Seventy-Two—Ivy
I
wasn’t one bit nervous because my custom designed dress fit perfectly over my custom designed pre-Tim body. The makeover I’d gotten with the bridesmaids had left me with a movie star glow, and my shoes—which were to die for, thanks to Mia and Gisselle’s—brought me to a statuesque 5 foot 5. All in all, I’d cleaned up good, as Geneva would say, and I wasn’t nervous at all. Nope, I was giddy on this New Year’s Eve because if anyone was ready to bury the last year, it was me. When the organist finally started to play the intro to the wedding march, I squared my shoulders and waited for my cue—which was delayed because Olivia got a good look at the packed chapel. Camille had no choice but to sweep her little one up and take hold of Scout’s hand. Then the adorable flower girls made their way slowly down the aisle accompanied by the striking matron of honor, their mama.
Up ahead, the groom was magazine-cover gorgeous, tall and chiseled and boyishly anxious, which seemed incongruent with his recent history and the medals he currently wore on his chest. I’d met Derek Lehman last night at the rehearsal dinner for the first time, and I was an instant fan. He was humble and kind and clearly adored my friend. And when Mia had introduced us, he’d picked me up like I was a child and dang near squeezed the life out of me. “I hear you and me belong to the same club: in love with Suttons.” He’d said this into my ear, and I laughed and cried at the same time. “It’s a good club!” I told him. Now he caught my eye, and I could not keep the grin off my face. He may have appeared imposing in his dress blues, but at the moment, he was like any other groom, excitedly anticipating the biggest moment of his life.
I took my place on the podium and turned to face the congregants. Everyone was standing as Mia and her father made their way up the aisle. Mia was exquisite in her form-fitting cap-sleeve gown covered in antique lace. Her hair was beautifully gathered at the base of her neck, and she wore a bejeweled headband fashioned, of course, by her brother. Diamonds were at her ears and her throat. She smiled as she took in her wedding party: her best friends, who’d brought her a vintage garter they’d found in Lisbon—reportedly once worn by a princess; her sister, who had continued to bloom back into herself since her uncontested divorce had been finalized; and me. Mia’s smile was tender as our eyes met. It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d rescued me. Because of her, my life had been transformed, and she had a friend in me for life.
When Mia got to Derek’s side, she broke tradition and stood on tip toes to peck his cheek. Mia was tall, but Derek was taller, and the gesture brought tears to his eyes. Mine, too.
It was impossible to stand here and not relive my own wedding—but the sting of that memory was long gone. In its place was relief and gratitude because if not for Timothy’s fickle heart and fickler nether regions, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be in love with Bo Sutton and Bo wouldn’t be in love with me. And I definitely wouldn’t be wearing this Victorian poison ring on my finger. Now I fought the urge to let go of my flowers and glance down at it. Instead I ran my thumb over it. It wasn’t exactly an engagement ring because our relationship was so new. Instead, we called it a promise, a place-keeper, but we knew what it was. We knew exactly what it was.
When Bo had given it to me on Christmas night, he’d explained that a poison ring opens up to reveal a secret compartment under the stone. Historically it held poison that could surreptitiously be poured into the drink of someone unsuspecting but undoubtedly deserving. He had pressed the tiny button on mine that lifted the Lapis Lazuli—the stone of truth, which he had chosen for its deeper meaning. In the hidden well was a single seed pearl. He’d kissed me then and said the tiny bead represented the truth of who he was, and my wearing the ring would represent the truth of who I was. He then said the meaning of his very deliberate design represented the truth of who we were together. He didn’t know it yet, but this was my engagement ring because I was never taking it off.
Now I caught Bo’s eye and winked. His dark wavy hair was pushed back off his handsome face, and there was a two-day shadow over his jaw that I particularly loved. He was so cute I almost wanted to jump down and give him a big wet kiss. But of course, I didn’t. Bo was still Bo, and I didn’t think he’d appreciate my spontaneous display of slobbery affection. But then again, judging from the way he was looking at me, he might. I’d missed him so much. We’d been playing back and forth across the country for the last four months because it was Bo’s busy season, and a move to Georgia would have disrupted his productivity. But next week, we were going back together driving a U-Haul packed to the gills with his life.
Lullaby and Geneva had come to an agreement about my mother’s shop on the corner of Perry and Bull. Bo’s aunt had written my grandmother a check for twelve months rent—after which I would inherit the property, along with its exorbitant tax bill. But by then Sutton. would be established in Savannah—and surely solvent, given Bo’s ever-expanding clientele. I had spent the last two months readying the property for him. You could now officially eat off every surface of the studio, the renovated upstairs apartment, and the store front, which of course only meant it was clean enough now for Bo to don a HazMat suit and completely disinfect it once again with a toothbrush. I loved him, but Lullaby was right; he came with some stuff.
Bo’s aunt was sitting next to Mia’s mother, and I couldn’t imagine my good fortune at having these two women in my life. Lullaby had saved me from drowning in self-pity, and Eileen Sutton had just quietly, without any fanfare whatsoever, put on the mantel of a mother. Her second-nature affection toward me had felt more maternal than anything I had ever known. And when I mistakenly thought I had earned that regard by simply loving her son, she’d scolded me. She said the fact that I loved Bo was the cherry on top of the blessing that I was in her life. Of course, I ate that up like a starving mongrel.
And then there was Jack Sutton who had sat me down on Christmas Eve and told me he’d always wanted another daughter and that if he was very lucky, he would get his wish the easy way. He then explained how much he loved his son—as if I didn’t already know. He told me that when you’re a serious parent, all you really want for your kids is their happiness. And your deepest fearful heartache is that they may never achieve it. He’d cried then and called me sweetheart and laughingly said, through his tears, “No pressure, Ivy—marry him or don’t. I will still love you.” I’d hugged him and said, “Me too.” He must have felt my stare now because he met my eyes and smiled with such warmth, it made me cry.
Next to him was my sweet grandmother snuggling Olivia. Geneva, looking every inch the grand dame in deep maroon, winked at me. The Suttons had extended their open family border to her, and she had graciously accepted their loving invitation. Even better, she and Lullaby were certain they’d been sisters in another realm. It made me smile.
Suddenly there was some serious kissing going on in front of the lectern, and I couldn’t believe that in my reverie, I had missed the vows. But in watching the happy, tearful, giggling Mia devour her Marine, I got the gist. It was a joyful moment—one that would last ten days until Derek had to leave again for parts unknown. But nobody was thinking about that right now.
Soon the wedding party bled off the dais, and the chapel began to empty. Next stop, Carmel, and a reception dinner for two hundred. Limos and town cars were lined up at the curb and the evening promised to be spectacular. In a moment, I was swallowed up by my Bo. My Bo . He pulled me into his arms, and it felt like home. Over his shoulder, Lullaby gave me the thumbs up with a laughing smile, and I gave her one back. I would love that woman forever. I was pretty sure I would love them all forever.
“So, what do you think?” Bo said. “Next time, us?”
“Maybe. But not here,” I said. “I was thinking on a beach somewhere.”
“With sand?” he said aghast.
“Yes. And barefoot. Maybe Bermuda…or Maui, the breeze blowing through my dress.”
“Barefoot, as in no barrier between the sand that birds have used as a toilet and nearly naked humanity has…you know— that sand and my feet?”
We were nose to chin because of my heels, and I stared up at him and didn’t crack a smile. Until I did. “I’m kiddin’, butterbean,” I grinned. “I know how important your footwear is.”
“I knew that.”
“Of course, you did.”
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you back,” I said. “And if we get married, I want to do it in Geneva’s parlor.”
“If?” Bo said pointedly.
I smiled coyly. “When.”
He smiled too. “Geneva’s parlor. That would be nice.”
“What about my parlor?” Geneva said, walking up to us.
“Nothing,” I told her. “Just talking about weddings.”
She eyed us shrewdly. “Do tell, my little sugar plums.”
Bo and I just smiled.
“Hey, are you two riding with us, or are you walking to Carmel?” Bo’s dad shouted, and we were saved.
“We’re coming,” Bo shouted back. Then he kissed me quick and took my hand .
As I walked out of the church on that glorious New Years’ Eve, holding the hand I was pretty sure I was destined to hold for the rest of my life, I couldn’t help but laugh. I laughed because I suddenly realized I had survived the worst year of my life— my year of ashes . And I also knew with certainty that for the chance to be right here, right now, living this moment, I’d go through it all again.
Oh, yes, I absolutely would.
THE END