Page 38 of Salvation
And isn’t that what I did to Ivy, too? Where does the line lie between unanswered prayers and losing faith?
I still believe in God. I can’t imagine losing my faith, but I can see why Ivy lost hers. It’s hard to keep believing when it’s a struggle to feel heard.
“Yeah. I’ve prayed about it.”
“I’m sorry, Campbell.”
I sigh, the exhaustion seeping in. “Me too.”
Boards creak. Birds chirp. Hayes clears his throat.
“Have you met her? Your daughter?”
That question feels like it’s burning me alive from the inside. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s happy, and I don’t want to disrupt that. She was adopted by a great family that loves her. She already has a dad. She doesn’t need another one.”
“That’s not true, Campbell. None of that’s true.” Hayes argues. “What about Ivy? She’s back now. You have a chance to have a family.”
A pained smile creeps onto my lips. “I wish that were true. I wanted it to be her. I wanted her to be the girl I married—the one I came home to every day—but wanting her hurts. And she no longer wants it to be me. She has someone else, so I’m never getting that family, Hayes, because if it’s not her, then it will never be anyone else either.”Standing, I walk over to my front door, and only then do I look back. “Go home to your family. I’m fine.”
Then I walk inside, straight into the darkness, locking the door behind me.
Chapter 20
Ivy
I’m holding a flimsy piece of card stock in my hand, rolling it between my fingers as I chew on my lip and try to decide what to do. Charles gave me his card and told me to call whenever I needed him. I think he meant more as a family member, but right now, I need a lawyer.
It’s been a week since our meeting with the Bryants, and the longer I’ve sat here in this house with its white walls and ghosts, the more I’ve thought about what John said and his blunt way of dismissing us. I understand this situation is complicated, but he didn’t give me a chance to tell my side of the story. He assumed I gave up my daughter because I didn’t want her, and that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Even if they never let me know her, I need her to know I wanted her.
So I dial the number and wait for it to ring. Charles picks up on the third one. Luckily, he’s in town and agrees to swing by before he has to head home. I spend the next fifteen minutes pacing the floor in front of the front door while I wait for him to show up. Nerves pulse beneath my skin, and when a knock comes, I startle, placing my hand over my chest.
Swiping my hands down the front of my shirt, I pull myself together and walk to the front door, hoping my knees keep me upright. Charles stands on the other side, a friendly smile on his face when he sees me. I swallow, my eyes darting back and forthto avoid the kindness staring back at me in his. I can count on one hand the number of times someone has looked at me like that since I left Benton Falls, and I don’t know what to do with it. So I clear my throat and step back, creating room for him to walk in.
“I made us some lemonade. It’s on the back patio. I hope that’s okay.”
My fingers fiddle with the hem of my shirt, but where my grandmother would have scolded me for fidgeting, Charles smiles and says, “I love lemonade.”
My shoulders relax a little bit, and I lead him toward the back of the house. A wrought iron table and chairs wait for us, and I’ve lifted the umbrella to ward off the sun. Even though it’s more fall than summer, the Alabama sun packs a punch.
I take my time pouring each of us a glass and setting the pitcher to the side, avoiding Charles’s gaze, but I still feel him watching me. My heart races against the pulse point in my neck, and I will it to slow down. But no matter how hard I try, it keeps thumping out of control. My head starts to feel dizzy, and I place my hands in my lap to prevent Charles from seeing them shake. And when I can’t take it anymore, I lift my head and meet eyes that are achingly familiar.
“I’m glad you asked me here, Ivy. I’ve been wondering how you are.”
“You have?” The words are out before I have the chance to stop them, and if I hadn’t been threatened most of my life over my decorum, I might have slapped my hand over my mouth in horror once they were out. Instead, I grimace and apologize. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
I wait for the berating, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Charles chuckles, and that takes me by surprise, too. Since I’ve met him, I’ve been waiting for his mask to slip—for him to be more likemy grandmother—but each time I think he might, he proves me wrong.
“Yes, dear. I have. You’re family, and that means I will always wonder how you are.”
I’ve lived with “family” my entire life, but sitting here with Charles makes the word feel foreign. An uncomfortable feeling crawls over my skin because while he’s been concerned for me, the only reason I asked him here today was for my own benefit.
Maybe I’m not so different from the people who raised me.
The thought settles in my stomach like a lead weight. My brows pinch together as I study one of the lemons floating in the glass pitcher.
