“You’ve been keeping an eye on him?”
He shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging one corner of his mouth. “Promised, didn’t I?”
“Thanks.”
“Anything you need. What brings you back so soon?”
Ivy pulled the letter from her purse. “This.”
Reese scanned the letter and let out a low whistle. “Wow. What do you think that’s all about?”
“The first three months of my life are a complete mystery to me. Maybe Grandma knew more than she let on.”
Reese stepped toward the house. “Well, let’s go. I can help with the house. Maybe we’ll find some answers along the way.”
She glanced across the churchyard to his old truck parked behind the church. Ivy reached into her purse for the house key. “I can handle it.”
Something softened in his eyes, causing her heart to do a funny flip. A sensation she did her best to ignore. But he made it difficult, taking her hand right then.
Her smaller hand fit in his warm, calloused palm like a puzzle piece.
“Sure you can, Rosie-girl. But what kind of friend would I be to let you dig through that house of memories all by yourself? Besides, I got a letter with instructions of my own.”
Rosie-girl. Only he could get away with that awful nickname. “You’re the help she was referring to in my letter?”
He nodded.
Ivy opened her mouth, but with nothing to fill the space, clamped it shut. She wriggled her fingers free from his gentle grip, refusing to let him become the security blanket she craved.
“Your grandma was a force to be reckoned with in life, and I’m not going against her wishes in death. Even if she isn’t here to swat me with her newspaper the way she threatened to every time I picked all the strawberries out of her garden.”
Ivy choked on a laugh. Swallowed by the memory of the two of them, charged guilty by their juice-stained cheeks, giggling at Grandma’s feigned scolding.
Grandma would’ve let the two of them get away with murder, but not before she lectured first. Ivy inserted the key in the front door and let it swing wide.
“All right. Just know you’re free to back out any time.”
One by one, Ivy opened the living room windows, releasing the cloying air. Light streamed in, illuminating the dust fairies their footfalls roused from the carpet.
Reese flicked a switch. Incandescent lamps brightened the time capsule of a home. In Ivy’s lifetime, Grandma never redecorated. Not once. Other than a fresh coat of paint on her wood-paneled walls every so many years.
Ivy peered around the room, eyes hungry for any signs of whatever Grandma had left for her. “I’m guessing there’s a list somewhere in here, a way to sort all her trinkets and odds and ends.”
Reese chuckled, the sound low and warm. “There’s plenty of those to go around.”
On every flat surface, a myriad of figurines rested on crocheted doilies. Ivy’s childhood playthings. On Grandma’s living room floor, Ivy had acted out entire plays with ceramic kittens and Victorian ladies.
Reese clattered about, plugging in box fans to stir the stifling air. Their rackety thrum hindered conversation, which was fine by Ivy. Reese was sure to have questions. About the absence of her ring. How long she planned to stay. Answers Ivy wasn’t ready to give.
She found a task list posted on the refrigerator and passed it to Reese. She left him studying the paper and continued searching. Wandering past the end tables and the upright piano, fingertips brushing familiar photo frames as she passed.
She entered the bedroom she occupied whenever she came to visit during the summers after her family moved to Kentucky. She traced the sunflowers on the comforter, colors of joy and warmth. How strange to think she’d never stay in this room after this trip.
Now that the house was vacant, would the church convert the place into a day care? Or more Sunday school classrooms? Ivy stood and sighed, shoving the thought away. An envelope on the dresser caught her attention.
“Hey, Ivy?” Reese appeared at her side. “Did you find anything yet?”
She picked up the envelope, fumbling the seal with her trembling fingers.
He stepped closer. The waft of his breath ruffled the tendrils that had slipped from Ivy’s ponytail. Gooseflesh rose on her arm and a flutter released in her middle. Ivy stepped away, seeking a buffer between them. Reese crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.
She peeled open the envelope and removed the slip of paper and a tiny skeleton key.
My dear child,
I wonder, sometimes, if you’ll ever truly realize what you mean to us all. Our little vine, pulling us all together. Before you, we were just broken individuals looking for love.
Broken people make choices, choices that might make little sense from your standpoint. Please look upon each of us with grace. Though we were misguided at times, our desire was to love you in the best way possible. The enclosed key goes to an antique cabinet in my room. On the third shelf, you’ll find a journal. Something I began in your early days so that we could all look back and remember. But things took an unexpected turn, and I found myself unable to share this with you until now.
I attempted to be as raw and honest as possible. Some accounts are my own, while others are from the perspectives of those who shared their part in your story with me. I’m sorry. For the things you will learn that will hurt. For the ways we fell short. The ways I, most of all, let you down.
With all the love in my heart,
Grandma
Ivy sucked in a breath, lifted the key from the dresser, and rushed down the hall.
“Ivy?” Reese called after her.
In Grandma’s room, Ivy faced the antique barrister bookcase and pressed her hands to the glass, peering inside at various figurines. A thin layer of dust covered the empty third shelf. One polished rectangle in the center, roughly the size of a book, only a ghost of what once rested there.
A wave kicked up in the pit of her stomach. Rolled and crashed. Bitterness burned the back of her throat.
Reese’s solid presence appeared at her side. “What’s wrong?”
Ivy listed, bumping into Reese’s chest. She sank into the embrace when his arms folded around her. His T-shirt smelled of fresh cut timber—an earthy smell that grounded her. The ache to be held that had throbbed inside her since that awful night at Seth’s apartment quieted.
No matter how welcome his comfort, Ivy promised herself she wouldn’t lean on Reese. And she would stop. As soon as she could feel her feet again.
Ivy slowed her breathing and extricated herself from his arms. She sank onto the bench at the foot of the bed. She shook her head. “The journal Grandma left me, it’s gone.”
Reese studied the bookcase, opening each cabinet, shuffling items aside. Then he examined the glass door to the third shelf.
He turned to her, brows raised. “The wood around the lock is chipped.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
SEPTEMBER 9, 1994
Harvey was a fool for showing up—for getting involved with these people. The pastor’s offer was too perfect, too nice.
A pink curtain moved from within the white house across the way. The little blue-haired old lady who had been traipsing through her vegetable garden in a flowery bathrobe earlier in the morning was now back inside, always watching.