Page 53 of Mommy

“Ebony, who’s this?”

What?

Ebony?

My mind works a mile a minute, trying to stitch together the information it’s receiving. The warmth in Malena’s voice, the tears that line Ivory’s beautiful, baby blue eyes, and the thin smile, she forces onto her lips.

“It’s no one, Mom. Why don’t you go back to bed. I’ll show him out.”

The words aren’t normal. Not only because it’s barely past 6 pm and therefore not bedtime, but they come out too forced. Too pressed. Too much like Ivy wants to start sobbing, but is swallowing all those emotions in order to be able to speak.

I’m still not sure what to make of all of this, when her fingers grab mine and she’s pushing us both out of the house, pulling the door shut behind her.

The second the lock clicks into place, she lets out a deep sigh.

“Hii.” she mumbles, her voice returning to normal and the next blink wishing the tears from her eyes. As if nothing happened.

I don’t get past the moment nearly as easily though.

I’m still struggling to understand what happened there a minute ago, and in a burst of real stupidity I say the only thing I can think of.

“Who’s Ebony?”

The question is wrong.

I know it the second the name makes it over my lips.

Ivory’s lips press into a thin line and her gaze darts away, eyes scanning the front yard instead of me.

Still, I don’t take back my words.

Even while I was reading Ivy’s school memoirs that name has never fallen and yet, it seems to have a huge impact on both her and her mother. Big enough at least that she calls her daughter by that name when the right one is way more beautiful.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she murmurs.

Nice try.

“You didn’t bring a jacket, Ivy.”

She shrugs and before I know it, she pushes past me. Just squeezes around my shoulder and darts to the right side of the house.

My anger gets stuck in my throat when I realize where she’s heading.

From a small shed, she grabs a large windbreaker and slips into a pair of black sneakers that barely stay together. At some point, I’ll have to get her new shoes. Every pair I see on her pretty much already falls apart at the seams.

Odd.

Who keeps a secret stash of outdoor clothes like that?

The answer my brain gives me a second later makes me want to scream.

No one. Fucking no one does this. Except the people that are used to fleeing their home without second thought.

Only those who have felt the cold bite into their skin once, prepare themselves to not let it happen again.

How many times has Ivory rushed out of this house? And why did she ever feel like she needed to?

Reaching for her hand, I pull her closer to my side, tugging her under my arm as we slowly start walking down the sidewalk.