Page 22

Ivy

Iwas set up at the small table that sat on Knox’s back porch with my laptop and a digital card full of photos from our mountain run. I pulled up hundreds, maybe thousands of photos of flowers, plants, trees, mountain peaks, and plenty of Knox. I had only snapped a few photos of him on purpose but there were plenty of him, sweaty and smiling. I lost myself in editing for hours, smiling to myself as I removed just enough to make them perfect.

Photography was the one place my brain quieted down just long enough to let me have a moment of peace. Had been since Mom gifted me a vintage Nikon when I was ten.

Except today it wasn’t entirely quiet.

Thoughts of my mother sat at the edge of my mind all morning. Unlike most days when she came to me, I was assaulted by instantaneous grief. Today it was just that low, persistent ache that never went away. It was sharp but it was always there. Some days I thought my grief wouldn’t sting so much if I had a place to go and visit, a spot where I could talk to her. But there was nothing, no funeral for a final goodbye. No grave to touch and leave flowers.

Just the words of a cruel man. A known liar.

So grief consumed me most days, but today it hurt just enough to make my eyeballs sting.

I didn’t know what it was about today, but I missed my mom fiercely, which was why I fought the chill by wrapping her jacket around me. It was all I had of her and I cherished it, deeply. Probably more than I should. I tugged the jacket around me a little tighter and dove back into the photos with a small smile on my face. The mountains were gorgeous, a perfect subject for any artist.

I was so lost in the photos from that day I didn’t notice the door open or Knox when he stepped out. “Wow. Are those the photos you took?”

I gasped, startled as I looked over my shoulder. “Uh, yeah,” I nodded. “Just a little editing.”

He stepped beside me, pulling the second chair around the table before he sat beside me, smiling when I angled the screen his way. “Holy shit.” He practically breathed the words as he took in the details with genuine awe. He didn’t just glance out of politeness, that wasn’t his style I was learning, he studied several photos before he turned to me.

And then to the jacket.

I tugged it around me, waiting for his judgment.

“You just into retro fashion, or what?” His mouth tipped to one side. “It looks old,” he observed and then laughed. “Not old like shitty, just from another time.”

I laughed despite myself and lifted one arm so the fringe shook playfully. “It is from another time,” I told him, smoothing my hand lovingly over the leather. “It was my mom’s. Only thing I have that I know for sure was hers.”

He fell silent. It wasn’t an awkward quiet, just the kind that people who understood loss gave in those moments.

“I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately,” I admitted. “I don’t know why it seems so intense, but I miss her so bad my chest actually aches.” I shouldn’t have said all that. It was too much to dump on this man who was basically a stranger.

He leaned closer and wrapped his big arms around me, carefully, like he was worried how I might react. “I get that,” he said after a long, nearly comfortable silence. “My mom died while I was in the Marines,” he said. “The only fucking years I was ever away from Redstone Creek, and that’s when it happened.” He said it evenly but there was a world of hurt underneath it. “Cancer got her quickly. They diagnosed her in April, Stage Four and it ravaged through her body in months. By October she was gone.” He paused for a long beat where I assumed he was thinking about his own mother. “I didn’t even get to say a proper fucking goodbye.”

I turned to look at him and without thinking, I reached over and touched his face, just my fingertips against his jaw, and then I caught myself and pulled my hand back fast. “Oh, Knox.” My voice came out soft and full of sympathy. “I am so fucking sorry to hear that.”

He flashed a sad smile. “Thanks, Ivy.”

Quiet settled between us again, but this time it was different. We no longer felt like two strangers sharing living space, but two people who had shared a bit of their pain and maybe found understanding somewhere in the middle. I couldn’t quite explain it, only that I felt closer to him.

“We can visit her grave,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “If you want, I can take you to her grave or you can go on your own. You’re not a prisoner here, Ivy.”

It was such a simple thing to say but the force of the words slammed against my chest so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. He said the words simply. You’re not a prisoner. He had some clue of what my life had been like before our marriage, but he didn’t remind me, just declared that I was free to come and go as I pleased.

“Thank you,” I whispered on a soft sigh. “But I don’t know where she’s buried. Rex never told me anything.” I looked down at the jacket. “I don’t even know if there’s a grave to visit, never mind which cemetery or even a plot number.” I hated myself for how easily I accepted the answer, but my hand instinctively rubbed my jaw as a reminder why I had accepted it.

Knox’s gaze was unsettling, but I refused to waver, meeting his gaze head on. “Give me her full name, date of birth and death, if you have it. I’ll see if Switch can find her.”

I stared at him with wide eyes. My heart raced over those simple words that felt like everything to me. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He said it like it wasn’t a big deal, like of course that was the next logical step.

I couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real, couldn’t be that easy. Could it?

“Ivy,” he whispered in a low, careful voice. “You okay?”

I nodded quickly before blinking away the shock. And the panic. “Yeah, I, uh…h-h-her name was Magnolia Price but before she married Rex, her name was Magnolia Morel.” I hadn’t said her name out loud in too many years to count. It felt strange on my lips, like a secret I was supposed to keep forever.