Page 33 of Salvation
We spend the rest of the drive just like that, with Campbell staring out the front window and me trying to figure out why the silence makes me sad.
Chapter 17
Campbell
The Bryants are a family of four: Jackie, John, Kolton, and Willow. Jackie is a stay-at-home mom with bottle blonde hair and the free time to run the school PTO. Her husband, John, on the other hand, is a corporate lawyer who spends almost every waking moment at the office, if rumors are to be believed. The one thing he has going for him is that he never misses a school event for his kids. He shows up every time with a smile on his face. Kolton is their oldest, their biological son, and Willow—she is mine.
I learned all of this from the private investigator Jane was working with. She left his number amongst the other things Ivy showed me. But for everything I know about Willow and the family she grew up with, there are a hundred things I don’t. Like, what’s her favorite food? Or color? Is she happy?
Every opportunity to know my daughter—to watch her grow—was stripped from me. First steps. First words. First day of kindergarten. They’re all things I’ll never get back, and the more I think about those things, the more the anger keeps eating away at my soul, stripping me bare. My body can’t decide between the never-ending numbness and deep-seated anger, and it’s exhausting.
When I pull into the driveway of a two-story suburban home, another emotion joins the mix. Jealousy is not an emotion I’musually familiar with, but right now, it burns hot and furious as I look up at the house my daughter grew up in, taking it in. The red brick, picture windows, and white shutters scream money, but the fresh flowers and rocking chairs on the front porch make it feel like a home.
I’m not jealous of the money. My family has enough that I’ll never have to worry. I’m envious of the memories made inside this home. The memories that should have been mine. The family that should have been mine.
Ivy sits quietly beside me, her eyes taking in the home just like me, and I don’t have to read her mind to know her thoughts are the same. Her hands are fisted tightly in her lap, and her long lashes open and close rapidly, trying to hold back the tears swimming in her eyes.
Reaching over, I take her hand in mine, not for her, but for me. I’m standing close to the edge, and she’s the only thing holding me back from jumping. I guess I didn’t learn my lesson the first time, because I can’t depend on her to be there to save me.
“They are expecting us,” I say more to myself than her because otherwise I’d stay in the truck forever.
I turn my attention to Ivy, watching to see if she will fall apart and ready to catch her if she does, but I should’ve known better. She’s always been stronger than me. She takes a deep breath, slowly releasing it through her nose, and pulls her hand out of mine. The loss of her is a shock to my system. I’ve been trying to get used to it for years.
“Let’s go. There’s no need to keep them waiting.” Her voice is cold, detached, and so unlike the Ivy I once loved.
It’s one of the things I’ve noticed about her since she’s been back. It’s as if life has made her forget how to shine. Once upon a time, I would have lent her some of my light, but after she left, Irealized that if she is the sun, I am the moon. My light has always come from her.
Without another word, she steps out of the truck, not looking back to see if I follow. Sometimes it feels like it’s always been that way—Ivy leaving and me following.
Grabbing the door handle, I open it and jog to catch up to her. She’s standing on the porch when I reach her, her hand lifted to knock, but her knuckles never come down.
“Ivy?” Her name slips off my lips, tasting like it always has—like forever and a day—but she’s no longer my forever. And I’m no longer hers.
Ever so slowly, she turns her head to look at me, her eyes wide and bottom lip trembling. “I’m scared.”
I can tell how much that confession cost her, and she’s already paid enough. So I step forward, lifting my hand and knocking. Then I step back and wait, staring straight ahead when I give her a piece of me back to make up for the cost. “Me too, sunshine. Me too.”
______________________
The door opens, and Jackie Bryant stares back at us. Her face is pinched into a polite smile, and her husband stands behind her, his hand on her shoulder. His face is stern, not giving an ounce of emotion away. I pride myself on being able to read people—it’s part of my job—but John Bryant is impossible to read. His slate gray eyes bounce from me to Ivy, sizing us up and finding us lacking. I guess if I were in his situation and someone were intruding on my family, I’d feel the same.
Ivy and I haven’t talked a lot about what we want from this meeting, only that we want to know our daughter, and to do so, we have to go through the two people standing in front of us.
To her credit, Jackie’s smile widens, even if it is a little watery, and she sticks out her hand. “You must be Campbelland Ivy,” she says, shaking my hand first and then Ivy’s. “Please come in.”
She steps back to allow room for us, and her husband shadows her, step for step. A begrudging respect sits uncomfortably in my chest. With one movement, he’s proven that he’s a man who will protect his family, and if I had to choose someone else to raise my daughter, it’d be a man like that.
I wait for Ivy to go in first, but when she doesn’t, I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her in. “Thank you for having us, Mrs. Bryant. We appreciate you taking this meeting.”
John snorts, muttering something under his breath about not having a choice. Jackie’s smile tightens, but she ignores her husband’s comment.
“Please, call me Jackie. I’m going to grab some refreshments. My husband will lead you to the living room. We can talk there.”
She spins, heading off toward the back of the house, but I don’t miss the look she gives her husband, a warning to play nice. He grunts an indiscernible agreement, and when she disappears, he turns to us and says, “If you’ll follow me.”
As we walk, I take note of all the signs that my daughter lives here. A pair of shoes placed haphazardly beside the door with a purple backpack sitting beside it. A water bottle with her name on it sitting on the entryway table. I have to force myself to keep walking instead of running my fingers over the letters in her name. It’s a sign of life, something she’s held in her hands, and I want so badly to hold it in mine. But instead, I keep walking, following John to the living room just down the hall.
When I first called the Bryants, they refused to meet, but after several more calls and a threat to get a lawyer, they agreed—but only to a meeting without Willow. I understood—respected it even—but her presence is everywhere in this home. It makes my chest ache to be so close and yet so far away at the same time.
