Page 49 of Salvation
Jackie looks at her husband, and I hold my breath, every muscle in my body tightening. A silent conversation passes between the two, and the moment seems to stretch out foreternity. Eventually, John sighs, running his hand down his face, and says, “Okay.”
Ivy looks at Willow. “What about you, Willow? Is that okay with you?”
Everyone waits for Willow’s answer, but she takes her time, picking at her nails before she looks up. “Yeah, I guess that’d be cool.”
______________________
“Are you going to explain what’s going on with you?” Ivy asks as I drive her home.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.”
It’s a lie. I do know, but it’s easier to play oblivious.
“I never took you for a liar, Campbell Richards.”
I snort like there’s something funny about all of this, but the truth is, there isn’t. “You don’t know me anymore, Ivy, just like I don’t know you. It’s been sixteen years. We’ve changed.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Ivy shake her head, but I still refuse to look at her because if I do, she’llknowI’m a liar. Because there isn’t a world that exists where my soul doesn’t know hers. She’ll always be embedded in mine, no matter how much time passes.
A sharp pain knicks my ear, and I let go of the steering wheel with one hand to cup it.
“Did you just flick my ear?” I ask, more shocked than anything as I finally face her head-on for the first time since we left her house earlier, and the sight of her hits me directly in the chest. The sun is setting on her side, the rays peeking through the window and turning her curls golden.
Ivy smirks. “Yeah, I did because you are being bull-headed. Maybe it’s been sixteen years since we’ve seen each other, but I can still be your friend, Campbell.”
Being friends with Ivy sounds like the worst torture a man could ever live—at least for me—because I’ve always wantedmore. My chance was lost through time and deceit, but when I think about it, not having her in my life again might be a torture worse than trying to be her friend. So I give in, knowing that I never had a chance of resisting anyway.
“Do you know major depressive disorder can be genetic?” I look back out the front windshield, watching the road, but I can still see her out of my peripheral.
“No,” she says slowly as if trying to figure out where I’m going with this, and I wait because I know she’s smart enough to figure it out. When I don’t say anything, her brows scrunch together, and her eyes drift to my hand. Then, like a light goes on inside her head, she gasps.
“Campbell—” There’s so much sadness in her voice that it makes me want to plug my ears so I don’t have to hear it. I don’t want her to be sad for me.
“Don’t, Ivy,” I warn, turning the wheel to pull into her driveway.
“Don’t what, Campbell? Don’t care?”
I pull the truck to a stop and slam my hand down against the steering wheel. “Yes,” I growl. “Because I won’t survive it. Not again.”
“Campbell, I—” A knock pounds on my window, and Ivy and I both jump, cutting off our conversation.
I turn to find my mother standing by my door with my father behind her, studying the ground. His ears are red, and he looks like he would rather be anywhere but here. If I were to guess, I’d say my mom dragged him out here by the ear. So far, I’ve managed to avoid them since dropping the bomb in their lap about having a daughter.
Mom motions for me to step out of the truck, and I turn to Ivy. “I’m sorry in advance.”
It’s the only warning I give her before opening my door and climbing out of the truck because the war with my mother seemsa lot easier to manage than the conversation Ivy was trying to have.
“Hi, Mom,” I say carefully, watching for her reaction.
“Hi, Mom…HI, MOM. That’s all you have to say to me. I’ve sat around and worried about you, and the best you can come up with is ‘hi, mom?’”
Each word is louder and louder, and there’s a feral look in her eye that has me taking a step back for my own safety. Over her shoulder, my dad’s eyes grow wider. Feral Della Rae is a side neither of us has seen from my mother. A truck door slams, and Ivy rounds the front of my truck.
“Hi, Della Rae.”
Something flashes in my mother’s eyes—a spark of understanding—as her gaze jumps from me to Ivy and back again. I’d told her my daughter was sixteen, and it wouldn’t have been hard for her to figure out who the mother was from there. But I think seeing Ivy standing beside me confirms it for her. My mom’s gaze stops bouncing between us, landing on me.
“Campbell, I think it’s time we talked. Don’t you?”
