Page 3 of Don't Call Me Daddy
CHAPTER ONE
Ivy
Cloudy days always remind me of my sister, so I guess the weather suits the occasion. I’ve been driving nonstop for two days with no specific destination in mind, just a general direction of what feels the most right.
Right.
Nothing about anything in my life feels right, but maybe that’s what I’m trying to find out here.
Fern’s list weighs heavy in the front pocket of my damp overalls, like a tether keeping me from floating away. It’s a burden and a comfort all the same, one I’ve promised to fulfill, no matter how long it takes.
She should be here for this. She should be holding her ridiculous checklist and navigating us through this spectacular mountain range she was always so obsessed with. She should be driving while I sit with my feet propped on the dash, controlling the playlist.
That’s the way it should be happening, but lung cancer doesn’t care about any of that stuff. It doesn’t care about Fern’sdreams or the countless lists she made to catch them. It doesn’t care about any of our plans—or lack thereof—and it certainly doesn’t care about what any of us wanted. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be lost, somewhere in the mountains of West Virginia, with my twin sister’s ashes riding shotgun in my passenger seat.
It’s awfully poetic in a morbid way that I have to fulfill that damn list by myself, with only my sister’s ghost to guide me. But I can’t help but think Fern’s enjoying watching me try to figure it out, how I’ll manage to accomplish this ridiculous list without her careful planning. How I’ll Ivy my way through it, just like I always do—in the least graceful way possible.
I used to hate how Fern made everything look so easy and seamless while I bulldozed my way through life, leaving a trail of destruction and chaos in my path. But after everything I’ve lost, I can’t seem to make myself care what anyone thinks anymore.
I tighten my sweaty palms around the steering wheel as I maneuver my old Volkswagen Cabriolet around the tight, hairpin turns of the Appalachian Mountains.
I’ve got the legs of my overalls rolled up to my knees as the soppy, wet fabric clings to my skin like glue. So much for my attempt to hike to the waterfall.
I was two miles into the hike when I slipped and fell into the ice-cold stream I was attempting to cross.
Luckily, the stream was shallow enough that my overall pocket stayed dry. I wish I could say the same for my cell phone.
I glance at my phone in the comically large bag of rice, strapped in with a seat belt next to my sister’s urn. It’s not a combo you see every day, and the absurdity of it all gives me an odd sense of peace.
Sure, having a working navigation system would be nice, but there’s nothing I can do about that now, so I might as well enjoy the ride. There are certainly worse places to get lost. At least I’ve got the gorgeous mountain views to distract me, right?
Fun fact about me: I could get lost in my own neighborhood. In fact, I have. I have quite possibly the worst sense of direction ever known to man, so I’m not sure what I was thinking, trying to Lewis-and-Clark my way to the waterfall.
Lesson learned. Mother Nature—1. Ivy—0.
Another fact about me: My life is an absolute mess. After my mother’s little accident that resulted in losing my childhood home in a housefire, she finally agreed to move into the long-term care facility I’d been suggesting for over a year. The depression episodes had become so debilitating that I couldn’t trust to leave her unattended, which didn’t exactly make for the carefree college experience most people my age get to have.
I was barely passing my classes as it was, commuting back and forth multiple times a week to check on her. After she fell asleep with a lit candle and the whole house went up in flames, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I helped move her into the facility, and I dropped out of school the next day.
I cashed out the last bit of my savings—the money I’d worked for every summer since I was fifteen to save and pay for college and whatever happened after that—and booked a one-way plane ticket to Transylvania, just like my sister had always dreamed of. Only I won’t just be visiting. In order to make it work, I had to get creative. One drunken night spent wallowing in my dorm room after my childhood home and all that was left of my sister’s possessions were destroyed, I came across an ad for international hospitality jobs in tourism. A few clicks later, and I was filling out an application to work on-site in Dracula’s Castle. The pay is shit, but dormitories are provided for all staff members who sign a one-year contract.
I’d almost forgotten all about it, but the day my mother moved into her long-term living facility, I received an email that I’d been accepted for the position. I could hardly believe it, buttook it as a sign. Fern always dreamed of doing this, and now, I was going to make her dreams come true for the both of us.
So, I signed the contract. Dropped out of school. Booked the flight. And now, I’m here, driving around through the Appalachian Mountains with the only objective of finding somewhere to sprinkle Fern’s ashes and to check off as many items on her list as I can before I start my next adventure in Transylvania next month.
I might be low on cash, but I’ve only got to stretch it for about a month. So what if I have to live out of my car? I love my car, and it’s the only reason I had Minute Rice on hand to save my phone—see, I’m making lemonade here.
It’s getting late and harder to see with only my dim headlights illuminating the road. I try to avoid driving at night because it’s not exactly safe, considering my car’s over twenty years old and seen better days. But surely, I should be getting close to some sort of civilization soon … right? I’ve been driving all day, and I’m so exhausted that everything seems to be running together.
I come around a sharp turn, and I wipe my dry, sleepy eyes when a dark figure appears in the road.
Everything happens so fast.
My heart skips a beat, and my stomach drops as my reflexes take control.
It’s there one second, and then it’s gone.
