Page 52 of Mommy

Derek

The downside of giving Ivory a car is that I don’t get to pick her up anymore.

It’s worth it though. Knowing that she’s getting home safe every day. Or as safe as she can be without me.

I still miss the feeling of her behind me when I return home from work. The bike feels kinda empty without my happy, giggling backpack.

The thought of having to be at home alone also makes me cringe into the inside of my helmet, and in a split second decision I make a U turn on the empty road.

Kicking into gear, I speed in a different direction.

The streetlights blur on the side of the road, their glow reflecting in the puddles on the street, multiplying the stretched flickers.

Once I get into the part of the city where Ivory lives, I slow down. It’s darker here, and though my headlight is strong, I can’t see half as much as before. It’s not that I’m scared I’ll fall. No. I’m scared, I’ll hit something.

I don’t doubt there are dogs living in the abandoned looking houses all around. The broken windows and waste filled yards would attract any animal looking for a dry place to sleep.

Slowing the bike further, I watch the houses to either side of the road. Though I’ve dropped Ivy off here before, I don’t trust myself to not accidentally go past her home.

Ultimately it’s not the house I recognize, but my car in the driveway.

Parking my bike behind it, I shake my head as I walk past the honda civic.

Peering through the driver side window, I notice the shiny interior and freshly vacuumed seats.

She cleaned it. I’ve been meaning to for a while, but never got around to it. And now she did it. And I doubt that it was for her own comfort.

Ivory probably wouldn’t mind staying in a somewhat dirty car. She lives in a home that looks almost as abandoned as the house next door, I don’t think she’d care about a little dust.

I put her full name into the search bar on my phone the first chance I got. And I found everything I needed to know about her, for now.

Ivory Vale.

A single child living with her mother Malena, in whose name this house was bought a little over two decades ago. But no laws broken, no warrants, that’s what was important to know.

I leave my helmet behind, the balaclava stuffed inside the headspace before I walk over the patchy grassed lawn.

There’s only light in one of the windows, and I can hear my knock echo through the quiet house.

Steps follow, and a moment later I’m looking into a strange, yet familiar face.

Malena is a carbon copy of Ivory. You can tell where her daughter got her beauty. It’s hidden in the full lips and the gentle, large eyes.

It’s all there.

The curved eyebrows, the light lashes. The sharp cheekbones. The thin shoulders. The hollow expression.

Ivory does a better job of hiding it, only letting it peek through when she thinks I’m not looking, but it’s still there. A vacant shadow that consumes her eyes when she’s unguarded.

Her mother looks just as haunted. As if she’s waiting for a ghost that has never come to spook her.

“Good evening, ma’am.” I say politely, offering one outstretched hand for Malena to shake. She doesn’t, but I don’t mind because around a corner, I can hear light footsteps quickly approaching.

The shock in Ivory’s eyes dims the light blue, but her face still tips up the corner of my mouth. Just seeing her, standing there in leggings and a hoodie is enough to have me smiling.

“Derek, what— What are you doing here?” There’s a hint of fear in her voice, nerves that spill over her pretty lips like she can’t keep them trapped behind her white teeth.

Malena turns to her daughter, the soft smile still etched into her face.