Chapter 14 Ivy
IVY
My eyelids flutter open to a dark, cold room.
He’s gone.
I know it before I even fully wake from the best sleep I’ve had since I last slept in his arms. Back before I knew the truth…
Before I knew that he was responsible for Drew’s death and all my anguish.
His leather and citrus scent lingers, but the warmth of his hard body at my back and his strong arm wrapped around me has been replaced by the chill of an empty bed.
The bed he said he would never get in before he ravished me in the kitchen like he was starving for something only I could give him.
My body instantly heats with the memory, but the baby kicks, quickly returning me to reality.
So much has changed since then…
I thought my world had ended when Drew died, but it turns out, things could still get worse. Every minute I spent with Cam slowly brought me back to life, reminded me that there were ways to find joy even in the torment.
And then it was snatched away from me…
All that hope that things would get better, that I might be able to find some sort of life without Drew that could offer me even a fraction of the love and contentment I had with him was crushed like the box the G.I. Joe doll arrived in.
That agony lives with me now, a constant reminder that things will never be okay again…despite what Cam tried to convince me of.
I’d rather go back to feeling numb like I did before Cam showed up than feel this. At least when I was floating in the nothingness, staring at the white wall of the bedroom, I could pretend everything wasn’t so damn fucked up.
I could feel our daughter kick and imagine Drew coming home to me and doing the same, grinning and kissing my belly as he talked to her and experienced all that joy I know he would have at finally becoming a father.
It might not have been real, but that fantasy kept me from breaking.
It kept me from succumbing to the crushing weight of despair that sent me running from work early so I didn’t crumble in front of Marlo and Trina—again.
But any chance of finding that magical, mythical place where things are right is as gone as Cam.
I force myself to roll to the side of the bed and climb out of it.
My gaze immediately sweeps to where he lay beside me, to a Post-it that now sits on the pillow.
I brought you dinner…
And something that belongs here.
Something that belongs here?
My stomach churns, reminding me I didn’t eat dinner before Cam arrived, and I clench the note tightly in my fist, putting one foot in front of the other, slowly wandering down the hallway toward whatever waits from him.
As soon as my eyes land on the end table and what now rests beside the photo of Drew and me on the beach, any hope of holding back tears vanishes.
Gladys…
She stands in the new pot I moved her to that day Cam showed up, so many months ago, to apologize for how he barreled so unexpectedly into my life.
Looking strong and proud.
Healthy.
I managed to save her that day, to prevent her from withering away to the nothing it feels like I’ve become, yet I haven’t been able to bring her home.
This space used to be filled with fresh flowers and plants, their vibrant colors and exquisite scents mirroring how blissful life seemed leading up to the wedding. But something about having such beautiful life in this house after Drew’s death felt wrong.
Nothing should be that bright and happy when my world was as gray as Drew’s ashes.
So, this place became a lifeless tomb even after I released what was left of him to the ocean.
No plants. No flowers. No light. Just my hopelessness and pain.
But as I absently rub my hand over my growing belly and move toward Mom’s plant and my favorite photo of Drew and me together, the overwhelming grief I thought would hit me doesn’t come.
It just looks right.
Like it always belonged in exactly this spot.
And Cam knew.
Even though we haven’t spoken in months—save for the few strained words shared at the doctor’s office and exchanged at the shore—he knew it was time to bring Gladys home and inject life back into the house before this little life comes kicking and screaming into it.
A single tear trickles down my cheek, and I wipe it away as I move to the kitchen and tug open the fridge to see what else he brought.
The plastic bag sits on the shelf, and I pull it out and set it on the counter with far too much trepidation.
Cam always seems to know what I need.
And he gives it to me even when I don’t or can’t ask for it.
And when I open it with shaking hands, I find another note on top.
I didn’t know which one you might be craving.
I don’t even have to open what’s inside the cylindrical items wrapped in paper under the Post-it. Because I know what’s inside—cheesesteaks from Max’s and Dalessandro’s.