Olivier smiled, sheepishly, “Just, Oliver, please. Yes, can’t be too careful in my line of work.”
Elizabeth nodded. “You deal with this type of thing often?”
Olivier sat took the finalized cup from James and sat back. “He didn’t need to care about such mundane problems as ulcers, headaches, or aches but it was important to allow the Wilks to offer their own form of empathy and succor. Humans are far better at helping with pain than enduring it. “Almost exclusively. This is not to say that there’s anything routine or banal about what is happening to Laura. I don’t treat this as a statistic, but, if it helps, know that I’ve dealt with similar situations many times.”
Elizabeth took her own coffee and sipped it. “Wonderful, James, as always.” Then, to Olivier, “Next you’ll say you’ve never lost a patient or had a case end badly.” Her lips curled with disgust, creasing well-worn lines. She’d dealt with toxic positivity and being oversold before. Still, her eyes watered as she said it, she was near a breaking point.
Olivier exhaled slowly, a mixture of fire, cascading darkness, heat, and thousands of years of loss all fell out, unbidden. “No. I would never say that. No false hope, no lies of convenience.” He sipped his coffee. The taste had a wistful quality, one that carried memories of a world abandoned long ago. “I won’t give you numbers or offer percentages and chances. I have been through this kind of thing; I know what to look for and how to act. If I find the right information, I can alleviate the issue. If I can’t find the answers, the case becomes terminal quickly.” He watched a grim mask descend on each parent. “As it stands, I have some answers and further questions. We’ve not hit a stall yet. Please, tell me about the art on the walls of Laura’s bedroom and any discussion you had with her while creating them.”
Elizabeth drained her coffee and handed it to James who set about fixing her a second cup. “Only one more, dear.” She closed her eyes, reminiscing. “I painted the first mural while the room was being prepared as a nursery. Five months pregnant, glowing with pride, beaming with each stroke.” She tilted her head up and stroked her left arm from elbow to wrist. “The walls depicted seasons while also illustrating separate biomes and epochs of earth. Spring was the morning, an ocean carrying little more than plants and Protista. That was later covered by the cityscape. Next was summer, day, plains filled with prehistoric animals. The jungle represented modern animals and the evening. The south wall contained night, winter, and mountains. The animals here gave way to some flights of fancy, mystical creatures from folklore. Aside from the city, that was the wall that underwent the most change.” Elizabeth opened her eyes and cocked her head at James. “It’s strange, the older Laura got the more she disliked the fantasy elements. She still liked the animals cartoonish, simple, safe. But she wanted them to be real. The unicorn and Pegasus became simple horses, though they kept their flowery manes. The rocs and phoenix morphed into parrots. Colorful but mundane.”
Olivier took notes throughout her explanation, deftly resting his coffee in one hand and writing with the other. “What is your background in art, Elizabeth?”
“I was introduced to art by my own mother, classically trained and tutored in Greece before attending undergrad at the Yale School of Art and graduate work at the Sorbonne. Originally, I studied the Pre-Raphaelites but later emphasized Medieval Christian art. I’ve worked as a curator, restorer, and gallery coordinator. My own art, while sufficient, never had enough of a spark to be more than a pastime.” This last statement uttered rapidly, a bitter litany that she’d perhaps repeated too often, even if seldom out loud.