Read Online April & Oliver by Tess Callahan - Free Book Online Page B

the chair, and faces April. “Where’s Oliver?” she demands.
    “How do I know?”
    “Have you seen him since he moved back?”
    “What does that have to do with anything?” April feels light-headed. A few bites of Oliver’s sandwich last night; has she
     eaten since then? She remembers pangs of hunger during the night, but they passed. When she awoke, her body was calm, craving
     nothing. Now her vision is dark at the edges, the room wavering. No, she will not pass out. Not in front of Nana. She grabs
     hold of a chair and lowers herself into it. “Sit down,” she says to Nana. “You haven’t told me yet how you want your hair.”
    “What’s his number?” Nana says, moving to the phone. “I think I have it on speed call in the bedroom. I put the new number
     in last week. I knew he’d come back eventually, didn’t you, April?”
    “It’s temporary, Nana. Don’t walk without your brace.”
    April lets her go, praying that she will make it to the bedroom without falling. She hears the creak of bedsprings as Nana
     sits down.
Thank God,
April thinks. She lowers her head between her knees, hair whisking the floor. She counts backward, waiting for the dark spots
     to recede. She hears Nana’s voice calling into Oliver’s answering machine.
    April straightens up, dizzy but steadier, her vision clearing. She stands, holding the table, and opens the refrigerator.
     She takes out the orange juice and forces herself to take a few sips, drinking straight from the carton.
Okay,
she decides, replacing it.
I’m all right.
    She finds Nana sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the telephone with two hands. April takes it from her, listening to
     the dead air on the other end. “Nana,” she says, hanging up. “You’re using up his tape.”
    When Nana looks up at her, April sees her fear. “I’m just tired,” April says. “I’m sorry I scared you. Come; let’s get you
     into some dry clothes.” Nana’s hair has dampened her shoulders. She allows April to help her.
    “Where is he?” Nana says, taking a photograph from her nightstand. April shivers, thinking she means Buddy, then sees she
     is holding a picture of Oliver. For as long as April can remember, Nana has kept his picture closest to her, under the halo
     of light at her bedside. There are no priests in the family. Oliver, good-hearted and attentive, is the next best thing. For
     all these years, he has continued to call her every Sunday, and every Monday April has been subjected to a detailed installment
     of his life, often more than April cares to know. She wonders if Oliver ever asked about her, and if so, what Nana might have
     said.
Still working at that bar! Still dating hoodlums!
    “She’s got no Spanish blood, that girl,” Nana says with a sigh.
    “Neither did Spencer, and look how he turned out,” April says. “Bernadette’s a good person, Nana. Don’t worry about them.”
    Nana replaces the photograph, Oliver’s college graduation picture, not one of April’s favorites. His hair is overly coiffed,
     his smile stiff; perhaps the tie was constraining him.
    Nana picks up the other photograph on the nightstand, taken on Oliver’s eighth birthday, the summer solstice, an evening warm
     and bright. April remembers the party, the endless game of keep-away, the neighbors’ children one by one called home to dinner
     until only she and Oliver were left. When he thought the game was over, she stole his Boy Scout canteen, a birthday gift from
     his father. Deep in the yard he caught up with her, grabbed the canvas strap. They whirled in a circle, both holding on with
     two hands, spinning faster and faster, centrifugal force pulling them apart, their grip holding them together. The speed was
     terrifying, dizzying, like a tornado. They reeled until they could not stop, their momentum defying gravity. If either one
     released his hold, the other would go flying, but neither let go.
    In the photograph, their image is blurred. It is hard