Chapter 12
Ivy
As I’m slipping my shoes on, ready to leave for my shift at The Harmony Grove two days later, the doorbell rings, followed by three rapid, aggressive knocks.
“Who is it?” Joe asks, alarmed, rushing out of his bedroom where he’s been studying for his geography test tomorrow.
I finish putting on my sneakers. “I’ll get it. Stay there.”
“Wait. I’ll grab the baseball bat.”
Whoever it is on the other side of the door knocks again right as Joe comes out of his room, bat in hand. He borrowed it from Ethan this summer and never gave it back. At this moment, though, I couldn’t be happier that he has a fish brain sometimes.
My heart rattles in my chest at yet another aggressive knock. I haven’t heard any cars pull into our driveway, and Ford sure as hell doesn’t knock like that, so who—
“I know you’re in there. I don’t have all day!”
Fuckity fuck.
My brother and I exchange a worried look, and I know he’s recognized her voice too.
Aunt Sherry.
It’s my fault. Between juggling two jobs, my constant worry about Joe, and these weird feelings about Ford that have been building a cozy nest in my chest lately, I’d forgotten all about the devil herself.
“If your room is a mess, go tidy up now,” I whisper-shout to Joe.
He gives me a quick nod and disappears into his bedroom once again, leaving me to deal with her alone.
Here we go.
Right there, on the other side of the door and to the detriment of my sanity, is none other than the woman who tried to take Joe away from me just months ago.
“What took you so long?” Aunt Sherry doesn’t bother with pleasantries as she bulldozes past me, inviting herself inside our home.
She sniffs the air, and the downward curve of her mouth gets even more pronounced than it is by default.
“And what is that smell? Didn’t your mother teach you that a woman is supposed to clean her house every day so it doesn’t smell like a fast-food restaurant? ”
I’m pretty sure my right eye is twitching. “Nice to see you, too, Aunt Sherry.”
She gives me a once-over that makes my self-esteem plummet for the two seconds it lasts. “I told you years ago to get yourself some decent clothes, not leggings or whatever they’re called. At least you’ve lost some weight since I last saw you. That’s good.”
I don’t bother with a reply. Stupid words don’t deserve to be acknowledged.
As she glances around the house with disapproving eyes, I take her in.
She’s around sixty-five, but she looks at least ten years younger—good genes, maybe, but most likely thanks to expensive cosmetic treatments.
It’s the clothes that age her up, even though they’re pretty—kitten heels and a tweed skirt that reaches past her knees with a blazer to match.
I’m sure her outfit cost more than my car; she sure wears it as if it did.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her signature bob, every strand of hair straightened to perfection. Not even a hurricane would move a single hair out of place, which is kind of admirable.
“Where’s your brother?” she demands. She’s holding her hands up by her chest in a weird way, as if she doesn’t want the air inside our house to touch her.
Right on cue, Joe steps out of his bedroom with such a forced smile, I have to suppress a chuckle.
And then I have to hold in my laughter some more when I notice he’s changed from his sweatpants and old T-shirt into a clean, plain white one and some blue jeans I didn’t even remember he had in his wardrobe.
“Hi, Aunt Sherry.”
As if a switch has flipped inside her wicked heart, her face lights up with the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her in a very long time.
“Oh, Joseph, look at you.” Standing on her tiptoes, she squeezes his face. Joe and I exchange a look—me, amused; him, annoyed. He hates it when people touch his face and use his full name. “You’re growing into such a handsome man. You remind me so much of John.”
Almost imperceptibly, Joe winces at the mention of our dad.
His mouth is squashed between her hands, and he struggles to say, “Thanks, Aunt Sherry.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest, shielding myself from a conversation that hasn’t even started. “So, what brings you here?”
She lets go of Joe’s cheeks and turns in my direction, that cold and harsh mask slipping back on just like every time she addresses me. I don’t take it personally at this point. The more she dislikes me, the more she’ll ignore me, and I’m all about that.
“My cousin lives in Stowe, and I came to pay her a visit. I thought I would drop by, since I’m in the area. I won’t stay long.”
Is that my soul returning to my body?
“But I would like to have dinner with you today. The three of us. My driver is waiting outside, so we should get going.”
Over her shoulder, my brother sends me a panicked look.
“Aunt Sherry,” I start calmly, getting ready for the rabid hyena she turns into when she doesn’t get her way, “we already ate dinner a while ago. I start work in less than an hour, and Joe has to study for a very important exam, so we can’t go to dinner. I’m sorry.”
I’m not, and I have a feeling she knows it.
By the offended look on her face, one would think I’ve just insulted the ugly crocodile skin handbag looped onto one of her arms. “What kind of job could a woman have that starts at eight in the evening?”
I brace myself for the snarky comment that is sure to leave her mouth the second I say, “I clean the spa room at a local cabin resort.”
She makes a dismissive gesture with her hands like she doesn’t want anything to do with it. Or me.
“See, that’s what happens when I tell you to go to law school and you don’t listen,” she reminds me for what must be the umpteenth time. “So fine, clean your spa rooms all you want. If that’s what fulfills you, go ahead.”
After being forced to occasionally be in the presence of Aunt Sherry over the years, I’ve learned to have her words go in one ear and out the other.
We all have our things. I’m a twenty-six-year-old workaholic who relies too much on sarcasm to get through the days, and she’s an uptight woman who married rich and stayed rich after her husband passed away.
She’s stuck in her ways on how things used to be when she was younger, and I don’t hold it against her.
She isn’t in our lives, and whatever she thinks of us shouldn’t matter.
Yet her words still manage to pierce through my insecurities, tearing open the thin layer of confidence that keeps them caged in so I can function.
I like working at Sunny Stitches and The Harmony Grove.
They may not be my dream jobs, but what I would love to do…
. Well, first of all, I physically can’t—I haven’t been able to draw anything for months.
And second, it wouldn’t pay the bills. The life of the struggling artist isn’t one I can afford, now or ever. I have Joe to worry about.
“Ivy works really hard, and she’s great at her jobs,” Joe pipes in, sounding so offended on my behalf, I want to cry.
Our aunt turns to him. I can’t see her face, but her voice softens considerably. “What do you mean jobs, Joseph? As in, plural?”
“I have two jobs,” I answer for him, holding my chin up high.
Nobody is going to make me feel inferior about my life choices, let alone a woman who has never loved us in the way family should.
“I work at a local sewing shop and at the cabin resort. Actually, I have to get ready for my shift, and Joe needs to study, so if you don’t mind—”
“Fine, we’ll talk here,” she cuts me off, starting for the kitchen. “Do you at least have coffee in this house?”
“We don’t drink coffee.” My infinite patience is running thinner as the minutes tick by. “Aunt Sherry—”
“Water is fine, then. I’ll keep it short. I have other things to do.”
Joe and I exchange another look. This time, we are both exasperated.
“Glass of water coming up. Joe, water?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
He sits next to her while I get her water, then take the chair between our lovely guest and my brother. To my surprise, she makes a total of zero disgusted faces when she sips from the glass.
“I spoke to your father on the phone not too long ago,” she starts, setting the glass back on the table that I’m sure is too old and chipped for her taste.
Luckily, she doesn’t comment on it. “I spoke to his lawyer as well, and we have decided that I will be covering his fines and other legal expenses. You don’t need to thank me. ”
I’m pretty sure neither of us were going to. Our father got himself into that mess, made his own terrible choices, and he isn’t going to drag us into it more than he already has.
“I’m sure you know he’s been sentenced to five years,” she keeps going, sounding disappointed.
I have a feeling it’s not only because of the sentencing itself, but because she also disapproves of the choices he made that led him to jail.
It must be the only thing we see eye to eye on. “Did he tell you?”
I nod. I also told Joe, but he said nothing about it. His face isn’t giving anything away now either. And the perfect poker face award goes to….
Aunt Sherry laces her manicured fingers together on top of the table, turning to Joe. “He told me you wanted to go to flight school to become a pilot, Joseph. Is that true?”
My stomach rolls over itself. Why is she asking?
Joe nods, and she smiles.
“Now that’s a proper job. Pilots have a great salary, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
“Money is nice, but I want to become a pilot because I love learning about planes and how they work. And I’d like to travel,” Joe retorts, his answer making my heart swell with pride.
He’s never left New England. If anyone deserves to explore the world, it’s him. Without a doubt.