Ivy didn’t know who she was anymore. She had been reaching and striving to be who she imagined everyone expected her to be, like a caterpillar gone into a cocoon. Not to transform—to hide.
Was it possible to resurrect the little girl who ran around her grandma’s yard chasing fireflies until even they went to bed? If only she could go back in time—return to that cozy world, perpetually sheltered by her mismatched family.
The truck slowed as Reese pulled into a parking lot.
By the time she registered the clank of Reese’s door shutting, he was standing outside hers. Why had they stopped at Carla’s Cafe? Her door swung open with a groan.
Ivy pushed off her seat to hop out, but her seat belt was still attached and yanked her back.
A snort slipped from Reese, and she cut him a glare.
“Seriously, Ivy. Are you okay?” To his credit, he gave a valiant effort at remaining somber.
Something about the expression on his face, the juxtaposition of genuine concern and irrepressible mirth, swept her in a wave of laughter that left her gasping. She braced her hands on her knees, shoulders shaking.
He reached through the space between her arms and stomach. Ivy gasped at his nearness. “Reese, what are you—” Her laughter-doused words were cut off by a yelp as he unhooked the seat belt and leaned her over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Put me down.” Blood rushed to her head.
His frame shook with laughter. “No, woman. I’m gonna get some of Carla’s miracle-working chocolate cake in you before you break down on me.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure, you’re fine. I’ve been with you for a few hours and you’ve gone weak-kneed, accused your parents of illegal activity, stared out the window like I wasn’t there, and then you tried to jump out of my truck with your seat belt on.” He let out a snort with the last sentence.
It occurred to her that a crowd could be witnessing her, rear end skyward, being marched into Carla’s Cafe. “Seriously, put me down.” Dangling, she watched his work boots stride on the asphalt.
“Nope.”
“Put me—” Her words were cut off as Reese’s toe caught on a pothole. Ivy shrieked.
Using a leftover skill set from his football days, knowing how to navigate a fall, he ended up on his back with Ivy across his chest like he’d been about to carry her across a threshold. Ivy scrambled off him. Reese sat up. A funny groan came out of him, the involuntary sound a person makes when they’ve had their wind knocked out.
Ivy knelt. A flutter danced in her chest when his hazel eyes flashed open, and he gained a solid breath.
Heat radiated from the sunbaked asphalt. A bead of sweat rolled down the bridge of her nose. “You okay, Number 28?”
A corner of his mouth curled when she used his old nickname. “Yep.” He winced as he stood. “You all right?”
“Now that you’ve felt the weight of me, you know I definitely don’t need any chocolate cake to wash down my apple pie.”
The half-smile dropped from his face. “Don’t do that.”
She shrugged. “Do what?”
His eyes searched hers. “You’re not that girl.” He held out his hand and pulled her to stand.
He had no idea who she was. Sure, he’d met other versions of her—from before Seth. When she didn’t have to constantly count calories to ensure the formfitting cocktail dresses selected for her always fit. Was it normal to segment one’s life like that—before a person comes into your life and after they’re gone from it?
“Let’s go inside. It’s hotter than blue blazes out here.” Reese didn’t let go of her hand for the first stride toward the glass door, so she slid her sweaty hand from his and stuffed it into her back pocket, giving it somewhere to go that made sense.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
SEPTEMBER 18, 1994
Sunday morning, Miriam lay in bed, thick drapes drawn tight. One thin sunbeam insisted on peeking through, spilling light in the darkness. She blew into a tissue, wadded it, and added it to the pile on her nightstand. Thomas’s disappointment that morning burned in her mind. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to put on the mask and smile through church today.
She groaned and sat up, fluffy comforter pulled up under her chin. It was too hard, playing the part of dutiful pastor’s wife, smiling and praying for others. How could she beseech God for burdens to be lifted from others when her own had kept her secluded in her home for the past three days?
Most of the time she could pull it off. Nice clothes, fresh makeup, and a pasted smile. She pushed her red curls gone rogue back from her face.
Other days were too dark. Too heavy.
Miriam dragged herself out of bed and stepped out of the darkened bedroom, blinking in the bright morning light. Her footfall was leaden as she walked down the stairs.
A blueberry bagel with cream cheese and a vase with a single wildflower waited on the kitchen table. There was a note.
Hey sweetheart,
Eat something, okay? Coffee is on the warmer in the kitchen. I love you, and I’m praying for you this morning. I’ll come home later this afternoon, after service. A walk together, maybe? It almost feels like fall this morning. Our first true fall in the eastern US. I can’t wait for the colors.
Always yours,
Thomas
His graciousness made everything harder. She could picture his hopeful expression, optimistic she was turning a corner, so sure she was learning to let go of the past to start living in the present. It’d be better if he yelled—showered her with righteous anger. It would give her something to fight other than herself. She nibbled at the bagel and then went for the coffee.
Thomas meant well by trying to nudge her out of her funk, but he didn’t understand. The desire wasn’t the same for him. What if he’d been told he couldn’t pastor, his lifelong dream? Would it be so easy then?
She dumped the half-eaten bagel in the trash and poured her sipped coffee in the sink. Maybe a movie was the distraction she needed to get her head in a better place.
The comfort of her bed called as she trudged back up the stairs. Grabbing her bedroom’s doorknob, a magnet-like impulse pulled her attention to the room at the end of the hall. The forlorn space where she kept the things Thomas couldn’t know about, hidden among other miscellaneous items that hadn’t found their place in the new home. The non-necessities.
The door was cracked and light from the east-facing window spilled out a sunbeam where the dust particles of the old house danced. Calling her.
She let go of the knob and turned. She shouldn’t go in there, not if she planned on being in a good place when Thomas returned. The purposeless room pulled harder than reason.
That room was her reality.
Miriam unstacked three boxes and opened the one on the bottom. With trembling hands she lifted out the white cube tied with a mint green ribbon.
She returned to the rug and tugged the crumpled ribbon she had tied and retied a hundred times. She lifted the knit baby hat, creamy yellow, made of the softest yarn she’d ever touched. Pressing it to her face, Miriam savored all the hope she’d felt once upon a time. She placed it on the rug and pulled out the matching booties.
With each piece laid out on the rug, about the length her baby might have been from head to toe, she stared at the empty space between, unable to complete the mental image. She shook her head and then swiped the booties and hat into a tiny pile.