Page 89 of Lotus

Clem looks the most miserable out of all of us—she was such a sullen, moody kid.

A knock at the front door startles me, and I jolt in place, always on edge lately… especially when the sun sets. Glancing down at my attire to confirm that I actuallydidchange out of my embarrassing onesie, I skip to the front of the house with Alexis trailing my ankles.

I crack the door and peek out.

Oliver.

The crack widens when I spot him standing on my porch, shoulder propped against the frame as his eyes canvass me—from my neon fuzzy socks to my freshly washed hair. His expression is darker than normal, his presence radiating something entirely unfamiliar. Something veryun-Oliver. “Hey,” I greet softly, stepping back so he can step inside.

“Hello.”

Even his movements are different. More deliberate, less apprehensive.

And his eyes haven’t left me as they occasionally flicker south, landing on my cleavage that peeks out from my halter top. My skin heats. “Everything okay?” I wonder, a timid hitch in my voice.

“Yes,” he responds simply.

Oliver presses inside, hands in his pockets, smelling of evergreens and pinecones, and his scent warms me. He leans down to pet Alexis before sauntering into the living room, his gaze drifting to the Polaroids laid out upon the coffee table. I follow. “Lorna brought them over. I don’t have many pictures from those days—Mom threw most of that stuff out when they moved. I’ve been lost in memories all day,” I tell him with a whimsical chuckle, my arms crossed.

He picks up one of the photos, assessing it carefully. “This is us,” he states.

“And Coco.”

A blink.

“My teddy bear,” I grin, moving in closer to study the picture in his hands.

Oliver’s smile twitches to life, a trace of his usual nature poking through, when he suddenly brings two fingertips to his temple, eyes closing like he’s in pain.

“Oliver?” My protective instincts kick in and I squeeze his upper arm, worry coursing through me. “Is something wrong?”

He dismisses me with a shake of his head, flipping through the pictures. “I’m… fine.” Oliver pauses on a photograph of us playingCapture the Flagin the front yard. He massages his temple, as if trying to physically pull a memory to the surface. “Something happened on this day.”

“It did?” Confusion furrows between my eyes. I lean in and pluck the picture from his fingers, turning it around to glance at the date:7-2-98. I can’t remember anything significant happening on that day, but then again, everything from the week Oliver disappeared is such a blur. I recall Gabe feeling sick, so he stayed inside with Oliver’s mother while Travis took the rest of us out to play. My dad stopped by and they shared a beverage on the porch.

There was nothing but laughter and silliness as we hid the little American flag stake around the yard. Oliver and I always had to be on the same team. Returning the photo to him, I swing my head back and forth. “Nothing stands out.”

Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose as he blows out a breath of frustration. “I know so many things—facts, faces, feelings. Dates and times. People I loved. But they are all trapped and buried inside of thiscoffin.” He jabs his index finger against the side of his head. “I get flashes here and there. Blurry images, voices, familiar sensations. Certain things will trigger pieces of conversations and interactions. But… I can’t reach it, Syd. I can’t hang on. It’s too deep.”

“Hey…” I pull his hand from his face, watching his breathing climb and his skin perspire. “It’s okay. Have you thought about seeing a psychologist? Maybe even trying hypnosis?”

Oliver tugs his hand free and tosses the pictures to the couch, turning away. “No. I don’t know. I was given the information of a psychologist upon my hospital release, but I haven’t pursued it. Part of me is afraid to remember, I suppose.”

Trying not to take offense to his pullback, I avert my eyes. “I can understand that.”

“You don’t understand. Nobody understands.”

My eyes bore into his back as he sweeps angry fingers through his hair. “What’s gotten into you? You seem…off.”

Oliver circles around slowly, that alarming look returning to his eyes. His gaze dips to my chest, then flicks back up. “Do I?”

I frown. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

“But that’s what you prefer, yes?”

“What?” I cross my arms tighter as he paces toward me. “What are you talking about? Did something happen on your date?”

“It was a lovely date,” he says with surety.

---