by Diana Kane
“Paris,” I echo, trying to inject some excitement into my voice.
Chapter 11
November 2001
“Are you gonna be all right at home?” my roommate Kira asks me as I set my suitcase down by the door. “I can always come with you,” she offers. “My parents won’t mind.” Kira moved into the second bedroom of the apartment after Olivia left for Paris. Fucking Paris. Even the name of the city makes me taste bile.
“I’ll be okay,” I assure her. “Go home and enjoy the holiday with your family.” We both know that I’m not going to be okay. I’m not even close to being all right when I’m here and busy. But at least I’m hoping to get some damn answers from Olivia. Olivia who promised we would make it work, yet by August had disappeared without explanation. I’m pissed, I’m shattered, and I have no idea what the hell it is that I did wrong. I can’t even get excited about my big surprise because I really just want to see Olivia.
*****
I pull into mom’s driveway with about two hours to spare before we’ll be sharing an early Thanksgiving dinner with the O’Connors and my uncles. I stare at the front door as I try to steel myself for the night ahead. I have no idea what anyone knows about the situation with Olivia, but I do know that it’s going to take every ounce of my strength not to crumble the instant I see her. My mind shifts away from thinking that perhaps I should have just remained in Chicago when I spot the front door opening and mom waving from the other side of the storm door. I sigh as I reluctantly exit my car, fighting the urge to speed back to Chicago where I can wallow in my misery by myself.
“What did you pack? Bricks?” mom asks when she takes my suitcase from me and ushers me into the living room.
“No mom,” I answer as I take the suitcase back from her. Just what I’ll need for the next couple of days.” She shoots me a skeptical look but heads back into the kitchen. “Let me put this in my room, and I’ll be down to help.”
“Things are pretty well set, but I won’t turn down the extra hands. Is Olivia going to be here tonight?” My mom knows as much as I do about the situation. We may not live under the same roof anymore, but we still share pretty much everything.
“I haven’t spoken to her. I would think she’d be home for the holiday,” I answer as I turn for the stairs, tears making their way down my cheeks. I just want to understand what the hell happened. We were fine until classes started back up in August, then she suddenly disappeared. “Shit,” I mutter when I finally make it up the stairs and flip on the light in my old bedroom. There are too many memories trapped in this space. I quietly close the door behind me, fall onto my bed, and bury the sound of my sobs in my pillow as images of various memories of Olivia flash through my mind.
The sound of voices downstairs eventually pulls me from my latest bout of tears. I can hear Uncle Eddie and Uncle Ryan greeting my mom and know I need to get downstairs soon or one of them will come looking for me. I pull myself off of my bed and swipe at my tears as I cross the room to my door and throw the lock. I’ve kept this secret for months, no need for it to be spoiled before I reveal the surprise to everyone. I open my suitcase and pull out the package of tissue paper, the gift bags and the five advanced copies of my book. Even now, the reality that my dream is coming true seems so surreal. A knock on my door pulls me from staring down at the cover of Alteration, the weight of the hardcover tome doing nothing to vanquish my disbelief that I’m a published novelist.
“Jordan, your uncles are here,” mom calls through the door as she tries the knob.
“I’ll be down in a few,” I call back. I hear her retreating footsteps as I quickly pop open the gift bags and set to work getting the surprise organized. I flip open the covers and find the copy with the note I scribbled to Olivia. Liv, Paris full time soon? stares back at me. It’s desperate and insane, but after four years together I’m willing to forego the master’s program to give being with her and writing full time a chance. I toss the unique copy in the only blue bag and quickly head downstairs, making sure I close the door behind me.
“Jordan!” I hear Mrs. O’Connor call from the entryway as I turn the corner. I quickly focus my attention on the door but feel my shoulders sag when I realize Olivia isn’t with them. Mrs. O’Connor crosses the room and pulls me into an enveloping hug as I stare at the door, hoping it will open again and Olivia will walk through it. “You knew she wouldn’t be here, didn’t you?” Great, so the O’Connors have no idea what Olivia has done.
“Jordan, get your beautiful ass over here,” I hear Uncle Eddie call out from the kitchen, causing me to chuckle against Mrs. O’Connor’s shoulder and saving me from having to answer her. I shake my head to answer her question as I back out of her embrace, earning a look of confusion from her in return. I try to put on a brave face as I step away to answer Uncle Eddie’s summons, and what I’m sure will be more questions about Olivia.
*****
We’re all gathered in the living room after dinner, animatedly chatting while we drink wine and half pay attention to A Christmas Story playing on the television. Well, everyone else is animatedly talking. I’m trying my best to stay engaged in the conversation, but find the swirling of my wine more entertaining. I can feel Mrs. O’Connor’s eyes watching me every now and again, but can’t force myself to meet her inquiring gaze. After half an hour of attempting to be social, I try to slip away discretely, but the sound of footsteps on the stairs warn me that I’ve failed. I look up from my perch on my bed and see Mrs. O’Connor standing in my doorway, studying what I’m sure is a feeble demeanor. She steps into my room and closes the door before approaching me, settling on the edge of the bed after sliding the gift bags back a bit.
“What’s going on?” she asks as she takes the framed photo of Olivia and me from my hands.
“I honestly have no idea,” I whisper as I swipe at a newly escaping tear. “After I visited her, her calls and emails started getting further and further apart. Whenever I mentioned it, she always said she was busy with her training. I haven’t heard from her since the middle of August,” I confide, ignoring the tears now streaming down both my cheeks.
“She hasn’t said anything,” Mrs. O’Connor informs me as she takes my hand. “I’ll talk to her the next time she calls.”
“What’s the point? It’s pretty clear that she’s done with me,” I sniffle. “I just wish I knew what I did wrong.”
“I’m sure you did nothing wrong,” Mrs. O’Connor answers, with a hint of what appears to be irritation in her eyes. “I’ll get to the bottom of it,” she promises.
“Please don’t put yourself in the middle of it. If Olivia cared or even respected me, she’d at least tell me herself. I got the overall message, it just hurts like hell,” I whisper the last part as more tears drip off of my chin and land in my lap.
“Jordan, you’re like another daughter to us. I’ll be speaking to Olivia with or without your permission. She at least owes you an explanation,” she says as she pulls me into a hug, letting me sob against her shoulder. “Come back downstairs when you’re ready,” she whispers when I finally calm down again. I nod that I will and watch her as she retreats from my room. “Do you want me to take those downstairs for you?” she asks when she pauses in the doorway. My eyes snap from the bags back to her, as I wonder if she somehow found out about my upcoming release. “I have a feeling I know what’s inside them,” she says earning a look of shock. “I saw your name on a preorder list. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I manage as I glance at the bags again.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” she continues. “I’ll act surprised with the rest of them,” she finishes with a wink before heading back downstairs. I quickly down the rest of my wine before heading to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. Once I finally look like I haven’t been crying, I grab the bags and head back downstairs, the sounds of my loved ones laughing injecting me with a bit of warmth as I enter the living room.
“What’s this?” mom asks as
I distribute the bags.
“A surprise. Just wait to open it until everyone has theirs please.” I hand one of the bags to Mrs. O’Connor and another to Uncle Eddie. I pass the fourth to Uncle Ryan, asking him to give it to Dee. The blue bag remains clutched in my hand, a reminder of the person who is missing in my life. What’s the point of giving it to Olivia now? Especially with the message inside it. As if knowing it’s for her, Mrs. O’Connor reaches out her hand for it. I nod at the unspoken agreement that she’ll give it to her the next time she sees her. “Go ahead,” I give them permission to open their bags, my mom loudly shrieking before I can finish. I hear the thud of her copy hitting the floor before she quickly jumps up and pulls me into a tight hug.
“You little shit,” mom whispers in my ear. I can hear her sniffle as she continues squeezing me tightly.
“I love you too, mom,” I try to joke back. Uncle Eddie and Uncle Ryan have risen from the couch, waiting patiently for mom to release me, both wearing what appear to be proud smiles.
“I have so many questions,” she answers as she continues to squeeze me.
“I might have answers, but you may need to let go of me first. I’m going to suffocate soon,” I joke, causing her to laugh. “That and you’ve started a queue.”
“Huh? Oh, right,” she says as she finally lets me go. I quickly accept a congratulatory hug from everyone else as I watch mom refill everyone’s glasses again. “All right child, start talking,” mom orders when everyone finally settles in again. She has her copy clutched tightly against her chest, like it’s her most prized possession in the world, as she waits for me to fill in the blanks.
“Oh boy, where should I start?” I take a large sip of my wine as I try to rekindle any excitement within me. I fail miserably, my emotions regarding Olivia overshadowing any joy I might have been able to share with my family. “Well, I had a creative writing assignment that was supposed to be a work of historical fiction. We aren’t given a lot of parameters as to what we are to write, just an overall genre. I had already written a rough story that would fit the bill, so I decided to work with that. I polished it up and decided to break it into a trilogy. I submitted the first book for my assignment. Of course, it was much longer than what was actually called for, but we aren’t penalized for length. Long story short, my professor’s sister is in publishing. He read it and thought it was excellent, so he had his wife read it. She agreed, so he passed it onto his sister. She came to Chicago and took me to dinner to discuss it and give me the details of what a typical first book offer would look like. I told her I would get her information to my agent and they could discuss it. I had to get an agent first, but from what we’ve been taught in school, agents pay for themselves in the long run. Anyway, I’s were dotted, T’s were crossed, and here it is.” I take a sip of my wine when I finish, stealing a glance around the room. Everyone is so happy and excited, things I should be feeling as well, but the loss of Olivia dampens all of it for me.
“This looks amazing,” Uncle Eddie says as he smiles at me. “I can’t wait to start reading it tonight.”
“Then I’m going to have to read Dee’s copy before we give it to her,” Uncle Ryan replies, causing me to chuckle.
“How long have you known about this and why didn’t you tell me?” mom asks.
“Months and I didn’t say anything because it never felt real until I had the advanced copies in my hands. It still doesn’t feel real, but it goes on sale tomorrow. They’re hoping to take advantage of the holiday rush.”
“My baby girl is going to be rich,” my mom exclaims.
“I doubt it. Most books are lucky to cover the advance. Hopefully, this one will. I highly doubt I’m the next Stephen King or J.K. Rowling, judging from last weekend at the box office.”
“A movie?” mom whispers and I see right where her mind has gone.
“No mom, no one is talking about a movie. My point was that I doubt I’ll be as famous as either of them. I also doubt anyone will be looking to turn my work into a movie. I’ll be happy to cover the advance. Ecstatic if I can do this and live comfortably.”
Chapter 12
August 2002
I step into the apartment and drop my keys on the table next to the door. I’m on cloud nine, if such a place exists, and I have the bottle of expensive champagne in my hand to prove it. I tried to share the news with my mom while I was on my way home, but she didn’t answer my call. I guess Kira will be the first to know.
“Kira get your ass out here! I have news,” I shout as I put my coat in the closet near the door. It’s only then that I notice the strange shoes and unknown jacket. Olivia, my mind foolishly hopes. Even though I haven’t spoken to her in a year, I still love her and hope that one day she’ll come back to me. I’ve had a few drunken kisses and tried to go on a date, but I guess I’m just not ready to move on. Plus with school and my book deal, I’ve been too busy to give any woman the serious consideration she would deserve. “Kira?” I call out much quieter than before as I turn into the dining room, where I find Kira with my mom. “Mom? What are you doing here?” I ask before she turns to look at me. Whatever the reason, the look on her face tells me I’m not going to like it.
“I’m here to bring you home,” she informs me.
“Home? Why?” I ask as I clutch my celebratory bottle of champagne.
“Please just pack a bag so we can get going,” she says, her voice heavy with sorrow.
“I can’t go home. I have school coming up, and I have a meeting with my agent and the studio this weekend.”
“Studio?” she asks, her brow furrowed.
“They’re making my trilogy into a movie,” I inform her, holding up the bottle of champagne. “Well, at least Alteration. The rest if that does well,” I finish with a shrug. Mom barely manages a smile, neither does Kira. “Mom, you’re scaring me. Why aren’t you happy for me?” I ask as I feel my excitement plummet into my toes.
“I am, sweetheart. I’m so happy for you and proud of you. But you have to come home now.”
“Why? Are you sick?” I ask as I set the bottle down on the table, not knowing how I’ll handle it if her answer is yes.
“Sit down Jordan,” she orders as she pushes out the chair on her right.
“Please just tell me,” I whisper as I fall into the seat and clutch at my mom’s hand.
“Sweetheart, I don’t know how to tell you this,” she murmurs as she squeezes my hand tightly. I see a tear slip down her cheek, and that’s when I know, my mom is sick. Cancer, early onset Alzheimer’s, something else entirely untreatable. “Rene is gone sweetheart,” she whispers.
“Mrs. O’Connor? Where did she go?” I ask as my brows draw inward. Why is my mom crying about Mrs. O’Connor going somewhere?
“Jim found Rene this morning. She hung herself sometime last night,” she whispers. Hanged, my mind immediately corrects her as it works to connect the rest of the dots.
“That’s not funny mom,” I whisper back as the panic starts flowing through my body. Mom just looks at me, fresh tears falling from her eyes. “No,” I shake my head in denial. “No…she wouldn’t…she wasn’t…,” I trail off as my mind fights to accept what has to be true. We may have a sick sense of humor in my family, I mean we once took a “family portrait” huddled around my grandfather’s headstone, but my mom would never in a million years joke about this. Especially when she knows how much Mrs. O’Connor means to me. “No,” I whisper in defeat one last time before slipping out of the chair and landing on the floor, immediately hugging my knees to my chest as the sobs work their way through my body. I’m vaguely aware of the sensation of my mom and Kira sandwiching me between them as I scream out my next denial between sobs.
*****
I barely leave my bed the following day. Hell, I don’t even really remember the drive home. It was dark, there were headlights, a lot of silence, and even more tears. My mind cannot process this new reality. It can’t understand how someone who never seemed depressed could
do this. She saved me from myself those many years ago, yet I had no idea how much she was hurting. Was she ill? Depressed? Did something happen? I have so many questions that I’ll likely never have answers to, and so much sorrow in my heart that it doesn’t feel like I’ll ever be happy again.
Three days later I manage to be the equivalent of a mobile zombie for the visitation. Mom and I step into the funeral home, and I wait as she signs our names to the guestbook. I dread seeing the lifeless form of Mrs. O’Connor in her casket. She was always so animated and caring. Her hugs were always my favorite. The thought of seeing her expressionless face framed by her dark hair that was just starting to show the first signs of greying at the temples turns my stomach.
“You okay?” mom whispers as she takes my arm. I nod that I am and she guides us into the crowded parlor. I pause our progress when I get my first view of the open casket. “You ready?” mom quietly asks after giving me a few moments to prepare myself. I nod that I am and we make our way through the crowd, each step bringing me closer to the forced acceptance of what I wish was an alternate reality. Every footfall sounds like an echoing hammer shot, or maybe it’s just my heart slowly pounding away. The lifeless form of Mrs. O’Connor comes into view, her slightly greying dark hair, her expressionless face, the black gown she’s been placed in, and the heavy makeup along her neck. Part of me wants to reach out to touch her, just to ensure that this is real and not some cruel practical joke, but I know it isn’t necessary.