Wish (5 page)

The bathroom was empty when she peeked behind the door, and so she locked herself inside, wondering if she’d survive a jump from the window.

And wondering if she cared.

“No throw up.”

Olivia was slumped in the back of the cab she’d flagged at the end of Graham’s block, her head bobbing against the cool, foggy glass. The bearded driver squinted at her through the rearview mirror, carefully evaluating her puke potential.

“I just have seats reupholstered. Very expensive.” He wagged a finger. “You throw up, you pay.”

Olivia nodded and immediately felt dizzy from the effort. She let her head fall back against the seat and folded her arms over her face.

It had started as a bit of a slosh in her belly. And then the room had started to spin. She couldn’t remember exactly what she’d had to drink, after the first glass of wine at the office
party, half of a beer, and the shots of something fruity she’d been offered on her way back from the bathroom, after…

Olivia cringed, a sudden flash of Soren’s lopsided smile onstage blurring in her mind’s eye. Then Calla falling into his lap as Graham counted backward from ten, her hands around Soren’s neck, leaning in for a midnight kiss.

A hollow feeling grew in the pit of her stomach, and Olivia fumbled for the window, opening it a crack. The crisp night air filtered in, drying the damp sweat on her forehead. As much as she’d hated it while she was there, she missed Willis, her old school and friends, the lame parties, the drunken jocks, the girls who were superficial and fake, fine, but at least they knew who she was.

Mostly, she missed Violet.

Olivia squeezed back hot tears too late, and a few escaped, falling heavily onto her dress.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be,
she thought.
Violet would never have let this happen. I want my sister. I want my sister. I want my sister.

“I just wish I had my sister back,” she whispered out loud, her hands over her eyes, pressing the tears against her wet cheeks.

It happened so fast that later on she’d wonder if she was hallucinating. But as soon as she’d opened her eyes, a strong, sturdy breeze whipped through the cracked window, carrying with it what looked, at first, like a lightning bug.

It swirled around the back of the cab, frantic and confused. Olivia quickly figured it was trying to get out, and reached across the seat to open the window. But instead of immediately flying through, the neon insect slowed the flapping of its
wings, settling gently on Olivia’s knee before taking flight and disappearing back into the night sky.

The bug had only been still for a second, but it had been long enough for Olivia to realize it wasn’t a lightning bug at all. It was just as tiny, and just as bright, but its wings were wide and broad and swirled with silver and gold.

It was a butterfly.

O
livia woke in the middle of the night with what felt like battery acid coating her mouth, gripped by a sudden, mind-numbing thirst.

Water.

She squinted one eye open, gathering up the strength to lift her heavy head from the pillow, and reached across to her bedside table. She fumbled for a glass of stale tap water and gulped it down, oblivious to the tiny particles of dust that had settled on the surface. Hauling herself onto her elbows, she gripped her head in her hands to lessen the intense pounding, which seemed to be reverberating all the way down to the ligaments in her ankles. Slowly, she opened her eyes, allowing them to drift to the floor, where a shadowy heap of dark material lay next to the foot of her bed.

The dress.

Olivia groaned out loud, the events of the night before rushing back like the incoming tide. Like it wasn’t bad enough she’d made a complete jerk of herself, wearing a ball gown to
a toga party and stalking Soren by the bathroom, but she was hallucinating now, too? A fluorescent butterfly?

“Am I losing my mind?” she whispered out loud.

“Basically, but what else is new.”
A crisp, mocking voice came from somewhere nearby.

Olivia whipped her head around, looking back toward the hulking headboard, then out through the gently blowing curtains.

“Hello?” she called quietly out into the darkness, feeling ridiculous.

Nothing.

“Awesome,” she muttered. “Now I’m hearing voices.”

“Oh, would you calm down?”
the laughing voice ridiculed.
“You may be crazy, but you’re not schizophrenic.”

Olivia’s heart jumped, landing somewhere up around the middle of her throat. She threw the covers back and hurriedly tiptoed to the door, pulling it open and craning her neck to see up and down the hall. It was empty and silent. She shivered and hugged her elbows, closing herself back inside.

Nobody.

Her nose twitched and tickled. What was that smell?

A thin stream of cigarette smoke swirled from behind her. Olivia looked down and followed the curling, smoky trail past her bed, past the window, all the way to the small, crooked door at the back of her room. The door was open just a crack and spilling a shaft of cool blue light onto the floor.

Olivia put her hand to the knob and took a deep, steadying breath before pulling the door open and peering inside. There, lounging on the windowsill, smoking a cigarette and backlit by the eerie glow of a full moon, was her sister.

“Violet?” Olivia whispered into the darkness, stepping through the door and slowly making her way across the room. She felt as if she were gliding, her feet floating inches above the crooked floorboards. It was as if the rest of the world disappeared and all she could see was her sister, her milky-skinned, freckle-faced, beautiful sister, waiting for her across the room.

“You forgot my name already?” Violet laughed, hopping down from the sill and opening her arms wide on either side, an invitation.

Olivia stood frozen in the middle of the room, arms heavy as cement by her sides.

Violet took another step forward and waved one hand in front of her sister’s blank face.

“Hello?” Violet prompted, her pale blue eyes sparkling as she shook her sister gently by the elbows. “Can a girl get a hug, please?”

Olivia swallowed the lump that was throbbing in her throat. “What…but…” she stammered. “I…I don’t understand.”

Violet huffed an impatient sigh and shook Olivia’s elbows, pulling her sister in to her chest. “It’s a simple concept, O,” she joked, squeezing her sister tight. “I hug you. You hug me. See?”

Olivia’s eyes burned and she felt herself slowly melting into her sister’s arms, burying her face in the waves of Violet’s perfect, loose curls.

Sea salt and strawberry-kiwi shampoo.

“It’s you,” Olivia whispered into the side of Violet’s neck. “It’s really you?”

“Last time I checked, there were only two of us,” Violet laughed, pushing Olivia away and separating entangled strands of their matching cinnamon red locks.

“But, what…” Olivia started, shaking her head. “I mean, you’re…”

Violet took a long, exaggerated drag from her cigarette before ashing it outside.

“You don’t smoke,” Olivia announced. “I mean, you never used to—”

“One of the perks.” Violet smiled, waving the flickering butt in front of her face. “Cigarettes can’t kill you if you’re already dead.”

Olivia slowly walked toward the window. “So, you are…” she stuttered. “I mean, you’re still—”

“As a doornail, I’m afraid.” Violet nodded and took another exaggerated drag.

Olivia looked back through the open door toward the shadow of her bed, the rumpled pile of blankets leaning in a heap to one side. She stared long and hard at her sister before shaking her head and marching back across the room.

Collapsing with a sigh onto the edge of her bed and falling back against the pillows, Olivia pulled the blankets up and over her face. She took a few shallow, labored breaths, her eyes pressed shut.

It had to be a dream.

Olivia took one more breath before squeezing handfuls of soft fabric up by her ears, and flinging the comforter back down to her lap.

“Ta-da!” Violet exclaimed, standing over her on top of the bed. “Still here.”

Olivia curled her legs up underneath her body and scooted back against the headboard. “Okay,” she spoke, her voice calm and reasonable. “Okay. So, you’re—”

“Dead,” Violet said flatly, flopping to cross-legs on the bed beside her sister. “Dead, O, you can say it. It won’t make me any deader to say it out loud.”

“Right,” Olivia said. “Sorry. You’re dead. But also…”

Violet smiled, the cigarette perched casually at the corner of her lips.

“You’re here?” Olivia asked quietly.

Violet took the burning filter from her mouth and flicked it across the room and through the open window.

“Either that,” she said, placing a gentle hand on Olivia’s trembling knee, “or this is one hell of a hangover.”

“O
f course they wait until I’m dead to do something like this.”

Violet and Olivia were crouched on the balcony outside of Olivia’s room, knees hugged tightly into their shirts to keep warm in the chilly predawn air. Across the street, Dolores Park was covered in half shadows, the tall row of trees cutting a ragged silhouette against the lifting curtain of night.

“Like what?” Olivia asked. The pounding in her head had somewhat lessened and had been quickly replaced by a jumble of cloudy memories and frantic questions.

Starting with: Was it possible that one of her drinks last night had been laced with a hallucinogenic drug?

“Like this!” Violet flung her arms wide, indicating the picturesque city skyline that was just beginning to assert itself from beneath the darkness. From up here, the rows of pastel houses looked like a page from a pop-up book. It was a stunning view, but Olivia couldn’t take her eyes off of her sister.

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are to live here?” Violet asked, snapping another cigarette free from a pack in her pocket.

Olivia kept staring at her sister’s profile.
Violet.
Violet was back. Violet was sitting right beside her. She looked a little paler, maybe, and a little thinner, too—Olivia noticed a trail of blue veins crisscrossing the insides of her sister’s wrists, veins she didn’t remember ever seeing before. But other than that, it was the same old Violet. The same wild, copper-colored hair; the same sparkling, impish eyes.

She was even wearing the same knee-length jean cutoffs, the ones she’d made from an old pair of Sevens, which fit perfectly up top but had been about two inches two short at the ankles. And the same apple green lace camisole she always wore under dresses in the summer.

It was exactly the outfit Violet had been wearing the last time Olivia had seen her, on the beach that night…

“What’s up?” Violet asked, inhaling deeply as she struck a match.

Olivia shook her head, mute. If she started asking questions, it would mean she was starting to believe. It would mean she’d accepted that this was actually happening.

“You still don’t believe this is actually happening, do you?”

Olivia’s eyes shot up to her sister’s face.

Violet smiled and rocked on her hips, nudging Olivia’s side and shoulder. “Don’t look so horrified!” she shouted. “It’s not like we couldn’t read each other’s minds when I was alive. Why should it be any different now?”

Olivia chewed at the inside of her lip. Violet, or the ghost of Violet, or the drug-induced apparition Olivia had accidentally
conjured that looked a lot like Violet…
Whoever
she was, she did have a point. “But,” Olivia quietly began, “how?”

Violet shrugged. “Does it matter?” she asked, flashing her sister a tricky smile.

Olivia rolled her eyes. Violet had been back for less than an hour and already she was being difficult. “Kind of,” Olivia hissed. “I mean, you go to sleep and your sister is dead. You wake up, and she’s smoking butts on the balcony. It’s not exactly your average turn of events.”

Violet took a deep drag off her cigarette and ashed it between the chipped-white bars of the painted iron railing. “Well,” she said, “you know how I feel about average.”

Without thinking, Olivia reached forward and pinched the glowing cigarette from between her sister’s lips. “True,” she said, flicking the stub out over the balcony. “And you know how
I
feel about smoking.”

Violet watched with wide eyes as the cigarette sailed to the sidewalk below.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But you don’t have to be such a grump. It’s not like any of this was up to me.”

“Then who?!” Olivia demanded, her voice suddenly loud and brash.

“Easy.” Violet flinched. “Just because I’m a ghost doesn’t mean people can’t still hear
you.
”

“Then
who
?” Olivia repeated in a stern whisper. “Who was it up to? How did you get back here? And where have you been? And…what the hell is going on?”

Violet looked long and hard into her sister’s eyes before opening her face into her trademark silly grin and tossing off yet another infuriating shrug.

Olivia groaned, a familiar swell of frustration rising up from the pit of her stomach. It was a feeling as old and comfortable as any other she’d known, and one that usually resulted in the overwhelming desire to take Violet by the arms and shake her silly.

And now, Olivia thought with a sudden pang to her heart, she could.

She turned quickly to her sister and reached out her hands, laying one gently on each of Violet’s shoulders.

They felt like Violet’s shoulders.

Olivia cupped her hands firmly against the backs of her sister’s triceps, the tiny little bumps both girls had always shared, tickling the pads of her fingers like Braille. She pressed her palms over the bony mounds of Violet’s shoulders, and shook.

Violet’s head waggled back and forth, her jaw shuddering, her eyes wide with alarm. “What the hell?” she demanded, wriggling free.

Olivia slowly took her hands away and brought them back to her lap, shaking her head, a small smile creeping its way to the corners of her lips. “Just checking,” she said.

Violet stood and looked out over the railing, heaving an exhausted sigh. “Fine,” she surrendered. “I can tell we’re not going to have any fun here until we get you some answers.”

“That’s right.” Olivia nodded.

“So…” Violet clapped her hands together. “Let’s retrace our steps!”

Olivia smiled. This was one of their mother’s favorite games. Whenever Violet lost something—which was often—Bridget would appear out of nowhere to lead her through a step-by-step
reenactment of the events leading up to the forsaken object’s disappearance. Violet would stomp around, refusing to participate, but without fail, their mother’s thorough investigation would always produce the missing item—keys in the cushion of the couch, cell phone on top of the toilet—and Violet would be forced to admit defeat.

“Okay,” Olivia said, closing her eyes. “I was at Mom’s cocktail reception.”

“Yeah, too bad I didn’t make it back in time for that,” Violet deadpanned.

Olivia shot her sister a withering glare.

“Sorry,” Violet said. “Proceed.”

“Okay, then I was at the party.” Olivia’s voice shrank. “I was really upset.”

“About what?” Violet asked.

“About
everything
,” Olivia said softly. “The night was a disaster without you. I drank too much, I didn’t really have anybody to talk to, I was a total loser. I wished you were there.”

Violet nodded, waiting for more.

“No,” Olivia said, straightening her legs out toward the railing and turning to face Violet head-on. “Seriously. I
wished
for you. Out loud. In the cab.”

Violet looked down at her sideways. “You mean, like…” Violet paused, scrunching her features together, the way she did when she had been called on in class and didn’t know the answer. “Fairy-tale style?”

Olivia shrugged. “I guess,” she said, trembling panic seeping back into her voice. “I don’t know. All I know is that I wished for you, the glowing butterfly flew out of my dress and into the night…and now you’re here.”

Olivia reached back for a few strands of hair, twirling them together around one finger and inspecting their dry, fraying ends. She kept her eyes on the sidewalk below. The sun was just coming up, and a few hard-core bikers were already zipping across the pavement. If she looked back at her sister, Olivia knew she’d start crying, or laughing, or both, and that wouldn’t get them anywhere.

Violet cleared her throat. “Um, Olivia,” she began slowly, “what butterfly?”

Olivia rolled her eyes. It was bad enough she had to see it, but saying it out loud was like pouring a box of salt over a bloody, open wound. “There was this butterfly,” she said heavily. “I guess it was like a tag, or something, sewn into my dress—”

“What dress?”

“The dress the girl in the Mission made me,” Olivia explained. “After I took yours in to have it fixed.”

Violet just stared at her. “Okay, so what happened to the butterfly?”

Olivia threw up her hands. “I told you!” she huffed. “It flew away. Into the night. Bye-bye, butterfly. Hello, sister-ghost.”

Violet didn’t waste any time with dramatic pauses, immediately erupting into a fit of hysterical laughter, kicking her bare feet against the iron balcony, her long, bright curls shaking out around her face.

“Stop it!” Olivia commanded. “This isn’t funny. This is my
life
, okay? I have no idea what’s going on. You asked me what happened, and that’s what happened. All right?”

Violet composed herself and looked hard into Olivia’s jumping blue eyes. “All right,” she said. “So then what? The wish, the magical butterfly, and what happens next?”

Olivia searched the deepest spaces in her memory, trying to come up with something,
anything
, that could possibly explain even part of what had occurred since then. “And that’s it,” she gave up. “I woke up, and you were here.”

Violet stared at her for a long moment, her blue eyes squinting and serious. “Okay.” She nodded. “I think we need to talk about this dress.”

“We’re closed.”

The tinny chimes were still ringing overhead as Olivia stepped carefully into Mariposa of the Mission.

“She always says that,” Olivia whispered under her breath to Violet, who was as dumbstruck as Olivia had been that first rainy afternoon, eyes darting from one bald and haphazardly attired mannequin to another.

During the walk over, Violet had coached Olivia on what to say when they got there, and Olivia had pretended to listen, but she’d been too distracted searching the early-morning faces of everybody they passed. Could they see Violet? Could they hear her? Or did Olivia just look like a lunatic, nodding to herself as she hurried along the sidewalk? After a few sideways glances from a homeless guy pushing a shopping cart, she was pretty sure the latter was the case.

Inside the shop, Posey was spread out on the couch, her back to Olivia, with a new paperback open in her lap. This one had a tropical theme, with a brawny guy lounging against a palm tree and a busty bikini model straddling his lap in the sand.

“Hi.” Olivia spoke tentatively.

“What part of
closed
was confusing?” Posey closed the book quickly and looked up.

“Oh.” She started. “It’s you.”

Olivia nodded.

Violet’s instructions had been simple: Olivia would explain about the dress. And the butterfly. And, without going into too much detail, she’d
suggest
that something, well, even stranger had happened overnight. And then they’d wait, for what was sure to be a logical explanation.

But now that she was here, in the shop—which, the more Olivia looked around, was really just an old, grimy seamstress’s studio—the whole plan sounded a little, well…insane.

“Hi,” Olivia repeated, exhaling and playing with the tips of her nails. “I was just…I mean, I just came to—” She could feel Violet’s eyes burning into the side of her face. “I mean…I thought I should…pay you!” Olivia spat suddenly. “For the dress! I forgot before, and then I remembered. So here I am!”

Violet flopped her arms to her side and groaned.

This had not been part of the plan.

“Okay,” Posey said cautiously, standing and heading toward the register.

Olivia reached for her wallet as Posey snapped open the drawer, which clanked and trembled into place.

“You know,” Posey began, rifling through a pile of receipts, “I wasn’t actually worried about not seeing you again.”

Olivia’s eyebrows wrinkled, and she wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe she saw the beginnings of a sly smile playing across Posey’s lips.

“What do you mean?” Olivia asked. Violet nudged her eagerly.

“I don’t know.” Posey shrugged. “Something just told me that you might have some…questions.”

“Oh,” Olivia stammered. “Well, I mean, I’m not sure I know how to—”

“For the love of God,” Violet whispered. “Just tell her!”

Olivia shot Violet a stern look before turning to Posey. She was about to return to her broken explanation when she realized that something in Posey’s posture had changed. She looked somehow taller, like her neck was stretching farther away from her body.

She looked like she was trying to listen.

“Posey?” Olivia asked.

Posey glanced quickly back in Olivia’s direction. “Yeah, I just…” Posey swatted the air. “I just thought I heard something. That’s all.”

Olivia’s heart was thumping so violently in her chest she was positive her whole body was vibrating.

“You were saying?” Posey asked.

“Well,” Olivia continued, “about the dress. Something kind of…out of the ordinary…did happen while I was wearing it.”

“Really?” Posey asked, shoving the register drawer shut noisily. “Like what?”

“You know, I mean, nothing too weird, but just”—Olivia talked in circles, buying time—“I think I saw a butterfly.”

Posey stared at her blankly.

Olivia felt small beads of sweat forming at the nape of her neck, and her tongue flicked anxiously at the corners of her mouth.

“Was it a monarch?” Posey asked, making her way back to
the couch and lowering herself into one corner. “I haven’t seen many yet myself. Usually the city is just swarming by now.” She picked up a piece of loose fabric and began folding it into quarters.

Olivia cleared her throat, searching for Violet out of the corner of her eye. Violet made a rolling gesture with her hands, cocking her head toward Posey and urging Olivia on. “Um, no.” Olivia took a deep, musty breath. “It was glowing. It was a glowing butterfly. And I think it came from my dress.”

Posey continued folding, smoothing out the creases with her hands and placing the fabric on the arm of the sofa. “And?” she asked, almost impatiently.

Olivia looked to Violet, who shrugged. “And…” Olivia continued, unsure of where to go next.

Posey picked up another swath of fabric and lined up the edges, the corners of her mouth pursing as she began to whistle softly.

Suddenly, Olivia’s cheeks were burning and her hands shook at her sides. “‘And’?” she repeated, her voice cracking as it grew more intense. “What do you mean, ‘and’?! I just told you that a butterfly, a
glowing butterfly
, flew out of my dress. The dress
you
made me. I was in a cab, I was crying, and there it was. And something tells me you know why.
And.
You’re going to tell me about it.” When Olivia had finished, her mouth was dry, and the throbbing was back behind her eyes. Violet was standing, mouth agape, and inching a bit toward the door.