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“Good.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes it in hers. “Now first thing’s first. We need to get you cleaned up.”
I nod. Ivy pulls back the covers, and slowly, I sit up. It’s harder than I expect because I’m weak, my muscles aching from days of doing nothing. When my feet hit the floor, and I try to stand on my own, I quickly realize that I can’t.
“It’s okay.” Ivy grabs my arms. “Your body is tired. Let me help you.”
I don’t want to let her help me, mostly because I’m stubborn, and I was actually inspired by her reminder of the blood that runs in my veins. But I know she’s not going to let me give up now when she’s gotten me halfway.
“Remember, I’ve been where you are,” she says. “I know it’s not fun. I’m still not back to a hundred percent myself, but I have a few party tricks from my physical therapy that will make it easier.”
She maneuvers herself in front of me, bends, and wraps me in a hug. Immediately, I stiffen, and she laughs.
“Yep, just like your brother. You both need to work on human affection, but I can promise you, I’ll save a real hug for another time.”
I realize as she starts to pull me up with her what she’s doing, and surprisingly, it works. Within a moment, I’m on my feet, and Ivy has her arm wrapped around my waist in support. But that’s only the first stage of the battle, and walking becomes another challenge with my legs stiff and uncooperative. It isn’t until I’ve managed five steps that my body begins to relax slightly, and we traverse the distance into the bathroom with slow but certain progress.
Ivy leads me to the bathtub, and I grip the porcelain as my knees bump against it.
“Are you okay?” Her hand hovers near my arm as she releases me, and I nod.
“I’ll be okay, thank you. You can go.”
“Oh, no.” She shakes her head determinedly. “That’s not happening. I’m not going to leave you in here to fall.”
“I won’t,” I say, but even as the words come out of my mouth, we can both hear the lie.
“Another De La Rosa trait,” she mutters as she turns on the water. “You should know I’ve become a pro at managing stubbornness, so your protests are lost on me. Just remember, it wasn’t that long ago the roles were reversed, and you were watching me in a similar situation.”
She sets the plug into place, adjusts the water again, and then comes to stand behind me. I’m wearing an oversized T-shirt and shorts, and it isn’t without difficulty that I take them off. Getting naked in front of my sister-in-law isn’t on my top ten list of things I ever wanted to do, but it’s either her or Antonia.
It’s not until she helps me out of my shirt and discards it on the floor that I hear the quiet gasp from behind me. And then it hits me.
My scars.
I suck in a sharp breath and wait, tension blooming in my chest. It isn’t as if I’d forgotten they were there, but I had become used to not hiding them with Judge, and even Lois. I wasn’t thinking about Ivy seeing this part of me. Now that she has, there’s no turning back.
“Mercedes.” I feel her trembling hand on my shoulder, emotion choking her voice. “My god. Who did this to you?”
I dip my head, too choked up to speak myself. I’m so fucking tired of crying. I don’t want to spend one more second like this. Ivy seems to understand that, and she lets me have this moment, not pushing it further as she changes tack.
“Let’s get you in the tub. I’ll help you wash your hair.”
It isn’t an easy feat, but she does get me into the tub, and almost immediately, the warm water loosens some of the stiffness in my body. I relax into it, and Ivy fingers the delicate chain around the back of my neck.
“Should we take this off first?”
“No.” I shake my head, my fingers coming to rest on the necklace.
She pauses, and there’s an understanding in her voice when she speaks. “It’s beautiful.”
I don’t have to tell her who gave it to me. She knows but doesn’t say anything about my desire to keep it on. I’m grateful for her compassion, and even more so that she washes my hair gently and efficiently.
It’s so strange how my hatred for her clouded everything else about this woman. But now, in my clarity, I can see her for what she is. She is a gentle woman. A kind woman. She’s a woman who, despite all odds, loves my brother. And I know she’s a good mother too. I admire her for all those things, but most of all, I admire that she could find it in herself to forgive me and help in this way.
“Let me brush this conditioner through your hair.” She walks to the vanity and grabs a comb, and I curl my knees into myself, staring at the wall.
When she comes back and starts to work the conditioner through my ends, I close my eyes and release a painful breath.
“My father.”
