quilt that lies at the foot of the bed, but there’s panic in her eyes when I stand to go. “Do you want me to stay?” I ask.

She nods, so I sit in my old desk chair beside the bed, frustrated by my inability to do anything for her. She stares blankly somewhere over my shoulder, still shivering.

“Scoot over,” I finally tell her, and when she does I climb in beside her, sliding my arm under her neck and her back to my chest. We’ve laid like this before, more than once, but she has no idea. I’d feel a lot less guilty about it if there wasn’t a part of me thatwantsto do this.

When she falls asleep, I carefully extract myself and leave the room.

“How is she?” my mother asks.

“Asleep,” I sigh. “Aside from that, I have no clue.”

“That poor, poor girl. Do they have any idea who did it?” she asks.

“We didn’t get far enough into the conversation. Olivia passed out and then wanted them to leave.”

“Do you think that’s what the nightmares are about?”

“I don’t know.” It would make sense, except the timing doesn’t quite work out. Her brother ran away—or whateveractuallyhappened—when she was five. She didn’t start having the nightmares until after she moved in with her grandmother, which would have been a year later. Is it even possible that things somehow gotworseafter he disappeared?

Igo backto campus to run the afternoon practice and call Jessica. I explain that Olivia had a death in the family and is staying with my mom tonight, so I can’t come by.

“Okay, I can just meet you there,” she says brightly. “I’ll bring us dinner.” She seems to be under the impression that our night can still be saved, that she can somehow make Olivia’s tragedy some romantic moment just for us. I gently dissuade her, but there’s a distinctly displeased note in her voice as she finally agrees. It surprises me given how understanding she’s been all year long about me helping my mom.

I head to Olivia’s apartment to pick up a few things. I assume she’ll need her laptop. Clothes too, I imagine, but I’m not touching that one. I have enough Olivia-based issues without looking through her underwear drawer.

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