Page 18 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)

Campbell

T he Bryants are a family of four: Jackie, John, Kolton, and Willow.

Jackie is a stay-at-home mom with bottle blonde hair and the free time to run the school PTO.

Her husband, John, on the other hand, is a corporate lawyer who spends almost every waking moment at the office, if rumors are to be believed.

The one thing he has going for him is that he never misses a school event for his kids.

He shows up every time with a smile on his face.

Kolton is their oldest, their biological son, and Willow—she is mine.

I learned all of this from the private investigator Jane was working with. She left his number amongst the other things Ivy showed me. But for everything I know about Willow and the family she grew up with, there are a hundred things I don’t. Like, what’s her favorite food? Or color? Is she happy?

Every opportunity to know my daughter—to watch her grow—was stripped from me.

First steps. First words. First day of kindergarten.

They’re all things I’ll never get back, and the more I think about those things, the more the anger keeps eating away at my soul, stripping me bare.

My body can’t decide between the never-ending numbness and deep-seated anger, and it’s exhausting.

When I pull into the driveway of a two-story suburban home, another emotion joins the mix.

Jealousy is not an emotion I’m usually familiar with, but right now, it burns hot and furious as I look up at the house my daughter grew up in, taking it in.

The red brick, picture windows, and white shutters scream money, but the fresh flowers and rocking chairs on the front porch make it feel like a home.

I’m not jealous of the money. My family has enough that I’ll never have to worry. I’m envious of the memories made inside this home. The memories that should have been mine. The family that should have been mine.

Ivy sits quietly beside me, her eyes taking in the home just like me, and I don’t have to read her mind to know her thoughts are the same. Her hands are fisted tightly in her lap, and her long lashes open and close rapidly, trying to hold back the tears swimming in her eyes.

Reaching over, I take her hand in mine, not for her, but for me. I’m standing close to the edge, and she’s the only thing holding me back from jumping. I guess I didn’t learn my lesson the first time, because I can’t depend on her to be there to save me.

“They are expecting us,” I say more to myself than her because otherwise I’d stay in the truck forever.

I turn my attention to Ivy, watching to see if she will fall apart and ready to catch her if she does, but I should’ve known better.

She’s always been stronger than me. She takes a deep breath, slowly releasing it through her nose, and pulls her hand out of mine.

The loss of her is a shock to my system.

I’ve been trying to get used to it for years.

“Let’s go. There’s no need to keep them waiting.” Her voice is cold, detached, and so unlike the Ivy I once loved.

It’s one of the things I’ve noticed about her since she’s been back. It’s as if life has made her forget how to shine. Once upon a time, I would have lent her some of my light, but after she left, I realized that if she is the sun, I am the moon. My light has always come from her.

Without another word, she steps out of the truck, not looking back to see if I follow. Sometimes it feels like it’s always been that way—Ivy leaving and me following.

Grabbing the door handle, I open it and jog to catch up to her. She’s standing on the porch when I reach her, her hand lifted to knock, but her knuckles never come down.

“Ivy?” Her name slips off my lips, tasting like it always has—like forever and a day—but she’s no longer my forever. And I’m no longer hers.

Ever so slowly, she turns her head to look at me, her eyes wide and bottom lip trembling. “I’m scared.”

I can tell how much that confession cost her, and she’s already paid enough. So I step forward, lifting my hand and knocking. Then I step back and wait, staring straight ahead when I give her a piece of me back to make up for the cost. “Me too, sunshine. Me too.”

______________________

The door opens, and Jackie Bryant stares back at us.

Her face is pinched into a polite smile, and her husband stands behind her, his hand on her shoulder.

His face is stern, not giving an ounce of emotion away.

I pride myself on being able to read people—it’s part of my job—but John Bryant is impossible to read.

His slate gray eyes bounce from me to Ivy, sizing us up and finding us lacking.

I guess if I were in his situation and someone were intruding on my family, I’d feel the same.

Ivy and I haven’t talked a lot about what we want from this meeting, only that we want to know our daughter, and to do so, we have to go through the two people standing in front of us.

To her credit, Jackie’s smile widens, even if it is a little watery, and she sticks out her hand. “You must be Campbell and Ivy,” she says, shaking my hand first and then Ivy’s. “Please come in.”

She steps back to allow room for us, and her husband shadows her, step for step. A begrudging respect sits uncomfortably in my chest. With one movement, he’s proven that he’s a man who will protect his family, and if I had to choose someone else to raise my daughter, it’d be a man like that.

I wait for Ivy to go in first, but when she doesn’t, I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her in. “Thank you for having us, Mrs. Bryant. We appreciate you taking this meeting.”

John snorts, muttering something under his breath about not having a choice. Jackie’s smile tightens, but she ignores her husband’s comment.

“Please, call me Jackie. I’m going to grab some refreshments. My husband will lead you to the living room. We can talk there.”

She spins, heading off toward the back of the house, but I don’t miss the look she gives her husband, a warning to play nice. He grunts an indiscernible agreement, and when she disappears, he turns to us and says, “If you’ll follow me.”

As we walk, I take note of all the signs that my daughter lives here.

A pair of shoes placed haphazardly beside the door with a purple backpack sitting beside it.

A water bottle with her name on it sitting on the entryway table.

I have to force myself to keep walking instead of running my fingers over the letters in her name.

It’s a sign of life, something she’s held in her hands, and I want so badly to hold it in mine.

But instead, I keep walking, following John to the living room just down the hall.

When I first called the Bryants, they refused to meet, but after several more calls and a threat to get a lawyer, they agreed—but only to a meeting without Willow.

I understood—respected it even—but her presence is everywhere in this home.

It makes my chest ache to be so close and yet so far away at the same time.

“If you’ll take a seat,” he says when we reach the room, “I’m going to check to see if my wife needs help with those refreshments. I’ll be right back.”

He disappears back the way we came, leaving Ivy and me alone.

She doesn’t look at me, but I didn’t expect her to.

We need time to recover from the pieces of ourselves we handed over at the front door.

Ivy walks over to the mantle, running her hands along the edge until she gets to a family photo, and I stand back, shoving my hands in my pockets as I watch her.

I can’t see the picture she holds in her hand from where I’m standing, but I can tell Willow is in it from the way her thumb lightly traces over it. She’s staring at it like she can’t believe what she’s looking at. Honestly, I can’t either. It all feels surreal.

I’m still watching Ivy when a throat clears behind me. Ivy startles, nearly dropping the picture, and her cheeks flush red as she catches it and places it gently back on the mantle.

“I was just—ummm—looking,” she says, her cheeks a little brighter than before. John and Jackie walk into the room, taking the two seats opposite the couch.

Awkward silence takes over the room, choking everyone in it, and when nothing else is said, Ivy walks over to the couch and sits down. Her back is ramrod straight, and she crosses her legs at the ankles, ever the picture of the proper lady her grandparents trained her to be.

I hate it. It’s not her. Not the girl I know. That girl was wild and confident, but this one is meek and scared. And it hurts to watch, so I walk over to the couch and join her, if only to avoid the reality of the mess we’ve become.

When I’m settled in, John is the one to break the silence.

“We might as well get to it. What do you want?”

“John,” his wife chides him, but he just shakes his head.

“No, Jackie. It had to be said. They are trying to take our daughter from us, and I won’t let it stand.”

Gone is the stoic man who met us at the front door, and in his place sits a father ready to fight for his daughter.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should leave. This man is more than just a father. He’s a dad, and I’m just the man who contributed my DNA.

I have nothing to offer her.

The thought stings, cutting through skin and muscle to the place where all my sadness lies. And sitting here in front of John Bryant, it hits me that I’ve made yet another mistake. Willow has spent sixteen years without me. She doesn’t need me now.

“I—we aren’t trying to take her,” Ivy says, her voice coming out as small as I feel. “We just want to know her. We want to be a part of her life. Right, Campbell?”

She looks at me, waiting for me to speak up—to come to her rescue in this—but I can’t seem to make my tongue move.

It’s glued to the roof of my mouth. Panic shines back at me in her eyes, but I still can’t make it come unstuck.

The same disappointment that filled her eyes the day she told me she was pregnant floods them now, but it’s not just disappointment this time.

There’s a little bit of hatred, too, and I don’t blame her.

She turns away, but not before I memorize the look on her face as I let her down again.

It will haunt me for the rest of my life.

“Please,” she begs, “Just let us get to know her.”

John’s face remains firm, but she’s not looking at him. She’s pleading to Jackie—a mother—begging her to see her.

“I—I—” Jackie starts, tears filling her eyes. She stares at Ivy for one second, and then she looks away. And I already know what her answer will be. “I’m sorry.”

Her voice can hardly be heard, but there’s finality in her answer that lands between us with a thud.

John stands as soon as the words are out of his wife’s mouth.

“I think it’d be best if you left, but before you do, know this—I will fight you tooth and nail.

Willow is my daughter. We woke up with her every night.

We took care of every fever and cold. We have been there for her.

I don’t know why you gave her up—nor do I care.

But you won’t come in here now pretending to be the parents you should have been sixteen years ago. ”

Shame burns my cheeks because nothing he said is wrong, but it’s not true either. I would have been there. If I had known, I would have been there. But I didn’t, and I wasn’t. So, I sit back and watch him storm out of the room, letting him believe he knows my story.

Once he’s gone, Jackie speaks up again. Her voice sounds loud against the silent room, even though it’s barely above a whisper.

“I’ll show you out.”

Woodenly, Ivy and I stand. Jackie begins to walk, and Ivy follows, her shoulders pulled back like she isn’t falling apart on the inside.

My world dims by another shade, and I wonder how long it will be before it’s pitch black.

When we reach the door, Ivy smiles politely at Jackie. “Thank you for having us.”

I grind my teeth together. I want to shake her—to tell her to stop being so polite for once in her life—but I don’t have the energy. It’s seeped from my veins, poured out at my feet, and there’s barely enough to remind myself to keep breathing.

Ivy starts to walk out the door, but before she can, Jackie grabs her arm.

“We haven’t made this decision lightly. It’s just, Willow, she’s—sensitive.

The first time she realized she was adopted, she—” Jackie stops, shaking her head as a sad look crosses over her face.

“It nearly destroyed her. It took a long time to build her back up, and it’s our job to protect her.

That’s all we are doing—protecting her.”

Ivy’s eyes fill with tears, leaking over her lashes and down her cheek.

“Can I—can I ask you something before we go?”

Jackie nods, her own tears slipping from her eyes. “Anything.”

“Do you love her?”

This time, Jackie’s smile isn’t just polite. It lights up her whole face, saying more than her words ever could. “With everything I have.”

Ivy swallows, turning her head to stare outside. “Then that’s enough for me. Thank you.”