Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
IVY
You know what’s worse than back sweat? Boob sweat—because there’s no way to dab anything away without drawing attention to the location of the unfortunate perspiration. And I currently can’t seem to calm my nervous system enough to stop this humiliating response, not only because I’m sitting in C.J.’s office, but also because I’m about to rip off a very big Band-Aid.
Mother of pearl, I think I just audibly gulped.
Calm the heck down, Marsh.
“What did you wanna talk about, honey?” C.J. asks, placing a large stack of papers and a coffee cup on her desk as she takes a seat.
I nearly melt every time she talks to me in that matronly tone. I know it’s just who she is, but I tell myself it’s because I’m her favorite. It’s all part of my little make-believe world, one I’m praying I won’t be setting up in flames in the next two minutes.
Here goes nothin’.
“C.J…I need to tell you something. I probably should’ve told you before you hired me… ”
“Go on,” she says encouragingly. “But if you murdered someone…at least tell me they deserved it.”
I sigh. “No murders…yet.”
“Dang it. I’ve always wanted to be an accomplice in burying a body. Oh well, out with it, then.”
“Okay…” I take another shaky breath before I word vomit my lifelong struggles to C.J. I tell her about everything—hiding my learning disabilities from my parents, overcompensating to be the uncomplicated child, putting in extra hours of work just to get by. She doesn’t fidget or show any emotion in her face as I continue, which only seems to fuel me on. My words begin falling out haphazardly, like a bag of scrabble letters being turned upside down. I can’t bring myself to make eye contact, instead focusing on various objects around her office as I continue rambling. I’m barely coherent by the time I conclude, at least managing to throw in a disclaimer at the end. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you during my interview. And I understand if—if you need to reevaluate my position here.”
When I finally meet her eyes, I see a familiar warmth. Her face softens with kindness, calming my stampeding heart.
“Ivy June, how long has this been twistin’ you up inside?”
“Since you hired me. Well, technically, most of my life, but…”
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry you’ve had to struggle with this. Does it in any way affect your students ability to learn?”
“No ma’am.” I force down the lump threatening to clog my throat. “I make sure of it.”
“I’m sure you do. But are there things we can do to make it easier for you?”
This question may be the tipping point. Little puddles gather in my eyes, and I blink rapidly, attempting to will them away. But my heart has been aching to hear those words for so many years that it feels like a million clamps are loosening around my chest.
“I think so…yeah.” Another audible gulp. I’m basically a cartoon character with the way my tears are spouting out. C.J. rises from her seat, rounding her desk to perch on the arm of my chair and offering me a tissue and a tight squeeze.
“Well, then, we’ll figure it out,” she says, resting her chin on my head while I make very unladylike noises into a tissue. She releases me, but her regal, motherly hand still rubs circles on my back. “Your students thrive, Ivy. And my guess is your struggles have forced you to teach them in more hands-on ways, which is how kids learn best. Did you know Benjamin Franklin had dyscalculia?”
“I didn’t,” I say, feeling my brows pull together as the knot in my stomach relaxes. “Thank you, C.J.”
I stand, sniffling into my tissue. When I look up, C.J.’s hazel eyes are still regarding me with unexpected affection. “You’re not broken, Ivy. In fact, you have a strength that’s fierce and unique. Don’t hide it.”
Right for the jugular. I croak out another thank you, hugging her one more time and scurrying off to my classroom before I blubber all over her neatly pressed blouse.
C.J.’s words are important, I realize, ones I should declare every day. Learning to be kind to myself isn’t easy, but I’m starting to understand that I must fully love who I am before I can truly love someone else. And since I’m already well on my way to falling in love with a certain someone, I need to get this self-love stuff right, too.
When I reach my classroom, I find Toby waiting for me with his brow furrowed. He rubs a thumb under his lip, his focus consumed by what he’s reading on his phone, like he’s trying to piece things together.
“Hey, Bee,” I greet him, giving my nose one last wipe. He lifts his head, smiling for a second before fading back into a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
I gurgle a laugh, waving his words away. “I just told C.J. about my problem. You know. The dyslexia thing.” I add, realizing I’ve never actually told Toby about it either. He’s just supportively pieced things together over the last year and a bit.
“Oh! Wow. She didn’t take it well?” he asks as he moves to stand.
“She was amazing. These are happy tears.”
“Oh…Okay. Good…Well, done, Vee. I’m glad you told her.”
“So, why are you so frowny?” I ask, gesturing to his phone.
His brows raise as he inhales slowly. “This is gonna sound crazy, but I’m worried about you. And I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“What are you talking about?”
“After you told me about the music box and how much it’s worth, I set up some bots to flag any internet searches for it. A few have been popping up in this area. Unfortunately, it looks like someone caught the search I did.”
I glare at him with one eyebrow cocked. “You’re looking at me like I should know what that means.”
“It means whoever’s searching for the music box probably knows you have it. It’s a stretch, but if I were this other person also looking for it, I’d follow this lead. I mean, why would anyone else be looking for the exact same insanely valuable yet rare antique music box that you just found in your Gran’s house?”
My eyes begin shifting aimlessly over the desks in front of me as I process what Toby is insinuating. “So I need to…what, watch my back in case any goons are after some treasure?” I ask over a laugh. “This is ridiculous. I’m sure it’s all in our heads.”
“Vee, I’m a math teacher, I don’t believe in coincidence or operate ‘in my head.’ Come on, you know I wouldn’t make a big deal about this if it was nothing. Just be careful, ‘kay?”
“Yes, sir.” I respond, rolling my eyes before sobering with a serious look and pointed finger. “But don’t tell Ethan. The man will put up burglar bars on every window.”
“I think he should know, Ivy.”
“He’s supposed to go away for his show soon, and he won’t leave if he thinks I’m in danger. You can stay over while he’s gone. Please, Bee? I don’t want him to turn down an opportunity this big because of me.”
“Fine.” He grunts and crosses his arms.
“And play nice when you come over later.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You put your bossy pants on this morning?”
“And don’t mention my pants. Ethan probably won’t like that either.” I smile as he stands and shakes his head, even though there’s an eerie feeling lingering in my gut. I still haven’t found whatever Ross stumbled upon, and it’s driving me crazy. It’s got to be the missing piece of this puzzle. But I can’t ask Gran about it, because I’m ninety-nine-percent sure she has no idea the secret closet even exists, and I can’t bring myself to rope her into whatever drama Ross has created.