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It felt like the world had taken a vacuum and sucked his insides out. Chloe didn't know what she was asking. He wanted to reach over and loosen her bandana. It had to be cutting off the oxygen to her brain. “Chloe, think about it. Mom raised you and me, and we turned out okay.”
She breathed deeply and seemed to sink into the mattress when she exhaled. “I want Ivy to know she has options. If she wants to be the president, I want her to think she has a chance. Mom would ask her the president of what? And then lead her to the bridge club.”
He couldn't argue with his sister. They'd been raised by a woman who could have penned every book on marrying well, and then wrote the sequel calledMarried and Miserable.Annette Richmond wanted what she wanted and got exactly what she asked for. She was wealthy and lived in a beautiful house in Atlanta. She had hundreds of friends and was the loneliest person he knew. He understood why his sister didn't want Ivy raised by their mother, but he wasn't the best alternative.
“There's got to be a better choice for her.”
His sister gripped his hand and sat up. He stared at the determination in her eyes—eyes which had once been the color of the Caribbean sea but had washed out to something gray and lifeless. But in that second, they were fierce and stormy.
“There is no other choice. Promise me, Bastien. If you do nothing else for me, promise me you'll raise Ivy. You are a good man.”
A tear slipped down his cheek, but he swiped it away as fast as it fell. “I am exactly like our father. I'm married to my work.”
She gripped both of his hands. “You are not our father, but I don't want her to grow up and be our mother—bitter, angry, and unsatisfied. Promise me.” She held so tightly onto his hands that he couldn't let go—couldn't separate himself from his sister's dying wish.
A head of chestnut hair blowing in the breeze caught his attention as he watched Ivy run ahead of her nanny toward the water. She was happy despite the circumstances. She was Chloe thirty-five years ago. Back when their lives were somewhat normal. Back before his father took on a string of lovers, and his mother turned to vodka martinis and pool boys for pleasure. Back when family meant something.
Chloe squeezed his hands again, and he took his eyes off Ivy to look at her. He would do anything for her, and she knew it. So, he smiled and swallowed the lump of uncertainty lodged in his throat. “I promise.”
She relaxed and let out a sigh. “Thank you. Now I can go in peace.” She stared out the window and watched Ivy collect seashells from the shore. Several minutes later, Ivy ran toward the house with Rachel, her nanny, racing to catch up.
How was he supposed to do what he did and raise a five-year-old? He spent most of his life on an airplane going from deal to deal. Chloe had no idea what she was asking, and then maybe she did. She'd been on him to slow down and take a breath, but he hated the silence and loneliness that came with a break, so he stayed on the fast train all the time, racing toward the next deal.
“Isn't it time to enjoy the scenic route?” Chloe asked, as if reading his mind.
Ivy raced in and hopped onto the hospital bed. She crawled over her mother and threw herself into Bastien's arms. “Uncle Bast, you're here.”
He clung to her. “I'm here, little bug. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere.”
Ivy let go and fell back to the bed, snuggling up to her mother's side. “Mommy is leaving us soon, and she told me I have to take care of you.”
His heart twisted. Maybe that was the plan all along. Leave it to Chloe to twist the plot and the narrative. “We'll take care of each other.”
With Ivy in her arms and Bastien by her side, Chloe fell asleep while they stared at the ocean in the distance. Like the tides, life rolled in and out. Each time the water lapped on shore, it was a rebirth for the sand and all that lived below. Life had a cycle, like a sea with high and low tides. The day Chloe left the world would be the lowest tide of his life, but she'd leave behind Ivy, who would carry on the cycle. She'd be like the moon and rule the tides of his life from that point forward.
A soft knock came from the door. When he looked down at his sister and Ivy, they were both asleep, so he let go of Chloe’s frail hand and answered the door.
Standing there was a woman dressed all in black, and it pissed him off. “Can I help you?” He stepped outside the door and closed it behind him. “What do you want?” His badass boardroom voice took over, and the woman stepped back.
“I'm Marybeth Davidson, the pastor's wife.”
He hadn't known his sister to be religious and couldn't imagine what this woman was doing on the doorstep. “We're not interested in what you're selling. She isn't dead yet.” His gut wrenched so hard he nearly doubled over from the pain.
“Oh, darlin', I'm not selling anything. I'm delivering paperwork and good tidings.” She opened her purse and took out an envelope and a bag of white sugar-coated cookies. “And a treat for Ivy.”
He felt awful for assuming the worst. “I'm sorry, but it's a trying time for my family.”
She set her hand on his shoulder and left it there. “Chloe made all her arrangements. I'm assuming you're her brother?”
He nodded. “I'm Bastien.” He stared down at the envelope. “Is that her will?”
She shook her head. “Oh no, we don't do legal work at the church. We do God's work. She wanted the funeral details. As for her will and stuff, I'm sure she's got that all together. She seems like the kind of woman to have a plan.”
She was right. Chloe had her life all planned out, but then she always had. Their mother had picked out a husband for Chloe. Knowing Annette Richmond, she probably had the flowers and invitations ordered for the wedding when Chloe was still in her womb. But after college, Chloe had other plans. She wasn’t interested in marrying well. She wanted to live life to the fullest and hopped on a plane to Paris. She traveled for a good fifteen years as a freelance journalist until she returned to the United States pregnant with Ivy. She says it was a sperm donor, but he was pretty sure that Chloe had all that planned out, too. She didn’t pick a pretty boy out from a book, but probably chose from a long list of attributes she found attractive, like honesty and integrity. She never cared about what was in someone’s bank account. It was what they held in their heart that mattered. The only thing she didn't plan was breast cancer that had metastasized.
“She's a force to be reckoned with.” That part was true and why he thought she'd beat cancer.
“Anyway,” Marybeth said. “Is she around, or should I leave this with you?”
