Page 59 of Salvation
Willow’s head whips his way. “What? Why?”
“Because, Willow, they are claiming fraud. FRAUD. You areourdaughter. I can’t—I can’t let them take you.” John’s voice breaks as tears stream down his face in a steady stream.
Jackie reaches over, grabbing John’s hand and tugging him back into his seat.
“Sit down, honey,” she says softly. He stares at her a minute, his throat working up and down, before finally relenting and sitting back down.
He sighs. “Look, I’m sorry for what happened to you, but we went through all the correct legal channels to adopt Willow. It’s just a shock.”
I nod, fully understanding that feeling. “I know. It was for us, too.” I say, looking over to Campbell, who nods. “When my grandmother passed away, she left a letter explaining what they did. I don’t know why she chose to write it—maybe it was some final absolution—I just know she did. And I knew that I needed to know Willow—in whatever capacity that looks like.”
Campbell’s deep voice rumbles beside me. “We don’t plan on taking you to court. We understand you raised her, and we are thankful for that. We just ask that you try to understand where we are coming from, too, and let us be in her life.”
John’s jaw jumps, ticking up and down as he grits his teeth. Slowly, he turns his head to Willow, the tears on his face matching those in her eyes. “I think it would be good for you to see Ivy work on that mural.” His voice cracks. It must have cost him a lot to say that, but when Willow’s face lights up with a grin, so does his. It’s evident that whatever the cost, it was worth it to him.
Willow reaches out, slinging her arms around John’s neck. “Thanks, Dad.”
Campbell shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and without thinking, I reach out, placing my hand over his like he’d done earlier for me.
Willow is still hugging John when the doorbell rings. I startle, knocking my knee against the underside of the table, and Campbell’s brows press together.
“Are you okay?” He asks, leaning closer. His voice is pitched into a deep whisper.
I was—until I heard his voice like that.
“Um-yeah. I’m fine. I’d better go check to see who is at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” I let my hand fall from him and apologize to Willow and her family. “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”
They all nod agreeably, and I walk away with Campbell’s gaze searing into my back.
Five hundred thirty-three million—
I don’t think I’ll ever forget how he looked at me in the moments after he said that—with a stark, desperate yearning that terrifies me.
On my way to the front door, I pass my grandparents Bible that’s still sitting on the end table on my way to the front door. I make sure to glare at it as I walk by. I’ve spent a lot of my time going through their stuff and getting rid of it, but I’ve not been able to make myself get rid of that book yet. I keep telling myself it’s because it’s a reminder of the hurt I experienced at their hand, but sometimes I wonder if maybe it’s something else. Before I realized the hypocrisy of my grandparents’ religion, I used to love going to church. Sometimes, when I can’t ignore the loneliness, I think back to how I always felt it a little less when I sat in a pew in the small church here in Benton Falls, but the more I sat by my grandparents’ side, the more I realized that the things the preacher talked about on Sunday were really justpretty words to make people like them think they were living the better life—thattheywere better.
Refusing to dwell on it too long, I quicken my steps so it’s behind me. With a twist of my wrist, I open the door, and then freeze.
“Well,” Brecks says, “I can’t say that was the reaction I was expecting after not seeing my fiancé in over two months.”
Brecks is standing on my porch in a suit and tie. His flashy car sits behind him in the driveway, and despite the fact that it would have taken him several hours to drive here after a long day at work, nothing about him is out of place. Not his blond hair. Not his chiseled, beardless jaw. Not even his expensive clothes. A perfect puzzle piece to maintain the reputation Henry Cunningham expected of his family. Except I was the one who never quite fit. It always felt like I was the piece that was being forced in, all my unique edges crumpling until I at least partially resembled what was expected.
Brecks lifts his arm, scratching at the back of his neck with a boyish grin. I’ve seen him use that grin a thousand times since we started dating. It’s sweet and unsuspecting—a smile he picked up from my grandfather when he learned to play the game.
“What are you doing here, Brecks?” I ask, glancing behind me to make sure no one followed before stepping out onto the porch and shutting the door.
“I don’t know, Ivy,” he says, dropping his smile, “maybe I came to bring my fiancé home. This was supposed to be just a quick trip for you. Now it’s been over two months.”
“No, B. I never said it would be a quick trip. I told you I had things I needed to handle here, and then those things turned into something bigger. I found out my daughter is alive—that my grandparents lied to me. How can you not understand how significant that is?”
“Ivy—” he says my name like a warning, then stops, his eyes zeroing in on my empty finger. “Where is your ring?”
“Brecks,” I plead, needing him to give me a reason to still want this—to prove me wrong for questioning us. “My daughter is alive, and she’s sitting right inside my house. Is that really less important to you than whether I’m wearing my engagement ring or not?”
The question ends on a whisper, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to be the man I need him to be. I don’t know why it comes as a surprise when he proves he can’t. I guess it’s because it feels like I’ve been waiting for someone to be that man my whole life.
“Ivy, is this because ofhim?”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I reach up, swiping it away with a humorless laugh on my lips.
