Page 6 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)

Ivy

I ’ve been in Benton Falls for seven days, and a bone-deep restlessness has settled into my sternum, digging in deeper with each day that passes.

I haven’t left my house once. I’m a chicken, but I know how this town works.

The moment I step outside, I’ll be bombarded with rumors about my return.

Plus, it’s a small town, making it nearly impossible to avoid someone even when you try.

Between the rumors and the possibility of seeing Campbell again, I’ve been hiding out.

Only if I hadn’t gotten away from the starkness of those white walls, I might have gone insane.

So I came up with a plan—or at least part of one.

Reaching up, I tuck my curls inside my hat and keep my gaze on the ground as I walk into the coffee shop, hoping no one notices me. A quick in and out—that’s all I need.

I’ve spent the last four days going through my grandparents’ things and trying to paint, and neither is going well.

There are so many things to go through—things that I have no emotional attachment to—but when I think about throwing them out, guilt settles in my stomach.

Usually, I can paint through those emotions—find the answer on the other side of a paintbrush—but I think I’m broken because no matter how hard I try, at the end of the day, my canvas remains blank, which is unfortunate since it’s my career.

That’s what I had been doing this morning, sitting in front of a blank canvas, willing myself to make a brushstroke, until my eyes crossed. The frustration was what finally drove me out of the house—that, and I needed caffeine.

I’ve just stepped through the door when I run into something solid. An unladylike grunt slips past my lips as two strong hands grab my upper arms.

“Well, if it isn’t Ivy Cunningham in the flesh.”

Looking up, I find myself staring into a pair of gray eyes.

“Hayes,” I say, with an awkward smile, stepping back so his hands fall from my arms. I always liked Hayes, but he was still always more of Campbell’s friend than mine.

Outside of Campbell, I didn’t have anyone.

I didn’t think I needed anyone else. He was always good enough for me, but I sometimes wonder if things would have turned out differently if Campbell hadn’t been the only person I’d ever relied on. “It’s been a long time.”

Hayes’s eyes are assessing as he watches me, and I try not to fiddle with the hem of my jean shorts.

I don’t know how much Hayes knows. Campbell never was much for sharing with anyone besides me, but our history wasn’t small—at least to me.

To Campbell—well, maybe it was to him. It would have to be, considering everything he did.

The moment stretches out with Hayes studying and me trying to stay still until I finally break.

“Okay. Well, see you around.” With an awkward wave, I start to walk around him, but I don’t make it two steps before I run into someone else.

Strong hands keep me steady once again, but this time, electric shocks shoot up my arm. Closing my eyes, I take two deep breaths in, praying it’s not who I think it is, and then I open them again, letting my head fall back to look up at the man steadying me.

The irony is not lost on me as I meet a pair of blue eyes. At sixteen, Campbell was always my anchor during a storm, steadying me when I felt like I would capsize, but with one strong swell, that anchor broke loose. And I feel like I’ve been lost at sea ever since.

“Ivy,” Campbell’s voice is gruff and familiar—a lash against my skin—but I refuse to flinch, no matter how badly it feels like tearing flesh from bone.

Sighing, I step out of his hold and force a polite smile. He’s as devastatingly handsome in the light of day as he was in the shadow of night, but the hatred burns brighter, too. It’s a raging inferno in the depths of his blue eyes, and I’m afraid if I look too long, I’ll burn right where I stand.

“Campbell,” I say his name the same way he said mine. His brows dip, and in that moment, I have this innate urge to stick out my tongue.

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. We stand there glaring at each other, the tension building so high I’m afraid it might choke us both, and then a throat clears, snapping us out of the moment.

“Soooo, Ivy,” Hayes says, “How long are you in town for?”

“I—” I begin to answer, but Campbell cuts me off.

“Not long. She has a fiancé to get back to. Right, Ivy?”

The muscle in my jaw twitches, but I keep my attention on Hayes.

“You know, I’m not sure. There are some things I need to finish up here,” I say, letting my gaze slip to Campbell for just a second before it flicks back to Hayes. “Both my grandparents passed away, and it seems I have inherited everything.”

A look of pity flickers through Hayes’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Ivy.”

I grit my teeth because I never know what to do with that.

I’ve received a million apologies since my grandmother passed away, and each one has been awkward because, despite growing up with her, we didn’t have a relationship.

A part of me feels like I should be sad over her passing, but another part—a much bigger part—feels free, and I’m not sure what that says about me.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice strained. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to grab some caffeine and get back.”

Hayes smiles, his gaze quickly darting to his friend standing beside him and back to me. “Of course. If you need anything while you’re around. Let me know. Or Campbell. I’m sure he’ll be glad to help, too.”

Pressing my lips together, I smile and say, “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

______________________

Five minutes after I get back to the house, there’s a knock at my front door. I sigh, knowing my quick trip to town not only caused a run-in with Campbell but also brought the townspeople to my front step.

The citizens of Benton Falls can’t help themselves. It’s in their nature to find out the scoop. I’d been lucky to avoid it for the first four days, but the tidal wave will soon descend now that I’ve made the first move out into the open.

I set my coffee on the table and walk to the front of the house, smoothing my hand down my shirt and over my hair as I go. It’s a hopeless cause trying to tame my curls, but I at least attempt it. With my appearance in order, I open the door, preparing myself for what’s on the other side.

A man in a suit, holding a briefcase, stands at the door. I’ve never seen him before. He’s not one of the Benton Fall regulars, at least not from my time. He’s older, with a kind face, and he smiles when he sees me.

“Ms. Cunningham?” he asks, his voice just as kind as his face.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Charles Atwood. May I come in?”

My brows dip. “May I ask what this is about?”

“Oh, excuse my manners, Ms. Cunningham—”

“Ivy,” I say, interrupting him. “You can call me Ivy.”

Charles dips his head and continues. “Ivy, it is then. I’m here because I heard of your grandmother’s passing.”

I shift my weight at the mention of my grandmother.

“Oh? Are you a friend of hers?”

“Not exactly.” He shakes his head, and I watch him closely. “I’m her brother.”

My mouth falls open, and I stand there gaping, unable to form words.

Charles probably thinks I’m an uncultured swine, but I couldn’t close it if I tried.

I didn’t know my grandmother had any family, let alone a brother.

Not that my grandmother and I had the type of relationship where we talked about secret brothers.

Most of the time, we hardly spoke at all unless there was some order I was meant to follow.

Charles chuckles, and it warms something inside of me. Throughout the years I spent living with my grandmother, I don’t think I ever heard her laugh. Not once.

“I see I’ve stunned you,” Charles says with a smile.

“No, I—” I stop, not knowing what to say. “You know what, why don’t you come in so we can talk?”

Charles nods, his face suddenly serious, and then I see it—the similarities to my grandmother—and I wonder how I missed it before.

“I think that might be best.”

Stepping aside, I let him in and close the door behind us.

“I don’t have any refreshments. I need to go to the store. I just—haven’t.”

Embarrassment heats my cheeks.

“It’s alright, dear. I’m fine. Is there a place we might sit?”

“Of course. Right this way.” I lead him back to the formal dining room and take a seat opposite him at the table.

Once we are settled, I start up the conversation by blurting out the question that’s plaguing me. “Why haven’t I met you before?”

The kindness in his eyes turns a little sad, and I almost regret asking—but I can’t take it back. I need to know.

“Your grandmother and I had a complicated relationship.”

I can’t stop the snort that slips out. “That seemed to be the only kind of relationship she knew.” Charles frowns, and I regret opening my mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

My gaze darts around the room, avoiding looking at my grandmother’s brother as I try to cool the heat in my cheeks. When I finally bring my gaze back to him, I find him studying me.

“You shouldn’t apologize for saying how you feel. I—of all people—know how my sister could be, but she wasn’t always like that. Not until she married your grandfather, and then suddenly, appearance and money became much more important to her.”

“Did you grow up with money?”

A wrinkle pulls between his brows, a look of confusion marring his face. “Is that what your grandmother told you?”

I shake my head. “No—we—um—we never talked much.”

“Oh, Jane.” The sadness in his voice when he says my grandmother’s name makes me ache for a woman I never actually knew, and for the first time since she passed, that sadness grips my chest.

“Will you tell me about her?” The question is nearly a whisper, but it lands like a weight between us. We both know I’m not asking to know the woman I grew up with. I knew her. She was cold and unapproachable. I want to know who she was before.

“I would love to.” Smiling at him, I settle into my seat and wait for him to continue.

“I suppose the first thing you should know is that your grandmother did not always live in such luxury. We grew up poor—dirt poor—but we were happy. At least, I was. Our parents loved us, and they tried—to me, that’s what mattered.

But Jane always said she would find a way out.

I believed her, too. Whatever she wanted, she found a way to get.

She met your grandfather, and despite Momma and Daddy telling her he wasn’t the man she thought he was, she saw it as her way out. ”

“What did they mean by that? About him not being the man she thought he was?”

He lifts one brow and stares at me. “You met your grandfather.”

He’s right, I did, and he had a habit of putting on a persona in public that wasn’t the same inside our home.

To the public, he was the perfect Christian man, but at home, he was just plain mean.

He was never abusive, but he ruled his house with an iron fist, and everyone was expected to fall in line.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I did.”

“Then you should know. But Jane could only see her way out of poverty. After they were married, I started to see my sister less and less, and when I did see her, she was changing—becoming hardened. We went our separate ways until she called me six months ago.”

Frowning, I ask, “Why six months ago? What changed?”

I try to think back to anything significant that might have happened around that time, but I come up blank. It wasn’t like she was sick. Her death had been unexpected.

“I don’t know,” Charles says, shaking his head. “But she asked me to hold onto something and give it to you upon her passing.”

At that, he reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a manila envelope. I recognize the curls of my grandmother’s smooth handwriting instantly.

“What is that?”

He slides it across to the table so it’s in front of me, and I run my fingers along the lines of my name.

“I don’t know. All I know is that she asked me not to look into it, and I agreed. There’s also a letter.”

He pulls it out of his briefcase, and my hands shake as I take it from him.

My heart slams against the inside of my chest so hard I’m afraid I might get sick.

It’s the same feeling I had when I found the last letter.

The one from Campbell. The one that left me with a lot of questions and no answers.

How much will this letter change my life, too?

With Charles watching me, I take a deep breath and unfold the creases in the paper. Two words stare back at me.

I’m sorry.