Twenty-One—Mia
A
s my father took the broom from Ivy, who’d started to sweep up the mess her parents had made, my mom buried her in a hug. I sighed, hurting for her, and muttered under my breath, “Well, that went well.”
Geneva Talbot, who was still sitting next to me at the table working on a raspberry tart, patted my hand with her gnarled one. “Nothing like a little southern melodrama for your Sunday entertainment. I do apologize, Miss Mia.”
“For Ivy? Don’t you dare!”
“Oh, heavens no. I apologize for my daughter and that little Svengali she calls a boyfriend.”
I lifted my brows and stifled a grin, rather enjoying that I was apparently not the only un- fan of Daniel Proctor. Instead, I followed her gaze to where the Svengali in question and his butterfly had wandered to the lounge chairs near the patio fireplace. He looked pouty and she looked penitent, still trying to dab at the wine in his crotch with a linen napkin.
Geneva sighed, and l looked over at her.
“I’ve picked up on the fact that Ivy and her dad don’t get along very well,” I said. “But, even still, she doesn’t seem ready to leave here.”
“Yes. She’s made that very clear,” Geneva said. “Much to Daniel’s chagrin. Obviously. Which does tickle me.” The old woman met my eyes and grinned.
I laughed, again loving our mutual disdain for Super-dad .
With dinner more or less wrapped up, Mom picked up a pile of sodden napkins and asked Geneva if she could bring her anything when she came back out.
“Oh, my goodness, I am stuffed to the gills with deliciousness. Except I might just eat this last tart, if no one else claims it.”
Mom laughed. “Bo would love that! There is no better compliment for that son of mine than an empty dessert plate.”
“I will second that,” Ivy added, holding the dustbin as my father swept the last of the glass into it.
Just then, Bree walked up to her. “Honey,” she said to Ivy. “C’mon over by the fireplace.”
“Mama…”
“C’mon, sug, your dad and I just want to talk to you.”
“I will not argue with you about this,” Ivy insisted.
“I know. I know. It’s just a little chat.”
“I mean it, Mama,” Ivy said, following reluctantly. She glanced back at us, and I felt sorry for her.
We all felt for her. Mom watched her, then sighed and headed into the kitchen. Dad watched her as he started scraping the barbeque. And Geneva and I watched her like she was a girl headed to the gallows.
When Ivy sat down with her parents, I turned to Geneva. She smiled. “Miss Mia, I cannot thank you enough for being such a lovely friend to my little raincloud. You, your family, this place…it all seems like exactly what my sweet girl needed to put herself back together.”
I chuckled. “Raincloud. I don’t see her that way. Not really. She’s just going through something. That’s all. We’ve had some long talks, and she seems to be getting better every day. She has a life coach-slash-counselor. I think he’s really helping her.”
Geneva nodded and ran a bony hand down a snowy white plait of her hair. “She’s told me about him,” she said. “And I think you’re right, which is wonderful. It was agony to see her so hurt, and it’s such a relief to see her healing now. Bree wants her to come home, obviously, but I think she should take the time she needs. I do. I really do. She’ll come home when she’s ready. And she’ll be stronger and wiser and kinder when she does—although, I don’t actually know if that last one’s possible.” She winked.
I smiled. “Well, she’s welcome to stay as long as she wants. But I have a feeling she’s getting some pretty good pressure over there.” I gazed again at the intense discussion taking place by the fireplace, where Ivy was flanked by her parents. Bree was rather pleading, Daniel had leaned in, looking lawyerly, stiff-jawed and unyielding.
“Oh dear,” Geneva sighed. “That little Svengali thinks he’s Tony Soprano…”
I laughed. “He really does seem kind of awful.”
She shook her head, staring. “Oh, Miss Mia…you have no idea. But if the devil gives you a present that makes you happy every day of your life, do you think he’s still the devil?”
I looked at her. Hard. “Oh…that’s a good one. I don’t know.”
“Me neither,” she said wearily. “Me neither.” Geneva dabbed at her thin lips and stood up. “Come with me, my dear. It’s time for us to rescue our girl.”
I followed her across the patio and into the center of a very brittle family conversation. I felt awkward but only a bit since I was blanketed in the warmth of Geneva’s billowy shadow, the breeze rippling through her gossamer dress making her appear a bit like a windblown goddess.
“So…” the old woman sang out. “Did you tell Ivy here about our surprise?”
“Mama! No, not yet! We’re a little busy here.” Bree seemed flustered, which was clearly her mother’s intent. Super-dad just seemed instantly annoyed, but if Geneva noticed him at all, she didn’t show it. Bree quickly regrouped and was about to spring forth with something apparently amazing when Geneva stopped her.
“I just had a thought,” Ivy’s grandmother said with mock spontaneity. “I think Mia should join us—if she wants to, of course. ”
Bree’s mouth formed an O. Then she said it. “Oh, wouldn’t that be fuuuun!” she squealed. She jumped up and took my hand.
Of course, I had no idea what they were talking about and neither did Ivy, from the look on her face.
“Sugar,” Bree said, like a drum roll, then laughed. “We are stealing you away for a couple of days in Carmel—Carmel by the Sea. How does that sound? Heavenly, right? Am I right?” She laughed some more.
“Mama…What?”
“I know you’re not working, so we made reservations. And Mia, you’ll come show us all the best places to eat and shop and play and shop and shop and shop. You have to!” She giggled. “We’ll have a spa day. Say you’ll come with us,” she said, tugging on my hand.
I stared at her, thinking of all the reasons I shouldn’t or couldn’t possibly miss class. But then I thought of all the great images I could capture in Carmel, which was a bona fide shutterbug's mecca. “Maybe…” I said.
Ivy was suddenly relaxed, having eluded the heaviness of whatever they’d been discussing before Geneva and I had walked up. Now she slid over and patted the lounge chair to make room for me, and I happily escaped Bree’s grip.
Geneva laughed. “I’ll leave you gals to the details. Now, I must go beg Benjamin for the recipe for those sinfully scrumptious tartlets.” She eyeballed Super-dad, who was clearly bugged. “Daniel,” she said, sweetly. “I believe Mr. Sutton could use some help with the barbeque, if you’re finished here.”
Ivy’s Ken-doll-clad, wine-stain-crotched daddy bristled, and I coughed to hide a giggle. Geneva smiled, then winked at me.
Geneva Talbot was a big winker, and I liked her. I liked her a lot.