The Lucky Ones

by Tiffany Reisz

  “I wish I remembered Oliver better,” she said.

  “He was with us about six months,” Roland said. “Came after Christmas, left in June.”

  “Killed himself in October,” she said. “I can’t imagine why... And at fourteen?”

  “Teenagers do risky things,” Roland said. “Maybe he didn’t even kill himself on purpose? Maybe he was just playing with a gun.”

  “Maybe,” Allison said. “Although McQueen called it a suicide, not an accident.”

  “We’ll see what his mom says. She’ll know.”

  “Do you really think it was an accident? Or are you just hoping that because you’re Catholic?”

  “Catholics aren’t fans of suicide,” Roland said. “But I don’t believe in a God who would send a troubled child to hell for one bad decision. I believe in a God who says, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.’ Santa Claus is the guy with the nice and naughty list for children. Not God. Not my God, anyway.”

  Allison thought that was possibly the loveliest thing she’d ever heard him say, and she put her hand on his knee and squeezed it. Roland smiled, lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and though she wasn’t much of a believer, she said a little prayer that maybe there was an abbey out there that would be short one monk come Christmas.

  Afterward, they drove across the bridge into Washington. They found the house without too much trouble—a small blue bungalow that had seen better days. It seemed Kathy, too, had seen better days. It was a shell of a woman who answered the door—thin and pale with sunken cheeks and sunken eyes surrounded by dark circles. Though Kathy didn’t smile once when they introduced themselves on the porch, Allison didn’t find her unfriendly—simply too worn out to contort her face into an expression she wasn’t used to wearing.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Mrs. Collins,” Allison said. “We’re really sorry to bother you.”

  “Kathy, please,” she said. She pointed to a faded floral print sofa in a cluttered living room. Allison and Roland sat and Kathy took her seat on the matching ottoman. “You were with Oliver when he lived at that house?”

  “We were,” Allison said. “Oliver left about a week before I did actually. He did leave in June of 2002, right?”

  “Right, that’s right.” Kathy nodded. “My husband, Oliver’s father, left me when Oliver was eight. He couldn’t be in the same house with him anymore. I lost my job after that, and nobody in the family would help me with Ollie. He was too much. I couldn’t do it anymore. Had to let the state have him.”

  “Too much?” Allison asked. “You mean he had behavior problems?”

  “That’s a way of putting it.”

  “Most of us did,” Roland said. “Until Dad helped.”

  “Well, your dad certainly tried,” she said, and Allison saw Kathy try to smile. She didn’t do it, but she got closer than she had before.

  “Can I ask what sort of behavior problems he had?” Allison said. She’d never pried into people’s private lives like this before and it felt as strange to her as smiling probably did to Kathy.

  “You don’t know?” Kathy asked Roland.

  “We had a rule at the house,” Roland said. “Dad’s rule. Don’t talk about the old life. He wanted us kids to get past our pasts.”

  “There are some things in your past you can’t ignore,” Kathy said. “That was Ollie’s trouble even after your father helped him. I guess you don’t know that he...he killed my baby.”

  Allison couldn’t manage a response to that. She looked at Roland, whose eyes were wide but who also remained silent in the face of this news.

  Kathy dragged a ragged hand down her face. She seemed more exhausted than sad at this point. “He threw his baby brother, Jacob...he threw him against the wall. Killed him.”

  Allison gasped, covering her mouth with her hand in shock. Kathy had spoken the words in monotone, without flinching, barely blinking. In her hands she clutched a rolled recipe magazine. As she spoke she twisted the magazine until the pages ripped, then folded it over and twisted it again.

  “Jacob cried a lot,” she said. “So, I had to be with him all the time. Ollie was very jealous. But that wasn’t Ollie’s fault. Your father—” she nodded at Roland “—he explained that Ollie had a problem here...” She tapped the side of her head. “A tumor. Made him act out.”

  “Dr. Capello operated on Oliver, yes?” Allison said, composing herself.

  “I called his office because some lady at child services said Dr. Capello was a miracle worker with kids like Ollie. And we needed a miracle. He agreed to see Ollie and he fixed that tumor. Didn’t even charge me a dime. And it was...” Kathy paused, waved her hand like she was waving a magic wand. “Night and day after.”

  “What do you mean?” Allison asked.

  “Oh, before Ollie was a hard kid to live with. He lied all the time. He stole all the time. You couldn’t punish him. He’d laugh it right off. And he’d mess with your head, too. He’d...play games. Ugly games. One second he’d kiss me and say, ‘Mommy, I love you, I love you, I love you...’ and soon as I said I loved him back, he’d stab me in the arm with a fork.”

  Allison felt her stomach roil. Kathy held out her arm to show an old scar, an inch long, pink and white and ugly.

  “He’d never been a normal boy,” Kathy said. “Not since he was born. Never cried much. Your father, he said that was a bad sign. Crying meant a baby was feeling what he was supposed to feel. And he was always like that, even as a boy. Too quiet. Intense. Like a time bomb, you know. But after the surgery, he wasn’t like that anymore. The first week when he was in the hospital, he barely talked at all. Just ate and slept. One afternoon he asked for a Sprite and I got him a Sprite and he said, ‘Thank you, Mommy.’ And I waited for him to turn on me, but he didn’t. He just drank his Sprite. Then a couple days later he said he was sorry for what he did to Jacob. He’d never...” She pursed her thin lips. “He’d never apologized before for anything in his life. Not even stabbing his own mother in the arm. I wanted to take him home, but your dad said Ollie needed time away to really heal. The house, me, everything would remind him of what he did. He needed a new start. So he went to live with you all at that house. Maybe I should have left him there. Bringing him home sure didn’t help, but I wanted my son back. I wanted...I wanted both my boys back. But I’d take what I could get.”

  Her voice was hollow and wispy as a reed.

  “I know this isn’t any of our business,” Allison said. “And I’m sorry for asking, but can you tell us about how Ollie died? Why he died? He was our brother for a little while. We just... We were so shocked to find out.”

  “I think it’s my fault,” Kathy said.

  “I’m sure it’s not,” Allison said.

  “I don’t know about that,” Kathy said. “Before the surgery, Ollie couldn’t care less about what I was feeling. When I brought him home from your house, he was like a...” She snapped her fingers, searching for a word. “Like a sponge. Whatever I was feeling, he’d soak it all up. And I was pretty low then. Depressed. Cried a lot. Ollie would cry with me, and even after I stopped, he kept right on crying. Every day he’d tell me he was sorry about Jacob. One day, he just got too sorry to go on. A neighbor kept a shotgun in his garage. Ollie found it.” Kathy looked at Roland. “I shoulda listened to your dad.”

  “What did he say?” Roland asked.

  “He said I ought to leave Ollie with him,” Kathy said. “But he was my son. And I wanted my boy back.”

  Kathy dropped her chin to her chest. She hadn’t cried the whole time they’d been talking. Allison had a feeling she was cried out and then some. Slowly she raised her head.

  “That’s all I have to tell you,” Kathy said. “Hope that’s what you wanted to hear.”

  “I never want to hear about kids suffering,” Allison said. “We weren’t trying to be nosy. The thing is, someone tried to hurt me when I was living there at Dr. Capello’s house. I fell down a flight of steps and hit my head. Dr. C
apello said he thought it might be Oliver who’d done it. I guess he did have a history of hurting his siblings.”

  “Not after that surgery,” Kathy said. “No, ma’am. He wasn’t that same boy at all. Not even close.”

  “Are you sure?” Allison asked. “I’m not here to point fingers, but with Oliver’s past—”

  “It wasn’t Oliver, I’m telling you. After he came home, he stepped on my foot by accident and burst into tears. Cried for so long he made himself sick. Whatever your father did to him, he wasn’t able to hurt a fly afterward.”

  “Do you remember when you brought him home with you?” Allison asked.

  “Yes, it was, ah, a Friday. It was June 28. I remember because that’s my wedding anniversary. I didn’t want to be alone on that day.”

  “I’m asking because...before my accident, someone called my aunt. They told her someone in the house wanted me dead. Oliver went home with you before I fell, so I know he didn’t push me,” she said. “I didn’t really think it was him who hurt me, anyway, but I thought...maybe he made the call from here?”

  “Back then we only had one phone,” she said. “And it was in my bedroom. I can’t swear he didn’t make any calls, but I...I just don’t think Ollie had anything to do with this. Believe me, I have no illusions about who and what my son was. Before that surgery, he would have pushed his own grandma down the stairs and laughed if she broke her leg. I tell you that without batting an eyelash. But after... Whatever your father did to Ollie, it fixed him.”

  “I know one of Dr. Capello’s patients had a tumor removed but it came back. Was that Oliver?” Allison asked.

  Kathy shook her head. “It never came back, no. In fact, not only did the operation fix him, it, well, I think it fixed him too good. Poor boy went from feeling nothing to feeling everything. But what choice did I have? If your father hadn’t found that tumor, he would have been in juvenile detention for sure. Hell, he probably would have been on death row by eighteen, anyway.”

  “You did the right thing,” Allison said, and she meant it. She wanted to reach out to touch Kathy’s hand, but held back. “I can’t think of any other parent doing any different. We...” She glanced at Roland. “We wish we’d known what happened when it happened. We could have paid our respects to him.”

  “Well,” Kathy said, putting the magazine she’d been shredding down at last. “It’s all right. I didn’t have a funeral. I couldn’t bear to watch them bury another one of my babies.”

  “We are sorry,” Allison said. “Oliver was always sweet.”

  “That’s nice of you to say,” Kathy said.

  She still didn’t smile.

  Chapter 20

  Back in the car, Allison realized she hadn’t heard Roland speaking for what felt like hours.

  “Roland?”

  Allison took his hand in hers. He didn’t take it in return. He let her hold on to him but that was all.

  “Roland?” she said again. “You’re so quiet.” He’d barely said a word in the house with Kathy. It seemed he’d lost his ability to speak.

  “Sorry,” he said finally. “Just taking it all in.”

  Allison pulled out of the driveway and drove aimlessly around the neighborhood, not sure where to go or if she wanted to go anywhere yet. She just wanted to move.

  “I read that profile of Dad that’s on his office wall,” she said. “I thought when it said he took in kids who had problems...I thought that meant temper tantrums and attention span problems and impulse control issues. I didn’t think it meant he took in kids who’d killed other kids.” Allison realized what she was saying and who she was saying it to. “You know, killed kids on purpose. Not like with you and—”

  “I know what you mean,” he said.

  She smiled apologetically.

  “Doesn’t it seem dangerous, bringing a kid like that into a house with other kids?”

  Roland shrugged. “You heard the lady. Oliver had a brain tumor and Dad fixed it. Dad told me all kinds of horror stories about people with tumors and cysts and what it does to their behavior. One man had a tumor in his prefrontal cortex. He went from being a nice normal family man to trying to seduce his twelve-year-old stepdaughter. They took out the tumor and he went back to normal. Just like that.” Roland snapped his fingers. “And you know about his grandparents.”

  “Dad’s? Yeah, lead poisoning turned a normal man into a murderer.”

  “And he committed suicide after he killed his wife,” Roland said. “You can’t blame people like that for their actions. They’re sick—they aren’t doing it on purpose.”

  “I know,” Allison said. She took a long breath. “At some point we have to talk about why your dad lied to me about Oliver.”

  “I know,” Roland said. “I know we will. But not yet.”

  At least he wasn’t trying to convince her or himself that Dr. Capello was just confused anymore. After their talk with Kathy Collins, it was apparent Dr. Capello hadn’t been truthful with her or with Roland. But why lie?

  “When you’re ready,” Allison said, and squeezed his hand. It took a minute but Roland finally squeezed her hand back.

  Allison found the interstate and bridge, and with Roland’s help navigating, they were soon back on their way home.

  “We were supposed to stay out all night,” Allison said, noting the time on the clock. Not even nine yet, though it was already dark.

  “Dad said he didn’t want to see us until morning,” Roland said. “Didn’t say we had to stay out all night.”

  “Good point. We’ll just be very quiet...”

  That wouldn’t be a problem for Roland. He’d been quiet at Kathy’s, quiet after, more quiet than he usually was. She wondered if he was mourning Oliver. She wondered if he was praying for him. She wondered if he was angry or scared or both.

  “What are you thinking about?” Allison asked, unable to take the silence any longer.

  “Ah, it doesn’t matter,” Roland said, looking out the window.

  “It matters a lot. It matters to me.”

  He put his hand on her thigh again.

  “I’m thinking about Dad. How hard it must have been for him to save a kid’s life, and give that kid a home, and then find out that kid threw away that life he worked so hard to save.”

  “Do you think it means something that Oliver shot himself in the brain?” Allison asked.

  “I think it means he was very depressed,” Roland said. “But maybe he was trying to put a bullet into the thing that was causing him all his pain. I know I should be feeling bad for his mom, and I do, but I keep thinking, Poor Dad. To lose a patient is bad enough but to lose one like that...”

  “Dad talked to me about the graveyard,” Allison said.

  “The graveyard?”

  “He said every surgeon carries a graveyard inside them. And all the patients they’ve lost are buried in it.”

  “It’s a lot to carry around with you,” Roland said. “And he lived with us, too. He was Dad’s son for a few months. No wonder he didn’t tell us about Oliver. It probably broke his heart.”

  “I’m sure it did,” Allison said. “He always liked things to be nice and happy at the house. He tried, anyway.”

  “We all had such shitty childhoods,” Roland said. “He was just trying to make up for that. You were happy with us, right?”

  “I was as happy to be with you then as I am now.”

  “So...?”

  She turned and gave him a quick grin. “Very happy.”

  They drove on longer in silence, but the tension had disappeared and now it was a companionable sort of quiet. Roland moved his hand a little higher up her thigh.

  “You can ask me what I’m thinking about again,” Roland said.

  “I think I can guess.” She patted his hand and playfully took it off her thigh and placed it on his. “Driving here.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You are not.” She laughed, when suddenly the magnitude of the day hit her like it hadn’
t before. Hit her hard. “Oliver shot himself.”

  “Yes, and...?”

  “He was fine at the house with us.”

  “Or he was pretending to be,” Roland said. “Brain surgery can have some odd outcomes. Dad says issues can pop up years after operations. Maybe something like that happened with Oliver.”

  “I guess so. But now I want to talk to Kendra and Antonio even more.”

  “Kendra and Antonio?” Roland sat up straighter in the seat. “What about them?”

  “I asked McQueen to get me their addresses, too.”

  Roland shook his head and she didn’t know why.

  “What?” she asked.