Page 117 of Goode Tidings

"He'll be happy to see you, but Mom, you didn't have to come all this way." I look out at the chairs occupied by some of the most important people in my life. "None of you did. It turned out to be pretty mild, all things considered."

"Knock it off," Paloma says. "Let us overreact if we want to. We love you, we love Oliver, so we are here. Moving on to something almost as important." She looks sharply at Callum but addresses my mother when she says, "Rosemary, did you know this man is in love with your daughter?"

I gasp. "Paloma!"

She holds her hands up in front of her in a don't shoot the messenger gesture.

Callum reaches for my hip, giving me a gentle squeeze. He's letting me know it's ok. And he's not denying it, either. What does that mean? The question, and its possible answer, sets off a flurry of happy little feelings in my belly.

"Anyway," I say sternly. "Mom, Callum. Callum, this is my mother, Rosemary."

Callum offers his hand, and my mom bypasses it, enfolding him in a hug. "Men who are in love with my daughter get a hug, not a handshake."

"Mom, please. Can we not?"

"Fine, fine." She mimics Paloma's innocent hand motion. "Where's my grandson?"

"Uh, hey." Justin steps into the group. "They just took Oliver to Phase II recovery. The nurse was adamant only one person visit him at a time. Normally I'm all for breaking rules, but she's pretty scary."

"You can go first," I tell my mom. "As long as Klein hasn't staked a cl⁠—"

"Actually," Justin cuts in. His eyes find Callum, and with all the reluctance in the world, says, "Oliver asked for Callum."

CHAPTER 53

Callum

He asked for me?

It lights something up in me, makes me feel wanted. Needed.

I kiss the side of Eden's head, ignore Justin's sour expression, and go back to find Oliver.

Oliver's sitting up in bed. He holds his phone, thumb scrolling. He looks up when I walk in, and says, "Eugenio's texting me so many pictures, and I wish he wouldn't. I don't need to be reminded that I'm not there."

"Maybe he's trying to share with you, so you don't feel left out."

"Too late," he mutters, tossing his phone down on his blanket-covered lap.

I pull over the only chair in his room until it's beside his bed. "Pretty cool that your dad's here, right?"

"I guess," he answers.

I stay quiet. He has so much more to say, and I have all the time in the world to wait for it.

Oliver swipes a palm over the metal railing on the hospital bed. "He could leave right now, you know? Walk out, and I wouldn't see him for six months. So, I guess it's cool, but it's not something I can trust." His eyes fill with tears.

A surge of fury wells up in my chest. I've never wanted to punch Justin more than I do right now. Not even when he was running his mouth about Eden earlier. She knows better than to listen to his raving. But Oliver? He's easily damaged. A young, sensitive boy whose feelings are perpetually hurt by his dad.

The thought forces a memory. Some time long ago, were we eleven? Twelve? Justin with his middle part in his hair. He'd come home from school, proudly pulling stapled papers from his backpack. The short story I wrote for English won an award. My teacher wants me to enter it into a national contest. His dad had laughed. Cruel and cutting. What are you, some kind of pansy poet? I'd stood beside Justin and wished he'd never told his dad. He could've entered his story into the contest and not told a soul. Later, I found the story in the trash, and Justin hanging out with his dad on the couch watching the World Poker Championships. Justin called the TV announcer a derogatory name, and his dad laughed. Justin beamed.

Justin was also a young, sensitive boy whose feelings were perpetually hurt by his dad. I don't know what their relationship was like as Justin grew older, but I can guess. It doesn't change how Justin has chosen to behave as an adult, but it provides context.

To Oliver, I say, "Trusting someone after they've let you down is hard. And you don't have to do it, at least not right away."

His expression hardens. "I don't want to trust him ever."

I nod in understanding. Can't say I blame the kid. "Have you considered talking to him about how you feel?"