The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [94]
“You can't let anything go, can you? You just can't.”
“No. Not when it comes to my children. Because that's sacred ground. To me, anyway.”
They drive the rest of the way in cold silence. When they arrive at the rehab hospital, Oliver isn't in bed, but in a chair with a blanket over his legs. He is freshly shaved and his wiry hair has been trimmed closer than she's ever seen it. He's lost weight and his color is good. Except for his drooping right eye you might not think anything had happened to him.
“Oliver!” Determined to be cheery, she kisses his cheek and holds out her arms, then knows instantly not to. Fond as they've always been of each other, theirs was never a hugging relationship and won't be now. No matter his troubles. And seeing his clenched jaw, she's afraid he's angry she's here.
In his struggle to communicate Oliver hardly seems to notice her. This must be what Ken meant after his last visit. Perseveration, he called it. Once his brother gets something in his head, he can't seem to get past it. He gets stuck on a topic and won't let it go. Wasn't he always like that, in a way, Nora said, but sitting here now, observing, she understands.
A week's worth of Chronicles is piled in Ken's lap. With one eye still seeing double, Oliver can't read for very long. So Ken has been reading aloud excerpts from various articles. Particularly, stories about the election, the two openings on the city council. One of the candidates is Helen McNally Oliver's old nemesis in local politics. Nora winces as Ken plods on, unaware of the irony here. She can see it in Oliver's trembling lips. For weeks now the Chronicle has had McNally under their microscope. This isn't the way Oliver runs the paper. This isn't even Ken's doing, but Joe Creel's, the managing editor. With Oliver gone, Creel runs what he wants, one less task for Ken.
“Get this,” Ken says, shaking the paper for emphasis. “Records show that over the past four years McNally has accumulated nine hundred and eighty-five dollars' worth of unpaid parking tickets,” he reads.
What the article doesn't report is that McNally paid those tickets last summer. Stop, she wants to tell Ken. In trying to impress his brother, he's making him feel more helpless. Oliver grunts and gestures with his good hand but can't articulate his thoughts. Something about Stephen, it seems. Ken continues reading.
“No!” Oliver says with a thump on the tray table. “Don't! We don't …”
“What? We don't what?” Ken looks over the paper, concerned.
“Read … the … read,” Oliver says, shaking his head. “The point … it's no …”
“You're tired. Want me to stop? I don't blame you. Getting a little sick of hearing my own voice,” Ken says, with that chipper nod she knows drives Oliver crazy.
“No!” Oliver says in disgust, his face purple. “You don't know.” Every word is a struggle. “You … you never know. You don't care. That's … that's how. Why,” he adds, and his head sags in defeat.
“Oliver,” she says, but he still won't look at her.
“I told her … not to … you … don't … not to bring … her.”
“Aw, c'mon.” Ken reaches to pat his brother's shoulder. “Don't make Nora—”
“Don't! Don't … touch me,” Oliver shouts, and Ken looks stunned. The corners of Oliver's mouth glisten with foamy spittle. His chest rises and falls with agitated breathing. He rocks in his chair. Like a cornered child.
“Oliver?” she says quietly, slipping into the old role, conduit between them. “I'm sorry. Do you want me to leave? I know, I shouldn't have come. But I wanted to see you.”
“Well … here.” Oliver tries to hold out his good arm, even that clearly an effort. “For your … your … pressure.” Again, in his eyes that flash of panic, to have lost his language, to be unable to express himself the way he wants to, the way he used to, in all his sardonic incisiveness. She manages a weak smile. If she speaks she knows she'll cry, but his resentful stare turns to his brother.
Stephen stopped in this morning, Oliver finally manages to get them to understand. “On his way to … fly …” He shakes his fist, frustrated.
“Fly.