“I guess he’s tired out,” James said.
Ivy stood and put her hands on her hips. She watched her father as he scanned the flower arrangements she’d set out. She wondered if he was reliving the funeral they’d had for her mother all those years ago.
And then he said, “I really wish you had let me call your sisters home. I’m sure they’d want to be here to help you.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “They don’t want to be here. I don’t want to bother them.”
James wet his lips. “I don’t think you should sell them short. They ran off to build their own lives, that’s true. But there’s still a lot of love between the four of you.”
Ivy grimaced. She knew her father had an idealized version of their childhood in his head. He didn’t remember how cruel and dark it had often been. At the same time, a big part of her heart ached for her sisters to be here, for them to throw their arms around her, make her food, and take care of her kids for a little while.
“I’ve made my peace with it,” she lied. “I’ve made my peace with everything.”
That afternoon, after a brief and impersonal service, Ivy handed the kids off to the babysitter and drove herself out to the cemetery to watch her husband be laid to rest. As she stood, swaying in her black coat, she overheard a few Bluebell Covers talking about how lucky it was that the ground wasn’t frozen for the year yet. She filled her lungs and listened as the pastor she’d hired said a few prayers and final words, then closed her eyes as the casket was lowered.
When it was over, Ivy scanned the faces in the crowd, all of whom turned toward their vehicles or toward one another, discussing the food they’d get after or the plans they had later. Ivy was surprised not to see the young woman with the auburn hair, the one who’d supposedly been in love with Daniel. Did she know about Daniel’s death?
Ivy wondered if there was a way to find out who the woman was and where she lived. Maybe the woman deserved to know what had happened to Daniel. Perhaps the two of them could sit together and commiserate about the weight of the world. Maybe the woman with the auburn hair would say, “I can’t believe how silly he was about ketchup. I mean, did he really need so much of it?” and they could have a really good laugh about it.
Just then, Elliot Rhodes emerged through the crowd. He wore a long black coat and a black wool hat pulled down over his ears. Beside him was a slender woman with a blond bob. Ivy guessed the woman was his current girlfriend, the first serious one he’d had since he’d gotten his divorce.
Ivy couldn’t believe he was here. A breath caught in her throat. She wondered what he’d say if she turned around and fled. Maybe she could pretend she hadn’t seen him coming her way.
But already, Elliot and his blond girlfriend were upon her. Elliot bowed his head and said, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ivy.” His eyes were earnest and deep.
Ivy felt stunned but heard herself say, “Thank you.”
“Will you give me a call if you need anything?” Elliot asked. “I don’t have a ton of skills, but I can fix anything that needs fixing. I can pick heavy things up.” He laughed softly.
His girlfriend shifted her weight from low heel to low heel and said, “He’s been worried about you. I’m so sorry about this.”
Ivy thanked her and asked for her name. The woman said, “I’m Rachel,” then let her eyes drop. Ivy couldn’t figure out why she felt as though she’d wronged this woman already.
Years later, Ivy would realize that the woman knew how Elliot felt about Ivy—even back then.
“Promise me you’ll give me a call,” Elliot pressed.
“I will,” Ivy lied, her voice so weak that it felt brushed away in the wind.
“Good. We’re all here to take care of you and those babies of yours,” Elliot said. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Against Ivy’s wishes, one of her neighbors arranged for a wake to be held in Ivy’s living room. Bluebell Covers spilled into the house, carrying casseroles and baked goods and clam chowder and sandwiches and far too much for one little woman and two babies to eat. They opened wine and sat on her sofas and chairs and talked about their memories of Daniel: how strong he’d been as a kid, how far he’d been able to hit a baseball, and how funny he’d been, when he’d wanted to be. They told stories that Ivy had never heard before, stories that made her realize that Daniel had either changed during their marriage or that he’d never shown her some of the parts of himself that people loved.
She wondered if this meant that Daniel had never loved her.
Around seven that evening, the babysitter returned with a sleeping Tyler and a very tired Lily, who rubbed her eyes and asked why so many people were in their house. A few neighbors took turns holding Tyler, doting over how tiny he was and how perfect he was and saying he was the “spitting image of Daniel.” Ivy already knew they were right about that.
Lily perked up a little bit when she realized she had an audience. With her little voice, she told them stories about what she’d done that day—the games she’d played and the pictures she’d drawn. It wasn’t till she came over and asked Ivy when her father was coming home “for good” that Ivy realized anything was wrong.
Lily began sobbing after that. They were hollow, awful sobs that echoed through the house and turned people’s stomachs. Ivy scooped her up and took her to her bedroom, where she cried and cried into Ivy’s chest. Ivy had tried and failed to explain the concept of death to Lily, who, at two and a half, shouldn’t have been expected to understand.
But as Lily grew sleepier and eventually conked out in Ivy’s arms, Ivy whispered down at her, “I’m going to protect you. I’m going to be here every step of the way. You don’t have to worry.”
Even as she said it, she wondered how she could be so strong. She couldn’t allow herself a single moment of weakness. She had to dig deep.
Chapter Eighteen
Present Day
