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“Of course, Verity. I’m only too happy to help.” He stops at the door and glances back at me. I get that sensation again; pins and needles racing up my throat. His eyebrow ticks up. “I’ll see you soon, Ivy.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rogue
Through the walls comprised of mostly glass windows, bright swathes of light layer the floor in the retreat.
It wasn’t that long ago I ran into Ivy here in this foyer and made a complete ass of myself. Of course, at the time, I had no idea who she was or what she would end up meaning to me.
I glance at my watch as I step up to the huge horseshoe desk in the middle of the foyer.
Ivy had an appointment with Dr. Keller this morning, and I’m hoping she’s already finished up. I don’t want her thinking I’m spying on her.
As frustrated as I am dancing around what’s going on with her, I’m keeping my own problems close to my chest too. Or trying to.
I didn’t tell Ivy I was coming here when she told me she had an appointment because I didn’t want her to know that I was planning to visit my mom. These visits usually leave me feeling pretty exhausted, and Ivy doesn’t need to deal with that. Not when her brother is clearly making her life difficult.
I swear, if she’d give me the okay, I would hunt him down and make sure he understood how unwelcome he is in her life. She wouldn’t be bullied by him anymore. I wouldn’t let it happen. But she’s trying so hard to be the girl I’m already in love with. Completely herself. Unafraid. Independent. And I already argued her into a safer car. I have to give her space. Time. The opportunity to deal with it on her own terms.
Two towering vases on the high counter are filled with daffodils. They momentarily block my view of who is behind them. At least Rebel remembered to send the flowers.
“Rogue.” The woman behind all those flowers smiles as she moves them to a less used part of the desk. Her shoulder length hair is a crisp gray and the green framed spectacles she wears compliment her eyes. “It’s good to see you again. Would these be your doing?”
“Hmm, no.” I gesture at the parcel under my arm wrapped in bright yellow paper and gold string. “That would be my brothers.”
“They aren’t with you today?” She smiles softly. I’ve made this trek and had this conversation enough times that she doesn’t really expect an answer.
I clear my throat. “How is she today? Do you know?”
“Betty is good. I saw her earlier at breakfast. It looked like it was going to be a good day.” Elvira picks up an armful of folders and moves them to the top of a filing cabinet. Usually ‘a good day’ is code for my mom being present enough to have a monosyllabic conversation with someone outside of her head. “Do you want me to call her up?”
“No.” I rap my knuckles on the marble. “I’m sure I know where she’ll be.”
Her suite is full of daffodils. There are vases on the windowsill and on the little dining table. They tower on the nightstand and the table next to her recliner. Their bright petals color the normally cream walls a soft buttery yellow.
A vanilla cupcake with sprinkle ice cream had a bite taken out of it before being discarded along with its foil wrapper and a blue and white striped candle. One of the orderlies must have brought it for Mom. They always take good care of her, often bringing her candy or magazines.
I place the gift I got her—books and a couple of movies I thought she might like—on the table next to the flowers and cupcake before I head outside to the spot she loves the most.
I find her sitting under the palms.
“Hey, Mom.” I lean down to kiss her cheek. Her sundress is a darker shade of yellow and suits her complexion. It makes those orbs that are so genetically similar to mine pop. Her hair, which is a few shades lighter than Ivy’s caramel locks, hangs about her shoulders like she made an effort today. “Happy birthday. You look well.”
She smiles up at me like I’m the moon and stars. It’s the weirdest feeling to see her look at me and not through me like she usually does. The warm inflation in my chest is only matched by the width of my smile. She really must be having one of her rare good days.
“Sit. Sit.” She tugs on my arm and gestures at the wooden slats of the bench. “How are you, my baby?”
“I’m good, Mom.” I lower myself onto the bench and roll the sleeves of my Henley up to my elbows. It’s a mildly warmer than usual day and this spot catches a lot of sun. “Doing well.”
“That’s great.” She leans against me.
Across the small alcove-like space, our image is reflected back off the glass walls of the building. It’s both beautiful and strange. I can’t remember the last time she was this invested in a conversation with me.
I catch the slight hint of movement on the other side of the glass wall. It makes me think of Ivy. Before I knew who she was, she knew me. She once told me she hid behind a potted plant and watched me like the cutest, most adorable stalker in the world. Was she on the other side of this glass the first time she saw me?
“Have you found your girl yet?” Mom asks, like she’s reading my mind while taking my hand between hers and turning it over. She traces a circle in my palm, like she used to do when Rebel and I were little kids. It tickles the tiniest amount but for a moment the whole world seems to come into clearer focus.
I don’t recall telling her about Ivy, but I suppose I must have. I’ve been consumed by her. Obsessed. I’m head over heels for the girl. “Ivy is good, Mom. I think you’d like her.”
