Page 7 of Salvation
A sharp pain radiates from the center of my chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. None of it was supposed to be like this.
“You know what, Campbell,” I say, pulling the paper from my pocket and shoving it into his chest. When I found the letter from him after my grandparents died, I thought, or foolishly hoped, it meant he hadn’t abandoned me, but I was wrong. That much is obvious now. “I thought I needed answers, but I was wrong.”
I pull my hand away from him, hating how my skin burns from that one moment of contact.
The paper falls from Campbell’s chest, but he doesn’t move to grab it. He’s frozen, eyes stuck on my left hand. I jerk it behind my back, attempting to hide the three-carat, over-the-top diamond ring nestled on my finger. There’s no reason for me to, but suddenly, it feels like a betrayal, even though I haven’t seen the man in front of me in years.
His eyes slowly come back up to meet mine, and my heart flips in my chest because the version of Campbell standing in front of me is one I’ve never known.
There’s no life behind his eyes when he says, “Go home, Ivy. Back to him. Whoever he is. We have nothing to talk about.”
I stand there watching as he pushes off the door frame and steps back, closing the door between us.
I should knock and demand answers, but like a plug has been pulled, the energy drains out of me—and I turn and walk away.
______________________
As I walk up the sidewalk to my grandparents’ home, I want to turn around and run. This home was never good to me. Neither were the people in it. And yet I loved them.
My suitcase bumping along the sidewalk is the only sound in the otherwise quiet night. Mahogany doors greet me as I walk up the porch stairs, and suddenly, I’m nine years old again.
When my mom died, a social worker picked me up after school and told me I would be going to live with my grandparents. The first time I walked up these stairs and stared at this door, I was a little girl filled with both devastation over my mom’s death and hope that the people behind the door would love me as much as she did. Then the door swung open, revealing the harsh lines on my grandmother’s face, and I knew, even at that age, that she was nothing like my mom.
Stepping up to the door, I unlock it and push it open, the heavy wood causing the hinges to creak. The black and white tile echoes beneath my feet as I step into the foyer and drop my bags, studying the place that still haunts me. The walls are bare, and some of the furniture I remember is no longer here. It looks empty, but I guess it did when I lived here, too. Even with paintings and furniture, it always felt empty. This was never a home because it was always more like a museum.
A hollowness knocks at my chest as I study my surroundings, letting my fingers trace over the staircase’s beautiful wooden railing and trail along the bare walls until I bump into an entryway table. Looking down, my eyes fall on the book sitting on top, collecting dust. The words Holy Bible stand out like a gold flag, and resentment gathers in my chest.
There’s another Bible like this one sitting in their home in Florida—the house they moved us to when we left here—and just like this one, it’s the first thing anyone sees when they walk in the door. After all, Jane and Henry Cunningham were devout, respectable Christians.
A sharp snort escapes through my nose, and I turn away from the book, unable to look at it anymore.
My phone rings, breaking the silence, and the sound bounces off the walls, a testament to the enormity of this place. I sigh, dropping my hand from the wall as if being caught doingsomething I shouldn’t be doing, and reach into my back pocket, pulling it out.
Brecks, my fiancé’s name, fills the screen. My bottom lip slips between my teeth, worrying it as I stare at the phone.
I know I need to answer. He’ll want to know I made it here safely, and despite our relationship being set up by my grandparents, Brecks is a good guy—better than I deserve.
Just before the phone stops ringing, I swipe my finger over the screen and press it to my ear as I walk over to the window and stare unseeingly across the yard.
“Hello,” I say, thankful my voice doesn’t come out as shaky as I feel.
“Hey, babe. I thought you were going to call me when you got there.” Brecks’s deep voice comes through the phone, and I close my eyes, suddenly very tired. I let my head fall against the glass panes, cooling my heated skin.
“Sorry. The—uh—high school had a football game. I stopped by.”
There’s a pause on the other side, and I wonder if this will be the time he sees it—the cracks in my armor that are starting to show. On the outside, I look the same. Same untameable curly hair that my grandmother called unruly. Same brown eyes that are too big for my face. Same old Ivy. But I’m not. Too many things in my life have left me irrevocably changed.
“I didn’t know you liked football,” Brecks says slowly, and I glance down at my ring. That’s part of the problem. Brecks doesn’t know me at all. It’s not his fault. I’ve only let him see the polished, classical artist my grandparents raised me to be, but shouldn’t it say something that I’ve never been comfortable enough to let him in all the way?
“I don’t.” It’s not a lie—not exactly. I never liked the sport, but I always loved to watch Campbell play.
Another beat passes where neither of us speaks. I listen to him breathing, trying to figure out what to say. How to fix this. How to fixme.But I come up blank.
Finally, Brecks breaks the silence.
“Did you seehim?”There’s an undertone of resentment in his voice, and I sigh, my chest aching. I’m tired. So, so tired.
“Brecks—” I say, the exhaustion leaking into my voice. “I just—can we do this tomorrow?”
