“All done,” I say, giving her a rub of the shoulders.
She finds my eyes in the mirror and holds my gaze, taking a deep sigh.
“She wanted me to come here,” she says.
“She?”
“My daughter. Dahlia. I’m in Hawaii because of her.”
My stomach turns when she says her name. No wonder she had such a bad reaction when I gave her the flower of the same name on our first hike.
I can see she’s trying to hold it together. I lean down and place a kiss on the top of her head. “How old was she?”
“She would have turned six last month.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She nods over and over as I calculate in my head how old Ivy must have been when she had her daughter. Eighteen. She was eighteen when she had her. And she’s had two children.
“And the other one?”
She looks down at her hands. “I … I can’t talk about it. I guess I just wanted to tell you why I’m here.”
I turn her around and kneel down so I’m on her level. “Thank you for telling me.”
She gives me a sad smile. But I swear, in that smile, I can see the first hint of something. And I’m pretty sure it’s called healing.
“I’m here if and when you want to talk. And I’ve got a pretty big shoulder you’re welcome to use anytime you want, Ivy Greene.”
She leans forward and falls into my arms. And as I hold her, I know for sure I never want to let her go.
Chapter Fourteen
Ivy
I’m not sure why I felt compelled to tell Bass about Dahlia. I hadn’t planned on it. I don’t tell anyone about her. Or about him. But the way he took care of me last night. And then this morning in the shower. He’s so gentle, in a commanding kind of way. He’s compassionate, in a charming kind of way. And he’s protective, in a seductive kind of way.
He’s everything I never knew I needed.
I look over at him as he’s singing along with the radio while we drive to our evening destination.
Do I need him? Should I need him?
He catches me watching him and reaches over to take my hand. And suddenly, I’m sad. Not just about Dahlia and everything else that’s happened to me, but about the fact that we only have four more days together.
I’ve thought about things. All day today when we laid out on the beach, I thought about things. About trying to be with him when we go back to New York. I know he wants it. And deep down, I want it, too. But I’m just not sure it can happen. I’m afraid that when we leave here, we’ll leave behind everything we’ve found in each other.
“Don’t think too hard, you’ll hurt yourself,” he says, squeezing my hand.
He turns onto a private drive, following signs to what’s reported to be the best luau in Kauai—something he already had tickets for, courtesy of his ex’s parents.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.
We talked about it earlier. He was afraid I’d be upset by all the flowers that will be here. But the truth is, I miss flowers. And other than being bothered by the one flower that bears the same name as my daughter, I love them. Everyone thinks the reason I stopped working was because of the flowers. The flowers Dahlia loved so much. The ones she helped me arrange whenever she came into work with me. It wasn’t because of the flowers. It wasn’t even because every time I set foot in the shop, she was everywhere. It was because I could barely get myself out of bed. It was because I knew nobody wanted to buy flowers from someone who couldn’t even bring herself to smile.
Then thoughts of the past ten days shuffle through my head. I think I’ve done more smiling in these ten days than I’ve done in the past ten months.
“Because we can blow this popsicle stand and go take another shower,” he says.
I look over at him, feeling the edges of my mouth turn upward. “I’m sure.”
We lock elbows as we walk up to the reception area. Bass hands over our tickets and the man scans them in, giving us a welcoming smile.
“Aloha, Mr. and Mrs. Briggs,” the large Hawaiian man says. “And congratulations.”
“Oh, we’re not—”
Bass squeezes my hand. “Thank you,” he says, not letting me finish my declaration.
“Are you enjoying your honeymoon on Kauai?” the man asks.
Bass winks at me before he kisses the side of my head. “We’re enjoying our honeymoon very much.”
The man motions to our left. “Please follow the path for your greeting.”
“Thank you,” I say. Then I turn to Bass. “Did the tickets really say you were on your honeymoon?”
He nods. “Yes. They’re premium tickets that allow us to sit up front at a special table for two.”
“The VIP treatment?” I say. “Nice.”
We approach two ladies in traditional grass skirts. One of them holds out a lei made of shells for Bass, and the other, a lei of flowers for me. Bass waves away the lei of flowers. “The lady will take the shells too, if that’s okay,” he says.
“It’s fine, Bass. It’s made of orchids.”
“So orchids are okay?” he asks with a raised brow.
I nod, leaning down so the small woman can put them over my head.
“Good to know,” he says.
We make our way into the large covered pavilion with a raised center stage surrounded by what looks to be a hundred tables.
“It’s really just the one flower I have issues with,” I tell him.
He smiles at me, glad to be getting another piece of information. “Okay.”
“What’s our table number?” I ask.
He looks at his ticket stub. “Table number one.”
“Really?” I look around at the huge venue. “Out of all these?”
He shrugs. “Only the best for our honeymoon, Mrs. Briggs.”
I roll my eyes at him.
We stop at the open bar to get a few colorful drinks before finding our table.
“Not bad,” I tell him when we find it front and center, along with six other identical tables for two.
Our table is decorated with flowers that have been cut high up off the stem. I look around at the other tables, confused as to why our table seems to have quite a few daisies when the others don’t. Daisies are not what I’d call a traditional Hawaiian flower. I look at Bass suspiciously. Did he have them put here? No—I haven’t told him about the daisies. He would have no reason to.
I walk over to another table and sift through the flower petals.
“What are you doing?” Bass asks. “You don’t like our table?”
“It’s fine. I was just, uh … looking at the flowers.” I finally find a daisy hiding under some other flowers on the neighboring table and shake my head at myself for acting so strangely.
Bass nods to the vendors just outside the pavilion. “Want to get a souvenir? They said we had some time before dinner.”
We take our drinks and peruse the booths that are filled with various products. One has amazing photos of many of Kauai’s landscapes. Another holds perfumes made from island flowers. Another, souvenirs created from shells and lava rocks.
“Take your pick,” Bass says.
Something catches my eye and I walk over and pick up a large framed photo. “Is this …?”
Bass looks at it. “That’s the big waterfall we saw from the helicopter. The one from those movies.”
I run my fingers over it. It’s the reason I went on the helicopter. Dahlia wanted me to see this specific waterfall and the only way to get there is by flying.
Tears well up behind my eyes as I remember seeing it from up in the sky. “She wanted me to see it,” I say. “And because of it, I met you. It’s almost as if …”
“As if what?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I turn to the proprietor. “I’ll take this one.”
Bass pulls out his wallet, but I push it back at him. “You’ve done so much. I’m taking care of this one. And I want to buy one for you, too.”
“It’ll be a tough choice,” he says, perusing the beautiful photos. But then he stops when he comes across one. “This is it. This is the one.”
He pulls it from the stack and I look at it. It’s a brilliant sunset over the beach. There are palm trees and lava rocks, and everything we’ve seen on our nightly walks. But I’m not sure that’s why he wants it. I think the reason he picked this one is because there is a silhouette of a couple walking hand in hand along the shore. Maybe he thinks if he can’t have me, he can at least have the memory.
I rein in my emotions and hand some cash over to the vendor.
“They’re both perfect,” I say, as we take our purchases and walk away.
Everyone is directed to the fire pit where the roasted pig is being uncovered. Then we’re herded through the buffet line to get our dinner before the show starts.
The show is wonderful. They have fire dancers, women doing the hula, an old man telling a story with his body while someone narrates over the loudspeaker. Then, just before the show is over, all the girls under the age of ten are invited up onto the stage to dance with the hula dancers.
My hand covers my mouth, holding in the sob that begs to come out knowing my daughter will never be one of those girls. Bass stands up and offers me his hand. “I think it’s time to go,” he says.
He wraps his arm around me and doesn’t say a word as we make our way to the car. He opens the door for me, letting me in. And when he gets in and starts the car, he puts a supportive hand on my knee. We drive home in silence. I think he knows I need a minute.
“She would have loved that,” I tell him, when the knot in my throat clears enough for me to speak.
“Did she want you to go to a luau?” he asks.
I nod. “She wanted me to do it all,” I tell him. “She wanted me to go everywhere you’ve taken me.”
He squeezes my hand. “Of course she did,” he says. “She wanted you to be happy.”
Happy. It’s not a word that’s been in my vocabulary. Not in a long, long time. But over the past ten days, I’ve seen hints of happy. Maybe even promises of it. I look at the man sitting to my left, wondering if some way, somehow, he was sent here to me. Sent here to me from her.
~ ~ ~
“Something’s wrong,” I tell Eli. “The nurses keep saying Dahlia will be brought back to us any minute. But you see the way they’re looking at us. It’s almost like the way they looked at us when we lost—”
“It’s not like that,” he says. “You saw her. You heard her cry. She’s fine. That pediatric guy said they were just being cautious.”
“Maybe the tests they wanted to run take a long time,” Holly says.
Mom comes over and sits on the edge of my bed. “When you were born, a similar thing happened. They whisked you away quickly. They didn’t even let us hold you. They said you were having trouble breathing. We were devastated. But a few hours later, when the nurse came walking in, rolling your bassinette, I think that was one of the best moments of my life.” She pats my hand. “Be patient. I know it’s hard to wait. Everything will be okay, honey.”
“But why aren’t they telling us anything? If she were okay, they’d be telling us not to worry.”
“It’s all about covering their asses,” Eli’s dad says. “They’re all afraid of lawsuits. They will spend your money running unneeded tests just so they don’t get sued. I’m sure that’s what’s going on here.”
There’s a knock on the door and then two doctors come through. The one I recognize from before looks at the crowd of people in my room. “Mr. and Mrs. Greene, I’d like to discuss Dahlia’s condition with you. Perhaps we should clear the room.”
“It’s not Mr. and Mrs. Greene,” Eli’s mom says. “They aren’t married.”
“Mom, who cares about that right now?” Eli tells her.
“Her condition?” I ask, a sick all-too-familiar feeling washing over me. “What condition?”
The doctor looks around at the other five people in the room.
“It’s okay,” Eli says to him. “They are all family.”
The doctor nods. “I’m Dr. Halburn, a pediatric resident,” he says, introducing himself to the others. “And this is my attending, Dr. Hasaan. Earlier, during my initial assessment of Dahlia, I discovered that her kidneys were enlarged. So we took her for some tests.”
“Enlarged kidneys?” Eli says. “What does that mean exactly?”
“Are you familiar with recessive genetic disorders?” he asks.
Eli and I look at each other and then shake our heads.
“A recessive genetic disorder is a condition that a child can inherit from their parents even though their parents do not have the condition themselves.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Is she sick? Does she have cancer or something?”
“It’s not cancer,” he says. “It’s called ARPKD. That’s short for autosomal recessive polycystic kidney disease and we believe it was most likely the reason for the stillbirth you experienced last year.”
“Oh my God.” My hand covers my mouth, sobs pouring out of me. “Is she going to die?”
“ARPKD is a serious disease and can be life-threatening,” he says. “In about thirty percent of newborns, it’s fatal. I’m so sorry to have to deliver this news.”
Gasps are heard around the room. I hear my mother cry out in agony. Holly runs over to me and takes my hand. “That means there’s a seventy percent chance Dahlia could survive, right?” she asks Dr. Halburn.
“That’s correct. But typically, children who survive infancy can develop many issues. Worsening kidney function will often lead to renal failure. Many ARPKD patients require kidney transplants in early childhood. There are also other life-threatening issues such as feeding and breathing difficulties due to enlarged kidneys. She’ll have to stay here for a while until we can figure out the extent of the disease. High blood pressure is particularly difficult to manage in cases like this. And we could run into other complications with her liver and spleen.”
As the doctor runs down the list of horrible things that could happen to my beautiful baby girl, my body shuts down. All I can remember is the time when, a little more than a year ago, I was in this same hospital, on this same floor, holding the tiny lifeless body of another baby. My son.
This can’t be happening.
Not again.
I jolt awake, drenched with both sweat and tears. I grab my pillow, searching for comfort. I try not to remember the day she died only a short five and a half years later. I can barely remember the days and months afterward. I went through the motions of living, but I wasn’t alive. My family tried to help. Eli tried to help, even though he was hurting, too.
And sometimes he did help. Sometimes we were able to comfort each other. Like on what would have been Dahlia’s sixth birthday. We spent the day together—talking, crying, comforting. Numbing our pain.
But as I lie here now, I think about the past few weeks. I think about Bass and how good it’s felt to be in his arms. In some strange way, without even knowing what happened to me, he provided me more comfort than my parents. Than my sister. Than Eli.
I look at the clock and see it’s almost 2:30 a.m. It’s the middle of the night. But this can’t wait. I throw on some clothes and grab my room key before I head out the door.
Chapter Fifteen
Sebastian
I rub my eyes and look at the clock, wondering who would be knocking on my door at this hour. Drunk teenagers probably. I roll out of bed and curse as I run into the end of the couch in the dark room on my way to the door.
I look through the peephole and see Ivy. I open the door.
“She loved pancakes,” she blurts out, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. “I used to make them in the shape of flowers. Dahlia would help stir the batter and then after they cooked, she would put a blueberry or raspberry in the middle as its colorful stigma.”
I pull her into my room and she falls into my arms. I flip on the
light and walk her over to my bed and sit her down. Then I fetch a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and hand it to her.
She takes a drink. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late.”
“I don’t care what time it is, Ivy. I’m glad you came over.”
“I had a bad dream,” she says. Then she laughs half-heartedly. “I have a lot of them actually. Sometimes I take sleeping pills because I don’t dream as much when I do.”
I run a hand down her arm and sit next to her. “That’s understandable.”
“She died just before Christmas last year.”
I blow out a long sigh. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was her favorite time of year. She loved to decorate the tree. I put it up early, in September, because I knew I didn’t have much time with her. Her transplant was failing and we couldn’t find a match. Parents don’t make a good match for donating organs, did you know that?” She laughs a painful laugh. “But in a sick twist of fate, siblings do. But Eli and I couldn’t risk having another child to help her knowing what happened with the first two.”
Ivy takes her shoes off and scoots up the bed to sit against the headboard. I get myself some water and turn off the main light, flipping on the light in the bathroom to give the room a dim glow. Then I crawl up the bed and sit next to her, holding her hand in silence.
“How come you’re not asking me a bunch of questions?”
“Because you’re going to tell me what you want me to know. I’m not going to pry, Ivy. Something horrible happened to you and you need to tell me at your own pace.”
She nods. “I think I’m ready to talk about it. I feel safe with you, Bass. It’s okay if you want to ask me things.”
She has no idea how relieved I am to hear her say that. I’ve been wanting her to open up to me since we met. I was beginning to think it wouldn’t happen.
“Okay. Is Eli your ex-husband?” I ask.
“Ex-boyfriend. We were never married. Boy did his mom hate that.”
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