Page 45 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)
Ivy
L aughter and cheerful voices fill the air in Campbell’s parents’ backyard—and it’s overwhelming.
I’m used to social gatherings, but not like this.
Not where people genuinely care for one another—where they want to be in each other’s presence.
I’ve only ever had Campbell, and for so long, I didn’t have him either.
Willow and her family left a little bit ago, needing to get back because they all had early mornings tomorrow, and now I’m sitting on the outskirts of the party, a wallflower in a place I’m not sure I’ll ever really belong in.
Don’t get me wrong, Campbell’s friends and family have been great, but I don’t know how to be a part of a deeply-connected group like that.
Campbell went to grab me a drink several minutes ago, but from the edge of the yard to here, he’s been stopped a million times just to talk. It made me smile because I can see how much he’s loved. I just hope he knows that.
“Hey,” a voice says to my right, and I turn to see MJ, walking up with two drinks in her hand.
“Hey,” I reply, offering her a smile. I don’t know MJ well, but she was always nice enough growing up.
“Campbell sent me with your drink. It seems Ethel and Muriel crashed the party. They claim Silas invited them, but Silas disappeared the moment they arrived. I think they’re sweet on him, and he’s smart enough to know they are chaos.
So Campbell’s dealing with that.” I give her a curious look, and she must realize I have no idea who she is talking about because she goes on to explain.
“Ethel and Muriel are both eighty years old and get into more trouble than most of the teens around here. Once, they “wrecked” their car just so Hayes would be called to the scene. Their bumpers were hardly touching.” She pauses, absently rubbing her pregnant belly.
“Not that I blame them. I’ve done some crazy things myself for that man’s attention. ”
I laugh, knowing that feeling all too well because I’ve always been desperate for even a simple look from Campbell.
“So,” I say, leading the conversation away from the desperate way I am addicted to the man. “How far along are you?”
“Almost twenty weeks. We find out what we are having next week.” The joy on her face as she talks about her pregnancy is a sharp contrast to how I felt during mine, but our circumstances were different, too.
She has a husband who loves her—someone to do all the pregnancy things with her—and I did it all alone.
Bitterness tugs at my heart, but I press it down and force a smile, determined to be happy for her.
“Do you want a boy or a girl?” I ask, thankful my voice doesn’t betray me.
MJ thinks about it for a minute and then shakes her head, her red hair falling into her eyes. “I think people expect me to say a girl, but I really hope it’s a boy. I want to name him after my brother.”
Her eyes tell her sadness, and she gives me an embarrassed smile when she realizes I noticed.
Reaching out, I gather her hand in mine and squeeze, letting her know she has no reason to be embarrassed.
Not with me. Even though we weren’t good friends, I remember Langston.
He had more drive than any person I know, and if he’d been given a chance, he would have done big things with his life.
“I think that would be a beautiful tribute.”
“Yeah,” she says, blinking rapidly so her tears don’t fall. “I think so, too.”
She takes her time gathering herself, and I let her, content to sit in silence with her.
With a deep breath, MJ claps her hands, pulling herself together.
“Anyway, I actually came over here for something other than trauma dumping on you. Lily and I have started this thing where we send the boys off to do whatever it is they do, and we give ourselves a spa day at my house. We’d really like it if you would join us. We’d love to get to know you better.”
“Because I’m—” I stop, unsure how to form the words for what Campbell and I are doing. We aren’t dating, but we aren’t not dating either. And that’s confusing, “doing whatever I am with Campbell?”
MJ shakes her head. “No, because Lily spoke highly about you since she met you, and that’s rare for her. This invitation has nothing to do with Campbell and everything to do with you.”
Warmth spreads through my chest when I realize she’s telling the truth. “Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat so I can try again more confidently. “Yeah, I’d love to be a part of it.”
“Great,” she says, standing and reaching for my hand to squeeze it like I had hers. “I’ll get with you about a day, and we’ll figure out something that works for both of us.”
She gives my hand one more squeeze before dropping it to return to her husband, who is watching her with a drink in his hand, waiting for her to return to him.
It’s sweet the way they are drawn to each other.
Before she makes it to him, though, she turns her back toward me and says, “Oh, yeah. I was also supposed to tell you that Della Rae is looking for you. She’s in the kitchen. ”
Without wasting another second, she spins back toward Hayes and sprints to where he is standing.
She jumps into his arms, and he catches her gently, careful of her bump.
I watch as he kisses her lips and then leans down to do the same to her belly.
I swallow and look away when the bitterness threatens to bubble up again.
Rising from my seat, I pick up the cup MJ brought for me, taking it with me on my search for Della Rae. My heart beats frantically as I draw closer to the house. We haven’t spoken since that day in the driveway.
The sliding glass door is already open, leading to Della Rae’s spacious kitchen.
She’s at the sink washing a cup when I walk in, and when she hears me coming, she turns her head over her shoulder and smiles.
It’s the same smile she gave me when she found me sneaking into Campbell’s room. Comforting. Happy. Safe.
“Hi, Ivy, I was just about to come look for you. I have something for you.”
“You do?” I ask, my brows dipping down.
Della Rae answers me with a conspiratorial wink and walks over to the cabinet beside the refrigerator. She rummages through things for a minute before pulling out a plate covered in aluminum foil. Without removing the foil, I already know what it is.
“I do. I knew you wouldn’t get any if I didn’t hide them from those boys out there.
Grown men, and they still eat me out of house and home.
” She chuckles. From the way Della Rae talks about them, it’s clear she’s fond of Campbell’s friends, and I’m glad because if they have her approval, it means they really are good men.
“Besides, I made these special for you.”
My gaze flicks up to hers to find her staring at me softly. Tears fill my eyes when I realize she’s talking about me. I’m her girl.
“Thank you, Della Rae.”
I’m thanking her for so much more than the cookies, but the sparkle in her eyes says she already knows that.
“Anytime, sugar,” she says, handing me the plate and bopping my nose. “Take a seat, and I’ll pour us some milk to go with them.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I grin, always willing to sit and talk with her over cookies and milk.
I do as she says, carrying the plate to the table while she grabs the milk. Once we are both settled in, she wastes no time getting to business. “So, my son tells me you are no longer engaged.”
The cookie I’d just taken a bite of gets stuck in my throat as Della Rae gives me a knowing grin and takes a sip of her milk.
“Uh—no. I’m not,” I say once I finally get the cookie down.
“Good. I never thought he was good for you anyway.” She says it so matter-of-factly that I can’t stop my laughter from slipping out.
“You never even met him.”
Her eyes twinkle when she sets her cup down and looks me in the eye. “I didn’t have to. He wasn’t my son.”
I don’t know what to say to that because she’s right. He wasn’t. No one ever will be. It will only ever be Campbell for me. So I stay silent, letting her have her victory.
She grins wider, knowing my non-answer is my answer, but she doesn’t press it.
“So, when am I going to see you at church again? It’s been a while.”
I shift in my seat, wishing we could go back to talking about Campbell, but knowing that topic has now passed.
“Um—you probably won’t,” I say, avoiding her eyes. I don’t want to disappoint her, but I can’t give her what she wants either.
Frustration mixes with the bitterness I felt outside. I try to bite my tongue against it, but it all spills out when she asks, “And why not?”
“Because I don’t want to sit in a place where people only care about how they look instead of the God they are supposed to serve.”
The honest words are freeing. Della Rae sits quietly, studying me as she picks up a cookie and takes a bite.
“I see,” she says, but she’s not saying it condescendingly. I think she really does see.
“Do you?” I ask. “Because I thought I did for a very long time. I thought I knew what church, and God, and fellowship, and all those things were, but I think I was wrong.”
Della leans forward, taking my hand in hers while she holds my gaze and delivers words that are like a punch to my gut. “Or maybe you didn’t, and you put your faith in people instead of Jesus.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” she says, letting go of my hand to wag her finger at me.
“You are smart, Ivy, so you know exactly what I mean. It was people in the church who let you down, not God, but you placed that blame on him. And that’s understandable.
You went through a lot—way more than someone your age should have had to—but not everyone is like your grandparents.
Some people have the faith they say they do. ”
“Yeah?” I ask bitterly. “Like who?”