“You’re right, it is getting late. I’d better get on.”
“All right, Harvey. Have a safe trip. If I had a car seat, I’d give you a ride. I’ll check and see if anyone around town has an extra they don’t use anymore. For next time.”
Harvey gulped and he backed down the porch steps onto the walk. “No. No, ma’am. You’re doing plenty for us. No need. I like to walk. See you tomorrow.”
He turned and his long stride spilled distance between them before she could utter a reply—running away again. Did he think she didn’t notice?
She puttered in the kitchen, washing dishes and making chamomile tea. The little house with trinkets and doilies had spent its life with Pearl’s men stomping around, making the space feel small. She loved it, the way Harvey’s tall, lanky maleness filled the void.
Sweet Ivy and lost Harvey. What a picture they made. The sorrow on his face was such a fixture she wondered if he’d ever known anything else. She weighed which drew her to him more—the way he cared for a helpless child or the way he seemed like one himself once you got beyond his exterior.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
PRESENT DAY
Ivy sat cross-legged on the center of the bed with the sunflower comforter draped over her shoulders. She scrolled through her email on her phone, begging there to be at least one response on the applications she’d put out. Everything from dog grooming to waitressing to school counselor positions. Her heart twisted thinking about the kids she wouldn’t see next year. Their sweet faces looking to her when they needed to be reassured. She’d give almost anything to have her old job back.
A notification flashed across the top of her screen.
Ivy groaned. Seth.
Hey, babe. Call me. Please? I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I know I took things too far and I need to change. Just call me. I want to get help. For you. For us. I promise I’ll make things right.
She’d heard those words before, words meant to ensnare a lonely heart. He’d admit fault and commit to working on their relationship. She’d feel validated for all the feelings he’d shut down so many times and give in. Things would get better for a while. And she’d get sucked back into the cycle.
She turned her phone off and pulled Grandma’s Bible from her purse. Ivy flipped to Psalm 139:14—the verse Grandma said in paraphrase over her like a benediction in Ivy’s coming and going. You are fearfully and wonderfully made, my child. And the works of the Lord are wonderful. Don’t you forget it.
She turned the onion skin pages, all in a colorful wash of faithful highlights and notes in the margin.
The verse she sought was underlined in purple ink. There was a heart drawn beside it with her name written in the center. Tucked in the pages was a slip of paper. She unfolded the sheet. The edges were ragged like it had been torn out. From the journal? It was written when Ivy would have been about six months old.
February 20, 1995
Seeing the joy on the faces of Ivy’s parents makes me feel like a traitor of the worst kind. Even though I haven’t found any clues about who birthed that tiny girl, I can’t stop looking. Motherhood is such a beautiful gift. I waited so long for it to come into my life, and it was taken away. Twice. That pain is more than any person should bear. If there’s even a chance the child’s birth mother was robbed of this gift against her wishes, I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t continue this search.
Everyone else is satisfied with the results of the police investigation into the child’s origins, which expectedly came up fruitless. And I don’t blame them, not for a minute. It certainly is simpler to rest in knowing the Lord brought us that little girl and let the details fade to an unacknowledged buzz. But I can’t get that child’s mother out of my head. Whoever she may have been.
Oh, how I miss my boy. He’d laugh if he heard me call him a boy, but I couldn’t help but see a childhood version of himself in his sad brown eyes. I hope he knows we aren’t angry or disappointed in what he did, but that we understand. I hope he knows that love is waiting to welcome him home.
The journal page trembled in Ivy’s fingers. Nothing about the words made sense.
Knocking from the front door brought her back to the present. A band tightened around Ivy’s rib cage, and she took a strangled breath. Seth’s unanswered text messages. He’d promised he could find her if he wanted to.
Ivy paced the bedroom. Triune was tiny. All it would take was him flashing his suave smile and any resident would helpfully point the man to his destination.
She walked into the living room and stood five feet from the door. The knocking became pounding. She could call the police. That would scare him off. Except for the fact that he’d probably make friends with them in an instant and convince them she wasn’t in her right mind.
She could call Reese. But setting up a confrontation between her fiercely protective friend and her emotionally abusive ex-fiancé on her grandma’s porch?
“Hey, Ivy? You there?”
Air rushed from her lungs and her knees wobbled beneath her as the tightness in her chest released. Reese.
She turned the knob; his hand was raised to knock.
“What are you doing here?”
At the sight of her, the flex in his jaw relaxed. “What are you doing? I tried to call before I came, but it went straight to voice mail. And then when you weren’t answering the door, I started to worry.”
The place between her shoulder blades tensed until it ached. Ivy lifted her arms, palms out, and then let them fall to her side. “I was right where you left me half an hour ago. I don’t need a babysitter.” She clamped her hand over her mouth and shook her head. “I didn’t mean that. I just wasn’t expecting anyone. You scared me.” He didn’t need to know the reason why.
Reese massaged his forehead. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. This seemed like such a great idea ten minutes ago.” He picked up a box sitting on the weathered table on the porch. “I stopped at Murphy’s on my way home, and I saw this box of pink donuts.”
She cringed and crowned herself the world’s biggest jerk.
“And I couldn’t help but remember the way you used to complain how people always overlooked strawberry-iced donuts in favor of chocolate or powdered.”
A corner of her mouth quirked against her will.
“I didn’t want to barge over unannounced. But you didn’t answer the phone, and I was already so close. Then you didn’t answer your door . . .” As his words trailed off, he picked at a ragged spot on his fingernail. “This is going to sound so weird, but I’m going to say it anyway. When you didn’t answer your door, I got this feeling. Like something was wrong. I’ve been getting that feeling on and off all year long. Obviously you’re fine. More than fine. I . . .” He took a step, closing the distance between them. The box of donuts brushed the front of her loose fit T-shirt.
His gaze flicked to her lips and back to her eyes.
Pulled forward, like a kite on string, she shifted her weight onto her toes ever so slightly, catching the faint scent of his cologne or soap. Whatever it was, it smelled good.
“Ivy . . .” He said her name like a caress.
Her lowered eyelids flashed open wide. She stepped back into the doorway. A safer distance, one that didn’t leave her heart skittering around in her chest like a hunted rabbit.