Page 13 of Only Mine
She beams. “Yeah! Nobody ever gets it right.”
Without invitation, I settle cross-legged beside her, careful to keep my borrowed robe from getting soaked. She scoots over, making room for me.
“You’re very talented,” I say.
“Nora says I make too many messes.”
“Your nanny?”
Ivy rolls her eyes with such dramatic flair I have to bite back a smile. “She took away my paints yesterday.”
“Ah. Because of the car incident,” I say, recalling our conversation before reading her a story.
“Beforethe incident. That’s why I broke into the cupboard and got the paints in the first place.”
I pick up a small, smooth stone and turn it over in my hands. “May I?”
Ivy slides a palette of paints toward me. “You can use the good green. I mixed it myself.”
“Thank you.” I dip my finger into the moss-colored paint.
Ivy picks up another rock and slaps a glob of purple paint onto it. “I didn’t ruin it. I made it pretty.” She looks up at me through dark lashes. “It was a boring white car. I gave it unicorns.”
“Unicorns?” I lean closer, genuinely interested. “With horns and everything?”
“And rainbows coming out of their butts!” She laughs riotously after saying this.
“Of course,” I agree with a wide smile. “Rainbow farts are essential unicorn features.”
Ivy’s mouth drops open. She looks at me with wide eyes. Then she slaps her palms against her thighs and yells, “FARTS!” before she falls over laughing.
Her joy is so unexpected and delightful, my heart literally rises from the lightness of it.
Desperate to hear more, I say while dipping my finger in a puddle of blue paint, “Sometimes adults forget that art doesn’t always have to stay on paper.”
“That’s what I said! But not with those words.” She hands me a smooth, flat stone. “You can do this one, too.”
I accept the stone with a smile.
“She screamed really loud,” Ivy says matter-of-factly. “Papa had to give her money for the car wash. Then she said I was—” she pauses, clearly quoting, “—’impossible to manage’ and ‘deliberately destructive.’“
The hurt in her voice is unmistakable beneath thebravado. I keep painting my rocks, giving her space to continue.
“I wanted to make her happy. She was always saying how much she missed her old car.” Ivy’s small fingers work methodically, adding intricate patterns to her mermaid. “I thought unicorns make everything better.”
“That’s because unicornsdomake everything better?—”
“IVY!”
The bellow slices through our peaceful moment like a chainsaw.
Saint charges across the garden, his face a thundercloud of fury. His hair sticks up at odd angles like he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly, and he’s in a wrinkled black T-shirt and sweatpants, as if he threw them on in a rush.
“Ivy!” he barks her name again. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
He stops short when he sees me sitting cross-legged beside his daughter.
“What the hell is this?” His eyes narrow, flicking between Ivy and me.
