Ivy Aberdeen's Letter to the World

by Ashley Herring Blake

  “This is wonderful, Robin, thank you,” Mom said, but her voice sounded flat and wispy, as thin as a tissue.

  “Let me know if I can help in any way,” Robin said and then left.

  Ivy’s eyes trailed after her. Of course, she’d met Robin once or twice. Helenwood was the size of a thimble, if that, and the Calliope Inn was a historical landmark. The whole town knew Robin Coyle. Her parents had owned the inn before her, and her grandparents before them, and on and on.

  Everyone, including Ivy, also knew that Robin only dated other women. Ever since she heard that—Layla had been the one to tell her, in fact, just about a year ago when they ran into Robin at the home improvement store hauling a gallon of paint in each hand—Ivy couldn’t help but stare at the woman whenever she saw her around. Ivy’s curiosity burned through her like a flame on a match.

  “I’m heading back to the house with Jasper,” Dad said, his voice jolting Ivy from her thoughts. He handed Evan over to Layla.

  Jasper was Dad’s best friend from high school and his business partner. They ran a graphic design business in town. “We’re meeting the insurance adjuster, and then we’re going to see what we can salvage from the house.”

  “Okay,” Mom said. “We need something for the boys to sleep in. These beds are tiny, and you know I’m always nervous I’m going to roll over on them.”

  Dad nodded and dragged his hand through his hair. Ivy thought everyone looked so weird in their secondhand clothes. Nothing fit right. “I’ll come back with something.”

  “Be careful,” Mom said, and then she hugged him. Aaron squawked in her arms, and Dad smoothed his hand over Aaron’s head. Dad held on to Mom for a long time, whispering something in her hair. She nodded and when they parted, she wiped her eyes.

  Ivy wanted Dad to hug her too, but he just ruffled her hair and told her to be good as he headed for the door.

  “Can I come?” Ivy asked.

  Dad froze and turned, locking eyes with Mom before looking at Ivy. “Honey—”

  “I just want to see it, that’s all.” Ivy twined her hands together and held her breath. She wanted to go home. She knew it wasn’t home anymore, but it was all she had. Plus, maybe she could convince her dad to stop by the school again, and she could check if her notebook had shown up in the gym. She felt sick every time she thought about all her stormy pictures lost out there for anyone to find.

  “Honey, not today,” Dad said. “It doesn’t look any different than it did yesterday, and I don’t want you to see that any more than you have to, okay?”

  Ivy nodded, but it wasn’t okay. She kept waiting for all this to just stop, to wake up or for time to reverse or something. Anything so that it wasn’t really happening.

  Layla came up behind Ivy and ran her hand down Ivy’s head, pulling gently on a lock of frizzy hair. Ivy flinched and moved away from her before Layla could even think about braiding it. Ivy knew she was being mean, but she didn’t want her sister to comfort her, especially not the way she used to, by playing with Ivy’s hair. Because Layla wasn’t the sister she used to be, and that’s who Ivy wanted. She wanted everything to go back to the way it was. Before the storm, before Layla and Gigi’s fight, before the twins. Before, before, before.

  Layla didn’t say anything, and she and Mom started moving around the room. They had a pile of clothes they got from the elementary school, as well as a bunch of blankets and even some soft toys for the twins. Layla put a few things into drawers while Mom checked the boys’ diapers and Ivy just stood there, watching her whole life spill into one creaky little hotel room.

  “Ivy, can you change Aaron?” Mom asked. She kissed his head before handing him over.

  “Sure,” Ivy said.

  Ivy found diapers and wipes in the baby bag and got to work. Changing diapers was pretty gross, but Mom didn’t usually ask Ivy to do it if it was going to be… well… messy. So most of the time, it wasn’t so bad. Ivy just pretended she was changing a doll.

  She secured the little Velcro tabs around Aaron’s waist. His skin was soft and smelled like rain and baby powder. He whined a little, and Ivy did her monkey face at him, puffing out her cheeks and pulling on her ears. He immediately stopped and giggled. Ivy tickled his belly before snapping up his onesie. He gave her a gummy grin so cute that she felt guilty for wishing him away a few minutes ago.

  “Mom?” Ivy asked.

  “Hmm?” She was shaking out the onesies they got from the school and checking their sizes.

  “Do you want me to go to the store and get anything for you? Milk and shampoo and stuff like that? Or maybe some art stuff? You know, to use when you start your next Harriet book? It might be a good distraction…”

  She trailed off as Layla shot her a weird look. Ivy winced. It wasn’t like writing books and drawing were high on Mom’s priority list right now. Still, Ivy had to get out of here and look for her notebook. And if Ivy was able to get something her mom needed anyway, then that was just convenience, not selfishness. Her mom did need paper and art supplies. It’d been way too long since Mom worked on Harriet. Ivy missed them—Harriet and her mother.

  Her mother sighed. “Ivy, Dad and I don’t even have our wallets right now. We have no bank cards, no way to get to our money. Until we figure things out with the bank, we’re not getting any nonessentials. Dad will get what we need while he’s out with Jasper. Other than that, there’s too much else to worry about right now, and art isn’t one of them.”

  Ivy nodded, but her stomach sank to her toes. She decided to give honesty a go.

  “Well,” Ivy said, “do you think I could go back to the—”

  “Ivy, I cannot talk about this right now!” Mom snapped. Then she sank onto the bed. She was facing the window, so her back was to Ivy, but Ivy could tell she was crying. The Aberdeen girls were experts at crying silently, but their shaking shoulders gave them away every time.

  Ivy’s face burned with shame. Layla flicked a burp cloth in the air and folded it into a neat little square, scowling at Ivy. Ivy waited for her mom to get up, but she stayed there, staring out the window.

  It was weird. In a house, you could go into your room by yourself when you were mad or needed to cry. This was one single space, no walls or doors between them, unless you counted the bathroom. Ivy didn’t really want to go hang out in the bathtub.

  Ivy had no clue what to do, so she took Aaron over to Layla and laid him on the bed in front of them. He grabbed his toes and tried to stuff them in his mouth while Ivy helped Layla fold the donated clothes.

  “You’re doing it wrong,” Layla said, snapping a onesie out of her hands.

  “I’m trying to help.”

  “Then help.” Layla folded the onesie in half lengthwise and then down. “Like this.”

  “Does it really matter?” Ivy asked.

  “Yes, it makes it smaller in the drawer so there’s more room for other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?”

  “Your stuff. My stuff. Mom and Dad’s.”

  “We don’t have any stuff!” Ivy’s voice cracked on the last few words.

  “But we will. Ivy, you can’t be selfish right now.”

  “I’m being selfish? What about—”

  But Ivy cut herself off as Layla frowned at her. Normally, Layla was a good sister. Normally, she was Ivy’s friend. But normally had been sucked away by stormy drawings and tears and tornadoes.

  “Why can’t you be nice for once?” Layla asked. “Things are really awful, in case you didn’t notice. Do you get that we’ve lost everything? Everything, Ives. Pictures we can’t replace. Mom’s art. My lacrosse stuff. Dad’s computers. All our furniture. The house.”

  “I know, I get it. I’m not stupid!”

  “Girls, please!” Mom said from the other bed, but she didn’t turn to look at them. She sat there, one hand on Evan’s stomach so he didn’t fall off the bed.

  Layla sighed and rubbed her temples before picking up another shirt. “I don’t know what I did to make y
ou act so mean lately,” she said quietly, “but get over it, for everyone’s sake.”

  Ivy’s eyes widened. Layla didn’t even care what she did or why Ivy was mad, only that she got over it. Ivy opened her mouth to say something extra mean—what, she hadn’t quite figured out—but she never got the chance because there was a knock at the door.

  Robin stood in the open doorway—Ivy guessed Dad forgot to close it on his way out—and she was looking between Layla and Ivy in a way that made Ivy wonder how much she’d overheard.

  “Hi,” she said, smiling. “I have some clothes that might come in handy. Interested?”

  “Oh, yes, absolutely,” Mom said, standing up and wiping at her eyes. “Layla, could you go and grab those, please?”

  Layla nodded and moved toward the door, but Robin nodded at Ivy. “Actually I wanted Ivy here to take a look at them. They’re my niece’s. She’s about Ivy’s size and left them here on her last visit. Is that okay?”

  “Me?” Ivy asked. That little flicker of curiosity she always felt around Robin flared bright.

  Robin smiled. “Yes, you.”

  “Of course, thank you,” Mom said. She waved Ivy off just as Aaron started up his time-for-a-nap cry. Ivy swore her mother looked relieved to get rid of her for a while.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Robin

  If Ivy was going to draw Robin, she’d use a lot of fruit colors. Tangy tangerine and bright cherry red and deep blueberry. Robin was a little younger than Ivy’s mom, and she always wore stuff that had fruit patterns on it, but not in a weird way. In a cool, vintagey kind of way. Today she was wearing dark jeans and a light blue top with little green apples all over it.

  It made Ivy hungry.

  Her stomach rumbled as she limped after Robin down the stairs. They wove through the big entryway and the library packed with all sorts of dark-colored hardback books, then through a room with a lot of fancy chairs and sofas and crystal lamps, and finally into an office next to the kitchen. It was small, with shelves fixed above a dark wood desk and a floral-patterned armchair in one corner. A window took up one whole wall, and the room was bright, the sun streaming through gauzy white curtains.

  “Here you go, Ivy,” Robin said, motioning toward a laundry basket full of clothes perched on the armchair. “Danielle’s style is pretty simple, but it’ll do for now, I think. Take what you like.”

  “Thanks,” Ivy mumbled, and walked over to the basket. There were two pairs of decent jeans in her size, as well as a couple of pairs of leggings and a few cute tunics. There was even a forest-green backpack. Everything smelled fresh and clean and cared for. It smelled homey. Ivy’s stomach growled again as she ran her hands over the soft cotton and tucked a few shirts under her arm.

  “Be right back,” Robin said.

  Ivy nodded because she didn’t trust herself to say anything. She wanted to sit down with her notebook and pens and draw every T-shirt folded in her drawer at home. Every skirt hanging in her closet. One had little red-and-aqua owls all over it. Mom bought it for her birthday last year. It wasn’t fruit, but Ivy thought Robin would like it.

  “Find something that’ll work?” Robin asked from behind her. Ivy nodded and wiped her eyes before she turned around, just in case. Since the storm, tears liked to leak out of her eyes without her even realizing it. They were sneaky like that.

  Robin stood in the doorway, two plates in her hands. “I was hungry. How about you?”

  On the plates, Ivy saw slices of ham and melted cheese between slices of thick multi-grain bread, mouth-watering kettle-cooked potato chips on the side. She knew she probably shouldn’t eat without her family, but she was powerless in front of a toasted ham and Swiss.

  Robin set the plates down on her desk and moved the laundry basket to the floor, freeing up the armchair. Then she plopped into her desk chair with a sigh and offered Ivy a plate.

  “Thanks,” Ivy said, sitting down with the clothes still in her lap. She popped a sour-cream-and-onion chip into her mouth, and the salty tang went perfectly with the loud crunch. Pure heaven.

  “Thank you,” Robin said. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend for lunch.”

  They both smiled and dived into their sandwiches. It was so good, it almost made Ivy want to cry or laugh or scream. Or draw it. Yes, she would draw an everlasting memorial to this sandwich if she had the paper.

  “So, Ivy,” Robin said as she finished off the last of her chips. She wiped her fingers on a napkin and sighed. Ivy braced herself for the inevitable Are you okay? How are you holding up? I’m sure everything will work out. Blah, blah, blah.

  “This whole thing really sucks, huh?” Robin said instead. Ivy nearly choked on a chip. Robin not only said the words, she said them with punch. With a pop and a pow. Ivy had never heard an adult say anything like that before. Adults were supposed to be calm and collected. They were supposed to comfort you. They were supposed to keep you from seeing how much something actually did suck.

  But… maybe not. Because as Robin’s words settled, Ivy felt more comforted than she had since the storm hit. Maybe even before that.

  “Yeah,” Ivy said. “Yeah, it really does.”

  Robin rested her elbows on her knees and looked at Ivy. “I can’t imagine, Ivy. I really can’t.”

  Ivy nodded and shrugged all at the same time. “I can’t really either.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “What does?”

  “Just… not being sure how you feel right now. How to process all this.”

  If Ivy could draw herself right now, she’d be wrapped in clouds and down blankets, pillows and pastel-colored rainbows. Every soft thing. Again, Ivy could only nod, her throat thick and achy. She didn’t know how to process anything lately.

  “You know,” Robin said, “I come from a big family. Four sisters.”

  “Really? Are you the oldest or youngest?”

  Robin smiled. “Neither.”

  “Me too.”

  “I know.”

  And the way Robin said it, it was like she really did know. Ivy wondered again how much Robin had overheard of her and Layla’s arguing, how Mom totally tuned them out.

  Ivy took a few seconds to look around the office and get her breath back. Robin let her.

  The room was painted a soft blue, what Ivy would call arctic blue, and Robin’s desk was big and old looking and covered with lots of picture frames. The same lady appeared in a lot of them. She was taller than Robin, with glossy dark brown hair, brown skin, and eyes the color of a shiny penny. She looked sort of familiar. In all the pictures, she and Robin were smiling, their arms around each other. In one, the woman pressed a kiss to Robin’s cheek.

  Ivy got a stormy feeling in her full stomach.

  “Who… who’s that?” Ivy asked, motioning toward the kiss picture.

  Robin twisted her body to look at the photo behind her. “That’s my partner, Jessa Alvarez.”

  “Partner? Like, with the inn?”

  Robin smiled. “No. She’s my girlfriend.”

  “Oh.” That’s why the woman looked familiar. Ivy had seen her around town before. Ivy thought she remembered seeing Jessa at last year’s Pumpkin Festival with Robin.

  “She’s a photographer and travels all over, but she lives in Philadelphia,” Robin said. “Until next year, that is. We’re getting married next March, and she’s moving here. She’s coming to visit in a couple of weeks. You can meet her.”

  “Oh,” Ivy said again. She stared at the kiss photograph. They both looked so happy, huge smiles on their faces, holding hands, some mountain rising up behind them. Of course she was Robin’s girlfriend. A real-life girl with a girlfriend. Partner with the inn? Ivy felt like an idiot. A blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. “I should probably go.”

  She set her empty plate on the little table next to the chair and stood up. The clothes and backpack in her lap tumbled to the ground, and she bent down to pick them up.

  “All right,” Robin said,
standing. Then she started rummaging in a desk drawer. “First, let me give you—”

  “No, that’s okay. You’ve done enough. Thanks for lunch.” Ivy backed up toward the door, stuffing the clothes into the backpack. She felt as though she were a dark rain cloud about to drench the earth.

  “Ivy, wait—”

  She was at the door now, but she bumped into the frame instead of going through the actual doorway. Robin frowned at her. Not in a mad way. More like Robin was baffled.

  Ivy turned to go, but Robin touched her shoulder, too gently for Ivy to ignore. Ivy forced herself to face her. Robin’s eyes were kind, but also a little sad, and Ivy couldn’t make sense of them.

  Then Ivy looked down and saw what Robin was holding out to her.

  A notebook.

  And not just any notebook, but a Decomposition notebook. It wasn’t like Ivy’s. Instead of purple and white, this one was butter yellow with large butterflies on the cover.

  “I remember seeing you around before, your head buried in a notebook,” Robin said. “Thought you could use a spare. I have a lot of these lying around. I journal a lot, or I used to before I took over the Calliope for my parents.”

  “You wrote in a journal?”

  Robin nodded. “I started when I was about your age too. I grew up in this house, you know. My first entry was a minute-by-minute account of a ghost hunt in the attic with my best friend, Laurel. It was riveting.”

  Ivy smiled. “Did you draw pictures too?”

  Robin laughed. “I wish! I can’t even draw stick people. But I would if I could.”

  Ivy thought about teaching June how to draw a whale last night. Or maybe it was earlier today. The days were all mixed up, but she felt a little calmer than she did a second ago.

  “Do you draw?” Robin asked.

  Ivy nodded.

  “Well, in that case…” Robin turned and rummaged around some more in her desk drawers. Then she held out a pack of brand-new colored pencils. “They’re not fancy, but they color. It’s a start, at least.”