Chapter 4
Remy
The door to my guest room clicks shut behind me, and I stand in the silence for a beat before heading down the hall. My feet feel heavy on the cold wood floor, my limbs twice as tired as usual from the long day.
The order backlog and more snow on the way had me working a double. I’m behind on everything and have so many things I still need to take care of here at home. Most days, I feel like I’m juggling plates, and they’re all crashing down one by one. I can’t get ahead or keep up, no matter what I do.
But then I did a double take when I walked into the kitchen earlier and looked around.
It was like Mary Freaking Poppins had been here.
For a second I wondered if I was in the wrong house.
I’m grateful for my mom and Finn’s help, but I know I rely on them too much during my busy season.
I need help. They both have their own jobs and lives and can’t be running to help me with mine all the time.
It makes me even angrier with myself that I can’t keep it together.
I pause in the doorway of Junie’s room. Because she likes her door cracked, the hall light spilling across the rug, I gently nudge it open and lean against the door frame.
She’s out cold, hair fanned across the pillow, arms wrapped around her stuffed narwhal, cheeks flushed.
The blanket’s pulled up to her chin, and there’s a little smile playing on her lips like her dreams are made of candy canes and mermaid treasure maps and all the things that make her happy.
I can’t wait to hear all about them tomorrow.
I step inside and crouch beside her bed.
Carefully, I press a kiss to her forehead and brush a strand of hair from her eyes.
She shifts but doesn’t wake. The room smells clean, like lavender, maybe.
The mermaid night-light glows softly in the corner.
She never organizes her bookshelf that way on her own, even though she wants me to.
It’s in rainbow order with every spine lined up as if someone had taken the time to sort them.
Like someone cared enough to do it right.
Ivy.
Her dresser drawers are closed. No socks spill out and no clothes on the floor. I open one quietly and see everything folded, small and neat. She laid out her outfit for the morning at the foot of the bed. A soft red sweater. Jeans. Glittery socks.
I don’t even know where Ivy found those socks. I stand there for a second longer than I mean to. Then, I quietly pull the door almost shut and turn toward the kitchen, the knot in my chest lighter than it was when I came home.
I haven’t eaten since this morning, and I didn’t even realize it until the smell of something delicious hit me the second I stepped through the front door. I figured it was left over from whatever they had earlier.
I open up the fridge and see a plate wrapped in foil. A little sticky note slapped on top in pink marker with a skull and heart drawn below it.
“FOR DAD. Eat it or we hex you. -Junie and Ivy
I let out a laugh. Then, I peel back the foil and close my eyes. Chicken casserole, and it smells like heaven.
The counters are clean, and the sink is empty.
The table is bare except for a candle I don't remember owning. There are no piles of mail or dirty dishes stacked next to the sink. The floor’s been swept.
Hell, the rug even has vacuum lines on it.
I don’t remember the last time this room felt like something more than a space we just pass through on the way to doing something else.
Right now, it feels like coming home to an actual home. Hell, she did this in one day.
I heat the food and eat standing up, one hand braced against the counter. I barely taste it. I just inhale it like a man who’s been starving and didn’t know it. Every bite unravels a little more tension from my spine. The long day melts off of me.
I finish, rinse the plate, and tuck it in the dishwasher that, somehow, is empty, all the dishes done and put away.
Then I lean back against the counter, cross my arms, and look around.
I thought about telling her tomorrow that I didn’t need her.
That I didn’t need anyone. I should be able to take care of my house and kid.
But I need someone who can pick up the pieces when I can’t. Someone who can remember to fold the towels, keep the library books from being overdue, and make dinner that doesn’t come from a box in the freezer.
Junie needs Ivy here. She deserves this, and I know I realistically can't do it all.
And it makes me mad that I can't. I wanted to give her everything and not have her feel like she was missing out on anything.
But I know I can't. I can't give her the Christmas that she deserves or the home that feels like this.
I never thought help would show up like this, all light and warmth in a way that cuts right through me. She’s smart, sure, but that’s not what gets to me. It’s the way she shines, the way Ivy brings life into every room she walks into. I wonder idly what happened to her bonehead boyfriend.
Frankly, I don’t care as long as he’s gone.
I’ve caught myself watching her at her mom’s table, or in the bookstore, and sometimes I almost believe I could have that kind of brightness in my life.
But she doesn’t belong here, not in this quiet ruin I’ve made of things. Not in the wreckage of everything I’ve failed to give Junie since her mom left us. She deserves more than shadows, and that’s all I seem to have left.
But she’s here. And somehow…everything feels lighter after just one night.
I grab my phone, which I had thrown on the charger in the kitchen, and step out onto the quiet back porch. The cold slaps my face, but I like it. It helps me focus. Helps me push past the part of myself that wants to crawl back into my shell and ignore what’s happening.
I scroll to my mom's name and hit call. I know she’ll pick up because she usually stays up late writing, like the night owl that she is.
That was part of the problem. Having her come here early in the morning was hard on her.
No wonder she advocated for Ivy so hard.
She picks up on the first ring. “I was wondering when you’d get around to thanking me,” she says, voice bright, cheerful, and entirely too smug.
“I believe you forgot to loop me into your plan,” I tell her. “I thought you were staying with Junie tonight.”
“I have a book due. Ivy stepped up.”
“You hired her without checking with me. I could’ve just taken Junie to the barn with me."
“I did it because, you know, Junie needs this. Visiting the barn occasionally is fine. But I am guessing she had a fun time with Ivy, even though you don't want to admit it. She needs to be at home and have a routine and be on a schedule,” she says in her authoritative mom voice.
“That's not the point,” I mutter, pacing the porch. “I don’t need a stranger in my house.”
“Ivy’s not a stranger; she’s family. She’s known Junie for a long time. And more importantly? You need her.”
I silently fume because she’s right.
“She did lovely tonight, didn’t she?” Donna asks. “I bet she even got Junie to go brush her teeth without a fight, didn’t she? And Ivy is a wonderful cook. I bet she even made a great meal? And now Junie is fast asleep?”
I close my eyes and sigh. “Yeah. She seems good.”
“Then stop fighting it.”
“She’s not permanent,” I argue.
“She doesn’t have to be. Why can’t she stay through the holidays? Help you get your feet back under you? You’re barely getting by, Remy, and you know it. You can’t keep going like this.”
I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t want Junie to get used to someone who’s just going to leave.”
"You're overthinking this, son. It's a win-win. Ivy needs this, Junie needs this, and God knows you need this. Just embrace it," she says, sounding tired. I know she's also burning the candle at both ends right now, which is why I feel guilty that I had asked her to help so much.
I run a hand over my face and stare up at the stars.
“She’s not Sloane, sweetheart. You’ve got this farm and Junie to think about," she says quietly.
“I won't let us get burned again,” I say adamantly.
She sighs. “You always were a stubborn old goat.”
I grunt.
“Let her stay,” she says. “You don’t have to marry her. Just let her keep you from drowning.”
"Fine," I grunt. "But if she does anything out of line, she's gone."
My mom laughs, "Yeah, like Ivy would. She's a saint."
"I gotta get to bed. Talk to you tomorrow, Mom."
"Go easy on her!" she calls before ending the call.
Inside, the house is quiet again. Peaceful and lonely. The usual.
I shower, hot water sluicing down my back until the tension finally breaks and my body feels like jelly. I scrub off the sawdust and sweat, the pine sap, and the guilt. I dry off and crawl into bed without checking my phone again.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like the weight of the world is going to crush me in my sleep.
I just feel…tired. But not alone. I drift off to sleep, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what Ivy must think of me. An older single dad who can't get his act together, whose wife left him. Yeah, I’m a real winner here.
The phone rings while I’m wrapping a pallet of trees to send to Boston. I glance at the display, and my stomach tightens when I see that it's Junie’s school.
I was wide awake at four a.m. So I got up and out the door extra early, getting ahead of the day so I could get home earlier to Junie tonight. Plus, I didn’t want to run into Chaos, aka Ivy, who kept me wondering about her down the hall from my room.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what she said about me not liking her.
Why would she think that? I’ve always thought Ivy was easily one of the most beautiful and special people I’ve ever met.
Way out of my league, but a great person.
She’s always been great to my kid, and she’s like a ray of sunshine to my pitch black. We’re just opposites.