Dad stirs and looks over at me. “Ivy Bear, you’re awake.” He stands to give me a hug that I don’t return before he leans back.There’re tears streaming down his face as he says, “I have some bad news.”
You think?“Bad news” doesn’t even begin to cover it, but I’m more frustrated that he’s crying for her after all the times he’s made her cry. “I know.”
His hand pats mine. “She’s in a better place now.” It feels unnatural, because he’s barely showed any affection in all the years I remember. He was never a nurturing, give-me-a-hug kind of father. Today is the first time he’s said my nickname in at least ten years. And it feels even more odd when he pulls me into another hug. “At least we have each other.”
I can’t stop the thought before it slips out. “Are you drunk?” This doesn’t make sense. At all.
“No, Ivy Bear,” he lightly chuckles before he takes on a more somber tone. “Losing the love of your life sobers you up really fast.”
What the actual fuck? Now she’s the love of his life? “Did you start calling her that before or after you fucked the lady who lives next door?”
His face pales. Yeah, I know his dirty little secrets. My mom didn’t even realize that I knew. There was no point in telling her; it would just be another thing that would hurt her before she’d justify him doing it for some bullshit reason.
“We all make mistakes.” He stands from the bed. His voice trailing off as he leaves the room, “We don’t know what we have until it’s taken from us…”
I stare at the doorway he disappeared through. Anger and frustration boil over the surface. “I hate him.” I do. I’ve always known it. And this just reminds me why once again.
Everett moves closer and sits on the edge of the bed. “Ivy, it’s a rough time. Everyone processes differently.”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare defend him.” I bite back a sob and regain my emotions before I finish. “That’s all she did. And look where it got her.”
“Everything is gonna be okay.” Everett manages a hopeful half smile as he continues, “I don’t know how or when. But it will.”
Looking away, I mutter, “Don’t lie to me. It doesn’t help at all.”
“I don’t know what to do to help.”
Me either. Because the more I go back through all of it, I realize that not only did I say things I can’t take back, but we were only there because of me. I rushed her out the door. Had we waited just a few more minutes, or even seconds, maybe we wouldn’t have been in that intersection. And my mom wouldn’t be dead. “It’s my fault.”
“What?” Everett gasps. “You can’t believe that.”
“We could’ve waited to leave. Or I could’ve dropped her off at work instead of making her bring me to the rec center. Or maybe if I wouldn’t have told her such hateful things, she might’ve been able to focus better on the road.”
“Stop it.” Everett moves both hands to my face, his palms holding my cheeks as he says, “It is not your fault. The only person responsible is the asshole who ran the light and crashed into the car. End of story.”
I wish I could end it with that, but I can’t. Yeah, whoever crashed into us is to blame. But if we hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have happened. She’d still be alive.
Everett says, “She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”
I believe that he believes what he’s saying. But it doesn’t ease the pain. “She’s not here. So, it doesn’t matter what she’d want.” I blink the tears back and pull out of his touch. I don’t want comfort. I want to feel the ache. Feel the guilt. But more than anything, I want my mom.
4
IVY
The rec center closed hours ago. But I wanted to come inside. I don’t know why. It’s not like I want to swim. Just sitting here should make me feel something though. Purpose. Inspiration. Hope. But I don’t feel any of those things. I just feel numb. And it should scare me. Because I don’t care if I ever swim again.
The sling is finally gone. But my right arm still naturally sits in the same position across my chest, resting on my lap, my left hand under it for support. All the scratches and cuts have healed. Except the one on the side of my left wrist. It’s become a habit to perpetually scratch my nail over the wound, rubbing it until it burns and occasionally bleeds. I shouldn’t do it, but maybe it’s that I now have a need for pain so I can feel something. Or maybe it’s simply that I don’t want everything on the surface to heal. Because I feel like I’m still damaged inside.
When I hear footsteps, I don’t move. If someone caught me, I’ll take the consequences. But there won’t be any because it’s my best friend who tracked me down.
“Oh my God, Ivy,” Everett huffs as he walks up behind me. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Found me,” I mutter. Turning my focus to my feet, I skim my toes across the water and watch the ripples travel over the pool’s surface as my nail continues scratching against my wrist.
“I called you like a thousand times.”
“I couldn’t answer.”
