Chapter 29
Ivy
When I was a little girl, not much older than Lexi is now, my classmate’s dad died.
Mom was still with us back then, and so was Nan, which meant I was happily oblivious to what death meant. I still hadn’t grasped how permanent it was.
But when Katie came back to school after her dad’s funeral, all she did was cry.
We were confused, as little kids usually are by unknown things, and asked her why she wouldn’t stop bawling.
When she told us that she would never see her dad again, it hit me—I could wake up one day, and my family would be gone.
For about a month after that, I barely slept. I would lie awake in bed, hugging my plushie to my chest and listening to the silence of the house. What if something happened to my parents, and I didn’t find out because I was asleep? What if I was too late?
But when I lost my mom at sixteen, instead of crying nonstop like Katie had done for her dad, I didn’t allow myself to crumble. My little brother needed a caretaker, and my dad needed my strength. There was no time for tears.
When Dad got arrested, my first instinct was to blame myself.
If I hadn’t focused on Joe so much, maybe I would’ve seen the signs that our father wasn’t all right.
I should’ve noticed that he barely left his bedroom during the day and that he would disappear at night.
When he got it together before I left for New York City, it was nothing but an illusion. I saw what I wanted to see.
Now, as I get cleared to enter the prison, all I feel is resentment. I was sixteen, goddamn it. A young girl who wasn’t allowed to mourn her own mother like she needed to.
The weight of Dad’s choices wasn’t mine to carry, and it still isn’t. I’ve been learning to accept that since Ford talked some sense into me.
As I head into the visitation room, I kind of regret having asked him to stay in the car. I crave to have him here with me, to feel the weight of his hand on my back, telling me he’s got me. But I need to do this on my own.
The guard walking with me stops in front of a heavy-looking door. A few beeps later, it clicks open to a well-lit room peppered with tables and chairs. And right there, sitting at the far end, is my father.
Orange jumpsuit, no shackles, and scrawnier than I remembered him, he shoots up from his seat when he sees me. A guard stands behind him, watching his every move.
“Ivy,” he breathes out, his eyes jumping from my face to my clothes, then to my face again, as if double-checking that I’m really here. To be fair, I’m struggling to believe it myself.
“Hi, Dad,” I say carefully, lowering myself to the chair in front of his. I’m not in the mood for hugs.
He must get the message because he only hesitates once before sitting back down. The guard behind him doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, but he’s still watching. It’s only us and another inmate talking to an elderly couple on the other side of the room.
“Thank you for coming,” my dad starts, his gaze antsy as he scans my face again. “How are you?”
“Fine.” Not really, but I don’t want to elaborate.
“Sherry told me Joe is living with her now.”
My stomach turns at the mention of my brother.
We’ve texted since he left, but we haven’t talked on the phone.
I always make a point to remind him that I’m not angry and that I don’t want him to feel pushed away, but I don’t know what he’s feeling.
He’s not opening up to me, and it’s eating me alive.
“I still haven’t talked to him,” he adds, which doesn’t surprise me.
I change the subject. “You said you had something urgent to tell me.”
“Right. That’s what I was getting to.”
Both of his hands are flat on the table, and I have a feeling it’s due to protocol he has to follow. If I stop to think about it, if I really stop to glance around, this entire thing feels fake, like a movie set. Dad, locked up because he got a DUI and almost killed somebody. How is this real life?
“When I spoke to my sister,” he begins, “she said Joe had moved in with her because you couldn’t pay for flight school.”
The reminder feels like yet another stab in the chest.
Technically, if I saved enough over the next couple of years, I could send Joe to flight school. Possibly. It would deplete all my savings, but who cares? I can always work more hours.
Having a rich aunt pay for his education takes a significant weight off my shoulders, there’s no point in denying that.
But that’s not the main reason Joe is living in Boston now; it’s the fact that I’m a shitty guardian that sealed the deal.
It’s the fact that I’ve been so controlling, such a bad sister, that he felt the need to lie and go behind my back.
“Okay,” I say slowly, not knowing where he’s going with this.
“I asked how much flight school was, and she told me.” He pauses. “It’s a lot.”
I snort. “You’re telling me.”
My dad’s expression morphs into something weird. The way he’s glancing at me with a mix of regret and pity sends an alert through my entire body. He’s never looked at me like this.
“Sherry means well.”
I arch a skeptical eyebrow at his oh-so-sure statement.
“She does, Ivy. She’s not a loving woman, but she cares for Joe and is genuinely happy to pay for his education.”
“She doesn’t give a crap about me,” I hear myself saying, then curse internally for making this about me.
“I know, and I’m sorry. She doesn’t…. Well, she’s always been judgmental, especially toward other women.
It’s in her nature. Or maybe life made her that way.
I don’t know, I’m not a shrink,” he explains.
“She didn’t like that I married Mom, and she never hid that she didn’t like her.
And when you were born, she also didn’t think your mother was doing a good job with you.
Despite that, she always offered to help financially when we were struggling, but we never accepted.
We felt like it would be accepting handouts. ”
I relate to that feeling more than he knows.
“Don’t take personally whatever she’s telling you,” he advises, a little too late. “She sees this family as a lost cause. All but Joe. That’s why she wants to help. Because he’s still young, and she sees his potential. She told me that herself.”
“Is that the urgent thing you wanted to tell me?” I ask, a little annoyed. This could’ve been a phone call. I don’t appreciate having been manipulated into coming here.
“Not exactly.” He pauses, then takes a deep breath. “Sherry means well, but I don’t like that she’s butting into our lives. You and Joe are my children. My responsibility.”
“Are we?” I bite back without thinking. But fuck it.
I’ve already lost Joe. What else do I have to lose when it comes to this family?
“Was I your responsibility when you were too drunk to find a job, so your sixteen-year-old daughter had to in order to keep a roof over our heads? Was Joe your responsibility when you took him in the car with you despite knowing you weren’t sober?
When you ran away from the cops and crashed your car with him inside? ”
The officer behind him is openly staring now, but I couldn’t care less. My chest heaves as I struggle to take a full breath, my hands are trembling, and I want to cry. How dare he pretend to be a responsible parent now?
His face falls, and the worst part is, I don’t think it’s an act.
“I’m sorry, Ivy. I’m so sorry for everything. I will always regret not being the father you needed. I’m trying to do things right from now on.”
“Maybe it’s too late.” The tip of my nose starts to sting. “Maybe we don’t want your help anymore.”
“Please, let me tell you this,” he pleads. “If you don’t want it after I tell you about it, I’ll understand. But I need you to know. It’s eating at me.”
“What do you mean, it?” I ask carefully, not sure I can handle more shit right now.
He leans closer, still keeping his hands flat on the table, and lowers his voice.
“When Mom passed, she… she had money. Cash. She hid it at home.”
A bucket of ice-cold water falls over me, freezing me into place. He’s not saying what I think he’s saying, is he?
“I used some of it to pay the bills after she passed,” he explains quietly. “That’s why I didn’t find a job until later.”
Bile rises up my throat, my entire body buzzing with electricity—and not the good kind. “But you let your teenage daughter get one? I nearly had to drop out of high school, for fuck’s sake.”
“Shh. I know, I know. But you wanted to do it, and I thought it would be good for you,” he has the nerve to say. “You couldn’t possibly think your waitress job paid for all the bills. Come on. The money had to come from somewhere else.”
I jump out of my seat with an even deeper sense of betrayal than what I walked in with.
“Ivy, wait,” he rushes out.
“I’ve heard enough.” My sight gets blurry, and I hate that I’m crying in front of him.
“You had money at home, so you spent your time drinking instead of being there for your kids—got it. I get being angry and sad and scared after Mom died, but if Joe and I are your responsibility as you just gloated about, then you did a shitty job showing it. I had to become the parent. I had to become the provider. You saw how stressful that was for a teenager, and you ignored it instead of stepping up and telling us about the money. Does that sound fucking normal to you?”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been a shit dad and a shit human, and your mom would be ashamed if she knew about this. But I want to do things right from now on. I want to make it up to you—that’s why I asked you to come. Sit down, please.”
“You’re wasting my time. I’m not sitting down.”
“There’s some money left,” he blurts out when I take a step back. “I don’t remember how much. Maybe ten or twenty grand. I don’t know, but it’s yours. All of it. Use it for Joe’s flight school.”
Against my better judgment, because I don’t want anything from his man, his words make me stop.
“What do you mean?”