Page 62 of Mistletoe & Magic
By the time six o’clock hits, Junie is zipped into her coat, hair in pigtails, ready to go. Lilith pulls into the drive with her old Honda Pilot, and Junie takes off like she’s headed for summer camp. Lola gallops after her. Ivy stands on the porch, watching with fond eyes.
When the car disappears with both of them waving, she looks at me. “So now what?”
I tug on my coat, heart pounding. “Now we wait.”
“For what?”
The answer comes with the crunch of snow on the drive. A soft jingle of bells. Ivy’s mouth parts as the horse-drawn sleigh glides into view, lanterns swinging gently at the corners. The white sleigh is decorated for Christmas with greenery and red bows.
“Oh my gosh,” she whispers.
I grab the two big quilts off the couch and drape one over her shoulders. “We’re getting picked up,” I say, proud of myself for keeping this a secret.
Ten minutes later, after petting the horses and talking to the driver, we’re bundled under the quilts, side by side, as the sleigh glides across the property. The horses snort clouds into the snowy night air, their hooves crunching rhythmically. The whole place is lit up with strings of lights on every fence line, the barn glowing warm, wreaths hanging from the paddock gates.
A light snow falls, lazy flakes catching in Ivy’s hair. She tilts her face toward the sky, smiling.
“This is…” she trails off, breath visible in the air.
“Yeah.” I can barely talk around the lump in my throat.
The driver pulls to a stop near the tree line, giving us a moment to walk. I help her down, keeping her hand in mine, not ready to let go.
“What’s your favorite job been?” I ask as we walk through the quiet.
She laughs softly. “Favorite?” She thinks for a moment. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a favorite. I never stay anywhere for too long.”
“Why?” I ask curiously.
Her shoulders lift. “If I don’t stay too long…get too close…then people can’t leave me. Or die.” The last word is a whisper.
I stop walking, turn toward her. Her eyes are shiny in the moonlight, and my chest aches. “Ivy?—”
She says the last part so quietly I almost miss it.
“My dad,” she says. “And Tate’s dad. When they all went missing, we all had to figure out how to keep breathing without them. And it was so hard. It broke something inside me. He was my dad.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My breath catches, sharp and heavy.
I just stand there, taking it in.
God. I hadn’t seen it before. I thought I was the one whoneeded to keep my distance. The one carrying the damage. But she’s been carrying it, too. All this time, I kept telling myself I was protecting my daughter. Protecting Ivy. Protecting myself. But I was just afraid. Afraid that if I let her in, she’d leave like my ex did and take pieces of me with her. But here Ivy is, cracked open in front of me, admitting that she’s just as scared of love as I am. But she has lost and persevered and still retained that big, beautiful, trusting heart.
We’re both standing in the same place, afraid to reach out. Afraid to lose.
She is looking at the ground, not at me, her hands fisted at her sides like she is holding herself together with everything she has left.
“Come here,” I say, quiet. I don’t want to tower over her when she is giving me something this vulnerable.
She hesitates for just a heartbeat, then steps forward, and I pull her against me. I hold her as tight as I can without crushing her.
“I am so sorry,” I say into her hair. “I am so damn sorry you went through that.”
Her breath shakes, and I can feel the tremor through my arms where they circle her.
When she pulls back, her eyes are wet, and I wipe her cheeks with my thumbs, slow and careful.
“You are the strongest person I know,” I say. “You kept going when everything felt impossible. And look at you now. You are building something beautiful. A life. A family. You amaze me, Ivy.”
