Ten Thousand Hours

by Ren Benton

  The hand that wasn’t petting Blake balled into a fist at her side. “You are welcome anytime. You did nothing wrong and are not being punished.”

  “Feels like it,” he mumbled into his knees.

  The one thing Holly shared was blame for her actions. In fact, she was so generous with the distribution, she habitually kept none to weigh down her conscience.

  Ivy had been receiving such gifts for as long as she could remember. “I know the feeling, kid.”

  Morning workouts didn’t happen when there were four kids in the house who needed help getting ready for school and daycare. Sometimes, basic grooming didn’t happen. The Bag of Infinite Holding contained hair clips, lipstick, mascara, a toothbrush, and deodorant for those occasions Ivy didn’t have herself together when she herded the kids out of the house.

  Friday was going to be a deodorant-at-the-stoplight kind of day.

  She had just issued the five-minute warning for departure, sending kids scrambling for shoes and the bathroom, when the glass panes set in the kitchen door rattled with an impatient patter.

  Ivy’s nostrils flared. Now Holly showed up.

  She shifted Cole to a one-armed grip and opened the door.

  Holly squealed at the baby. “There’s my little angel!”

  Cole was too young to comprehend his mother had abandoned him half a day ago, so he squealed back and held his arms out to welcome her.

  Tug-of-war tempted Ivy, but she let him go while Holly seemed willing to take him. “What happened to you yesterday?”

  Holly breezed into the kitchen. “I told you I had plans.”

  “I told you so did I.”

  Holly’s eye roll took her whole head along for the ride. “Honestly, Ivy. How many times do you need to stare at some dumb painting or whatever riveting activity you call a date? I saved you from death by boredom.”

  “So the story in your head is that you did me a favor, which I was to repay by taking the kids.”

  Holly helped herself to the toast Ivy had planned to scarf down on the way to the car. “Didn’t that work out nicely?”

  “Were you doing the kids a favor by leaving them with no way home?”

  “I knew somebody would call you. It’s not like you’d leave them there.”

  Typical Holly. A nameless, faceless somebody would take care of anything she chose not to do. “What if my battery had been dead or I was out of range or my phone was turned off because I didn’t know I was on duty?”

  Holly licked a crumb off her upper lip. “Duty is your mission statement, Heavy. You were always following me around, spouting your self-righteous, Little Miss Perfect crap like it was your job. Congratulations. You’ve earned a promotion. This is your job now. Don’t whine to me because you got busted sneaking out to see your boyfriend when there were chores to be done.”

  So there it was. Abandoning four children was revenge because Ivy interfered with sixteen-year-old Holly climbing out a window to meet the twenty-four-year-old drug dealer who was fucking her half a lifetime ago. “Do you even care that your children were one phone call away from being turned over to child services?”

  “I knew” — Holly emphasized each word as if speaking to a simpleton — “you would get them.”

  Now she was clairvoyant. How nice for her. Ivy wished she’d had that talent last night so a missing child would have been no big deal instead of stabbing her in the heart repeatedly. “If you want me to be on call to take care of the kids twenty-four hours a day, give me custody.”

  “What?” Same word, same incredulous tone as the first time Ivy told her no.

  She hadn’t meant to blurt the suggestion now, this way, but if Blake had the courage to challenge her, so could Ivy.

  They had been headed to this point all along. Holly conceived each child thinking that would make the father stay with her, and when the man left — as immune to that form of manipulation as all the others she’d tried — she lost interest in the little human being she’d brought into the world, whose very first act had been to fail her. The only use she had for them was manipulating the one person who had never abandoned their mother and would never abandon the kids.

  Her sister had seniority in the obligation hierarchy, but the kids were Ivy’s priority now. “I’ll pay the legal fees. Sign them over and you can be free, or whatever the hell it is you want to be.”

  Holly had been still and wide-eyed since the initial suggestion. When she didn’t immediately seize the offer and dash out into the wide world to enjoy her liberation, Ivy hoped she might dredge up some heretofore latent maternal instinct and fight for her offspring.

  Holly’s rigidity thawed, and she blinked. “The legal fees are a nice opening bid, but I’m going to need more to ease my pain and suffering.”

  She made it sound like she was selling her children. Ivy whispered, “What is wrong with you?”

  Holly slammed her fist into the refrigerator. “You owe me!”

  Cole screamed at the outburst, and Holly shoved him into Ivy’s arms to be dealt with. “All the shit you don’t remember your daddy doing? He didn’t do worse to you because I was there,” she snarled. “I saved you. You owe me.”

  Ivy cradled the wailing baby against her hurting heart. She remembered nothing before the car breaking down with her mother and sister and all the worldly possessions they could fit in the back, but the facts were her biological father was arrested and they fled across state lines to get away from him. This wasn’t one of Holly’s made-up stories. She reserved the truth for times she wanted to crush Ivy’s resistance because she knew there was no defense against it. “How much are they worth to you?”

  “The question is how much they’re worth to you, Heavy.” Holly’s ferocious rictus transformed into sunshine in a flash, and she threw her arms wide. “There are my other angels!”

  Blake, Heather, and Lily stood on the threshold between living room and kitchen, clumped together like platelets.

  Ivy’s empty stomach lurched. Had they heard their mother negotiating their sale?

  “Mommy’s going to take you to school.”

  Blake held back Lily with an arm across her chest. “Ivy’s taking us.”

  “Ivy has to get to her super-important job so she can save up to buy something she wants really, really bad.” Holly lifted Cole from Ivy’s arms, now that he’d been comforted. “Get in the car.”

  Heather and Lily ran after their mother. Blake dragged his feet following her out the door.

  Ivy placed a hand on his shoulder as he passed her. “I’ll have your key and phone next time I see you.”

  His jaw tensed. “You said you’d take us to school, too.”

  She flinched as the door banged shut behind him.

  She had let him down — again.

  Ivy had no authority to physically wrest them from their mother’s care when Holly chose to provide it. They had food and shelter. They attended school, even if they were tardy more often than not when she drove them. She didn’t beat them. Until her bad parenting became criminal, no agency would intervene.

  As long as Ivy stepped in before the kids were harmed, Holly’s bad parenting wouldn’t rise to the level of criminal.

  Scoring a moral victory wasn’t worth allowing one of the kids to get hurt, so Holly would continue to win every battle.

  9

  During her lunch break Friday, Ivy had a spare house key made and bought a cheap cell phone with a prepaid plan for Blake.

  That afternoon, she called daycare and Melanie from aftercare to make sure the kids had been picked up.

  They had.

  She expected Holly to drop off the kids before dinner, per the usual Friday night routine.

  She did not.

  Ivy didn’t delude herself that the deviation from routine had anything to do with Holly’s remorse about abandoning her children or fear of imposing on her babysitter too much in one week. It was a demonstration of control. Ivy would take the kids when she said so — and sit and wa
it like a good little hostage in the meantime.

  Saturday at dawn, she compensated for Friday’s missed exercise by stretching her five-mile run to eight. When she got back to the house, the kids were lined up on the stoop, dew collecting in their hair. Their mother had driven off without waiting to see if they made it safely inside.

  She gave the key and the phone to Blake. He didn’t complain that the latter wasn’t cool — no apps, no internet — because he understood it was for emergencies, not impressing his friends.

  She took the kids to Sunday dinner with their grandparents, who were delighted to spend time with them, confirming Holly’s ban from the house didn’t extend to them.

  Monday morning, she drove the kids to school.

  Monday afternoon, she wondered how many weeks or months would elapse before she could stop calling daycare and Melanie from aftercare to make sure the kids had been picked up.

  When she got home from work, the emptiness pressed on her as soon as she walked through the door. It was more than the absence of little humans. Without the kids to provide a distraction, the stress that had been patiently awaiting an audience clamored for attention, pounding at the base of her skull and bearing down on her shoulders.

  She exchanged her work clothes for cargo pants and a T-shirt, but looking like a slob failed to relax her.

  As long as she felt lousy, she might as well call Griff and confirm he was done taking her calls after beholding her domestic mayhem and hideous kitchen cabinetry. She would leave one message, maybe another in a week to rule out the unlikely possibility of technical difficulties, and then gracefully take the hint.

  She rehearsed just the right lighthearted, desperation-free message — out loud to make sure her tone matched the words — and then dialed.

  He answered on the second ring. “Well, if it isn’t Poison Ivy.”

  He’d recognized her number and picked up anyway. That made her so ridiculously happy, her voice came out thick enough to pass for sultry. “If you have a rash, you didn’t get it from me, and I don’t want to catch it. Call me back when you can supply a clean bill of health from a licensed medical professional.”

  He chuckled. “No rash, just stiffness and swelling that arise at the least opportune moments.”

  She doubted the thought of her inspired spontaneous erections, but she could suspend her disbelief in the spirit of flirting. “I’ve heard if you massage the affected area, the inflammation will subside.”

  “Sound therapeutic advice, but difficult to implement during lunch with bankers when I’m bored and my mind wanders to thoughts other than total risk-based capital ratio.”

  She tutted. “Never do business with a banker who can’t hold your interest.”

  She could almost feel the warmth of his gusty breath against her ear. “That kind of talk is why I’m more inclined to daydream about tearing off those lacy underwear of yours.”

  A hot ball of want dropped into her pelvis and rolled around before settling in the lowest spot. “If you promise to do it, I’ll weaken the seams to ensure good workmanship doesn’t cause another wardrobe malfunction.”

  She ground her knuckles against her forehead. What possessed her to bring up the Pants of Humiliation when he’d been kind enough to pretend that night never happened?

  “Let’s not be hasty. Both your sticky zipper and sticky pants gave me a tactical advantage. I accept the challenge of indestructible undergarments.”

  Her sex life prior to Griff could best be described as polite. She had always yearned to be ravished — to drive a man so crazy with lust, he destroyed an article of clothing with no thought to the cost of replacement — just once, to see what it was like. This setup was more calculated than the fantasy, but it was closer than she had ever expected to get, and she would not let it be ruined so he could have a challenge.

  Structural integrity would be undermined, whether he liked it or not.

  “I’d just walked through the door when you called, so I’m still suited and tied. Short notice again, but could I interest you in food and miscellaneous other pleasures this evening?”

  She would have difficulty making chitchat while squirming in anticipation of impending panty destruction and ravishment. “We could skip the food.”

  “I intend to exploit that eagerness to the fullest, but I need fortification to keep up with your — what did you call them? — wicked appetites.”

  She certainly didn’t want him too weak from hunger to rend her delicates. “I’ll have to change my clothes to be presentable.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. If you’re not ready, I’m taking you as you are.”

  Her eagerness to be taken urged her to greet him at the door wearing nothing but tear-away panties to test whether he would stand by his demand for food first.

  In her fantasy, he succumbed to fleshly enticement, but in the fantasy, her flesh resembled that of a model in an underwear catalog.

  She wouldn’t let her squishy bits ruin her ravishment, either, so she’d better find something to cover them.

  But first things first. A pair of undies needed help being destroyed.

  She was in her bedroom with scarlet lace and a seam ripper from her sewing kit in hand when a knock sounded at the front door. Her gaze darted to the alarm clock. Griff couldn’t have traveled from his house to hers in two minutes even if he broke land speed records.

  She wouldn’t put it past Holly to have the house bugged so she’d know when Boring Old Ivy had plans in need of obliteration.

  There were kids at the door, but they belonged to Jen, who held the smallest of the three in her arms. “Remember when you offered to babysit?”

  Ivy shook her head with frantic denial. “Jen, I have a date.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t actually need you to watch the kids, since I was hoping you’d take me in, too.” She shuffled her feet, drawing attention to the suitcase beside them. “I’m leaving Roger.”

  The announcement jarred Ivy. “What?”

  “You were right. A woman deserves more than a ho-hum marriage.” Jen brushed past her, kids in tow, taking the invitation for granted. “Can you get the bag? Thanks.”

  Ivy stared at the suitcase as if more sense would come from it when she helplessly repeated, “What?”

  The suitcase wanted no part of this conversation. Jen was more forthcoming. “I told him to be home for dinner. You heard me tell him. He wouldn’t listen. Tonight is the last time I’m going to be there for him to not come home to.”

  The kids huddled together in mutual confusion — understandable, given that their mother had lost her damn mind.

  Ivy took pity on them. “Do you remember where Heather and Lily’s room is? You can play there while I talk to your mom.”

  The kids ran down the hall while Ivy hauled the suitcase inside and closed the door. “Are there medications in here? If you need a refill, most pharmacies are open until eight.”

  “I’m not suffering from some mental affliction. I’m thinking clearly for the first time in years. I’ve been thinking nonstop since the last time we talked. Since you said there was absolutely no future with Jared, actually. Maybe even since we went to the island. If it’s good enough for you—”

  Ivy wasn’t clear what any of this had to do with her. “If what is good enough for me?”

  “Not being married to a man who doesn’t appreciate me. Having a fling with a man who does. Are those panties?”

  The baby was grabbing at the lace dangling from Ivy’s clenched fist.

  She snatched her hand away and hid it behind her back. “You’re not me. You always wanted to be married, have a bunch of kids, live in the suburbs, join the PTA.”

  “Yes, I wanted all that.” Jen paced a circle between the couch and TV. “I do want all that. My life is exactly what I always dreamed of, except for the man in it who doesn’t want to be a part of it. I’ve been wondering lately if I would have married Roger if I’d had any other prospects. We’re obviously not r
ight for each other.”

  The value of an entire eight-year relationship was in question because the man worked late once too often. “The correct time to have doubts was before the wedding, or at least sometime before you cosigned a mortgage and had three kids with him.”

  “I can’t live the rest of my life for the kids.”

  Ivy had reached her limit of motherly disregard for children, which made her snappier than she might otherwise have been to a friend in obvious turmoil. “Then you should have left them in their home with their father, who has always been dedicated to parenthood.”

  Jen sighed. “You don’t understand. You’re spoiled by all your freedom.”

  Ivy’s fists clenched at her sides. “You were amazed I didn’t fly home from vacation to babysit for Holly’s kids because that’s what I always do. I bought this house for Holly’s kids. I cancel classes and workouts and dates for Holly’s kids. My entire life revolves around Holly’s kids. When, exactly, am I free?”

  “You have a date tonight, don’t you?”

  Yes. She had a date. With the one person who didn’t expect anything of her other than the same thing she wanted from him. “Which I am going on. I am not staying here to nurse you through” — her hand zigzagged through the air — “whatever this is.”

  “Can we stay?”

  “Of course you can stay.” She couldn’t turn a woman who had lost her damn mind and three small children out into the street, even if the home they belonged in was located just a few yards down that street.

  There was another knock on the door.

  If more squatters were on the other side of it, Jen could babysit to pay for her room and board. Ivy was not canceling this date.

  She yanked the door open with more force than was strictly necessary.

  Griff’s only comment on her questionable welcome was a raised brow before looking over her head. “Hello again.”

  Jen gasped. “That’s your date?”

  Ivy performed the introductions. “Jen, Griff. Griff, Jen.”

  Griff hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his trousers. “Is it a bad time?”