She had not cried when she was sexually abused or when she woke up in the pediatric psych ward, her wrists wrapped with bandages.
She had not cried when she found out she was pregnant.
She had not cried during this morning’s procedure. Or afterward.
But now, Joy sobbed.
—
OLIVE’S EYES WERE TIGHTLY SHUT,even though the closet was dark. She was trying to block out the heated conversation on the other side of the door by picturing Peg, the shape of her face, the smell of her hair when she just came out of the shower, the sound of her name in Peg’s mouth, blurred by her southern accent:Olive. Olive. I love.
“Are you afraid of dying?” Wren whispered, pulling Olive out of her reverie.
“Isn’t everyone?”
“I don’t know. I never thought about it until now.”
This girl was so young; younger, even, than Olive’s students. They had been wedged together on the floor of the utility closet for three hours now.
“I think what I’m afraid of,” Olive said, “is leaving everyone else behind.”
“Do you have a husband? Kids?”
Olive shook her head, unsure what to say. There were still places in Mississippi where she introduced Peg as her roommate. And she would never have walked down the street in broad daylight holding Peg’s hand.
“Not in the cards for me,” she murmured.
“Same for my aunt,” Wren said. “I never asked her if she was lonely.”
“You’ll be able to, when you get out of here.”
“IfI get out of here,” Wren whispered. “My dad used to actually tell me to make sure I was wearing clean underwear. I mean, what a cliché, right?” She hesitated. “I’m wearing Friday.”
“Beg pardon?”
“It’s Tuesday. And my day-of-the-week underwear says Friday.”
Olive smiled in the dark. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“What if I get shot? I mean, it’s clean, but it’s the wrong day.” Wren laughed, a little unhinged. “What if I’m bleeding all over and the paramedics notice that—”
“You won’t get shot.”
In the dark, Olive could see the fierce shine of the girl’s eyes. “You don’t know that.”
She didn’t.To livewas always a conditional verb.
There was a flurry of footsteps outside the closet door, and the phone rang. Both Olive and Wren held their breath. Olive grabbed Wren’s hand.
“I don’t wanna talk to you.” It was the shooter’s voice. It got fainter as he moved away again.
Olive squeezed Wren’s fingers. “Peg,” she breathed. “That’s the name of the woman I love.”
“The…oh, okay,” Wren replied. “That’s cool.”
Olive smiled to herself. Yes, Peg was cool. Cooler than she was, anyway. She made fun of Olive for not wearing white after Labor Day and for waiting a half hour after eating before she swam.Live a little,Peg would say to her, laughing.
Right now that was all Olive wanted to do.
