Chapter 1
From: [email protected]
Date: June 6th
Subject: RE: HELP ME PLEASE
Hi Ivy,
It’s so nice to hear from you again. I’m proud of you for reaching out. Spending time with a difficult family member can be emotionally complex. It’s so important to give yourself grace while creating boundaries for yourself.
I have a few tips I like to give to clients. Obviously, nothing in life goes as smoothly as we’d like, but hopefully, these tricks will help your weekend to go as well as possible.
1. Avoid engaging in unnecessary conversations.
2. If you do have an encounter—keep calm. Breathing exercises can help maintain composure over passive-aggressive remarks or manipulative tactics.
3. Create an exit strategy. Put distance between yourself and the situation.
4. Surround yourself with positive influences.
I hope these tips help you. Feel free to reach out anytime. I love hearing from past clients. My door is always open.
Best,
Dr. Barb Meadows
Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist
I closed my email, checked the time, and slid my phone into the inside pocket of my purse. Four things. That was doable. Easy to remember. Bless your sweet little heart, Dr. Barb.
Drawing in a steady breath of salty ocean air, my gaze skittered across the crowd dressed in suits and silks and sipping champagne, and settled on a man of medium height and unremarkable brown hair talking animatedly in a crowd that hung on his every word. I doubted he even remembered I was here. Clinging to his arm was a brunette beauty named Angela, his new wife of one year.
So far, avoiding conversation had gone swimmingly.
A trail of sweat left its mark down my neck as I drained half a bottle of Coke. For all the money this fancy resort probably made in one night, you’d think they’d be able to afford decent weather—or at least a temperature less muggy.
A warm hand smacked my right shoulder.
“Did you get him?” I asked, turning to smile at my lifelong childhood friend, Cat. The blonde bombshell, who looked absolutely stunning in her blush-pink midi dress, checked her hand before wiping the remnants of the mosquito on her cocktail napkin.
“He’s very dead.”
“Great. Ten hundred thousand million left to go.”
“For a math whiz, your calculation skills are questionable,” Cat said, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.
“It’s a talent.” I rubbed at my temples, trying to quiet the uproar inside my head for a moment before glancing around at the wedding party still going strong .
After a staggering number of flight delays and re-routes—thank you, summer storm—I finally made it from Nashville to Florida late this afternoon. I caught the ferry to the island in the nick of time, throwing back a Tylenol and an energy drink.
With ten minutes to spare, I made it to the bride’s room at the Belacourt Resort just before the actual ceremony took place. My aunt stuffed me into a bridesmaid’s dress much too roomy in the chest before taking a disheartened look at my hair in all its glory. After thirty hours of airports and no sleep, it was a sight to say the least. Within seconds, a gaggle of women I didn’t know, bathed in floral perfume and tan lines, went to work giving life back to my limp brown curls and bland complexion.
Once deemed passable, I was hustled from the room to take my place in line to walk down the aisle.
My cousin, Mariah, hadn’t grown up on the island, but she had spent many summers here with me and my family. So, when she decided on Sunset Harbor as her preferred wedding venue, nobody blinked an eye. When she called, insisting that I be a bridesmaid, nobody blinked an eye. When she set her wedding date in June on our beautiful but hot and muggy island off the west coast of Florida…well, several of us were blinking our eyes to keep out the sweat—and swatting approximately ten thousand mosquitoes.
Combine all of that with the fact that it was, once again, campaign season with my local senator of a dad, and it was like all the money I’d invested in therapy since leaving the island had gone right out the window.
The twinkle lights at the top deck of the resort shimmered beautifully as I excused myself to grab another Coke, praying this time the caffeine would actually make a difference in my mental state.
“Ivy.” My dad, officially on the prowl for votes, grabbed my arm as I passed by and motioned around to the group of party- goers he was standing with. “Friends, this is my daughter, Ivy. She’s here visiting for the weekend. She’s a mathematics professor at Vanderbilt.”
Professor at Vanderbilt. That did sound nice. If I said the words enough times in a row, would it actually happen? Something to think about.
My dad wasn’t a tall, imposing man, for as much consternation his presence bestowed upon me. Maybe a few inches taller than my own five foot seven. He kept himself trim for the spotlight and, with the help of hair professionals, had a full head of brown locks. Though, unlike me, he worked hard to keep the curl out. His mid-fifties had been kind to him. Add to that a winning smile that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, and he was a poster boy for a politician.
Having been well-trained for moments like these my entire life, it was almost comical how I could summon up my beam of a smile toward the men and their wives looking at me curiously.
“Hi! So nice to see you all.”
“Vanderbilt?” One of the men chuckled as he leaned across the circle to shake my hand. “No surprise your dad swayed you to Vandy. If you would have talked to me first, I would have put in a good word for you over at Auburn.”
My dad’s politician laugh was loud and boisterous, like he was telling some great joke at the same time he was selling you the latest and greatest carpet cleaner at your front door. A master salesman. But I could detect the false note in his laughter, and it always surprised me how nobody else seemed to notice.
He put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me into his side. “I wouldn’t let her come back to visit if she came home wearing blue and orange.”
The group laughed, and I joined in. Painful memories of my family suddenly becoming the Brady Bunch for these occasions came flying into my mind. Deep breaths. My exit strategy would be employed in T-minus 60 hours.
I could handle it all for one weekend.
“You’re a little young to be a professor, right?” A blonde woman in a floral dress standing next to me smiled. “That’s impressive.”
My dad wouldn’t have made this distinction, but I felt it was important. “It’s actually a postdoctoral fellowship position, which is mainly a lot of research, but I will be teaching a block class later this summer.” I smiled at her and the group. “So, not technically a professor, but I’m hoping to get hired in another year.”
Actually, I and the entire country of post-doctorate graduates in mathematics were all hoping for the same thing, but no need to go into the numbers on that.
“She’s still teaching the class.” My dad shrugged and laughed like my distinction had been unnecessary to voice, and he moved the conversation forward.
“Nice to meet you all,” I whispered to the crowd while another man was talking, and I slinked away and out from under my dad’s arm. My dad’s wife, Angela, attached to his other arm, shot me a timid smile and a wave at my exit. I summoned all the grown-up kindness I could and gave her a nod and a smile.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I told Cat, after I made my way back to her. When I raced off to college immediately after high school ten years earlier, Cat, who stayed on the island, was my collateral damage. Our phone calls, text threads and video chats were the lifeblood that got me through years of deadlines, research, dissertations, my parents’ divorce, and now…postdocs.
“Yeah, you’re lucky I like Mariah or else you’d owe me one.”
Whenever my cousin, Mariah, would come to visit, Cat was usually with us too, the three of us inseparable during her stay.
I glanced at Mariah in her white dress and couldn’t help but laugh when she stopped mid-conversation with a plastic smile on her face to smash a mosquito on her neck. At least the insects didn’t play favorites.
I shifted my weight in my heels. “I need out of these shoes. Want to go walk the beach for a bit?”
“Yes, please,” Cat said.
We dropped our shoes by the staircase of the resort leading to a private beach access and began making our way down the torchlit walkway. I stifled a yawn that threatened to overtake my entire face. I hadn’t gone with so little sleep since…well, ever. My rabble-rousing college days were spent in the library. But I was determined to spend time with my old friend, and if I had to staple my eyes open to do it, so be it.
“How’s the B the medicine hadn’t even touched the pain so far. Thirty hours without sleep had been the extra-strength Tylenol’s downfall.
I fished out the two white pills and, without water, threw them into my mouth and swallowed.
For the last bit of our walk, Cat regaled me with stories of island life, our friends, and the things she was convinced I was missing in landlocked Tennessee. I listened with great interest as long as I could before my movements grew more sluggish, my thoughts more foggy as we trudged up the stairs of the resort.
“Can I take you home?” Cat asked, eyeing me with concern.
“No. I’m fine. It’s not that far. Have fun. Go show some poor innocent guy your dance moves,” I teased, using the last of my strength to make a bad joke so she’d feel better about letting me go. I didn’t need a babysitter. I needed a bed.
It took a few more protests before she finally relented and gave me a hug, promising to see me again before I left, before winding her way through the crowd to chat with more people. One quick glance at the bride and groom swarmed by guests told me it would be at least a twenty-minute wait before I could get close enough for a goodbye hug. I would just text Mariah a honeymoon joke tomorrow. Apparently, I’ve got big jokester energy when I’m half delirious.
I found my dad speaking to a set of councilmen and their wives, the ever-faithful Angela standing beside him, hanging on his arm.
Senator Clayton Brooks had been running for something my entire life. He’d been a state representative when I was a child before finally winning the local state senator position when I was in high school—a position he’s kept rather easily until this summer when, apparently, someone from the mainland had the audacity to run against him.
He was busy talking, and I knew he wouldn’t want to be interrupted, so I stood next to Angela and tapped her on the shoulder.
Her eyes grew wide as she took me in, which made me wonder what state of deterioration I was currently at.
“Hey,” I said, smiling brightly.
“Are you okay?” she asked, peering closer.
I forced my eyes to go bigger, though I wasn’t sure if that helped. “I’m exhausted. Do you mind if I take a golf cart back home?”
Angela looked at her watch and glanced at my dad, still in conversation with…someone. It was amazing how quickly names could slip my mind. It had been too long since I’d been forced to follow my parents around while my dad social-climbed.
“I don’t think your dad will want to leave yet.”
My limbs now weighed a thousand pounds. I couldn’t wait any longer. I’d walk if I had to.
“But we drove here separately, so you could take your dad’s cart home, and then he can come home with me.”
I threw her a grateful look. “That would be great. Thank you. ”
“Ang, have you met Mr. McGreggor yet?” my dad broke in, his hand on Angela’s back stealing her attention.
My body swayed slightly as I waited through an impatient minute of small talk before Angela could glance my way again. She pulled my dad’s keys out of her purse and handed them over. “Here.”
“Okay, thanks. See you—” I had almost said I’d see her at home, but I couldn’t imagine it ever being her home, so my words drifted awkwardly between us.
She eyed me with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can drive you.”
“No. I’ll be fine. It’s not very far.”
“Be safe.”
I stumbled my way to the valet in front of the resort and waited until he brought me the golf cart. At this point, my eyes almost needed something to prop them open. Did I say goodnight to Mariah? I had been thinking about giving her a hug goodbye. But did I? Maybe I should go tell her to have fun on her honeymoon.
No.
I’ll send her a text…someday. Sometime. Tomorrow. Or maybe in September.
It wasn’t far. I could drive the distance in my sleep. I opened my eyes as wide as they could go and took a big breath of salty air. I turned the key and started the engine. The low rumble gave me a shot of energy as I pulled out onto the roadway designed for golf carts only. Sometimes it was annoying living on an island where cars were illegal. Most specifically, times where a bridesmaid had done my hair in an amazingly intricate updo, and the wind instantly erased all her effort. It didn’t matter, though. I would be dropping onto my bed in seconds. Minutes?
Or…September ?
I slapped at my face until my cheeks flushed, only to have my vision go blurry. I blinked several times in a row until my sight cleared. I forced myself to look at my surroundings as I rounded the small bend in the road passing the retirement home where I used to spend time visiting with the residents before I left for bigger and better things. Or, at least…bigger. I wonder if Mrs. Anderson was still there. Or Mrs…uh…Mrs…
The golf cart veered left, and I jerked upward, correcting my course, headed toward the boat repair shop. What was it called now? Sunset Repairs? That was where…never mind. I wondered if he still worked there.
Eh. He was probably sporting an ankle monitor while picking up trash on the side of the road somewhere.
Gooooood riddance.
My head weighed a thousand pounds, which was strange when it was literally filled with cotton. Or…bowling balls.
Have I ever bowled before?
A half mile more. I could do that. Easyyyyy peasy.
Easyyyyyy…
Two more minutes. I could handle two more hours. I mean...minutes. Twoooo minutes.
Just like…
…
…
Just like…
The sharp sound of shattering glass popped my eyes open only to have them shut once more as shards came raining down on my arms. Another loud boom and jolt from the cart forced my eyes to open again, only to see what looked like a million bright-red and black plastic toys raining down on me. They fell in slow motion, hitting the windshield of the cart before scattering onto the floor. The golf cart came to a stop with a dramatic huff in the center of the room .
I looked around in a daze before I began losing the battle with exhaustion. I’d done a bad thing. I could sense it. But I couldn’t bring myself to compute much beyond that.
Things were so fuzzy.
I leaned forward, my arms resting on the steering wheel, and finally did the thing I’d been wanting to do all night long. I closed my eyes.
Somewhere in my haze of semi-consciousness, I heard noises. Voices. One voice maybe?
“What the?—”
A door banged open from somewhere. Footsteps slapped against the concrete, coming closer. A hand shook my shoulder.
“Hey! Wake up! What happened?”
“Ivy? Ivy Brooks?”
Was that my name? Why did it sound so different?
“Are you drunk?”
I couldn’t remember my dreams ever having cursing in them. But this dream definitely did. So much language filtered in and out of my consciousness. I’d never heard of some of these words. It was almost offensive.
It was offensive.
I was offended.
This guy would be getting an earful from me whenever I felt like giving it to him. And that voice… I couldn’t place it, but it was so familiar to me. Something about frogs?
“Ivy! You’ve got to wake up. You’re bleeding. There’s glass everywhere.”
This guy can’t tell me what to do. I had finally gotten to a place where I could just sleep.
More swearing and loud noises. Something kept poking at my side and on my skin, occasionally sending bolts of sharp pain up my arms. I jerked away, pushing and fighting whatever it was that didn’t feel good .
“Ivy. Stop hitt—ouch! Never mind. Go back to sleep.”
Then I was flying alongside a delicious-smelling cinnamon Pop-Tart before landing on something soft, and then I was gone again.