Page 21 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)

Ivy

I ’m holding a flimsy piece of card stock in my hand, rolling it between my fingers as I chew on my lip and try to decide what to do. Charles gave me his card and told me to call whenever I needed him. I think he meant more as a family member, but right now, I need a lawyer.

It’s been a week since our meeting with the Bryants, and the longer I’ve sat here in this house with its white walls and ghosts, the more I’ve thought about what John said and his blunt way of dismissing us.

I understand this situation is complicated, but he didn’t give me a chance to tell my side of the story.

He assumed I gave up my daughter because I didn’t want her, and that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

Even if they never let me know her, I need her to know I wanted her.

So I dial the number and wait for it to ring.

Charles picks up on the third one. Luckily, he’s in town and agrees to swing by before he has to head home.

I spend the next fifteen minutes pacing the floor in front of the front door while I wait for him to show up.

Nerves pulse beneath my skin, and when a knock comes, I startle, placing my hand over my chest.

Swiping my hands down the front of my shirt, I pull myself together and walk to the front door, hoping my knees keep me upright.

Charles stands on the other side, a friendly smile on his face when he sees me.

I swallow, my eyes darting back and forth to avoid the kindness staring back at me in his.

I can count on one hand the number of times someone has looked at me like that since I left Benton Falls, and I don’t know what to do with it.

So I clear my throat and step back, creating room for him to walk in.

“I made us some lemonade. It’s on the back patio. I hope that’s okay.”

My fingers fiddle with the hem of my shirt, but where my grandmother would have scolded me for fidgeting, Charles smiles and says, “I love lemonade.”

My shoulders relax a little bit, and I lead him toward the back of the house. A wrought iron table and chairs wait for us, and I’ve lifted the umbrella to ward off the sun. Even though it’s more fall than summer, the Alabama sun packs a punch.

I take my time pouring each of us a glass and setting the pitcher to the side, avoiding Charles’s gaze, but I still feel him watching me.

My heart races against the pulse point in my neck, and I will it to slow down.

But no matter how hard I try, it keeps thumping out of control.

My head starts to feel dizzy, and I place my hands in my lap to prevent Charles from seeing them shake.

And when I can’t take it anymore, I lift my head and meet eyes that are achingly familiar.

“I’m glad you asked me here, Ivy. I’ve been wondering how you are.”

“You have?” The words are out before I have the chance to stop them, and if I hadn’t been threatened most of my life over my decorum, I might have slapped my hand over my mouth in horror once they were out. Instead, I grimace and apologize. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

I wait for the berating, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Charles chuckles, and that takes me by surprise, too. Since I’ve met him, I’ve been waiting for his mask to slip—for him to be more like my grandmother—but each time I think he might, he proves me wrong.

“Yes, dear. I have. You’re family, and that means I will always wonder how you are.”

I’ve lived with “family” my entire life, but sitting here with Charles makes the word feel foreign. An uncomfortable feeling crawls over my skin because while he’s been concerned for me, the only reason I asked him here today was for my own benefit.

Maybe I’m not so different from the people who raised me.

The thought settles in my stomach like a lead weight. My brows pinch together as I study one of the lemons floating in the glass pitcher.

“You look like something is on your mind, dear. Would you like to talk about it?” Charles’s voice shatters my thoughts, dragging me back into the moment.

“I—umm—I actually invited you here because I want to hire you.” I don’t know if it’s the tone of my voice or the way my fingers wring each other in my lap, but Charles must sense the seriousness of my request because he sits up, his brows dipping together.

“Oh? Is everything okay?”

I don’t know if that question makes me want to laugh or cry because nothing is okay.

I can’t even remember the last time I felt okay.

I came here to settle my grandparents’ lives, but mine has been turned upside down in the process.

My fiancé—if that’s still what he is—isn’t speaking to me.

My daughter is close, and yet just out of reach.

And Campbell—well, the rest of my life is complicated enough without adding anything with him to the mix.

So no, nothing is okay, but I can’t tell Charles all that.

He’d run for the hills. So I stick with the one he can help with.

“I know you said you didn’t, but I just need to be sure. Did you read anything that was in the envelope you gave me?”

The fact that I feel I have to ask is sad, but I don’t feel like I can trust anyone.

He shakes his head. “No, dear. Those were Jane’s words to you. They were not for me to see.”

“I got pregnant when I was sixteen—”

The change in topic surprises Charles, and it takes him a minute to recover. “I—uhh—I didn’t know that. Did something happen to the baby?”

Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I’ve cried about this too many times, and every time the tears hit my cheeks, it feels like I’m handing over that power I’ve given my grandparents my entire life. They are still taking it, even from the grave.

“Yeah, something happened,” I say bitterly, years of anger bubbling to the surface.

“My grandparents lied to me. While I was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, fighting for my life, my grandparents forged my signature to sign my rights away to my daughter. She ended up in foster care, and when I woke up, they lied to me and said she died. I mourned her for years, all because my grandparents didn’t want to ruin their Christian reputations.

And I didn’t find any of this out until after they passed away.

So I have no one to be angry at, and it’s tearing me apart piece by piece. ”

My shoulders fall up and down in big heaves at the end of my speech. I can’t breathe. The words wrap themselves around my lungs and squeeze, and whether I like it or not, the tears fall down my face.

“Oh, Ivy,” Charles says, standing up and coming to sit by my side. He rests his hand on my back, rubbing it in soothing circles. “What do you need from me? Do you want to find her? I can help with that. Do you want to cry? I can hold you if you want. Whatever you need, dear. I’m here.”

“What about a time machine?” I sniffle. “Do you have one of those?”

Charles chuckles, but it comes out hollow, like he’s forcing it out for my sake. “I’m sorry. I can’t say I do.”

I sigh, knowing it wasn’t within the realm of possibility, but still hoping anyway because there are a million things I would go back and change if I could.

“I know.” A beat of silence passes, and then I tell him the rest of the story.

“I know where she is. There was enough information in the envelope Grandmother left to figure it out. She was adopted at six months old by a family that loves her. I met them. They were everything I never had, and that should be enough. But—” I stop, unable to go on.

“But it’s not.” Charles finishes for me.

I shake my head. “No. It’s not. Does that make me selfish?”

“No, dear. That makes you a mother.”

My heart stops beating. It’s the first time anyone has referred to me as that. I hadn’t even been able to admit that in my own head, but that’s exactly what I am. I’m a mother to a sixteen-year-old girl I love more than life itself, even though I’ve only seen her face in pictures.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I am. I don’t want to disrupt her life. I just want her to know that she was wanted. Always. That I never would have given her up if I had known.”

Charles’s smile is kind and caring.“That I can help with.”

______________________

Charles doesn’t stay much longer. I walk him to the front door, and before I open it, he wraps me up in a hug.

At first, I don’t know what to do with it, so I stand frozen with my arms down by my side.

Charles is not deterred, though. He keeps hugging me until I finally lift my arms and hug him back, and it says everything words can’t.

This isn’t just a friendly goodbye. It’s his way of helping me hold myself together.

It’s nice, which is why I probably hold on longer than I should, but to his credit, Charles doesn’t try to pull back. He holds me until I’m the one who lets go, stepping back when I realize how desperate for connection I must look.

“Thank you for listening—and being willing to help,” I say, offering him an awkward smile and a handshake.

Charles eyes my hand for a second with a bemused smile before taking it.

“Like I said before, you’re family. My sister failed you in many ways, my dear, but I am not my sister.

I hope one day you will believe me when I say that, but after what you told me today, I understand why it may take some time. ”

Forever. It may take forever.

I don’t say that to him because he’s been so kind to me, and he’s willing to help me when it comes to Willow. But there’s no denying the scars my grandparents left on me. They are thick and permanent.

He pats my hand before letting it go, but he doesn’t move to leave yet. He lifts his arm, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Look, Ivy, I know this may be none of my business, but what about the father? Is he around? I can go with you to tell him if you would like.”