Page 39 of Salvation
“You look like something is on your mind, dear. Would you like to talk about it?” Charles’s voice shatters my thoughts, dragging me back into the moment.
“I—umm—I actually invited you here because I want to hire you.” I don’t know if it’s the tone of my voice or the way my fingers wring each other in my lap, but Charles must sense the seriousness of my request because he sits up, his brows dipping together.
“Oh? Is everything okay?”
I don’t know if that question makes me want to laugh or cry because nothing is okay. I can’t even remember the last time I felt okay. I came here to settle my grandparents’ lives, but mine has been turned upside down in the process. My fiancé—if that’s still what he is—isn’t speaking to me. My daughter is close, and yet just out of reach. And Campbell—well, the rest of my life is complicated enough without adding anything with him to the mix. So no, nothing is okay, but I can’t tell Charles all that. He’d run for the hills. So I stick with the one he can help with.
“I know you said you didn’t, but I just need to be sure. Did you read anything that was in the envelope you gave me?”
The fact that I feel I have to ask is sad, but I don’t feel like I can trust anyone.
He shakes his head. “No, dear. Those were Jane’s words to you. They were not for me to see.”
“I got pregnant when I was sixteen—”
The change in topic surprises Charles, and it takes him a minute to recover. “I—uhh—I didn’t know that. Did something happen to the baby?”
Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I’ve cried about this too many times, and every time the tears hit my cheeks, it feels like I’m handing over that power I’ve given my grandparents my entire life. They are still taking it, even from the grave.
“Yeah, something happened,” I say bitterly, years of anger bubbling to the surface. “My grandparents lied to me. While I was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, fighting for my life, my grandparents forged my signature to sign my rights away to my daughter. She ended up in foster care, and when I woke up, they lied to me and said she died. I mourned her for years, all because my grandparents didn’t want to ruin their Christian reputations. And I didn’t find any of this out until after they passed away. So I have no one to be angry at, and it’s tearing me apart piece by piece.”
My shoulders fall up and down in big heaves at the end of my speech. I can’t breathe. The words wrap themselves around my lungs and squeeze, and whether I like it or not, the tears fall down my face.
“Oh, Ivy,” Charles says, standing up and coming to sit by my side. He rests his hand on my back, rubbing it in soothing circles. “What do you need from me? Do you want to find her? I can help with that. Do you want to cry? I can hold you if you want. Whatever you need, dear. I’m here.”
“What about a time machine?” I sniffle. “Do you have one of those?”
Charles chuckles, but it comes out hollow, like he’s forcing it out for my sake. “I’m sorry. I can’t say I do.”
I sigh, knowing it wasn’t within the realm of possibility, but still hoping anyway because there are a million things I would go back and change if I could.
“I know.” A beat of silence passes, and then I tell him the rest of the story. “I know where she is. There was enough information in the envelope Grandmother left to figure it out. She was adopted at six months old by a family that loves her. I met them. They were everything I never had, and that should be enough. But—” I stop, unable to go on.
“But it’s not.” Charles finishes for me.
I shake my head. “No. It’s not. Does that make me selfish?”
“No, dear. That makes you a mother.”
My heart stops beating. It’s the first time anyone has referred to me as that. I hadn’t even been able to admit that in my own head, but that’s exactly what I am. I’m a mother to a sixteen-year-old girl I love more than life itself, even though I’ve only seen her face in pictures.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I am. I don’t want to disrupt her life. I just want her to know that she was wanted. Always. That I never would have given her up if I had known.”
Charles’s smile is kind and caring.“That I can help with.”
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Charles doesn’t stay much longer. I walk him to the front door, and before I open it, he wraps me up in a hug. At first, I don’t know what to do with it, so I stand frozen with my arms down by my side. Charles is not deterred, though. He keeps hugging me until I finally lift my arms and hug him back, and it says everything words can’t. This isn’t just a friendly goodbye. It’s his way of helping me hold myself together.
It’s nice, which is why I probably hold on longer than I should, but to his credit, Charles doesn’t try to pull back. He holds me until I’m the one who lets go, stepping back when I realize how desperate for connection I must look.
“Thank you for listening—and being willing to help,” I say, offering him an awkward smile and a handshake.
Charles eyes my hand for a second with a bemused smile before taking it. “Like I said before, you’re family. My sister failed you in many ways, my dear, but I am not my sister. I hope one day you will believe me when I say that, but after what you told me today, I understand why it may take some time.”
Forever. It may take forever.
I don’t say that to him because he’s been so kind to me, and he’s willing to help me when it comes to Willow. But there’s no denying the scars my grandparents left on me. They are thick and permanent.
