The Night Olivia Fell by Christina McDonald

Author:Christina McDonald
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

23

* * *

ABI

november

Anthony pulled up at the hospital, and I dashed inside, up the stairs to Olivia’s room. But Sarah wasn’t there. I gave my girl a quick kiss on the cheek and told her we were looking for her aunt, but I’d be back soon.

We drove to the strip mall where Sarah rented space for her counseling sessions. But as soon as we got there, I knew she wasn’t there. The lights were dark and the doors locked tight.

I banged my hand against my forehead.

“We’ll find her,” Anthony reassured me.

“This is my fault,” I moaned.

“Of course it isn’t.”

But I knew he was wrong. The closer I got to the truth about Olivia, the more I’d pushed Sarah away. The one person who’d always been there for me, no matter what. I didn’t want to deal with how I’d feel if she left me too. Maybe that was why I isolated myself—not just from her, but from everyone. It was easier to hide.

And suddenly, I knew where Sarah was.

× × ×

After our mother died, Sarah had spent a lot of time at her grave. We never talked about it—Sarah didn’t want to talk, which was ironic, considering she’d chosen counseling as a career. I only found out years later, when she admitted to me she went nearly every day after dropping me off at school.

She said it was where she went to hide.

When we pulled up to the cemetery, it was pitch black. Anthony grabbed a flashlight from the trunk and swept it along the pathway in front of us as I led him to my mother’s grave.

After a few minutes, the flashlight illuminated Sarah’s face. She was sitting on the ground, her back against our mother’s headstone.

“Sarah!” I rushed toward my sister and knelt in the grass next to her, the knees of my jeans immediately soaking through.

Sarah started crying when she saw me, great, heaving sobs. She looked like she’d been crying all day. Her eyes were so puffy she peered at me through slits. An open fifth of whiskey was propped against the marble headstone.

Anthony took my phone and texted Brad while I turned to Sarah, suddenly furious.

“Jesus, Sarah! You scared me! Brad’s been worried sick! What were you thinking?”

“Abi,” she sobbed. “I’ve fucked up. I’ve really fucked up.”

“I doubt that.”

Sarah never fucked up. She was perfect, selfless as a saint. When our mother died, she’d boxed up all my things and moved me in with her. She sat with me as I did my homework every night, papers spread across the wobbly veneered kitchen table, the smell of cardboard pizza and cheap TV dinners thick in the air. She’d worked evenings so she could watch Olivia during the days while I finished college. Sarah was relentlessly competent and infinitely proficient. She never made mistakes.

“I didn’t know it would hurt you your whole life. I would’ve done it differently.” Sarah pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes, her mouth contorting on a sob.

I glanced at Anthony.

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