Thirty-Four—Mia
J
ust as Ivy was walking out to the patio, Bo emerged from the basement. I was headed to the fridge to grab a Pepsi, and when I looked up, I was met with his almost comical expression, which was a marriage of hurt and betrayal.
“What?” I said, popping the top of my soda.
“I told you to tell me when she came home! You said you’d tell me when she came home!”
I looked at my brother as I poured Pepsi over ice. “Bo, Ivy came home.”
“Very funny,” he said, watching her cross to the pool house. “When? How is she?”
“About five minutes ago,” I said, taking a sip of my drink. “She has a headache. I sent her to your bathroom for an aspirin, and now she’s going to lie down. End of story. Oh, except her horrible almost-husband got married and has a baby.”
Bo had stopped breathing, and his face lost a shade of its color, and I immediately felt bad for being so glib. That is, until he erupted: “You let her into my room! How could you, Mia?”
“What?” I said, shocked. “She has a headache! Don’t yell at me.”
“I haven’t vacuumed in there!”
I groaned. Then I walked away from my infuriatingly tormented brother. Of course, he followed me. “What? What?” he said, oblivious.
“Go away, Bo. Leave me alone. I have work to do.”
“Well, how is she? ”
I looked at him. Hard. “Really? She’s a mess, Bo. She’s very hurt. Tim, the man she almost married, married someone else. She’s a little bit devastated. That’s why she’s been in bed for three days. That’s why she has a headache. And I promise you—I absolutely promise you—Ivy could not care less that your room has not been vacuumed. Do you get that?”
He got it. I could see it in the way he looked as though I’d punched him in the stomach. I shook my head, I’m sorry on the tip of my tongue. But a loud pounding on the door saved me from—or robbed me of—the opportunity to say it. The sound startled my brother and me out of our moment, and we both moved toward the door.
I’d forgotten that I’d called Super-dad until I found him on the front porch, looking extremely agitated and revving up for another exuberant knock. My first thought was that this display of tension was worry over Ivy. But he quickly set me straight.
“How dare you leave a message like that at my place of business, Mia?” he seethed. “What were you thinking?”
“What are you talking about?”
“What was so urgent that you couldn’t have used my cell?” he demanded.
“You didn’t answer your cell. Or respond to my text message. What’s the big deal?”
He breathed deep through his gritted teeth. “I was in court!” he said, taking a step inside.
I pulled the door open wider with reservation. Bo stepped aside.
The living room floor was still covered with my photos—although arranged in fewer piles—so I didn’t invite Ivy’s father past the foyer. He turned to me, still mad. “So? What was so important?” he glared.
I was suddenly defensive and not in the mood to share, so I just stared at him until I was back in charge. “Well,” I finally said, “Bo and I are very worried about Ivy. She got some bad news a few days ago and has hardly been out of bed since. She’s not eating or talking to anyone. I didn’t know what to do, but I figured her father might. So, I called you.” I checked my watch. “Four hours ago,” I said pointedly. “I guess it’s a good thing she wasn’t clinging to life under the wheel of a semi.”
Daniel Proctor narrowed his eyes as though he didn’t believe me, and I really quite hated him then. “What bad news?”
I lifted my chin and met his eyes. “You should ask Ivy.”
“I’m asking you, Mia. And I don’t have a lot of time, so quit wasting it.”
It seemed odd that Super-dad’s wrath should be aimed at me, so I knew it wasn’t. And though I love a good confrontation when I’m in the right, I cut my losses. I glanced over at Bo, who was doing his own share of glaring. “Tim got married,” I said. “And he has a brand-new baby. And…Ivy’s not taking it well.”
Daniel Proctor’s expression did not change. “Who?”
“Tim. Tim . Ivy’s almost… husband .”
His exasperation was loud and decisive. “This is about him ?” he carped. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. It’s beyond ridiculous at this point!”
“Not to Ivy,” I said, frankly shocked.
“Well, that girl just needs to grow up and go home!” he said. “I can’t deal with this. Not now. Not today.”
I looked at Bo—who was staring a hole through the horrible attorney—wondering if we were really hearing this tantrum. At the same instant, Daniel seemed to catch himself and made a weak attempt to rein in his awfulness. With poorly affected concern, he forced out, “Is…is she all right?”
“No,” I said. “That’s why we called you.”
Super-dad seemed surprised at my curtness and quickly tried to channel more sorry into his expression. “What would you like me to do, Mia?” he said with weary, disingenuous contrition.
I was about to respond when Bo moved to the door and opened it. “Just leave,” he said to Daniel Proctor. “We’ve got it covered. I’m sorry Mia called you. Clearly that was a mistake…and the last thing our friend needs right now.”
Super-dad looked surprised that Bo had spoken. But for all my brother’s failings, they were not betrayed in his square-shouldered, steely-eyed, firm-toned imperative, which he repeated as he opened the door wider. “Just leave.”
“I came to see my daughter,” Daniel said, eyeing Bo with what appeared to be an attempt to dominate.
“No, you didn’t,” my brother said, evenly. “You came to throw your weight around.” Bo glared at the lawyer. “She’s not here anyway. We talked her into going to her life skills group, and she’s not back yet.” He lied without flinching.
Daniel didn’t move for a moment, but his smug superiority faltered, and we all knew the snotty little man was out of options. But it didn’t stop him staring, biding his time, trying to intimidate. Bo didn’t react. It was wonderful to watch.
“Tell her I was here, and to call me,” Daniel demanded.
Bo didn’t say anything. I didn’t either. But I folded my arms and silently cheered when the boob finally walked out. On the porch, Ivy’s dad turned, apparently having come up with more parting words. Sadly, we would never know what they were since Bo shut the door in his face, which I have to say made me smile.
“Well done,” I said.
He looked at me, locked the door, and breathed. “I think I channeled Dad there for a minute.”
“Of course you did! Nice job.” I stared at my brother and could almost watch his heart slow down. “He’s awful. Poor Ivy.”
Bo nodded, chewing his lip.
“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier,” I said. “The crack about you vacuuming and Ivy not caring.”
He met my eyes. “One of these days, Mia…” he said. “One of these days, I swear I’m going to get on top of that stuff.”
“I know you will.”
“I’m going to take Ivy some lunch. ”
I followed him into the kitchen again, where he opened the fridge. “Bo…” I sighed. “Leave her alone. She has a headache.”
He ignored me as he arranged grapes and cheese on a plate. When he was pleased with the presentation, he looked up. “You gave her access to my drug supply. She’s depressed, devastated, I think you said. I’m checking on her.” He walked past me, and I watched him make his way through the French doors and across the patio. Ivy had no idea the friend she had in my brother, who’d not only channeled my dad to protect her from hers but was now on a quest to sleuth out her possible suicidal tendencies. I sighed. Damn Daniel Proctor. Some kids get a crappy parent, some get a really crappy parent, and some get two.
I could not relate.
Back in junior high, Kyle Crandall broke my heart. I had loved him with the indomitable soul of a passionate thirteen-year-old. So, when he asked Tanna St. Clair to the afterschool dance and not me, I thought I would die. Mom was on her way to run a 5K, so she called my dad to rescue me from the depths of my bottomless, barely pubescent pain. I’m sure he said soothing dad things—that was his M.O.—but what I remember most was that he took me to the mall and bought me shoes: my first heels. They were red. He said they were my walking away shoes. That day, he told me life would hand me many disappointments and that there would be times when the only thing I could do was walk away. He said, Meez, you might as well do it in style.
His wisdom stung my eyes, even now.
Ivy was stuck with Super-dad, whose concern went only so far as was convenient. I had always had Jack Sutton—my champion from the day I was born…not to mention a closet full of great shoes.
My ringing cellphone yanked me from my reverie, and I scrambled to find it. When the number displayed was a mile long, I squealed. Syria . “Hey, you!” I nearly screamed into the phone.
“Hey, baby,” I barely heard through the thick static.
“Hey!” Static. “Derek?” More static .
Then halfway clear, glorious laughter, then, “Mia! I can’t believe I got you.”
“Are you okay?” I said loudly.
“I’m great. I just miss you. I miss everything about you, baby.”
“I miss you, too! Are you safe? What’s happening?”
“I’m safe. Staying put, as far as I know. I just called…I just had to hear your voice and tell you…tell you I love you. I love you!”
“What?” Static. “What? Derek?”
“I love you, Mia!” he shouted.
“What did you say?” I shouted back even though I had absolutely heard him and had gone completely numb. “Derek…Derek!” But he didn’t hear me because the line had filled with impenetrable static and then gone dead. “Derek!” I shouted. “Don’t go… Please don’t go!” I blew out a breath and stared through tears at my phone. My heart was hammering. Did that just happen? Did my guy who was a world away really say he loved me for the first time? I started to giggle and cry uncontrollably. Yes. Yes he did!