Ten—Ivy
T
he Del Monte Center was rocking, so Mia had to park a few blocks away, which, if I’m being honest, annoyed me a little. My feet hurt, and I was hungry. “So…” I sighed. “I think you’re right about the shoes.”
Mia smiled. “You won’t be sorry. My mom’s a huge runner. My whole life, she’s gotten up at the crack of dawn to hit the trails behind our house. She says a good pair of shoes can change your life.” She shrugged. “I don’t really know about that since I don’t run, but we ought to be able to find you something better than flip-flops.”
“Is your whole family athletic?”
“Well, my dad golfs. He’s not very good, so I don’t think that really qualifies. Bo runs. He does marathons—he just ran the Avenue of the Giants a couple of weeks ago.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, it’s fun, it’s a marathon through the redwoods. Mom did it with him this year.”
“Well, my goodness!” I said, truly impressed.
Mia nodded. “Yep, I took pictures, lent moral support, ate doughnuts.” She laughed, and I was finding her laugh to be very trustworthy and revealing about her—Mia Sutton did not seem to give a lick what people thought of her. I’d known her all of one day, which wasn’t long to base an opinion on, but I knew I truly, madly envied that about her .
The light turned, and we joined a small throng in crossing over. “He seems nice, your brother. A little nervous. Is he not thrilled to have me staying with y’all?”
“Oh,” Mia waved away my words. “That’s just Bo… He’s not thrilled that I’m there. He’s…” she shook her head. “Bo’s awesome, don’t get me wrong. He’s just… finicky .” She turned to me as we reached the other side. “That makes him interesting…if a bit odd. And sometimes exhausting.”
“Oh,” I said. “I thought it might be me .”
“Oh, heaven’s no. He’s just very uptight about everything. He likes order and struggles with disorder. That’s why he cleans—which I love by-the-way. He cleans and cooks and reads and runs and makes fabulous jewelry. In his spare time, he cleans some more because he hates germs. And he drives a lot of people crazy in the process—his girlfriends last about a week.” Mia shook her head. “But that’s my obsessive-compulsive brother for you.”
I looked at her and she smiled, so I did, too. “Well, we’ve all got somethin’, I guesss. That’s what makes us us .” I shook my head and whistled. “But he’s waaay too pretty to have all that going on. I promise you I will do my plumb best not to make his life any harder.”
Mia smiled bigger. “Ivy, you are adorable.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said, not sure what she meant. We’d reached the mall entrance, and a little old man was holding the door open for us. We walked in and I thanked him, then I turned back to Mia. “And what about your sister?” I said. “Did I hear you say you have a sister?”
Mia nodded, still smiling at me. “Camille. She’s her own mess,” she said, pulling a face. “She’s married to the devil. Long story,” she sighed. “She has two little girls who are pure cuteness—Scout and Olivia—who totally adore me, by the way.”
“Well, of course they do!” I said .
“Camille doesn’t run either—since we were talking about that. But she used to dance—she was an amazing dancer. Before she married Satan.” She pointed. “That’s where we’re going.
I followed her gaze to the Neon Carpe D Sports sign and walked in behind her. “Anyway,” she said, not skipping a beat. “I’m pretty sure my nieces are Camille’s exercise these days.”
“Oh, right,” I said, catching up to her meaning. “And what about you?” I said as I took in the enormous store full of all things athletics.
“Me? I dabble,” Mia said. “I like tennis and yoga. And Lully has a pool, so I’m kind of digging on morning laps these days. Do you swim?”
“Not really,” I said. “I mean, I know how, I just…don’t. Much.”
Mia laughed. “Well, you’re welcome to join me if you want. Bo’s stingy with morning caffeine, so it’s pretty much how I wake up. I’m usually in the water by 7:00. Ish. If you’re interested.”
“Hmmm. It’s not my best look.”
“What isn’t?”
“This body. Wet. In swimming attire.”
“Oh, my gosh, you are hilarious.” Mia looped her arm through mine. “Ivy, nobody cares.”
For some reason, I actually believed her. “I guess I’d better look for a swimsuit, then.”
She squeezed my arm. “Fabulous! I mean you could borrow one of Lullaby’s, but three of you could fit in one of her suits.”
“What?”
“True story.”
We wandered over to the shoe department, where Mia talked me into a pair of Altra Paradigms, which meant nothing to me, but they felt amazing on my feet. Much more so than the Saucony Triumphs from my dad. Those were nice, and way too small. But that’s what happens, I guess, when you put your secretary in charge of doing a kindly deed, a secretary who has never once laid eyeballs on your daughter’s feet .
After that, we hit Macy’s for a swimsuit. I couldn’t find one worth trying on in Carpe D—and even the one I shimmied myself into in the Macy’s old-lady department was a truly traumatic experience. It was red, one piece, defied the laws of physics, and pushed everything up and out and over to the point that I vowed never to be seen in it and could not believe I had actually let Mia talk me into buying it. But it was over and done, and I was starving.
We ate in the food court, and I thought I was hungry enough to eat my own arm. But the strangest thing: nothing tasted good, and that rarely happens. I got pizza and breadsticks from Sbarro and an Orange Julius, just like Mia. But I only got through half my pizza. I kept seeing my marshmallow layer leaking over the red swimsuit, my dad wishing I’d go home—or worse, that I wasn’t even here—Tim’s sorry eyes…Tim walking off the gazebo…Tim not wanting me…
“Hey?” Mia said. “You okay?”
I smiled, because that’s what I do when I’m about to get weepy. “It’s just been a long day. I think I’ll take this with me. Have it later, maybe,” I said, wrapping my pizza in a napkin.
Mia narrowed her eyes at me. I had not fooled her, but she was kind enough not to pry her way into my personal hell, which I appreciated immeasurably and was another reason I knew I was destined to like this girl very much. I smiled again and excused myself to go to the restroom so poor Mia could finish her pizza without my drama.
When we got back home , Mia’s sister, Camille, was there with about a dozen other ladies, and that fact seemed to surprise Mia. “I can’t believe she’s actually here,” she said to me. Then, to her sister, “You made it.”
Camille pulled a little face at Mia, then smiled at me. “You must be Ivy.”
“I am,” I said, a little startled that she knew who I was.
Camille was pretty like Mia but with darker, shorter hair. She was also wearing a lot of makeup. “Girls, we’d better get started,” she sang out, reining in her friends who were admiring the house. It turned out this group of women was Camille’s book club, and she graciously invited us to sit in for their discussion of Dancing on Broken Glass .
“I’ve got some photo editing to do,” Mia said, apologetically. “But Ivy can, if she wants.”
“Ummm, actually I think I’d better unpack,” I said. “But I heard the book was good.”
“So good!” Camille said, smiling at me and hugging her sister. “Maybe next time. It was nice to meet you, Ivy.”
Mia walked me out to the pool house and made sure I didn’t need anything. “I’m fine,” I said, even though suddenly, despite my weird pizza experience at the mall, I would have killed for a cookie or four that Mia’s brother had arranged on a big platter by the outside fireplace. I swallowed. “I think I’ll take a shower,” I said. “Then I need to call my mama.”
Mia nodded. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes, you will. And if I get very brave, or lose a little of my mind, it will be at 7:00. Poolside,” I said, already hyperventilating in dread at the thought of me in that red spandex.
She laughed. “Totally up to you, Ivy. Goodnight.”
Hours later, I couldn’t sleep. Of course, I couldn’t. It had been a strange day torn from the playbook of someone else’s life, and I couldn’t quite settle. I checked the clock at 1:25. I could hear crickets in the distance, and the night air pouring through my open window was just cool enough to need all the blankets on the bed. I’d told my PTSD group how the dark and the quiet were my enemies, and it turned out that we all struggled at night. We all felt a little re-victimized by it. Daytime was easier, with its cushion of noise and light and movement. The sweet distraction of television, traffic, weather, people arguing and breathing around you. At night, there were just memories, loud and vivid. Terrance had funnily suggested we change the time of group therapy to 2 a.m., any night of the week. There was resounding agreement.
I turned over and punched the pillow. I missed the me who could sleep. I missed the lightness of being that I had never once appreciated before I’d gotten so weighed down with sadness and disappointment and extra me . I missed Savannah. I missed Geneva and even my mom. And I missed Tim, and I was deadly afraid I always would.
I got up and pulled the extra blanket off my bed and walked out into the devil night. I couldn’t see it from my window, but from the courtyard, the view of the bay and Cannery Row was spectacular and deliciously distracting, just what I needed. I sat down in a lawn chair nearest a stone fireplace where embers were still glowing from an earlier fire and pulled the blanket tighter around me.
I wondered what Tim was doing and if he might be thinking about me. I wondered if he regretted what he’d done and wanted me back. I knew he didn’t. But I was just crippled enough to still fantasize that he did.
I was a little lost in my head when I heard the French doors open behind me, and I immediately cringed. I didn’t want to see anyone, and I didn’t want anyone to see me. Hadn’t Mia gone to bed hours ago? I ventured a quick glance and saw Bo Sutton set down a bucket and some towels on a wicker side table, then he walked past me to the edge of the patio. He hadn’t noticed me. I watched him stand there for several minutes, taking in the glimmering view. The moon was bright enough that I could see him pretty clearly. He was wearing jeans and flip-flops, and his untucked shirt hung beneath a dark sweatshirt. A slight breeze was pushing around his longish Josh Groban hair. It was dark, but I could still see that good looks ran deep in this family. He didn’t know I was there, and any second now he would turn around, and the sight of me would startle him. I cleared my throat, and he jumped predictably. “I’m sorry.” I grimaced when he quickly turned. “I so did not want to scare you, but that’s exactly what I did. I’m sorry,” I said again .
“Ivy?”
“Hi. I couldn’t sleep so I…Is it all right that I’m sitting out here?”
He nodded, rallying “Of course,” he said, walking toward me.
I pulled the quilt tighter around me in an insane effort to hide myself from him. Bo Sutton was maybe 5’10” and looked every bit the runner that he was, all sinewy and not overly muscled. Lean and precise, and pretty—like I said, pretty ran in this family, and it made me nervous. But then he seemed nervous, too. For a moment we just looked at each other in the moonlight. Then he nodded. “Ummm, can I get you anything?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you need anything? Is your room okay?”
“Oh, it’s great. Thank you so much for letting me invade y’all’s space like this.”
The way he looked at me made me suddenly wonder if he’d had any say in the matter. He nodded and tried not to smile, it seemed. “Well, have a good night. I’m just going to wipe down the furniture, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“What?”
“Oh, and if you’re hungry, there are some macaroons on the counter—I made them for my sister’s book club, at her insistence, and they probably ate three. So, you’re welcome to them. There’s fruit, yogurt, prosciutto. Please help yourself.”
For a second, I thought he was toying with me, which I knew was ridiculous. “Thank you.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure Mia was supposed to tell me, but she said you were going through a tough time. Something about a ruined wedding?”
Tears suddenly stung my eyes as the Tim-sized knot in my stomach made itself known again. All I could do was nod.
Bo nodded, too. “I’m sorry some men are bastards.”
A laugh pushed through the sadness, and I said, “Me, too.”
Bo Sutton’s smile was a bit uncertain. “I’m sorry that happened to you. ”
“Me too,” I said again. I stood up, hoping he didn’t see what was happening to me, what always happened to me when I thought of Tim and my ruined wedding . “I guess I’ll go back to bed, now.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to chase you off…”
“No… You…you didn’t.”
“Well, okay. Goodnight, Ivy.”
From inside the dark pool house, I watched Mia’s brother meticulously begin to wipe down and dry the first of eight wicker chairs. There was also a table and two ottomans. Mia had said he was odd—that was becoming evident—but he still seemed nice to me. And the fact that he was a germaphobe must be why he was cleaning the patio furniture at two in the morning. From the precise way he was going about it, I could see it would likely take all night if someone didn’t help him. I threw on my jeans and went back outside.
“Can I help you?” I startled him, again. “I keep doing that, I’m sorry. Do you have another rag?”
He looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. “What?”
“I want to help you. It’s late, and clearly it’s important that this furniture gets cleaned, so let me help.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, I wouldn’t feel right about drifting off to sleep while you’re out here working your tail off in the middle of the night. That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Well...really, it’s just how I like to do things. I’m kind of a one-man show.”
I smiled. “Not tonight. So…do you have another rag?”
“Ummm… no. One man job only requires one rag.”
“I see.” I picked up the towel that he’d draped over the arm of the second chair. “Well, how ’bout I dry, then?” Bo Sutton seemed suddenly nervous, and I felt bad that I was making him uncomfortable. “You can show me exactly how you want it done,” I said .
He slumped a little, like he’d been caught being silly. “You probably think I’m insane.”
I knelt down and started drying the seat he’d just wiped down. “Why? Because you like clean furniture?”
“Because I like clean lawn furniture at two in the morning.”
I shrugged. “Well, this way, it won’t be waiting for you when you wake up. And when it’s done, you won’t have to think about it anymore tonight. Oh, my, I sound just like my grandmother. She used to say that to me when I didn’t want to do my homework.”
He relaxed a little. “Make sure you go in one direction, so you don’t…you know”—he cleared his throat—“leave streaks.”
It’s wicker , I thought, but corrected my technique without stating the obvious.
For a while we worked in silence, which I didn’t really mind, but it was a bit weird. “So…did you sit in on the book club?” I finally ventured.
“No,” he said, definitively. “All that estrogen is a bit much for me.”
I laughed.
“Which is kind of a shame because I have a great appreciation for good literature.”
“Like what?” I said, moving with him to the next chair. “What’s your all-time favorite book?”
Bo Sutton thought about this. “That’s too hard. There are too many wonderful stories—ask me which one taught me the best lesson.”
“Okay. Which one taught you the best lesson?”
We’d reached the next chair—a foot away—where Bo Sutton discarded the rubber gloves on his hands and replaced them with a new pair. I suppressed a nervous giggle because that was about the strangest thing I’d ever seen. Bo offered me a pair, but I declined—I was only toweling, for heaven’s sake, no need to go crazy. He re-wet his rag and proceeded to wipe down the seat.
I cleared my throat and got back to it. “So, you were saying? ”
“That would have to be Precious Bane . I wanted to name my company after that book. Do you know the story?”
“I don’t”
“It’s about discovering wonder in ordinary things and how love can sneak up on someone who can’t imagine they deserve it.”
“Really?”
“Plus, the name— Bane —represents… me . I drive me and everyone around me a little nuts with my need for perfection.”
I looked at Bo Sutton, his hair deeply shading his face in the patio light. “I never heard of that book, but I think I’ll be doing a little Amazon shopping as soon as I’m done here.”
“Oh, don’t do that. I’ve got an extra copy,” he said, not looking at me. “You missed a spot,” he pointed with his rubber-gloved finger.
We were quiet for another minute while I re-toweled what was surely evaporating in the breeze anyway but was clearly stressing my new landlord. In all my twenty-one years, I’d never met such a curious man. I liked him, but he was more than a bit peculiar.
“So…” I ventured again. “You’re house-sitting? This isn’t actually where you live?”
“No. I mean, yes, we’re housesitting for my aunt Lullaby. She’s in France with her new husband.”
“Lullaby. I never knew a Lullaby. When will she be back?”
Bo Sutton was once again intent on his scouring of the wicker, but he managed to shrug one shoulder. “You never know with my aunt. She said the end of the summer, but that could mean next summer.”
I laughed. “And where do y’all live when you’re not here housesitting?”
He smiled, and I didn’t know why. “Well, I had a townhouse,” he said. “But I’ve outgrown it…my business has outgrown it, I should say—I work at home. So, I’m looking at a loft downtown with dedicated space for my studio.” He shook his head and grimaced. “But I don’t know if I’m really a loft person. ”
“Oh, I’m definitely not.” I was quick to agree. “I need cozy, soft things, old things that hug me. My mama has an ancient, overstuffed sofa—kind of lumpy. It swallows you right up when you sit in it. That’s very much my style.”
“And where do you live?” he said.
“Georgia—Savannah, Georgia. Born and raised. But…” I shook my head. “I won’t be going back there.”
“Why is that?”
“Oh, it’s a long story.”
Now he stopped and looked at me. “It’s not because of the ruined wedding?”
I nodded. “Yep. I am boycottin’ an entire state because I was dumped. Now who sounds insane, Bo Sutton?”
That got me my first laugh from the nice-looking but very tightly-wired Mr. Wicker-scrubber.