Page 41 of Our Own Light

Hours later, Oliver was standing on the sidewalk on the outskirts of the city, in front of his Aunt Betty’s home—a canary yellow mansion with black shutters and a large, well-kept porch. He wondered if she would remember him. He hadn’t seen her for... God, had it been over ten years?

While the two of them hadn’t been especially close back in New York, Oliver had still enjoyed her presence, especially since she was the only other person in his family who never seemed to meet the expectations that had been placed on her. Aunt Betty had never married. Not only that, but she had been more interested in education than homemaking. Her peculiarity must have played into her leaving. At the time, Oliver had thought it strange that Aunt Betty had followed him and his immediate family to New York from Cleveland only to vanish less than a year later.

But now Oliver understood the urge to run from those people. Perhaps that was something they could bond over.

Oliver raked a hand through his hair. Though he was terrified of potential rejection, he needed someone to talk to—someone who might understand him a little, someone who might make him feel like he wasn’t alone. Sure, Oliver had Floyd, but Floyd had Effie. While Oliver had played pool with Roy and had chatted with John sometimes, Roy and John were married to women, too. All Oliver wanted was to talk to someone who might help him feel less strange.

Mustering every last scrap of courage inside him, Oliver walked up the stairs and knocked. Twenty or thirty seconds later, Aunt Betty answered. She was somehow both taller and smaller than he remembered. When he was a child, she had towered over him, but now she was several inches shorter than he was. While it made sense, it was still strange. It served as an unsettling reminder that Oliver was supposed to be an adult, even though he scarcely ever felt like one. Aunt Betty looked the same otherwise but with more wrinkles. Also, her previously blonde hair was now mixed with shades of white and light gray, and she wore it piled high atop her head. It made her look regal. Like the fucking Queen of Charleston.

“Hi,” Oliver said, putting on his best smile.

“I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re selling,” she said, turning right back around. God, she had barely even looked at him!

“Oh, sorry, I’m not selling anything,” he sputtered, stopping her in her tracks. “It’s Oliver!”

Aunt Betty whirled around, and the moment their eyes met, she sucked in a breath.

“Oliver?!”

He couldn’t yet tell whether or not she was happy about it.

“Yes, that’s me. Henry’s son. Not that you want to be reminded of him. Probably.”

Shock transformed into scrutiny. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why are you here?”

Ah, so, she maybe wasn’t exactly happy to see him, then.

“Just, you know, to say hello.”

“Did my brother send you?”

“God, no. I left. Permanently.”

She hummed a little, seeming to think this over.

“Come in.”

Oliver followed her inside. Her home was beautiful, the walls decorated with stunning flower wallpaper and furnished with tasteful cherry oak furniture. Oliver was immediately taken aback by the charm it had. Even though Oliver knew that his home in New York had probably been beautiful, too, he remembered it having such an ugliness about it. Perhaps every horrible event that had ever transpired within its walls was preventing him from thinking anything nice about it now. If Floyd were here, Oliver would have probably said that his house in New York had been lovely.

Thinking of Floyd had Oliver suddenly feeling lightheaded. Because he simultaneously never wanted to see Floyd again and wanted to see Floyd that very second. It was wildly disorienting.

“Are you well?” Aunt Betty asked as they took a seat in what looked to be her own private library.

“Not at the moment,” Oliver answered truthfully, panic and regret swirling inside him, the sensations making it harder to breathe.

“Did you just arrive from New York?” she asked. “Where are your bags?”

Pushing past his rising upset, Oliver said, “No, I, uhm, I live in Rock Creek now.”

“Why on earth would you have moved there?”

“Because I wanted to... to move to a place where my parents wouldn’t find me, where they wouldn’t bother me anymore.”

“Oh. I see.”

“And, well, I knew you lived here in Charleston. I thought it might be nice to reconnect.” Aunt Betty only nodded thoughtfully in response. “Besides, who better to help me find work than our old family friend Frederick Donohue, right?”