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

Ivy

Nine Years Old

I ’m sitting in a huge living room with couch cushions as hard as the floor. My feet don’t reach the ground, so I swing them back and forth while we wait.

A lady sits beside me. My grandmother—or so I’m told. Her gray hair is slicked back into a bun, pulling her skin so tight it hides some of her wrinkles. Her mouth is stuck in a hard line, and she stares straight ahead while I stare at the side of her face.

“Say something. Say something. Say something,” I chant in my head, but her lips stay pressed together, and I sigh, looking away.

A clock chimes somewhere deep within the house, and I sit up, listening. When the halls stay silent, I slump back down.

I’m going to be stuck on this couch forever.

My grandmother’s sharp eyes slice my way before facing forward again. Her hands settle in her lap, and I mimic her. Maybe that will make her happy.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye, trying to decide if we are really from the same family.

I never heard my mom talk about her—or her dad.

But apparently, she had one of those, too.

I haven’t met him yet. That’s who we are waiting on.

My mom was always late for everything, too, so that makes sense.

But I think they might have lied about the woman beside me being my grandmother. She’s nothing like my mom.

She points her chin into the air, and I do the same.

Finally, after what feels like hours, solid footsteps echo through the hall. I sit forward, stretching my neck to see further, and watch as a man approaches. My grandmother is stiff when the man reaches the end of the hall, blocking out the light behind him.

My eyes start at his feet, covered in shiny black shoes, and slowly drag up over long legs and pressed pants until my head is tilted back, and I stare into a pair of dark eyes.

I think my mother was adopted.

My grandfather’s big, bushy eyebrows are drawn down, and the shadows across his face make him look scary. His mouth is downturned as he studies me.

“What is this, Jane?” he asks, his voice rumbling through the room. I flinch, and his frown grows deeper. “I was in an important meeting. Who is this girl?”

My grandmother stands, her movements graceful like the ballerinas in my old dance studio. She grabs my arm, pulling me to stand with her, and her nails dig into the underside of my skin.

I whimper, and she shoots me a disapproving glare.

“Stop that,” she hisses. I want my mom, but I don’t say that aloud. I’m too scared to. “It would seem your daughter had an illegitimate child when she ran away.”

His eyes slice to her. “And where is our daughter now?”

“Dead.” My grandmother’s voice is cold, and tears burn my eyes. I think she’s a robot. “There was a car accident.”

A growl rumbles from my grandfather’s chest. “That girl—always leaving a mess behind.” His eyes flash to me, and he takes a menacing step forward. My grandmother’s hand is still on my arm, so even though I want to run and hide, I can’t.

“First rule, girl,” he says, sneering down at me. “You will not turn out like your mother. If you are going to live in my house, you will abide by my rules. Do you understand?”

I want to argue and tell him there was nothing wrong with my mom—that she was better than he would ever be—but when I don’t answer right away, my grandmother shakes me so hard my teeth clink together.

“Yes,” I whisper.

My grandfather stands taller, dusting off an invisible piece of lint from his shirt. “Good. Now run along and find something to do. Your grandmother and I have much to discuss.”

My arm is released, and I do as he says, already planning ways to run away.

______________________

I’m standing outside of my grandfather’s study, a thick wooden door separating me from them, but it’s not thick enough to muffle my grandfather’s voice. I can hear everything he is saying as if he were standing right beside me.

“What are we supposed to tell people, Jane? Do you know how this will look? Do you ever stop to think?”

The door muffles my grandmother’s response, so I lean closer, pressing my ear to the wood.

“She’ll be a disgrace, that girl,” my grandfather says in response to whatever my grandmother had said. “Just like her mother.”

My fingers curl into fists, the nails leaving marks on my skin.

I hate him. I hate him so much. My mom was the best person I know. I don’t know what it means to be a disgrace, but his voice sounds like mine when I eat something that tastes bad, like he’s trying to scrape it off his tongue. So I know it’s nothing good. Maybe he’s the disgrace.

Not wanting to hear another word, I shove off the door and take off down the hall. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I don’t want to stay here.

Bursting through the door, I run down brick stairs, over a concrete path, and through a garden leading to a row of trees. I don’t stop running until my feet stumble over a root. My knees hit the ground, and I cry out.

I want my mom.

I just want my mom.

My nose is running, but I don’t move to wipe it away.

Lying down, I press my cheek to the ground and cry.

Each sob feels like I’m falling apart from the inside.

I hate it here. I hate my grandparents. I miss my mom, and worst of all, I think I hate her too.

She was my best friend, and she left me.

Not on purpose, but I’m still mad at her for leaving.

“Are you okay?”

I’d been so lost in my misery that I didn’t hear anyone approaching. I shove myself up, standing and wiping grass from my clothes.

A boy stares back at me with bright blue eyes and a look of concern. He’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.

Hurriedly, I use the back of my hand to swipe away the tears staining my cheeks, hoping he doesn’t notice—most boys my age wouldn’t—but his eyes track the movement, brows dipping together as he studies me.

“I’m fine,” I say, sniffing and taking in my surroundings.

Trees circle me in a little clearing, standing tall like soldiers. They’re pretty as a soft breeze blows through the branches, taking away some of the summer heat. I turn my attention back to the boy. He’s watching me still.

“My dad says when a girl says she’s fine, she usually isn’t.”

My hands go to my hips, and I jut out my chin. Mom always said it’s what I do when I am about to be too stubborn for my own good.

“Well, he’s wrong. I’m fine.”

The boy shakes his head. “My dad’s never wrong.”

My chin lifts higher. “Well, he is this time.”

He tilts his head, his mouth twitching in the corner.

There’s a spark in his eye as he studies me again, and I try not to squirm.

I feel like an ant under a microscope. After an eternity, he drops my gaze and starts walking toward me.

I tense, but he walks by me. Turning my head, I watch as he keeps going.

He makes it a couple of steps before he stops, looking back at me.

“Well, are you coming?” he asks, and my brows press down.

“I’m not coming with you,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t know you.”

He smiles, and my heart skips a beat. “I’m Campbell.”

His smile is so warm that I can’t help but give him a small smile, too. “I’m Ivy.”

“Well, Ivy, are you coming?”

I lift a brow. “To where?”

“To the place I go to cry so no one sees.”