Page 17 of Ivory's Ruin Romance

Vera smiled at the screen, occupied with spreadsheets, as she replied, “Still got to live life, you know? Even when your world stops turning, you have to force yourself to move forward. I’d rather be here than sitting on my couch staring at old photos.”

He hummed in response. Today would’ve been her daughter’s twenty-third birthday—if not for what happened five and a half years ago.

The world looked so different back then. Heat waves had distorted the patchy grass he and his best friend called a field. Sweat ran down his spine, and loose gravel relentlessly wedged its way into his shoe. But that didn’t stop them from passing the ball around for hours. Didn’t detract from the sheer joy of counting how many times it swished through the air. It had felt as if the last days of summer could last forever.

It didn’t.

That was the last day he’d hear his best friend laugh. The last time he’d see a spark of joy in his father’s eyes—memories overshadowed by a black Corolla with rusted wheel wells and the passenger window rolled down, blending into the shadows of dusk. Its slow roll down the road past the park.

The three shots in quick succession.

Three bodies.

All dead before the police arrived.

The first bullet hit its mark, dove right into the center of his best friend’s heart. The second had been aimed at him, should have stopped his heart, too, but all he got was a pair of skinned knees when his father pushed him aside.

Seconds later, the blood spilling onto the dirt, pooling between his fingers and staining his clothes, didn’t belong to him.

The last bullet was the reason the story made the news—it wedged into the skull of a young woman who happened to be passing by. She came from a reputable family and had only been visiting their neighborhood with some friends when the drive-by happened.

She’d been only three months older than his sister, who was also out with her friends that day, but in a different place. That difference, which seemed like nothing at all at the time, became more significant with each and every passing day.

The reason he’d decided to work at the salon, beyond leaving the mechanic shop his father worked at, had been Vera. She didn’t know he was at the park when her daughter had been shot. When he applied here two years after the incident, enough time had passed for him to grow some stubble and put on an inch or two. Even though he still wasn’t all that tall.

Vera had always been open about her grief and the journey she made, and in a way, it had helped him, too, but that wasn’t why he wanted to be close to her. He hadn’t taken a bullet, his heart couldn’t beat the same afterward. Even now, as he stared at a fragmented reflection in the blade of his scissors and then a complete picture of a less-than-whole man in the mirror, he couldn’t shake the memory.

Someone out there had looked at him with the intent to kill, had almost stolen everything he had. He should have known—some instinct should have sensed they were coming. Wasn’t bloodlust supposed to be palpable? Didn’t death come with at least one warning, even if it was small?

But it didn’t, and he hadn’t known; there were still no answers.

The case went unsolved. The killer and their motives remained buried as deep as the caskets that held each of their victims. The story shook the local news for a month or so, with initial shock followed by outrage for justice, and after Vera’s public candle-lit vigil, the incident concluded with her plea for healing and increased efforts for peace. She’d become a symbol in the community, and customers often commented on her strength as an inspiration.

Everyone moved on in their own ways, but he couldn’t. On the surface, he’d grown into a responsible adult acclimated to normal society. But inside, he remembered the threat of death all too well. It could happen at any moment. Without warning.

The shooter might come back—out of a twisted sense of pride or even guilt, maybe even to finish the job. So he searched for signs. This time, he wouldn’t miss them, not a single indication of danger.

For so many years, he’d felt the same way Ivory explained, as if no one was there but the heavens. As if no one truly saw what he did behind the pain. She’d said it so blatantly, so matter of fact, like anyone could see suffering and explain it in such simple terms. He could never forget it.

It’s true that the only light that had come into his world was through tiny star-like pinpricks, the fullness of the sun hidden ever since he’d witnessed death. Truth had become a concept as mysterious as the inner workings of the universe.

The salon chime rang again, and he straightened as a young man stepped in, about in his twenties with a clean-shaven face and a coat puffing out his frame. Snowflakes shimmered on the petals of a bouquet of white flowers, soft and elegant as if they’d been carved from the fresh snow itself.

Vera’s face lit up in recognition, and she stepped out from the counter to greet the young man. “Eli. You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

“Of course I did,” he said as they embraced and handed off the flowers. “For her.”

Adrian clenched his jaw, pierced by a metaphorical thorn at the injustice of it all. Flowers for a girl who was never supposed to die. For a woman who should be here to smell them herself.

“Thank you,” Vera whispered, eyes starting to glisten. “These are…” She sniffed and clapped her hands. “These are just marvelous. I’m sure everyone who comes in will love them.”

The young man gave her a somber smile. “I’m glad, and I wouldn’t miss seeing you on this day for the world.”

Vera turned to Adrian as she set the flowers on the counter. “Adrian, this is Eli—Eli, Adrian.” They shook hands, and she continued, “Eli was Kassy’s boyfriend at the time.”

Another wave of emotion stirred in her face, but she marched onward. “He’s kept in touch. I think last year you had class when he stopped by, but he normally brings me flowers on her birthday.” She hummed and walked away to rearrange some supplies he’d already taken care of in the main room.

“That’s wonderful,” Adrian commented, genuinely appreciative to see their connection. Such dedication was rare. The world needed more people like that and fewer people who killed in cold blood.

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