Olivia wheeled me to the exit, and the two of them helped me into the backseat of Dad's SUV. Talk about a tension-filled ride home. Dad's eyes never strayed from the road ahead, and Olivia stared out the window, but nobody uttered a single word. Dad parked in his usual spot next to the house, even though he could have been considerate and parked closer. "Olivia, run inside and grab that pair of crutches from the hall closet, please." "Yes, Daddy," she said. Her eyes caught mine in the reflection of the glass before she pushed open her door and hopped out. I felt like I'd swallowed a bucket of wet cement, and it was starting to harden inside of my stomach. My leg bounced up and down, and I wanted to dissolve into vapor and float away on the predawn air. When Olivia came out of the house with the crutches in her hands, Dad heaved a heavy sigh and looked over his shoulder at me. His expression was the same face I made that time I drank that chalky shit at the doctor's office. A cross between wanting to puke and wanting to kill someone for making me drink it.
