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Her voice was thick when she spoke. “It doesn’t look the same anymore.”
“A lot has happened since the last time you were here.”
We got out of the truck in silence, and I tucked my hands into my pockets while we ascended the newly fixed porch. No more leaning—fresh support beams in a squared-off style.
We stepped inside, and she took it all in with wide eyes. The floors were finished, and tomorrow, they’d be covered with rosin paper to protect them while the last of the work happened.
Even though a hefty layer of dust covered them, the transformation was pretty incredible.
Ivy walked through the kitchen and gently touched the newly painted cabinets.
I followed her through the primary bedroom at the back of the house, and the attached bathroom. All the choices she made were budget conscious, but elevated the house far past what it had been before.
She didn’t spend long there, ascending the stairs after taking a deep breath. The new railing drew a small smile as her hand coasted along the top.
It wasn’t until she reached the bedroom upstairs that used to be her mom’s that she stopped in the doorway, gripping the trim with one hand.
Then she turned suddenly, yanking on the door and staring at the freshly painted wall behind it. Her shoulders slumped.
“What?” I asked.
“There was something here,” she said. “I didn’t … I meant to see what it was. The night I stayed here.”
I pulled in a quick breath. “It was height marks.”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “What?”
Gently, I touched her arm. “Ian noticed it while he emptied out this room.” I drew her toward the closet and opened the door. On the top shelf of the closet were two neatly trimmed pieces, the smaller stacked on top of the larger. “He asked if I thought we should cut it out.”
“He did? Why?” she asked. But her hands reached up for the pieces, even as she asked.
I didn’t answer right away, just let her pull both pieces down.
The handwriting was the same on both. The first was labeled with years consistent with Ivy’s mom’s age. The last year she was marked would’ve been a few years before Ivy was born. Elizabeth Ivy was scrawled neatly on the shortest of the marks. When she moved it aside to look at the small piece, her chin trembled again.
There were only two marks.
Ivy Anne was written near the first, the handwriting much shakier than on the large piece.
“I don’t remember being here,” she whispered. “I don’t remember…”
Carefully, I stepped behind her and set my hands on her shoulders, dropping my nose into the top of her hair.
“I hate him,” she whispered.
My eyes closed. I kissed the crown of her head.
“Would it hurt so much if you did?” I asked quietly.
Her shoulders shook, and I knew she was crying again. I wrapped an arm around the front of her chest and held her from behind.
“He’s the only person I’ve had my entire life,” she said, “and I am just now realizing that he doesn’t actually know how to love anyone besides himself.”
I exhaled in a hard puff.
She kissed the edge of my arm, softening the blow when she pulled out of my embrace. Ivy set the pieces of drywall back in the closet and let out a trembling sigh. When she turned, her eyes were wide and terrified.
“That’s who I learned my lessons from,” she said, pointing at some imaginary person I couldn’t see. “That’s why I don’t know how to take care of anyone. Hell, I can hardly take care of myself, but I had straight As and was on the dean’s list and can write the hell out of a master’s thesis.” She swiped angrily at her face. “I don’t know if I would’ve been any different if she was still here, because I don’t remember her. Or my grandparents. Maybe I would’ve come here every summer because they wanted me to, and I would’ve met you a different way. Maybe I would’ve been a completely different person if I’d had a different sort of love than the one he gave me.”
