Ivy cried from her bed, the sound plaintive and hoarse. Pearl spun around. “I’ll get her. If you want to start putting food away, I’d appreciate it.”
He flipped open the cabinet that stored carefully stacked plastic containers. He navigated her kitchen with the same ease as his camp stockpile. Harvey scooped the cornbread dressing into a bowl.
“Harvey, something’s wrong.”
The rich meal filling his stomach turned to stone. Pearl cradled Ivy and pressed the back of her wrinkled hand to her cheeks. Ivy arched and fussed in her arms, the feeble cry followed by a dry cough.
He swooped over, pulling Ivy into his arms. With the corner of her blanket he dabbed at her runny nose. “Oh, baby girl. What’s wrong?” He stroked her forehead. “She’s hot. Why is she hot? She’s not sick. She couldn’t be. She hasn’t been around anyone who’s sick. Maybe she’s allergic to something. Did you change the laundry detergent? The formula? New diapers?”
“Whoa. Slow down. You sound like the index from your baby book. Babies are prone to sniffles and colds. I’m sure it’s nothing. She probably needs snuggles and Tylenol.” Pearl put a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe. You two go sit in the rocking chair and see if you can get her to settle. I’ll bring a thermometer.”
But Ivy’s fussing and squirming made the thermometer slip from under her arm over and over again. Harvey called to Pearl, who was banging around in the kitchen. “Her temperature is 100.5. What do we do? How do I fix this? What do you think it is—whooping cough, the croup, RSV, pneumonia, influenza type A?”
Pearl shuffled closer, her slippers making a scuffing noise against the linoleum. “It’s a low-grade fever. We’ll make her comfortable, and maybe she’ll sleep off the bug and be right as rain by tomorrow.”
“What if she’s not? What if she’s worse?”
“Your worry won’t make her any better. Sit and rock her. I’ll take care of the kitchen. If you’re upset, she’s going to sense it.”
He took a few calming breaths. The pulse pounding in his ears slowed. Pearl was right. But Ivy had never been sick. And he couldn’t exactly pop over to the pediatrician with her.
Guilt barbed him. She was two months old, almost three, and hadn’t had a checkup. Sure, she was better off than if he’d never found her. But he should have found a way to get her looked at. Was this his fault?
Pearl came in with a teacup of steaming yellowish liquid. “It’s chamomile. It’s calming.”
“For Ivy? I don’t think hot tea—”
“No, for you. You’re white as a sheet.”
“I don’t understand how she got sick. She’s only around you and me.”
“These things happen. Germs travel . . .” Pearl raised her hands to her face. “Oh no! It’s me. It’s my fault.”
“You’re not sick.”
She looked away. “No, but a boy in Sunday school sniffled and coughed all over the place. He started feeling worse, so he climbed in my lap and sat there all through church. I meant to shower off and change clothes when I got home, but I must have forgotten. I’m so sorry.”
Another reason being close to people caused problems. They carried germs. He huffed. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do it on purpose.” Ivy coughed again and let out a soft whine, rending his heart in pieces.
Harvey rocked her until she dropped off to sleep. Her temperature lowered after the medicine had kicked in. She would be fine. They’d get through this, and then they’d find a way to extricate themselves from this mess he’d created.
“Harvey, wake up.”
He jerked awake. Pearl hovered over him, whispering. Ivy was fast asleep with her head tipped back. Her mouth was open, her breath slightly gravelly in her chest.
“Don’t sleep in here. Hand me Ivy. I put the bassinet in your room so she can be close to you.”
She picked up Ivy out of his sleep-limp arms.
“Wait. How is she? Her fever. I’m so warm with her on me I can’t tell.” His tongue was thick in his mouth.
“Up you go, on into the bedroom. I don’t want to wake her to check her temperature. She’s resting and seems about the same.”
He shuffled behind her, rubbing at his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I should stay up. Keep watch over her.”
“She’s fine for now. You aren’t going to do her any good by wearing yourself out.”
He sat on the edge of the bed while Pearl laid Ivy down.
“Go on. The bed doesn’t bite.”
He leaned sideways and rested his head on the pillow.
“You’re allowed to get under the covers.”
“I’m fine, really.”
Pearl slid the blanket at the foot of the bed out from under his feet. She spread it over the top of him, then walked over and flipped the light switch off. “Good night, Harvey.”
He closed his eyes and was asleep in a minute. The first time he’d slept in a bed in fourteen years.
CHAPTER
FORTY-FIVE
PRESENT DAY
Ivy balanced the box of baby things on her forearms as she walked to the church. She climbed the tall stack of stairs and entered the foyer.
Most people were accustomed to walking into a church bustling with people. But this, the quiet empty space, was the memory of her childhood. This building had been her playground where she wandered while her father studied for sermons, set up for special events, and counseled in his office. The smells, the echo of her shoes on the hardwood in the stillness, the color of the light spilling through the stained glass—they were as much a part of her as the heart beating in her chest.
At the back of the sanctuary, she placed the box on the ground and rubbed her thumb over a little place on the last pew where the finish had worn over the years. Like it was the place people stood deciding if they wanted to stay.
In the quiet chapel she laid down the pain she carried. From the shame. From trying to hold everything inside. I want to do better. Help me lean into you and not away when I fall short.
She left the box with the pastor and told him she’d be finished with the house by next week.
On the way back to the house, she paused by the towering oak. The place she and Reese used to hide their eyes while they counted for hide-and-seek. She walked a ring around the oak tree, letting the rough bark scrape against her uninjured palm.
What was she supposed to do about this thing with Reese? Was there any way to come through it without damaging their friendship more than she already had?
A white sedan crunched down the driveway toward Grandma’s house. Ivy followed in its wake.
She stopped and stared as the car door opened. A woman with burnished red hair and a delicate silver streak in her bangs emerged from the car with an overnight bag. Ivy’s heart throbbed in her chest. “Mom?”
The woman turned slowly and took a hesitant step in her direction. Her hands clutched her bag. “Ivy.”
Ivy rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her mom, who half bent to set down her bag.
All the emotions of the past week coursed through her as Ivy sank into her mom’s gentle embrace. Her mother was tall and beautiful, seeming to catch the attention of everyone who passed. Ivy had always felt dull and small in her shining presence. But, in this moment, she was sheltered by it.