“Yeah. My dad had them stitched on before I went away to college.”
I faintly hear little footsteps running toward us.
“What’s the D for?”
“Delilah.”
“What?” he scrunches his face in confusion.
“Delilah. Ivy Delilah Bennet,” I say again.
“Twins!” Delilah shouts from the doorway, running up to Wesley, snatching the goggles from him and running back to their room.
“Twins,” I agree, letting out a breathy laugh.
He doesn’t move, still just standing at the edge of the bed. He looks back and forth between the door Delilah just ran through, and then me, face still scrunched, lines etched across his forehead.
I’m still standing there, holding my lotions, and wondering what I said or did wrong to make him look like that. Is he mad he didn’t know my middle name?
Finally, he mutters under his breath, “Ivy… Delilah Bennett.”
He brings both his hands to his head and simultaneously rakes them through his hair, before settling them at the back of his neck. Looking down at his feet, he shakes his head and repeats my full name again. He huffs out a laugh, then glances up to meet my gaze—just staring—with an almost thoughtful look on his face.
Okay, now he’s starting to scare me. Just as I’m about to ask what the hell is happening or why he’s acting so strange, he shakes his head one last time, giving me a small smile and flicking his gaze to the floor.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says softly, then leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.
I watch him go, bewildered by that entire interaction.
I mouth silently, “oh-kay?” then turn back to continue packing.
16
Ivy
The familiar sight of the pines ease the tension in my shoulders as I drive back home from the airport. The flight home was pretty easy, but Deilah threw a fit when she realized I actually wasn’t going to go home with them, and Wesley was quiet all morning. He’d barely said a word to me after the whole goggle debacle, slash middle name incident.
I kept my distance, and just decided to let him work through whatever the hell he needed to. I already miss Delilah, which is stupid. I’ll see her tomorrow, but then I won’t see her all weekend.
Her or her dad.
I push the thoughts out of my head, and turn onto my street. When Rose’s house comes into view. I see a couple unfamiliar cars out front, and try to place them, but can’t. Rose doesn’t like visitors. Oh shit. My blood runs cold.
She doesn’t like visitors.
I floor it the last few hundred feet, pull into the driveway, and screech to a stop, pulling the parking brake. I fly out of my car so fast, I don’t even shut the engine off or close the door.
I race across the lawn, and burst in the front door with my heart in my throat. The chatter in the room ceases the second the door swings open. Hand still braced on the door knob, I scan the room frantically for Rose. I finally see her in her recliner, and sag in relief. I feel the back of my eyes sting, and do my best to will it away.
Three sets of eyes stare back at me, but I only recognize one of them. I glance from Rose, to the middle aged woman with short red hair, to the younger looking woman with long blonde hair.
Confused, I zero in on Rose again and notice her new set up in her recliner. There's a couple pill bottles on her side table, along with water, and a book. It looks like she’s set up to be there for a long time. Her body is covered with a big blanket, and she doesn’t look put together like usual. Her hair isn’t curled, and she doesn’t have makeup on.
She stares back at my puzzled expression, and then rolls her eyes.
She scoffs. “Well damn, Ivy. I’m not that hideous.”
I’m slightly relieved to hear humor in her voice, but then another voice cuts in—the middle aged woman speaking up.
