Resilient (18 page)

And that’s it. I realize I’ve already said too much. Adam is still looking at me, puzzled. I wish I could explain to him why I froze when I bumped into that man, but how could I tell him that the man is dark inside—that he has blood on his hands? The impression flashed in my mind when I touched him, and all his emotions came to me in pictures, very disturbing pictures; the truth of him was laid bare before my eyes. Then, in matter of seconds, he wasn’t angry anymore. His mood changed to fear as he saw Adam, and he fled like a startled rabbit. 

“I don’t know what happened,” I sigh and I take his hand. “I’m just really tired.”

Adam runs his hand through my hair, pulling me closer to him, and all of my anxiety slips away when his lips touch mine. Only when someone honks behind us do I pull away from him. 

“We’d better go,” I say, but he doesn’t move, he lingers, staring at me. “What?” 

“You’re so beautiful; it’s hard not to stare.” 

And then I know I’m blushing. 

On the drive home, I realize just how much my neck hurts, and my head is heavy with fatigue and worry. I don’t want to get too comfortable having Adam around me. If I’m not able to fix myself, I won’t be able to have an honest relationship with him—he’ll always be suspicious of my secrets, and he could always assume the worst.

Adam laces his fingers with mine and I close my eyes, trying to shove the pain and the pleasure of his touch deep inside of me, where I can’t feel it. Maybe I should keep my distance from him, at least until I can figure everything out.

“Are you okay?” Adam asks. When I don’t answer, he tries again. “Did you find what you were looking for in New York?”

“The person I needed to talk to wasn’t available and I haven’t got much sleep since yesterday. I’m hungry and tired.”

He tenses at my curt tone. “I’m sorry. Let’s get takeout so you have something to eat when you get home.”

When we reach my house, I’m half asleep. I’m trying to keep my eyes open, but my lids are so heavy and I can’t find the energy to keep myself awake. I feel Adam’s hand on me; his voice, calling my name, is a faint blur in the background. 

Then I feel my body lying in something so soft, it could only be my own bed. I feel a hand caressing my face, stroking my hair back. Adam’s voice is telling me goodnight, but I hold on to his hand. “Don’t leave,” I manage to say. “Stay here with me.” And that’s the last I remember.

*                            *                              *

I wake up in a dark room, crumpled up in a ball. I’m holding my knees close to my chest and rocking back and forth, back and forth. I’m breathing heavily, and loud music grates in my ears. I’m still tired, I need more sleep, but I can’t relax, and I can’t close my eyes. It’s dark and I can’t see. The last thing I remember is Adam falling with a bullet wound to his leg. He screamed so loud, it echoed inside my head. He was scared, he was angry, and he couldn’t see me. But I saw him—and for the first time, I felt him. I empathized with him. 

“Adam!” I called out. Just then he saw me, and I felt the pain grow inside of him.

“Run, Livia! Go!” He repeated it over and over, louder and louder. 

I covered my ears, but I could hear people laughing and I could hear Adam screaming—until the moment everything went silent. I couldn’t hear and I couldn’t see. They must have taken him away, or worse yet, killed him. 

I’ve been here, waiting for them to come for me, for them to take me to him. It’s all my fault, because I was the one they wanted. They were hunting me, but now Adam is the one to suffer. 

I want to die. It’s the only way to end the agony inside of me, ripping me apart, destroying every bit of my soul. 

*                            *                              *

My heart is panicking. I pull myself up to sit on my bed, and I feel a hand touching my shoulder. I turn around and Adam is sitting next to me, his eyes wide open. 

“You were having a nightmare,” he murmurs. “Everything is okay. It was just a dream…” 

I close my eyes and wait for my heart to calm down. It seemed so real, so painful. “You’re hurt, they—they hurt you,” I stutter, still trying to make sense of what happened.

“Shh—it’s okay! I’m okay.” He pulls me closer to him and I rest my head on his chest. He strokes my hair and I can hear his heart beating. I breathe in and out, striving to match my pulse with his. 

“Shh…” he repeats. 

I close my eyes. I can still hear them. They were laughing.

I’ve been awake for the past hour, slumped on a recliner next to Livia’s bed, where I slept last night. After she went back to sleep, I moved over here because I didn’t know if she would want me sleeping on her bed. Asleep, she barely moves, and her face relaxes in a calm, serene expression, totally different from last night.

She worried me last night, tossing and turning, her breathing heavy, and tears coming out of her shut eyes. She screamed my name over and over—my heart fell, half in fear for her and half in joy that she cared so much about me even in her sleep. 

She moves and pulls the blanket over her head, still sleeping peacefully, and the sunlight kisses the edge of her hand. I get up for some toothpaste to wash my mouth, and since I’m already in her bathroom, I splash water over my face and I brush my hair out of my eyes. 

I wonder if Mom called Matt’s house to check on me. She usually doesn’t do that, but I wasn’t able to reach her last night, so I left a message telling her I would stay the night over at Matt’s. He said he’d cover for me.

I walk back in the bedroom and Livia is sitting up on her bed. “Good morning,” she says, a little shy. She bites her bottom lip and I restrain myself from jumping in that bed with her. 

“Morning!” I sit in the recliner to put my shoes on. “Feeling better?” 

She nods. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t normally have nightmares.”

“Do you remember what it was about? You were screaming for me.”

“Was I? I don’t really remember.” Her face flushes a little, but she mostly looks troubled.

She slides out from under the covers and walks to the bathroom without another word. I hear the shower turn on, so I get up and walk around her room. It’s a nice room, well decorated; there are tons of paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Brianna once told me that a person’s room says a lot about their personality. If there’s one thing this room says about Livia, it’s how different she is. I’ve never seen a teenage girl’s room this unique and mature. There are paintings on the wall and ceramic artwork on the floor, but what calls my attention is the lack of pictures. Not even one. 

A moment later, she walks back out. She’s wearing black yoga pants and a white I Heart NY t-shirt. Her hair hangs wet over her shoulders, she still looks positively exhausted, and she’s perfect.

“Thanks for staying. I didn’t want to be here by myself.”

“You owe me,” I say, and she smiles. “Do you know when your parents will be back?”

“Maybe today. I need to call them.”

All of a sudden, I remember, “I volunteer at the hospital today.” And the clock by her bed says I’m going to be late. 

“Oh, yeah. Um, thanks again.”

“No problem.” 

I don’t move and neither does she. There’s awkwardness between us, as if she’s trying to stay away from me. I take one step closer and she takes one step back, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “I slept on the recliner, if that’s what you are worried about.”

“No, no…”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing.” 

I chuckle and take a deep breath, debating whether to push her further or turn around and leave. I look at her and, for a fraction of a second, I see fear in her eyes. I walk closer to her, ignoring her apprehension.

“Just tell me, what is it?”

She crosses her arms tighter before she finally exhales, “They killed you—I mean, in my dream. You were tortured and killed because of me.”

“I thought you didn’t remember.” 

“I didn’t want to talk about it. It seemed so real and you were hurt and they were laughing. It was awful.” 

I step up to her and hold her in my arms, and she leans her head on my chest. “It was just a bad dream.” 

She tilts her head up, her blue eyes searching my face. I trace my finger down her cheek. She closes her eyes, and I kiss her.

*                            *                              *

I stop at home before heading to the hospital, but enter my room from the patio door. Mom is at home and I don’t want an interrogation. I just need to change my clothes and head out. But as I walk back to the Jeep, she walks outside, shouting my name. I turn around to look at her; she’s walking towards me, holding something in her hands.

“Are you going to the hospital?”

“Yeah, all day today.”

“I’ve packed some lunch for you and your dad.” She hands me a bag with two plastic containers in it, and I almost allow myself to feel relieved. “I know you didn’t stay at Matt’s last night. I’m disappointed that you lied to me, Adam.”

I blanch. “What?” 

“Matt was over at Brianna’s last night, and you weren’t there, but we’ll talk about it later. Go get this food to your father before his afternoon surgery.” She turns around to leave without another word.

Mom called. My family is on their way home, and Uncle Henry is staying the night here. In the meantime, I looked up St. Cecilia's Church and Convent on the web. I’ve dialed their number a couple times, but I keep losing my nerve and hanging up when someone answers. I’m dialing it again—it rings three times, and the same lady with a rasping voice answers.

“Hi, I’m looking for Sister Angelina.” My voice shakes a bit.

“I am sorry, but Sister Angelina passed away last Tuesday.”

“Yes, Angelina Olsen, but I wanted to talk to the other Sister Angelina.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re referring to. There was only one sister Angelina at St. Cecilia’s.”

My breath comes short. “Um, yes, thank you for your time!” I hang up the phone and bury my face in my hands. This is exactly what I feared. Then who is this Angelina that went looking for my family last Thursday? My mom must have an explanation for that.

I end up trying to keep my mind occupied. I could take Bento for a walk, but I actually have some studying to do for school. I sit on the couch and open my history book. Half an hour later, I haven’t read one page. My thoughts are buzzing like a beehive. 

I think about Sister Angelina and my birth parents. I think about Adam and everything I’m hiding from him. Has he noticed? Sometimes when he looks at me, I feel that we connect, and he just understands me. He tries to give me privacy, but I can tell he wants to know more; he’s waiting for me to open up. 

I put my book down when I hear Bento barking at the door, and Mom steps inside the house a moment later.

“Mom?” She turns to face me with a big smile on her face.

“Hi, Livia!” She gives me her usual big hug hello. “We got stuck in the border traffic. How are you?” 

“Where is everyone else?” I ask.

“Your dad took Henry and the boys down to see the horses.”

“How is Grandma doing?”

“She is doing well. She has a nurse at her house helping her with daily tasks.” 

Mom leaves it at that and walks into the kitchen, putting a frozen pizza in the oven as she announces, “Everyone is starving!” 

I move into the dining room and automatically begin setting the table. I need to distract myself, keep calm and not throw one hundred questions in her face. I don’t want to make dinner unpleasant, so I settle for waiting for the right time.

Dad and Uncle Henry walk in the house through the back door, and the boys follow. “I’m starving!” Ian chirps. “Is the food ready yet?”

“Hello to you, Ian!” I quip good-naturedly.

I greet them all and we sit down for dinner. Dad gets straight to it and tells the whole story about Grandma having a heart attack on the cruise ship and how well the company handled the situation. He says we are all going to visit her when she’s ready for guests. Uncle Henry needs to get back to New York tomorrow, but he’ll be coming here more often to visit Grandma.

I hear them talking, their voices echoing in my head for minutes on end, but I can’t pay attention. It’s not until after the meal, when Mom has taken the boys upstairs for a shower, do I sit back down at the clean table and interrupt the conversation between my father and Henry.

“We need to talk,” I say, and I instantly feel their emotions shifting from concern to apprehension, and the veil comes up. Uncle Henry is the first one to cover up. As always, his shield is solid. But they are both drinking wine, and both veils are weaker than usual.

“What is it, Livia?” Dad asks.

“As you probably know, Sister Angelina passed away. But before that, she left this message on our answering machine.” I get up and play it back for them. Dad immediately flushes with disappointment. 

“Livia, Sister Angelina was not able to contact me before she passed. Your mom tried to call many times, but she was never available. I’m sorry.” 

I look to my Uncle Henry. “But she did contact Uncle Henry, didn’t she? You know what she wanted, don’t you?” 

He gives me the Look, and at that moment, I can tell that he hasn’t told Dad about it, and I don’t think he was planning to. He looks at my dad and grimaces. “Sorry, Nick. I wanted to wait until you had less going on.” Uncle Henry turns to face me. “Livia, I’m afraid I don’t have good news.” 

He looks from me to Dad, shaking his head. “She told me someone came asking for Nick at the convent. The person was a woman in her early twenties, looking for the baby that was dropped off there seventeen years ago. The woman didn’t know if the baby was a boy or a girl and was definitely too young to be your biological mother. Sister Angelina assumed that the woman was a reporter. She believed someone tipped her off and she was fishing for a story on illegal adoption supported by the church.” 

I nod, but it doesn’t make too much sense to me. “If someone knew about the adoption, why didn’t they tell on the church seventeen years ago?”