Olive stared out through the broken window at her brown lawn. Upkeeping the yard wasn’t a chore Olive was willing to do, and was far from her father’s priorities. Olive herself wasn’t even one of his priorities.

A man in a blue uniform toting a cloth wagon strolled past the yard, not looking twice at it, or the dying plants in the flower beds. He stopped with a sort of proud air about him and placed a mail from his arms into Olive and her father’s peeling bright orange mailbox. Olive sat down in the window and watched him as he started to walk away. Olive wondered if he had a nice family. Maybe a couple kids and a golden retriever. Maybe he lived in a cul-de-sac.

He turned back at the last second, spotting Olive and waved an unnecessarily-gloved hand. Olive stared at him for a long second before melting into the hallway to avoid his gaze. Eye contact made her nervous. Dodging past empty beer bottles and broken glass and mauled wood that came from the hallway table, Olive peeked into the nearest bedroom to see if her father, Nathan, was asleep. He was passed out on top of his bed, fully clothed. That wasn’t surprising.

As she turned away, something crunched under her bare foot. Olive hissed and touched the bottom of her heel. Her finger came away red. Blood. Olive cast her eyes down, angry at whatever had cut her skin, even though she knew it was Nathan’s fault that there was broken glass in the hallway.

Her eyes softened.

It was the only picture that Olive and her father still had of her mother. All other ones had been burned by Nathan in an alcohol-induced rage. He must have missed this one somehow, but Olive was thankful that he did. Thankful. That was the wrong word.

Olive picked up the frame, careful not to give herself a splinter as she stared at the photo. Her mother stood in the middle of the kitchen, with an infectious smile on her face. She wore a red dress that stood out against her light brown skin. Another drop of red landed on the ground and Olive realized that her foot was still bleeding. Cursing, Olive tenderly shook the photo out of the broken frame and out of the crumbling glass. She slipped the photo silently into her pocket.

Her father hiccuped in the next room and turned over.
Olive walked past more destroyed rooms, more broken glass and splintered wood and pillow stuffing. She was tired of cleaning it up. She was tired of it all.

Praying silently to the God she didn’t believe in, she slipped out the squeaky front door. Please don’t wake up, Olive hoped. After no noise came from the house, Olive was encouraged to silently close the door. Nathan didn’t like her leaving the house, even to get the mail. Olive never really had a reason to leave the house, but she wanted to breath fresh air. Sometimes she would sneak out while Nathan slept, but she was always afraid that she’d get caught.

Olive’s light brown feet padded across the cement walkway, leaving behind one invisible footprint and one red one. She reached the mailbox and stuck one of her skinny arms in, pulling out the bundle. There was nothing of interest to her in the stack; newspapers, more and more invoices with scary red words stamped on them, some junk mail, and a letter from a nursing home.
This confused Olive. Why would they get a letter from a nursing home? Maybe they were asking for money. Well, the joke was on them. Olive and Nathan didn’t have any.

But curiosity overwhelmed Olive and she slid her thumbnail along the envelope flap and pulled the letter out.  Looking up at the house, she made sure her father wasn’t bursting through the door before she started to read.

The letter read: Dear the family of Olive Branson, this week is visitor appreciation week! Everyday this week family and friends will be treated to breakfast and lunch along with the residents of the nursing home. Hope to see you there! Sincerely, Smiling Faces Nursing Home.

A picture of giddy smiling flowers were pictured along the bottom of the letter. Olive gagged.

Olive looked back up at the name that it was addressed to; the family of Olive Branson. Olive’s heart skipped a beat. Olive didn’t know her nana, her namesake, was in a nursing home. It was very surprising; her nana was always such a strong and independent woman. She wouldn’t have gone to the nursing home without a fight.

When Olive’s mother ran away to marry Nathan, Nana made it clear that she was not welcome back into her house. When Olive was born, Nana let her visit the manor she lived in once a year, but all the visits consisted of Nana grilling Olive about her no-good father and sneaking unapproving looks at Olive’s overall skirts and polo shirts. If it was up to Nana, Olive would have worn dresses and tights everyday.

Nana didn’t even call when Olive’s mother died. She didn’t even bother to come to the funeral.

Olive glanced at the address, and realized she had passed it on the way to school everyday during the school year. She knew exactly where it was.

Olive didn’t even like her nana. Then why were her feet carrying her down the street? Why were her feet crossing the street? Why were her feet taking her further and further away from her house?
Olive managed to stop half a block before the nursing home. What would her father do if he woke up and she wasn’t there? He would freak out. Olive probably wouldn’t sunlight again until she was thirty. But then again… it was sort of thrilling to be on the streets, alone.

She could barely see the outpost sign with ‘Smiling Faces’ block letters written on it. Suddenly she became very self-conscious about her appearance. She still wasn’t wearing any shoes. Although the bleeding had already stopped, her feet were grimy and dirty. Her jeans and polo shirt were wrinkled and unwashed, and Olive was sure that she smelled. She hadn’t cared much about her appearance since her mom died, but now that she was in public again….

Olive looked to her left and saw a flower shop; Petunia’s Flowers.  Without knowing why, she ducked into the small shop.
The inside was filled with the aroma of flowers. Vases and coolers occupied with flowers filled every surface. The tiled floor was covered with purple and white petals, as if the roses and lilies had a fighting match on the floor. A girl with a nose ring and short pink hair behind the counter was cutting stems off of peonies. The girl took one look at her uncovered feet and wild curly hair and recoiled. “Um, can I help you?”

Olive ran her hands through her pockets and found a crumpled twenty dollar bill. Nathan had given to her to order some Chinese food or pizza last night, but she ended up just not eating anything. Olive pushed the bill across the counter and looked around. “I’ll take some… sunflowers?” Pink Hair took the dollar between her hands as if it were contaminated and fetched a bundle of bright sunflowers with plastic wrapped around their stems. Pink Hair returned five dollars and smiled at Olive encouragingly, as if saying, You can get out of my shop now.

Olive stepped out of the shop, thankful to be out of the smothering fragrances. The world now smelled like smoke and burning asphalt, and for that, she was thankful. Olive clutched the bundle of sunflowers closer to her chest, took a deep breath, and continued walking to Smiling Faces.

Maybe the flowers would give her a reason to be there. Maybe.
The building was new and modern, a lot like hospitals Olive had seen. She couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Olive padded into a living-room type place that had couches and soft carpet and a roaring fireplace, even though it was 90 degrees out and it was much too hot to sit next to a fire. Olive pulled her messy curls around her face, wanting to hide behind them. An older lady with a blue cardigan that was sitting behind a counter looked up from behind her glasses. “Can I help you dear?” The lady asked, not at all looking at her with the condescending look that Pink Hair had given her.

Olive gripped the slimy plastic of the sunflowers a little bit tighter. “I’m looking for my grandmother. Olive Branson?”

The lady (Blue Cardigan, Olive decided to call her) looked down at her computer and back at Olive. “Aw, sweetie, you look exactly like her! But I’m sorry, visiting hours are almost over.”

Olive felt a sense of panic. All she wanted was to see her nana! Was this a sign that she shouldn’t have come here? “Please, I need to see her,” Olive pleaded. Blue Cardigan paused, thinking for a moment. Then she winked at Olive so slowly Olive thought she was getting something out of her eye.

“I guess I can bend the rules a little bit for you, sweetie.” The lady stood up from the desk and beckoned to Olive to follow her. Blue Cardigan swiped a card in front of a sensor, and a double set of doors swung open to reveal a long hallway. This place was massive! She set off with a quick pace, with Olive at her heels.

They passed dining and recreation areas, where older people raised their sad faces to look at Olive. Olive kept her head down. Old people freaked her out.

Why was she here again?

They finally stopped in front of Room 142, where the door was wide open. Blue Cardigan blocked Olive from seeing Nana and knocked on the doorframe loudly. “Olive? Can I come in? There’s someone here to see you!”

A grunt of reply came from inside.

Blue Cardigan shooed Olive inside. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes, sweetie. Then I really can’t let you stay any longer.” Olive nodded and stepped inside her room.

Nana looked exactly like Olive remembered her. She had more white hair and a few more liver spots on her forehead, but she had the same frail old body that she had always had. She was wearing a pink shirt with a mysterious brown stain down the front, and was reclining in a bed that looked like it was barely an upgrade from a hospital bed. Nana looked up from the television by the foot of the bed.

“Hello!” Nana said cheerfully.

Wait, what? No ‘what are you doing here?’ or ‘why aren’t you wearing shoes?’

“Hi, Nana,” Olive said tentatively. “Um, I brought you some sunflowers.” She held out the sunflowers to Nana, but she was still too far away for Nana to reach them at all. Olive flinched and Nana opened her mouth, waiting for her to start reprimanding her or bombarding her with questions.

But all she said was, “I like sunflowers. Thank you.” Olive placed the sunflowers down on a nearby table and slowly sat down in a chair next to Nana.

“How are you doing Nana?” Olive asked. “When did you get here?”
Nana looked at Olive with no trace of anger or sadness. Just pure happiness. “I’m doing fine, dear. There’s this new program on India on the television. How are you?”

Olive frowned. Nana wasn’t answering her questions. Did she have dementia? How much of her nana was actually in there? “I’m doing fine, Nana,” Olive said, lying through her teeth.

Shockingly enough, Nana saw right through the lie. “Is there something bothering you dear? You can tell me.” Her frail little hands folded together as if she were waiting for Olive to spill.
And she did.

She told Nana all about her father and his alcoholic patterns, losing her mom, losing all her friends, about how she didn’t even celebrate her twelfth birthday ‘cause there was nothing really to celebrate. She told her about eating cold Chinese food everyday and about cleaning up the house daily.

Nana didn’t really react when Olive told her that her mom had died. If Nana didn’t remember Olive, she wouldn’t have remembered her daughter. But Olive took the picture of her mother out of her back pocket, smoothed the edges, and showed it to Nana. The elder lady grasped the edges of the photograph and stared at it intently. Olive was too afraid to take it back, so she told Nana, “It’s alright. You can have it.”

And when Blue Cardigan came back to get Olive, Nana reached over and took one of Olive’s crusty hands and whispered to her, “Hold on, dear. It’ll be fine. You can come back tomorrow, if you want.” Olive’s heart swelled. It was nice being able to talk to someone for the first time in ages, even if Nana didn’t fully understand. But then again, no one really understood. Nana looked like she was about to say something else, but her last words before Olive left were, “I like the sunflowers.”

***

The next day, Olive wore shoes. And clean overalls.
Nathan was out somewhere, probably interviewing for jobs he wouldn’t get because of his stench of alcohol and his face tattoo that he got once when he was drunk.

It took an hour for Olive to scrounge up $15 by using the leftover $5 from the day before and finding spare dollar bills in drawers and under couch cushions. Olive left the house without any hesitation and took off towards Petunia’s Flowers. When Olive entered the store, Pink Hair didn’t cringe like she did the day before. Olive didn’t even think Pink Hair recognized her. “A dozen sunflowers. Please.” She once again slid $15 across the counter and exited with a bundle of sunflowers held tightly against her chest.

Once again, she waited for Blue Cardigan (who was now wearing a yellow cardigan) to lead her to room 142. When she entered the room, she noticed that yesterday’s sunflowers were now standing in a vase, looking bright and cheery. “I brought you some more sunflowers,” Olive remarked, holding up the bunch.

Nana smiled. “Thank you, dear,” she said. Olive noticed the photograph was still clenched in her hands, as if Nana hadn’t set it down in the 16 hours that she’d had it.

And they chatted some more Nana’s newly paints nails and about Nathan. It seemed that this new Nana didn’t like Nathan anymore than the old Nana liked him, but this time Olive agreed with her. Olive stayed with Nana through lunch and through bingo hour, but by that time she was getting sleepy, and Blue Cardigan took Olive out of the room.

“I’ll bring you some more sunflowers tomorrow,” Olive promised Nana. Nana smiled back happily and clapped her hands together.

***

Olive ran out of money. She barely had two pennies to rub together, let alone $15 for sunflowers.  So she started saving for her sunflower fund.

The first thing she did was quietly slip out the door (Nathan hadn’t gotten the job(s), so he was passed out on the couch).

Olive had taken some extra time to comb back her hair into a ponytail and to put on some clean clothes. She had also slipped on a pair of tennis shoes instead of two Walmart flip flops.

The neighbors’ lawns weren’t brown like her house’s. They had neat gardens and sidewalks without cracks. Bright and shiny cars sat in their driveways.

Olive felt strangely out of place walking up the driveway. She doubted the neighbors even knew she existed.

As soon as her finger left the doorbell, a man with a twirly mustache swung open the door. He looked like a Russian bodybuilder. “Hi, I’m Olive Hertingson… um… I live next door. I was wondering if I could maybe wash your car? Or mow your lawn? Or anything else you needed me to do?” Twirly Mustache looked at her for a second before saying, “Sure, you can mow my lawn, kid. Thanks.” He pointed a stubby finger towards his open garage. “The mower’s in there."

Olive didn’t really know how to use a mower, but she would figure it out.

An hour later, Olive was sweaty and achy all over. Mowing the lawn was the most physical activity she had done in a long time. Sweat was dripping down her face and her wild hair fell out of her ponytail. But a sense of accomplishment washed over the girl, and she liked it.

After receiving her $10 from Twirly Mustache, she crossed the road and weeded the garden for a woman who had strange fake tan spots. She looked strangely like a giraffe. Giraffe Woman gave her $30, and Olive left skipping.

She went to more and more doors, doing more and more chores for neighbors. They all looked surprised when Olive told them she still lived in the strange dark house down the street.

***

Olive visited her nana everyday. Nana was the biggest comfort to Olive. Some days they didn’t even talk. They just soaked in each other’s presence. For the first time in four months, Olive felt lucky.
By doing more chores, Olive could buy more sunflowers. Nana’s room was soon bursting with yellow.

***

After Olive got home from visiting her Nana, she went to her room to drop a quarter she found on the street in the sunflower fund. It hit the bottom of the jar with a thud.

What? This morning there had been at least $45 in change and dollars in the jar. The quarter shouldn’t have made a sound. But it did.

Olive stuck her skinny arm into the jar, but it came out empty. Every last cent was gone. All the money she had worked for, all the money for she saved for sunflowers was gone. The sunflower fund was gone.

Nathan.

It had to be Nathan.

Rage clouded her vision as she grabbed the jar and hugged it, storming to the porch to wait for him to get home.
And he came home an hour later, stumbling along the sidewalk. His plaid shirt’s buttons didn’t match up with his buttons, and the tank top underneath was riddled with liquid stains. His brown hair was getting longer and fell over his baggy eyes. Olive slowly rose, shaking.

Nathan’s eyebrows scrunched together when he saw Olive standing outside the house. “Get inside,” he rasped, pushing past her and trying to push open the door without turning the knob.

“No.” Olive stood with the jar sticking out at Nathan, her skinny arms quaking.

Nathan turned around, and a spark of fire started in his eyes. “No?”

“Dad- Nathan, you took my money didn’t you? To go drinking. That’s where you went, wasn’t it?”

Nathan turned around again and started shoving the door with his shoulder. He grunted, “It’s none of your business where I went. And why did you need your own money anyway? I pay for food.”
Olive’s hands started shaking with anger and she had to hold the jar tighter so the jar didn’t fall out of her grip.

“Food isn’t the only thing I need, Nathan.”

Nathan didn’t turn around and shoved his shoulder even harder into the door. One of the glass panels shattered, making Olive flinch. “You already have clothes, I don’t understand what else you need. Quit saying you’re not fine. You are.”

“No, I’m not. I need new clothes. I need warm food and and a warm house. I need to be able to go outside without being afraid of you. I need a dad that doesn’t drink every other hour and that can hold a job.”

“I’ll get a job, Olive. Besides, you don’t need to concern yourself with that stuff.”

“YES I DO! SOMEBODY IN THIS HOUSEHOLD SHOULD CARE!” Olive screamed at him. She didn’t even care at this point what the consequence would be. She had held in these feelings for too long, so long she thought she was going to burst.

“Why you ungrateful little brat,” Nathan sneered, reached for Olive.

“I don’t have anything to be grateful for!” Olive gasped, taking a step away from him. She was sure that the neighbors were watching. Giraffe Woman and Twirly Mustache were probably pressed up against their windows, watching the scene unfold. Maybe they would call child services. Maybe they wouldn’t.

“What happens when we get evicted? We live homeless somewhere? Beg for money that you’ll just buy liquor with?”
Nathan drew himself up to two times the height of Olive and looked down at her. “Get. Inside. Now.”

Olive planted her feet firmly on the ground. She looked him square in the eye and repeated, “No.”

Nathan lunged for her and brought his swinging arm down on the jar. Olive screamed, shocked. The single quarter dropped to ground, glass scattered around the area. Olive reached down for the quarter, for comfort, if nothing else. What she hadn’t expected was her father’s arm coming down across her face. Olive fell among the broken glass, barely feeling the scratches on her arms.

Nathan leaned down and whispered, “I am your father.”

Olive hugged the quarter and replied, “You haven’t been my father since Mom died.” And then she rolled and started sprinting down the sidewalk, down the block. She could hear screams following her, but they soon evaporated.

Olive could barely breathe, with sobs slipping out and her legs pumping as fast as they could. Pedestrians stopped and stared as they watched the girl tear through the streets. The mess of a girl skidded into the flower shop and slammed the quarter on the table. Pink Hair screamed at the sight of Olive.

She was barefoot, yet again, with tears running down her face and blood gushing out of her arms. Olive placed her hands on the counter. “This is all the money I have. I need flowers. Please.” Pink Hair’s horrified expression soon melted into a sad sort of pity. For one of the first times in her life, Olive didn’t mind being pitied.  Pink Hair turned around (much too slow for Olive’s liking) and picked up a lily. She took the quarter and gave Olive the flower.

“I’m sorry, that’s all I can give you,” Pink Hair said, but Olive was already out the door, abruptly thanking her and sprinting to Smiling Faces.  The grass and the doors were a blur as she came in, tears streaming down her face. She had to see Nana.

She needed her.

Blue Cardigan wasn’t at her desk. But she was just coming in from the residents’ hallway, propping the door open as she talked to another staff member. Olive didn’t wait for permission, and ducked under her arm. She heard a shout, but she didn't stop. She wouldn’t stop until she saw Nana.

She skidded to stop outside of room 142. Breathing heavily, she placed her hands on the doorframe, gazing in the room. All she needed was to see her nana’s smiling face.

But the bed was stripped.

There were no sunflowers in sight. The photograph of her mother was neatly laying on the coffee table.

Blue Cardigan finally caught up to Olive and said, “I’m so sorry, dear. We didn’t have your phone number.”

The lily dropped to the floor.

Olive fell soon after.