by Ren Benton
Exemplary behavior had its own pitfalls. If she made one mistake, she didn’t get a lecture or detention. She was sent directly to the guidance counselor for an interrogation about what was wrong at home to cause such deviant behavior as misplacing her homework or getting less than her habitual A on a test.
In order to overcome Holly’s legacy, she had to be perfect. To protect her family from unjustified accusations, she had to be perfect. To provide Holly’s kids with a stable and reliable influence, she had to be perfect.
Trying to be perfect wasn’t fun. Her life wasn’t fun. But there were more important things than fun. People counted on her. Not letting them down was more important than fun.
Griff had been fun. He hadn’t counted on her for anything, even being available. If she couldn’t provide what he wanted from her, he said okay and found something else to do.
Not being needed was liberating. With no responsibility weighing on her, she had the freedom to be imperfect, if only for an hour or two at a time.
Too bad her imperfection had taken a dreary turn that guaranteed freedom wouldn’t call again.
8
Thursday morning, Ivy was blessed by the presence of a unicorn — her term for a bride who came to the store knowing what she wanted, tried it on, loved it, ordered it, and was out the door in a little over an hour, leaving her satisfied consultant with a hefty commission and time to kill before her next appointment.
She grabbed her phone to check her messages, and it rang in her hand. She answered before the number displayed. “Hello?”
“Hello yourself.”
She sank into one of the chairs in her fitting room in response to another attack of jelly knees. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Mr. Dunleavy?”
“Is it unexpected? You picked up so quickly, I thought you were breathlessly awaiting my call.”
“Purely coincidental.” That much was true, but mischief couldn’t resist adding, “I had just finished brutally rebuffing another admirer. I can scarcely tell one of you from another at this point.”
“My ego is shattered. Care to callously observe its death throes this evening?”
She hadn’t imagined the purpose of the call would be seeing her again. “This is pretty last minute. Did one of your other women try to make you wait?”
“You ask a lot of questions no sane man would answer.”
In other words, yes. Of course there were other women. He was what the ladies referred to as community dick. Being territorial about him would be as silly as declaring a city bus her personal property.
Ivy felt no sense of ownership. She got to ride him without being responsible for his upkeep — the best of both worlds, to borrow one of his lines.
Of course she would say yes, but it was good for her ego to pretend he would have to persuade her. “Perhaps preparing me for what you have in mind would influence my decision.”
“An exotic extravaganza of takeout, a movie, and if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll let you cop a feel.”
She’d think she’d been downgraded from a proper date to a booty call if weariness weren’t so evident in his voice. “Are you sure you’re up to having company?”
“No. I’ll probably put my head in your lap and pass out, which isn’t much incentive for you but would be infinitely better for me than any other part of this godforsaken day.”
“It’s not even noon, Griff.”
“You’re kidding.” It was almost a whine.
Laughing at him wouldn’t ease his suffering, but she couldn’t help it. “I’ll bring the food and a back rub.”
“You’re an angel.”
She snarled at the mirror. How many times had she heard that over the years? You’re an angel went hand in hand with being taken for granted and forgotten until her help was needed.
Screw that. “We’ll see how angelic you think I am when you’re at the mercy of my hands.”
“Dammit, woman, I have to be in another meeting in two minutes.”
Her reflection smirked. No angels here. “I hear it takes only sixty seconds of undivided attention to cure what ails you.”
“Then I’d better attend to it. My place. Seven. Don’t forget to bring your hands.”
She disconnected and sealed her lips together to muffle the adolescent squeal that threatened to emerge. Her vagina must be amazing to warrant an invitation to Netflix and chill after Monday’s disaster.
Who knew?
How exquisite to be valued by a man for something other than being inoffensive.
Grinning like a fool, she opened the door and almost got popped in the nose by a raised fist. It took her a moment to recognize the woman poised to knock. “Holly!”
She’d lost weight to a noticeable degree. The sharp angle of her cheekbones called attention to her green eyes. Lavender hair made her look even more pixie-like than usual.
Holly flicked the tip of Ivy’s nose. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by and make sure you were okay. I haven’t seen you all week.”
That was hardly unprecedented. They saw each other only when the kids changed hands — if Holly bothered to get out of the car. “I’m good. How are you?”
“Super. The kids miss you.”
Since Monday morning? Seventy-two hours wasn’t enough of a separation to resort to allegations of dereliction of auntly duty for any reason other than manipulation, but Ivy supposed a conciliatory gesture was in order after Monday night. “I can pick them up after school tomorrow so you can start your weekend early.”
“I was hoping you could take them a little sooner. Like, tonight.”
And put Griff off for four days? She wasn’t that guilty. “I need more notice than that, Holly. I have other plans.”
“Is this about a man?” She read some kind of confirmation on Ivy’s face and laughed. “Good for you! Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Holly taking no for an answer — cheerfully, even — jabbed Ivy’s conscience. Her sister labored under expectations of a different type. How often were her intentions misjudged by someone looking for the worst in her? “How about I keep the kids Monday night, too?”
“They’d like that. Well, I should get going. Have fun on your date.” Holly left with a breezy, drama-free wave.
Ivy set a boundary with her sister and it worked.
Who knew? She could have spared herself a lot of heartache if she’d done it years ago.
Just after six, Ivy got in line at Toasty Pizzeria, the owner of which was better at making pizza than coming up with names, as evidenced by the tail of customers spilling out the door. She’d have a long wait to place her order, but the pie would be in and out of the brick oven in just a few minutes. Her hands would be punctual for their date with Griff.
Her ringing phone provided a diversion from the creeping progress of the line.
“Hi, Ivy? This is Melanie from aftercare. It’s closing time and Heather is still here. We can’t reach her mom.”
She pressed her fist to her forehead. Had she been naive enough to believe Holly would accept boundaries for the first time at this point in her life? “I’ll be right there.”
“I’m supposed to call CPS, but I knew you’d—”
“Five minutes! Please just wait five minutes.”
She dialed Griff’s number while waiting for a break in the traffic. When he answered, she blurted, “I’m sorry. I can’t make it. This is Ivy.”
“I know who it is. You sound upset.”
“Something came up.” My punishment for wanting Ivy Time.
“Can I help?”
“No!” Her heart galloped in time with a familiar mantra: hide it, hide it, hide it. “I can handle it. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll survive. Call me if there’s anything I can do.”
She didn’t need help. She’d created this problem. She would fix it herself.
When she arrived at the school, Melanie was sitting outside with Heather, a pink backpack on the bench between them. Heather
ran to Ivy and wrapped her in a thigh-crushing hug.
“The janitor kicked us out of the building,” Melanie explained their location and the otherwise deserted parking lot.
“I’m so sorry. There was a misunderstanding about who was doing pickup today.”
That wasn’t a lie. Ivy had misunderstood the depths to which Holly would sink to get her way.
“No problem. I figured it was something like that.”
“Thank you for waiting. It won’t happen again.”
She was unlikely to forget that when Holly wanted her to do something, it became her job, with or without her agreement.
The daycare center was only three blocks away. They were open until eight, so she didn’t have to beg their forgiveness for being late. They were, however, insistent about three weeks of back payments and showed inclinations of holding Cole and Lily hostage until Ivy fetched her checkbook from the van.
Blake’s school lacked organized aftercare. Kids who had to wait for a ride just waited. Evidently, none of them had to wait past six o’clock. The place was deserted. She walked the campus, Cole in her arms, Lily and Heather following on her heels, calling Blake’s name. The only response came from a distant dog.
Maybe one of his friends’ parents had given him a ride home.
She returned the kids to the van and called Holly’s house. Neither Holly nor Blake answered. Her parents hadn’t heard from him. There was no message in her voicemail.
He was old enough to hate being treated like a baby, but he was still too small and vulnerable to be abandoned to fend for himself.
Damn Holly.
“Is Blake lost?”
Ivy buckled Heather into her seat. Her shaking hands required several attempts at the latch. “I’ll find him.”
The four of them having hysterics in a parking lot would solve nothing. She would get the kids in her possession home and then call the police.
Then she would have hysterics.
The shaking had spread throughout her body by the time she pulled into the driveway. When the headlights swept over a familiar shape hunched on the stoop, she burst into tears.
The girls and baby responded with wails of their own.
The cries from the back seat reminded Ivy she was the adult. She set the tone for the rest of the family.
“It’s okay.” She scrubbed her face with both hands. “It’s okay,” she said more insistently. “I’m hungry. How about you guys?”
Daycare gave snacks at regular intervals, but Heather hadn’t eaten since lunch seven hours ago.
Damn Holly for that, too.
She unlocked the front door of the house, sent the girls to wash up for dinner, and put Cole on the floor with a stacking toy. Blake had taken two steps into the living room when she seized him in a hug. “Are you okay?”
He squirmed in her grasp. “It’s only five miles. People run that for fun.”
She ran it almost every morning, but she wasn’t ten years old, didn’t have to cross the highway to get home, and carried pepper spray.
She couldn’t stop squeezing him to prove to herself he was here and in one piece. “I’m so sorry, Blake. This will never happen again.”
His expression shuttered. “Can we eat? I’m starving.”
Mase cocked a brow when Griff claimed the barstool beside him. “Did I imagine you declining my invitation in favor of more pleasant company?”
Griff would much rather be spooning Ivy, but this day was too determined to be shitty to let him have that. “She had an emergency.”
Her apology to him knifed him in the guts. Had he been such a selfish prick that she really thought he’d prioritize his back rub over a problem that made her sound on the verge of tears? If spooning wasn’t an option, he would gladly protect her from kneecap breakers or clean up a sewer backup or whatever was so urgent — anything to see her.
But she’d deemed him useless, and he trusted her judgment.
Takeout and a movie on the couch held zero appeal without her warm body draped over him. He didn’t want to take out his frustration from today’s meeting with Rafferty on the wood waiting in his garage. Nothing at home appealed, and that emptiness was dangerous. If he lived with it long enough, the right way to fill it would start to seem like alcohol.
He had no booze in the house. Even his vanilla extract was alcohol-free. If he stayed home, he could ride it out, call someone to talk him through it, but that would be a miserable few hours.
He could fill the void with nonliquid fun if he went out, so here sat in a bar with his friend who had been sober nearly as long as he had, getting their buzz from entering the danger zone.
Mase hoisted a tumbler filled with water on the rocks. “Here’s to coming in second place tonight.”
The bartender was busy at the other end of the bar. She held up a finger to signal she’d be with Griff in a minute.
He replied with an okay sign. He could use a minute to decide whether to ask for water or go crazy and get a Coke. “Where’s Neera?”
“Home.”
“What did you do?”
“I am the epitome of husbandly excellence. She just needs a night to herself once in a while without the burden of entertaining me.”
A pair of hands slapped down, one on each of their shoulders. “I can see how you’d be burdensome, Truesdale.”
Mase responded to the new arrival with a raised middle finger.
Wes Hunter, designated babysitter of recovering drunks who thought it was a good idea to hang out in bars, took the stool on Griff’s other side.
Griff should have expected him. Mase wouldn’t have come here alone after Griff turned him down. “Been a while, Wes. Long enough to grow that beard.”
“It makes me look respectable. It’s coming off tomorrow.” He scratched his chin as if peeling it off immediately was also under consideration. “I was in Wyoming testifying against a guy who wanted me to find his wife and then wanted to know what else I could do to her for an extra fifty grand.”
“Jesus.”
“Seriously. I usually get offered ten times that. It’s insulting.”
Mase raised his glass again. “To marriage!”
Wes pointed at him. “Now, if your wife wants to get rid of you, I have a PowerPoint presentation ready to go, catered to her specific needs.”
“If Neera ever wants me dead, I’m sure I’ll deserve it. Be sure to give her the friends and family discount.”
“Still won’t bring it down to fifty.”
The bartender made her way over. “Sorry for the delay, fellas.”
Griff sympathized. “Busy night.”
“Aren’t they all. You looked like you’d be a gentleman about waiting.” She braced her palms against the bar. “What can I get you?”
“Water.”
Her eyes rounded. “Ooh. Couple of big spenders over here.”
Free water wasn’t as good for the profit margin as overpriced liquor. “I’ll pay generously to rent a glass.”
Her smile returned as a twenty-dollar bill appeared on the bar. “Well, then, I should probably give you a clean one.”
Mase inspected his glass, shrugged, and took another drink. “I’m married to a nurse. I’ll probably survive.”
“I’ll have a Coke!” Wes called to the bartender’s back as she walked away. “It’s like I’m invisible. I need uglier friends.”
Mase cocked his head. “Did you hear something, Griff?”
“A high-pitched whine, but the source isn’t visible.”
“Fuck you very much, both of you.”
Their drinks arrived as the TV at the end off the bar cut to a commercial for Rafferty’s Drugstore. Mase bobbed his head along with the classic jingle at the end. “Have you seduced that geezer yet?”
Griff pressed the cold glass to his temple to numb the throb threatening to make a comeback. “Second base.”
The consultation services Rafferty wanted were straightforward, well within the scope of Dunleavy’s ca
pabilities — and the capabilities of their competitors. Dan walked out of the daylong meeting making plans as if the contract had been signed, but it was obvious to Griff they hadn’t won anything. Rafferty was looking for something they hadn’t yet shown him, wouldn’t drop a hint as to what that something might be, and wouldn’t sign so much as an autograph until they produced it.
Griff had to figure out what that elusive something was and sell it to Rafferty — and then sell it to Dan, who thought they’d already done more than enough to prove themselves.
“Neera says kids these days think second base is oral.”
Wes whistled. “Either it’s a great time to be a kid or a horrible time to be a parent.”
“One and the same. I dance a jig every time she refills her birth control.” Mase rolled his glass between his hands. “Look at me. What the hell kind of role model am I for a kid?”
Of the three of them, Mase was probably the best qualified. “You turned out sort of all right.”
“No criminal record,” Wes pointed out. “In this country, anyway.”
“Successful businesses,” Griff added. “Conned a good woman into marrying you.”
Mase brushed off what passed for praise in present company. “I always knew what to do about those. I wasn’t scared shitless like I am about kids. The consequences of failing as a parent are substantially worse than financial ruin or a broken heart.”
Griff had no argument that would make his friend feel better. He’d avoided even meeting his nephew out of fear he’d do or say something that caused irreparable damage. Little Nathan would grow into a delinquent despite his decent, loving, responsible parents, and therapy would reveal it was Uncle Griff’s fault because he called the kid a goblin back when he was in diapers.
After a minute of pondering, Wes produced a solution. “Just start the kid and let Selena run it.”
Mase grimaced. “She’d kill me for that one.”
“Friends and family discount,” Wes offered again.
“She wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. Besides, with him gone, she’d inherit all of his responsibilities, so murder would accomplish nothing.”