The doorbell rang.
When she answered it, Harvey stood on the porch, wide-eyed and breathing hard. “Mrs. Lashley?”
Miriam tilted her head. “Harvey? Pearl said she’d tell you Thomas wasn’t coming in today.”
He shifted from side to side, picking at the cuff of his plaid shirt. “Is . . . is Pastor Thomas really all right?”
Miriam glanced out behind him. The only car in the drive was her own. “Did you walk the whole way here?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like cars much, ma’am. And I know Pearl said he was doing okay. I needed . . . I wanted to check and see if he needed anything.”
“Oh, uh sure . . . Come in.”
He wrung his hands. “I’m sorry. Is this a bad time? I should have called, I guess. I didn’t think about it.”
“Now’s fine. I’m getting him breakfast. He’s around the corner in the living room.”
He didn’t think about calling, but walking five miles was a natural inclination? By the high color on his face, and his heavy breaths, it seemed more likely the athletically built man ran instead of walked.
He looked so different with short hair and clothes that fit his frame. His posture was straight and square, no longer stooping and slouched like the phantom person who tried to disappear before he was called upon to speak.
Thomas called from the living room. “Who is it? Is it about the car?”
She pointed Harvey toward the living room. “Go on in.”
Harvey nodded and shifted a watch around his wrist as he passed. Thomas’s gold watch. She shook her head. That man.
Their muffled conversation drifted through to the kitchen as she toasted the bread and spread the strawberry jam. But when she walked into the living room, Thomas was alone.
She raised an eyebrow. “He’s gone?”
Thomas laughed, but then winced and sobered. “That’s Harvey for you.”
“He walked the whole way from the church, and then left after less than five minutes?”
Thomas lifted a shoulder. “I think he needed to see for himself that I was okay. And once he did, he got embarrassed and didn’t know what to do next, so he left.”
“I don’t know if that’s insane or sweet.”
“I think there’s a broken person who has a lot of love to give hidden underneath all the . . . oddness.”
“How can you tell? He hardly says more than five words strung together.”
“How many men do you know who would rearrange their life to help their sister raise a baby?” Thomas propped his feet up on the couch and leaned back into the pillow. He flinched, and Miriam remembered the ibuprofen in her hand.
“He has sad eyes.” She placed the toast on the coffee table and handed him the water glass and tablets.
“I don’t think we have even an inkling of what that man has been through.” Thomas knocked back the ibuprofen with a long swig of water. He fumbled with the blanket until she came over and pulled it back down where it had inched up his leg.
“Thank you. I’m sorer than I realized.”
“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger for your pain?”
“No. It’s just aches and bruised ribs.”
She sat on the opposite end of the couch and settled into the crook of the sofa arm. She wedged her toes underneath his thigh. “I barely recognize Harvey. He’s changed a lot.”
“That he has. He’s a different person from the man who broke into the Pantry a month ago.”
She sucked in air. “He what?”
“Oh, that . . . I didn’t tell you, did I?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”
He made puppy dog eyes at her. “Any chance you’ll let an invalid off the hook out of pity? I’m in pain and giving up all my secrets.”
“Yeah, like the fact that you gave Harvey your watch.”
He gave her an apologetic smile. “He didn’t have one.”
“So you gave him the best watch you own?”
He gave her the mock puppy eyes again, but then sobered. “Wait, did you say he was wearing it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen him wear it. At first I thought he’d sold it, but then one day I saw him pull it out of his pocket to check the time. Maybe he’s starting to accept that people really do want good things for him.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
PRESENT DAY
Ivy sat cross-legged on the bedroom floor. The box of linens she’d been packing for donations to the local homeless mission sat deserted. She spread out the photo of Rose and the one of her as a newborn in an unidentifiable man’s arms. Next to it, she placed the journal entry from Grandma’s Bible. “What was all this about, Grandma?”
Ivy released a shuddering breath and leaned her head back against the dresser. Her phone chimed. Probably Reese texting from the garage, wondering what was taking her so long to pack a single box.
But it was Seth. Again.
Listen, I know I screwed up what we had. But think about it, how many times did we actually argue in our relationship? Once? Twice? We were good together. That last argument went way too far. I know that. Give me a chance to fix this. Let’s not throw away the past year and a half. Okay?
The phone trembled in Ivy’s hand. What was this hold he had on her? It made no sense. Her thumb hovered over the call button. Maybe just one conversation would make it clear that there was no hope of them working out. But then her gaze found the picture of Grandma and Rose. She dropped her phone in her lap and pulled her knees to her chest.
She was just like Rose.
“Ivy?” Reese’s voice sounded through the house.
Ivy jumped to her feet, swiping at her face.
Reese entered the bedroom and gave her a once-over, his focus pausing on the pictures scattered on the floor.
“Hey, you okay?” He stood in front of her, resting his hands on her shoulders.
Her chin quivered as she turned her face away. “All this time I was the one who had it wrong. I’ve spent so much time being angry at Mom and Dad, but maybe they were right by not being forthcoming. Nothing good can come from me knowing this mess about my past.”
“Ivy—”
“It might make a difference if the little fairy tale they wrote was true. That I was left on their doorstep because I was loved. But . . . but I could be a product of human trafficking. Abuse. I see what you mean now. It’s better if the past doesn’t make a difference in who we become or where we go in life.”
He gently squeezed her shoulders. “Why this sudden change of heart? There’s still a lot more to discover. How did you end up with your parents? And did your grandma ever find out for sure if Rose was your birth mother? Is Rose still out there somewhere? Does she know about you?”
Ivy shook her head. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m done with this. With this house. With the search. The church can deal with the estate sale. There’s nothing else I need to know.”
He tugged her into a hug. “Sorry, friend. That’s not how this story ends.”
“I mean it, Reese. My name is Ivy Rose Lashley. Child of Miriam and Thomas Lashley. It’s enough for me.” She swallowed. “That’s all I can handle.”