Sixty-Five—Bo
I
didn’t sleep well, even with the Xanax, but without it I would not have slept at all. I really tried not to need one when I went to bed. I did. I’d washed my sheets and let them soak in a Clorox rinse while we were at the funeral, so I knew that wasn’t the issue. The issue—the relentless anxiety-producing issue—was the conversation I’d had with Ivy on the back patio. That was a loop that I was destined to relive all night. But taking her concerns to heart, I was hoping to power through medication-free, even if I had to stare at the ceiling all night and hyperventilate. Which is what I was doing when Mia showed up with disturbing news: We had to go home. I looked at her. “What?”
“I have to get back,” she said. “So, let’s leave early in the morning.”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“No! I need one more day, Mia. Fly back if you need to,” I told her, already dreading the solitary drive. “Besides, didn’t you book a round-trip?”
“No. One way,” Mia said. “And I have strict instructions from Mom to drive home with you and get you back to her in one piece. Not to mention I have a mountain of photo editing waiting for me. So we have to go.”
I stared at my sister for a long moment. I wasn’t ready to leave Ivy, and I wasn’t ready to face that drive again. But admittedly, I had to get home, too; I was an entire week behind schedule. I groaned, desperately in need of a Xanax. “I need tomorrow,” I told my sister. “We’ll leave the next morning and drive straight through and be home by Sunday afternoon, but I need tomorrow.”
“No, Bo,” she said.
“Yes, Mia,” I said back.
“Fine,” she sighed with resignation. “I guess tomorrow we can see the sights of Savannah. Maybe Ivy can show me the best places to take pictures,” she said. “Who knows? I might find a southern gem to add to my portfolio.”
I glared at her. “Whatever, Mia. But go with Camille. Ivy will be with me.”
My sister looked ready to argue, but instead she narrowed her eyes and shut her mouth. “Goodnight Mia,” I said ending the discussion..
So, not only was I contending with the loop in my head, I had to actually imagine leaving here without Ivy. I imagined that until my hands started to sweat and I could hear my heart pound. I gave up and took a Xanax. It was 1:37.
But it still took me a while to stop thinking about her.
When Ivy had walked away from me on the patio, she had left me a mess of knotted emotion. She’d called me out on something I hadn’t even considered, and in so doing my feelings for her had redoubled, which frankly amazed me. Or maybe it was just her that frankly amazed me.
Her very gentle confrontation was a fair point that I could not begrudge. Confidence, lost inhibition, even medicated fibbing, as she put it, could, in theory, come easy when fueled by pharmaceuticals. It’s what made the production of mood altering everything such a lucrative enterprise. In basic parlance, it’s why drunks could fall in love so easily, and how stimulants could transform the timid introvert into an obnoxious clown. It’s why benzodiazepines so enticed the ill-at-ease. I got that. I’d just never associated that mindset with my particular situation, my benzodiazepines. Not until Ivy had so eloquently pointed it out.
So, yes, it made sense .
But, no, I hadn’t lied to her when I’d said everything I’d said.
When I went downstairs the next morning, I was surprised to find no one in the kitchen, so I grabbed an apple of dubious origin from a basket on the counter and washed it three times—and then once more. It was 8:30. Where was everyone? The apple tasted organic, so I took another bite and breathed in the brilliance of my setting. Bright, unfiltered sunlight poured through the huge picture window in Geneva’s kitchen; it was beautiful. For a moment I just reveled, thinking how amazingly peaceful I felt right here, right now—which was a little surprising given the fact that I’m me .
As I stood there, I became aware of the sound of laughter coming from outside, and I walked onto the porch to check it out. Everyone was across the street on Geneva’s private pier, and Scout was screaming. Apparently, she’d caught a fish. Bluff Street faced the Skidaway River, which fed the Wilmington, according to Geneva. She’d told me that land ownership on Bluff included a private pier, which was located across the road and directly in front of each home on the street. Geneva was sitting in a lawn chair on hers, sipping coffee from a mug. Camille was holding Olivia, who was rather freaking out at the sight of the tiny fish on the end of Scout’s pole. Ivy was in the middle of it all, helping Scout reel in her prize. Mia was still in her pajamas and playing the part of cheerleader. I walked over and stepped onto the lengthy pier. “Benjamin,” Geneva shouted. “Come join us. Your niece has caught us some lunch.”
Naturally, I stayed a fair distance from the festivities, but it didn’t keep me from enjoying the scene. Especially when Ivy noticed me there and smiled. I waved.
She finished reeling in Scout’s trophy and disconnected it from the line. Then she walked over to me. She was wearing a denim dress, and her short humidity-infused curls were pulled back with a red scarf. She looked tired—and who wouldn’t?—but great. Really great. “Hey,” she said .
“Hey,” I said.
“Mia said you’re leaving tomorrow.”
I nodded. “I guess we have to get back.”
Ivy sucked in a breath that I hoped was disappointment. “Well,” she said. “We’ve got today. How ’bout I show you my Savannah?”
“I think I’d like that.”
She smiled.
“You two headed out?” Geneva shouted.
“Yep,” Ivy said, taking my hand. “We’re off to explore the big city.”
“Have fun,” Mia shouted, nodding at me. “I mean it: Have fun !”
As we turned to walk off the pier, I suddenly stiffened, acutely aware of the hand in mine. “Ivy,” I said. “You touched that fish.”
She grinned and squeezed my fingers, making it impossible to disengage. “I did indeed, with both hands,” she said. “But I promise you, Bo, that we will live long enough to get across this street and back into Gran’s kitchen where there is Borax under the sink.” She squeezed tighter. “So, suck it up, sweet pea,” she teased. “Because I’m not letting go of you.”