Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
OWEN
I have to force myself to walk instead of jog through the hallways of Ivy’s school. When I got the call from the school’s secretary, I nearly had a coronary.
First, because Everest is the primary contact in case of emergencies. His gym is closer to Ivy’s school than my hospital, so if anything happens, he can get there faster than I can. But if they’re calling me, it means they can’t get a hold of him. Why the fuck isn’t he answering his goddamn phone? I was finishing up a fucking surgery on a cat when the call came through and I still managed to answer it.
Second because the fucking secretary wouldn’t tell me what happened. She just said there was an altercation, that Ivy was physically uninjured, and that the principal wanted to talk to me when I got here. Physically uninjured is a hell of a low bar if she was trying to ease my worry. News flash, it didn’t work.
I spot Ivy the second I’m through the office door. “Ivy!”
“Uncle O!” She flies off the chair and across the room. Her face is tear-streaked and her eyes are red and puffy. Her hair, which I’d tied into pigtails this morning, is a disheveled mess.
I bend down just in time for her to launch herself into my arms. Her little body is so small against my chest and she clings to me so tightly my heart breaks. She cries with her face pressed to my neck. My poor girl. What happened? Who do I need to yell at? Who do I need to get fired?
I hoist her up into my arms and carry her over to the secretary’s desk. “I’m Owen Lambert, Ivy’s uncle. I was told the principal wanted to speak to me?”
“Mr. Lambert?”
I spin around at the soft female voice calling my name. The principal looks to be in her forties, with kind eyes and an apologetic smile.
“I’m Ms. Livingston, the principal. If Ivy can wait out here, we can speak in my office.”
“No!” Ivy hugs me even tighter, wrapping her legs around my waist. I don’t even need to hold her up at this point. She’s hugging me so hard, it’s like she’s stuck to me with glue. There’s no prying her off.
“It’s fine,” I say, rubbing Ivy’s back.
Ms. Livingston hesitates for a second before acquiescing. She gestures to a chair in front of her desk and I perch on the edge of it, holding Ivy in my lap.
“It was a boy in Ivy’s class,” Ms. Livingston says, sitting down behind her desk. I appreciate her getting to the point without beating around the bush. “He made fun of Ivy for what happened with her parents.”
Horror descends upon me. Some kid did what ?! I knew that bullying is something we might have to deal with at some point, but none of the parenting books I’ve read mentioned it would start in grade fucking one.
I’m still trying to process what this all means when Ms. Livingston continues. “I’ve already spoken with the boy’s parents and they will be taking corrective action. He’s been sent home with his nanny for the rest of the day and he’ll also have to serve detention for a full week during recesses.”
I sputter in disbelief. “Detention? That’s it? This is bullying. Shouldn’t it warrant a harsher punishment? Like suspension or something?”
Ms. Livingston nods sympathetically, but her tone is firm when she speaks. “If the student’s behavior continues, that is an option. But there are intermediary measures we can take to teach and promote positive behavior. I want to assure you that we are taking this situation very seriously. As are the boy’s parents. They were quite dismayed when I spoke with them on the phone. They asked me to extend their sincerest apologies to you and Ivy.”
My jaw is on the floor. Their sincerest apologies? Are they fucking kidding?
What good are apologies when the damage is already done? Ivy’s already been hurt. Her self-esteem has already taken a hit. Who knows what kind of long-term impact this will have on her sense of self and mental health. Is an apology going to fix any of that? Can an apology turn back the clock and prevent this all from happening in the first place?
I grit my teeth and draw on the patience I usually reserve for unreasonable pet parents. “What about changing classes? So Ivy doesn’t have to sit in the same room with that bully for the rest of the year.”
Ms. Livingston’s expression tightens just a fraction, but it’s enough for me to pick up. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. It would be more disruptive than constructive, not just for Ivy or her classmate, but also for the other students in the affected classes.”
The desire to bang on the desk and demand that she do more has me nearly vibrating with anger. Ivy’s already been through so much and now she has to put up with this bullshit? But I push down the urge to yell. Keep it professional, Lambert.
One thing at a time. First, I need to get Ivy out of here and settled at home. Then assess the damage and figure out the appropriate remedies. Any changes that need to happen at her school can only come after everyone’s had time to cool off and think things through.
With a game plan in mind, I shift forward, making to stand. “Is there anything else?”
Ms. Livingston looks like she has more to say, but she wisely shakes her head. “Not at the moment. I’ll be sure to keep you in the loop should there be more developments with Ivy’s classmate.”
Ivy and I take our leave of the principal’s office, grabbing her coat and pink unicorn backpack on the way out. I carry her all the way to the main entrance of the school before setting her down on the floor.
Her crying has subsided, but she’s still sniffling and the collar of my coat is wet with tears and snot.
“Hey, sweetie.” I brush her hair back from her face, then pull out my handkerchief to wipe her nose. “That boy was mean, huh?”
She nods, looking so sad and dejected. My heart hurts for her, so much so it’s hard to breathe.
“You want to go home?”
“Can—can we get ice cream?” She blinks her big, blue eyes at me. The picture of innocence.
I can’t help but chuckle, squeezing my eyes shut as emotion makes them prickle with tears. Of course Ivy would try to negotiate a benefit out of this situation. She wouldn’t be Ivy if she didn’t. Maybe she’ll be alright after all.
“One scoop in a cup.” I open with a lowball offer.
“Two scoops in a waffle cone.” She counters, completely unfazed.
“One scoop in a plain cone.”
She twists her lips to the side as she considers how far she can push her luck.
I sweeten the deal. “And chicken nuggets for dinner?”
She gasps softly, eyes going wide in surprise. “Really?”
I smile because, little does she know, I’ve researched the healthiest chicken nuggets money can buy in the tri-state area. They’re still disgusting, but at least the meat is supposed to be organic. There’s a box tucked deep inside the freezer, hidden by the frozen veggies so Everest doesn’t find them.
“Really.”
“With ketchup?” There’s a hopeful spark in her eyes and the worry that had felt so suffocating eases a little.
“With ketchup,” I confirm. Especially since the ketchup I’ve stocked in the kitchen is homemade from a farmstead upstate. I’m going to sneak in as much healthy food into her diet as I possibly can.
“Okay!”
I laugh as Ivy grabs her coat and stuffs her arms into them. Then she pulls on her backpack all by herself. I pick her up again and we set out.
“What flavor of ice cream do you want?” I ask, shifting her weight a little. Everest is usually the one who carries her around, while I’m all about making her walk on her own. But if there’s any day to make an exception, it’s today.
She makes some thinking sounds before announcing, “Bubblegum.”
I throw up a little bit in my mouth, but I infuse as much enthusiasm into my voice as I can. “Yummy!”
She rests her head against mine and her short arms wind around my neck. It never ceases to amaze me how fast time flies. It feels like only yesterday I was holding her in the hospital, all swaddled up in a blanket, but it’s been six years. Six years. So long and yet far too short. She still has so much of her life ahead of her. She still has so much to learn and experience. And Jeremy and Eden won’t be here to see any of it.
I hold her close. The weight of her pressed against me is bittersweet, filled with sadness, but also the reassurance that we’re both still here. Together.
Ivy starts to wriggle the second the ice cream parlor comes into view, and when I set her down just inside the door, she races to the counter.
“One scoop of bubblegum ice cream in a plain cone, please!”
I order myself a single scoop of salted caramel in a cup and we settle into a table by the window. Ivy digs into her ice cream like she’s starving, getting the sticky stuff all over her face. I fight back a cringe and sigh internally, wishing I had Ivy’s go-bag on me. I keep it stocked with snacks, a couple small toys, and a very essential box of wipes.
Ivy is well on her way to becoming a human ice cream cone when she stops. A pensive expression comes across her face. “Is there ice cream in heaven, Uncle O?”
The question startles me into stillness, with my hand hovering halfway between my ice cream cup and my mouth. There can only be one reason for her to be asking about heaven, and that’s not a topic I really want to talk about at the moment. “Um, uh, I… probably?”
Ivy’s mouth twists to the side as she thinks. “Daddy doesn’t like ice cream, but Mommy loves it, like me. She said that we can’t have too much ice cream, because then it won’t taste as good anymore. But, it’s different in heaven, right? She can have all the ice cream she wants?” Ivy lifts hopeful eyes at me, leaving me completely at a loss for what to say.
I don’t know whether there’s a heaven. I’m not sure I believe in one. The scientist in me suspects that when we pass, our bodies decompose and our consciousness vanishes. But for this little girl, for Jeremy and Eden, I pray to whatever god or deity or higher power that exists that heaven is real.
“Yeah, I think there’s tons of ice cream, with every flavor in the world,” I say, voice tight with anguish over the loss of the people we love and the loss of Ivy’s innocence at so young an age. “And she can eat as much as she wants without getting a stomachache. Have you ever gotten a stomachache from too much ice cream or candy?”
Ivy shakes her head, surprised and curious at the same time. Knowing Eden, she probably never let Ivy have enough to get that far.
“Do you know why your daddy doesn’t like ice cream?”
Ivy shakes her head, rapt, her melting cone forgotten.
“It was when your daddy and I were kids. I was probably your age and he was a few years older. He found a huge bucket of ice cream in the freezer.” I make a circle with my hands, about the size of a pumpkin or watermelon. “We got spoons and ate ice cream straight out of the bucket.”
Ivy gasps in shock and wonder. “Grammy and Grandpa didn’t stop you?”
I shake my head and shrug. “I don’t remember where they were at the time. They didn’t find us until later. But by then, we’d eaten so much ice cream that we both had stomachaches.”
Ivy gasps again. “Oh no! That’s why Daddy doesn’t like ice cream?”
I hesitate and cringe. “Well, I ate so much that I threw up. And a lot of the ice cream had melted all over the floor. So when Grammy and Grandpa found us, they made your daddy clean it all up.”
“Including the barf?” Ivy looks horrified.
I nod. “Including the barf.”
“Ew!” She shrinks back from her abandoned cone, currently melting in a mess on the table.
“Yup, and that’s why your daddy doesn’t like ice cream.”
“Ew!” She squirms like there are ice cream spiders crawling all over her skin.
Just then, my phone explodes in my pocket. I fish it out and find text after text coming in from Everest. Fucking finally.
Everest
What happened with Ivy?
The school won’t tell me anything.
Where are you?
I’m on my way home.
HELLOOO???
I bite back a curse. Is he fucking kidding me? I had to scrap my entire afternoon because of this. I called in favors with the other doctors at the hospital, rescheduled appointments with patients who had been waiting months to see me. What the hell was he doing that was so important he couldn’t pick up his damn phone?
And now he has the audacity to be indignant about not getting responses? Just the type of juvenile, childish behavior I’d expect from him. I have half a mind to ignore him and give him a taste of his own medicine. If he wants prompt responses, he should be a little more prompt himself.
I smash my thumbs on my phone as I type a message back.
Owen
We’ll be home in 20.
The three little dots pop up immediately.
Everest
Where are you? I’ll come meet you.
I almost growl. I don’t want Everest to meet us. I want him to sit his ass at home and wait for us to get there. I smash my thumbs on my phone again.
Owen
I said, we’ll be home in 20.
Then I set my phone face down on the table. “All done, sweetie?”
Ivy nods, giving the remnants of her ice cream a disgusted look. If the story I just told doesn’t warn her off too much ice cream for a good long while, then nothing will.
If only classroom bullies were as easy to ward off. The anger I felt in the principal’s officer wanes as the unfortunate truth dawns on me. That bully won’t be the only one. There will be others, no matter what age she is or where she goes. Selfish people who will try to take advantage of her, who will push her aside to get ahead.
I won’t be able to protect Ivy from all of them and that realization sits like a rock in my stomach. I want to wrap her up and keep her in the safety of her room, making sure no harm ever comes to her. But that’s not how the world works.
Did Jeremy feel this? This gut-deep terror that so many things are outside his control? That Ivy will get hurt and there’s nothing he can do about it?
How did he do it? How does any parent do it? Because this might be the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.