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Chapter Six: Courtesy Call - Part Four
Olive
Olive thought it a good sign that Mei came out of her room at all today. It was a very good sign.
It didn’t matter that she’d spent the entire morning standing on the snowy balcony, unaware of the freezing wind or chilling cold. At least she was out.
Except that she hadn’t even brought a coat with her. Barefoot and in a milky cream, thin summer shift, Mei stood just looking out over the edge sadly.
Not very sadly, Olive told herself, snuggled against the heater in a corner across from the balcony window. At least, she didn’t think so. Just not terribly happy either.
Olive frowned and held Daisy to her tighter, leaning down to rest her cheek on the doll’s bob of downy hair.
It had been a game, following Mei around. And Olive had thought it a very fun game, stalking down hallways and staying just out of sight. But, staring at the long-haired woman now, wrapped up in her own arms so tightly as she stood stone-still and alone on the marble balcony, Olive didn’t think it was so much fun anymore.
The more she watched Mei, the sadder the woman appeared to be. Olive didn’t want Mei to go, couldn’t bear to think of the hotel without her. But, through the frost-coated glass, she could see that Mei was unhappy here.
Maybe if she threw a party for Mei, the way they had for Rowan. Maybe then Mei wouldn’t be so sad. Maybe then she wouldn’t want to leave.
Yes, that’s exactly what she would do. She would have Flax cook all sorts of tasty food and maybe make Rowan play some music. Jonquil could tell one of his funny stories. And Calla would come. And Juniper and Marigold. And Uncle Lark…
He’d been so mad when he’d found out that they were still following Mei around. He’d given her and Rowan and Calla The Stare before he’d dismissed her, sending her straight to her room. She’d waited there for what seemed like hours while he scolded Rowan and Calla, knowing that her time, too, would come.
But, when he’d finally come to her room, he’d just looked tired, shaking his head before sitting down on her bed. He’d sighed—a heavy, pained sound that she’d never heard him make before—and swept her hair off her face, telling her, “Sometimes there are things that we just can’t change.” He’d looked down at her, his eyes pleading with her for something she wished terribly that she could give him. “You understand that, don’t you?”
She’d nodded. Because she’d known that was what he’d wanted her to do and she couldn’t deny her uncle anything.
Then he’d pulled her into his lap and simply held her for a very long time. She’d lay with her arms around his neck quietly, the room completely silent except for his breathing. She remembered that it’d sounded resigned and so forced, as if he’d had to remind himself with each intake of air how to breathe.
Even tucked into the crook of his neck, she’d seen that he was sad too.
Olive’s face scrunched up, pouting back frustrated tears. She didn’t like it that everyone around her was so unhappy. And she certainly didn’t understand why they had to be.
Yes, there most assuredly were things in life that—no matter what you did—you couldn’t change. Even at eight, Olive knew that.
But what she didn’t know was how one was expected to know what those things were unless they tried.
So, yes, she’d deliberately and undeniably disobeyed her uncle—a thing that she tried very, very, very hard never to do. And she’d known that it was wrong, even as she’d snuck past her uncle’s room earlier that morning—swift and stealthy as a spy—to stand sentry at Suite 206’s door. But she’d done it for Mei.
Olive had never known her mother beyond a face she vaguely remembered from photos back before they’d come to the hotel. And Mei had never had any children. But they had each other. They had that.
Olive shook her head petulantly. So, no, she wouldn’t leave the woman’s side. She wouldn’t, not for anything.
Because—to her thinking, at least—if she never left Mei, then Mei could never leave her.
Olive watched as the wind whisked snow in violent swirls around Mei, sprinkling her skin with the glistening flakes. She waited for Mei to cringe or shiver or—at the very least—brush the snow away, but she didn’t. She just stood with her face tipped up, staring passively into the harsh breeze.
She wanted to make Mei come inside. Wanted to force her to get warm.
Instead, she pulled her doll closer, trembling even beneath the warm layers of her winter wear.
Olive sat up as she saw Mei turn her face slightly as a nasty gust of wind whipped viciously, nearly knocking the woman down. It should have blown her over—that strong of a blast—but all she did was tilt her head away, shielding her face in her shoulder.
Olive watched as the woman’s long, unbound hair lashed out wildly, twisting and tangling itself around her shoulders and arms as if trying to pull her in every direction. Olive winced as the glassy snow struck Mei’s face, sticking to her lashes, her cheeks, her lips. She saw those lips part as if to scream.
Olive stood, racing to the door. About to thrust open the windowed entrance, she stopped suddenly, staring out in shock.
She watched, her own mouth gaping, at the snow that streaked across Mei’s face. She saw the tiny glittering bits of ice blend in with the woman’s pale, almost spectral skin, leaving only the shadowed depths of her crying lips visible beyond the white.
As the wind died down and the flakes fell, Olive stood, breathless, waiting for the pale sweep to fade too.
She could feel hot tears seep out the corners of her eyes as she watched white dust drift down off the woman’s face like sand in an hour glass, leaving only more snow. She shook her head at the now dramatic dip in the hollow of the woman’s once full cheeks—at the strange slope of her now lopsided nose.
Olive shivered at the familiar face that was now all wrong.
She didn’t recognize the figure beyond the window at all—it looking more like some weathered away statue than Mei.
It wasn’t Mei.
It couldn’t be.
Olive gasped as the statue’s eyes opened, revealing familiar, large, black eyes, and she felt her heart stop before she fumbled for the door’s handle.
Just as Olive’s hand gripped the knob, fear and worry warring bitterly inside her, another hand—huge and warm—closed over hers.
She looked up and over her shoulder and sighed, her body shaking in relieved sobs. Uncle Lark.
Uncle Lark would fix this. He would save her.
“Mei,” Olive squeaked, her voice thin and ragged as she turned back to the woman in the window who looked more like a stranger than anyone. Swiftly, she turned away again, not able to bear staring at the frost-covered figure. “It’s Mei.”
Her uncle pulled her fist from the handle gently before bundling her up against him, his arm protective along her shoulders as she clutched at his waist. “I know.” His voice was a low rumble she felt more than heard. She peeked up at him, his face granite-set as he gazed out, his jaw tight and his lips thin.
She held him tighter as he reached up to adjust his glasses, first pushing them further up on the bridge of his nose only to settle them down again. She watched his face pinch slightly, his nose twitching a bit as he sniffed. He looked uncomfortable, standing there awkward and stiff in front of the glass. “I know.”
She wanted to look into his eyes, wanted to know if they, too—like hers—held tears. She wanted to know if it was okay for her to cry. But she couldn’t see past the wire-rimmed frames.
She clung to him, trying to bury herself in his safety, as her eyes caught his reflection in the window. She held her breath. Through that reflection, she could see the exact moment her uncle’s brilliant blue eyes met the woman’s wide, woeful, black ones and began to tear.
She felt him try to push his breath past his lips even as it caught and choked in his throat.
Her gaze followed his hand as it reached for the door again.
He stopped. Abruptly.
Dropping his hand, his chest heaved again with a rush of air. His back stiffened and his eyes became so cold, freezing away his tears.
He turned away. “Mustn’t stand too close to the window, Olive,” he told her as he lay a guiding hand between her shoulders. “You’ll catch your dea…”
He paused, swallowing hard as he fiddled with his glasses again. “You’ll get sick.”
“But—” She turned back to the window.
“Come along, Olive,” her uncle ordered more insistently. “Now.”
Her quivering bottom lip pushed out in a pout as she shook her head. She didn’t want to come along. She didn’t want to leave. She stared unblinkingly, her neck craned painfully over her shoulder, as her uncle led her away. She couldn’t leave Mei. Not like this. “Uncle Lark—”
“Do as you’re told,” he told her in his I Mean It voice.
So she clamped her lips shut, still staring out the window. Silently, she said sorry as the figure’s pitiful eyes fluttered shut, plunging her once again into the endless white.
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