Chapter 3
IVY
It’s the same slow steady beep that I wake up to that tells me it wasn’t a nightmare.
What I wouldn’t give to hear my blaring alarm clock.
This time when I open my eyes, I’m in a different room but still at the hospital.
My surroundings look more like a regular room and less like the curtained, ER type I was in earlier.
Dad is sitting in the chair beside my bed, and Everett is propped up against the window, staring out until he notices me.
“Hey.” He swiftly makes his way to the opposite side of the bed Dad is sitting on. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” My entire body feels achy, like it did when I had the flu two years ago.
But there’s a steadier ache in my right arm and right side.
My head is fuzzy. But there’s one thing I remember for sure.
And when he goes to reach for the call button, I block his hand with my left arm since the other is in a sling.
“Please no. I don’t want to be drugged again. ”
He hesitates but slowly moves his hand away. “Just don’t overdo it. Please. The doctor told your dad that you have a broken rib and a torn bicep tendon. They’re going to have to do surgery soon.”
I stare at my right arm that is in a sling. Surgery. I don’t know how I feel about it. Because all I can think about is my mom.
When I don’t speak, Everett hesitantly asks, “What do you need, Ivy? What can I get for you?”
The truth. “She’s gone. Isn’t she?”
There’s a painful tightness on his face as his eyes drop to the floor. But he nods, confirming what I feared most. “I’m so sorry, Ivy. She didn’t make it.”
I knew it. But hearing it makes it real. My stomach twists as our last conversation replays in my head. I’ll never get to apologize. I’ll never get to tell her I was angry with my father but taking it out on her. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Kind of.” I lightly shake my head, still unsteady. “There were headlights. Someone crashed into us.” I try to remember but as soon as I recall my mom’s arm moving across my chest to protect me, I push the memory away.
“It was a hit and run. From what they gathered, a truck ran a red light and T-boned your mom’s car.
” I look at him, hoping he’ll say something that’ll make it make sense.
“There weren’t many people on the road at that time, so there was only one witness.
She gave a statement and left the scene too.
Did you notice anything about the vehicle? ”
“I don’t remember.” I try to recall, but nothing but headlights come to mind. And the impact. “All I can remember is her screaming.”
Everett looks like he’s the one about to vomit. “It wasn’t her screaming, Ivy. It was you. The impact was on the driver’s side. She was already gone. I know it doesn’t help much, but she didn’t suffer.”
I consider his words. Not wanting to believe it even though I know it’s true, I’m glad she wasn’t in pain. But she was suffering before the impact of the crash.
Dad stirs and looks over at me. “Ivy Bear, you’re awake.” He stands to give me a hug that I don’t return before he leans back. There’re tears streaming down his face as he says, “I have some bad news.”
You think? “Bad news” doesn’t even begin to cover it, but I’m more frustrated that he’s crying for her after all the times he’s made her cry. “I know.”
His hand pats mine. “She’s in a better place now.
” It feels unnatural, because he’s barely showed any affection in all the years I remember.
He was never a nurturing, give-me-a-hug kind of father.
Today is the first time he’s said my nickname in at least ten years.
And it feels even more odd when he pulls me into another hug. “At least we have each other.”
I can’t stop the thought before it slips out. “Are you drunk?” This doesn’t make sense. At all.
“No, Ivy Bear,” he lightly chuckles before he takes on a more somber tone. “Losing the love of your life sobers you up really fast.”
What the actual fuck? Now she’s the love of his life? “Did you start calling her that before or after you fucked the lady who lives next door?”
His face pales. Yeah, I know his dirty little secrets. My mom didn’t even realize that I knew. There was no point in telling her; it would just be another thing that would hurt her before she’d justify him doing it for some bullshit reason.
“We all make mistakes.” He stands from the bed. His voice trailing off as he leaves the room, “We don’t know what we have until it’s taken from us …”
I stare at the doorway he disappeared through. Anger and frustration boil over the surface. “I hate him.” I do. I’ve always known it. And this just reminds me why once again.
Everett moves closer and sits on the edge of the bed. “Ivy, it’s a rough time. Everyone processes differently.”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare defend him.” I bite back a sob and regain my emotions before I finish. “That’s all she did. And look where it got her.”
“Everything is gonna be okay.” Everett manages a hopeful half smile as he continues, “I don’t know how or when. But it will.”
Looking away, I mutter, “Don’t lie to me. It doesn’t help at all.”
“I don’t know what to do to help.”
Me either. Because the more I go back through all of it, I realize that not only did I say things I can’t take back, but we were only there because of me.
I rushed her out the door. Had we waited just a few more minutes, or even seconds, maybe we wouldn’t have been in that intersection.
And my mom wouldn’t be dead. “It’s my fault. ”
“What?” Everett gasps. “You can’t believe that.”
“We could’ve waited to leave. Or I could’ve dropped her off at work instead of making her bring me to the rec center. Or maybe if I wouldn’t have told her such hateful things, she might’ve been able to focus better on the road.”
“Stop it.” Everett moves both hands to my face, his palms holding my cheeks as he says, “It is not your fault. The only person responsible is the asshole who ran the light and crashed into the car. End of story.”
I wish I could end it with that, but I can’t. Yeah, whoever crashed into us is to blame. But if we hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have happened. She’d still be alive.
Everett says, “She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”
I believe that he believes what he’s saying. But it doesn’t ease the pain. “She’s not here. So, it doesn’t matter what she’d want.” I blink the tears back and pull out of his touch. I don’t want comfort. I want to feel the ache. Feel the guilt. But more than anything, I want my mom.