A Broken Kind of Beautiful (12 page)

The door creaked as she stepped out onto the landing and descended a short staircase into the hallway of the second floor. Silence rattled through the house and settled like an anvil inside her body. She hated it. Give her dance clubs. Give her music. Give her distraction. Anything but silence. The front door opened below her. A dog yipped and paws skittered across the hardwood.

“Dad, Mom! Happy anniversary!”

So much for finding Marilyn before the guests of honor arrived.

Ivy came to the edge of the staircase, the smell of butter and seafood making her mouth water. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast but a bag of pretzels on the plane. She attempted to peek down the stairs, but all she could see without bringing herself into view was a small white dog jumping on legs.

“Down, Georgia!”

The white dog circled Marilyn’s feet and plopped near her heel.

“The food smells wonderful, honey. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.” The voice belonged to Eleanor. She sounded the same.

“It’s your fifty-third wedding anniversary, Mom. Of course I went to so much trouble.”

Ivy put her foot on the first step.

“Please tell me it’s not true.”

She gripped the banister and stopped. That voice belonged to Marshall. He sounded the same too.

“What is it you want me to tell you?” Marilyn’s voice came out as stiff as an overstarched dress shirt.

“That you didn’t invite that girl into this house.”

The sharp words hurled Ivy into the past. She was a little girl all over again, overhearing a conversation she didn’t want to overhear—only that one had been between Marilyn and James.

“That girl is your daughter, James.”

“I’m not comfortable having her in this house,”
he replied.
“And if you say you are, then you’re lying. She was a mistake, Marilyn.”

Ivy ground her teeth. She refused to let those long-ago words hurt her. Refused to let them matter. So what if her father hadn’t wanted her? Hundreds of other men had since then.

“Please, Marshall, let’s not get into this tonight.” Eleanor put her hand on his arm. “Not on our anniversary.”

“It was one thing to have her visit when James was living, but he’s dead. There’s no reason to have her here. Especially not under this roof. Do you know what people will say?”

“I don’t care what people will say, Dad.”

“I don’t understand this obsession you have with her. You are my daughter, and I will not stand by and watch you torture yourself.”

“It isn’t an obsession.”

Eleanor’s feet shuffled. “Please don’t get worked up, dear. Remember what Doc said about your heart.”

So the old codger had a faulty heart. There was something to be said about karma.

“My heart’s fine, El. And, Marilyn, of course it’s an obsession. You’re inviting painful memories inside to stay. Just like before. You refuse to keep the past in the past. James repented and wanted to forget, only you never let him. You insisted she come.”

So it was Marilyn who arranged her summer visits. Ivy had always suspected, but this was the first time she’d heard those suspicions confirmed.

“Dad, Ivy was part of James’s life, whether he chose her or not. She’s his daughter, for crying out loud. His daughter. I couldn’t let him ignore that.”

“But James is no longer here. You did what you could. Now it’s time to drop it.”

“I want her here.”

“This is ridiculous. If you want her to model your dresses, then fine. Let her. We all know she’s gorgeous. But bringing her into your home? There’s no reason for that.”

Marilyn sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“That girl does not belong in this house. I won’t have her influencing my grandchildren.”

“Influencing your grandchildren? Dad, Davis and Sara aren’t little kids anymore. They are both adults and so am I. I’m sorry, but this is my house, and you’ll just have to respect my wishes.”

“She’s not your daughter, sweetheart. As much as you might wish—”

“That’s enough!” Marilyn’s sharp words slapped across Marshall’s baritone.

Silence settled like an unwanted houseguest. Ivy could relate. She pressed her fist against her stomach. As a child, she had remained hidden, pretended not to hear. She wouldn’t pretend anymore. She wouldn’t run away. Maybe she’d take Marilyn up on the dinner invite after all and let Marshall boil in his awkwardness.

She loosened her grip on the banister and walked down the stairs. “Marshall. Eleanor. I didn’t know I’d elicit so much heated discussion. And on your anniversary too.”

Marshall’s eyes flickered toward the staircase. Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. Marilyn’s face whitened. “Ivy, I don’t know what you overhead, but—”

She held up her hand to stop Marilyn’s apology, turned to Marshall, and addressed the severe set of his bushy eyebrows. “Congratulations on fifty-three years of marriage. Fidelity is a wonderful thing to celebrate.”

He scowled.

A smile spread across Ivy’s lips but stopped as a young woman walked into the room. Wispy blond hair. Ordinary face. Wrangler jeans. Simple T-shirt. Sara. Only she didn’t twirl and dance like Ivy remembered. She walked beside a yellow lab, clutching a leather harness strapped to the dog’s body.

“Grandpa Marshall, Grandma Eleanor. Happy anniversary!” Her face lit up over the words, but not her eyes. They stared at nothing. Vacant. Unfocused. Ivy took a step back. What had happened to Sara?

“Your sister is blind,” Ivy said, intercepting Davis as he came through the front door.

Georgia yipped at Davis as he paused halfway over the doorstep. What kind of greeting was that? He ran his hand down the front of his shirt and stepped all the way inside. He couldn’t believe Ivy had actually accepted Marilyn’s invitation to the party. How could he celebrate his grandparents’ anniversary with Ivy in the room, the question she’d asked earlier echoing off the walls of his mind?

“What makes you think you’ll be any different here?”

What, indeed?

“I’m surprised you’re here,” he said.

“I hadn’t planned on it, but then Marshall opened his mouth and I couldn’t help myself.” She looked over her shoulder, through the foyer, then back toward him. “You didn’t tell me she was blind.”

She said it like Sara was engaged. Like it was something to be excited about. The tone made him bristle. “Does it matter?”

Her eyes widened. She leaned back. “Not to me, but it obviously does to you.”

Of course it mattered. His sister, once a promising artist, couldn’t paint or walk through art galleries without seeing darkness. Davis caught her once, paintbrushes gathered beneath her nose, like the smell of the bristles might bring shape and color to her sightless eyes. The memory still broke his heart.

Ivy snuck another glance over her shoulder. “She wasn’t blind when we were kids.”

Davis nudged away the jumping Georgia with his foot. “What’s your point?”

“How does that happen?”

“If you’re so curious, why don’t you ask her?”

“That would be rude.”

“And asking her brother behind her back isn’t?”

“Curiosity isn’t a sin.” Her mouth curved into a smile. “You’re curious about me, remember?”

He took a step away. Why did she have to turn everything he said around? His curiosity didn’t stem from his attraction. His curiosity had everything to do with the sadness he spied in her unguarded moments when she thought nobody watched.

“Davis?”

Georgia scampered across the room. He turned at the sound of Marilyn’s voice and found her standing beneath the crown molding at the end of the foyer. “I thought I heard you come in. Care to join us?”

Did he want to escape this conversation with Ivy? Yes. One hundred percent yes. He swept his hand toward Marilyn. “After you.”

Ivy frowned but didn’t argue.

He followed her into the dining room and found Sara at the dining
table, her unfocused eyes staring toward the windows as she chatted with Grandma Eleanor. Faded evening sunlight lined the edge of her profile, illuminating her skin. Her guide dog lay at her feet. Resolve settled into his limbs. He had to do something—no matter how small—to help Sara. Even if it meant unpacking his camera in order to do it.

“Davis, honey, you look peaky. Are you feeling okay?”

He shrugged off Grandma Eleanor’s comment and wrapped her in a hug.

“Of course he’s not okay.” Grandfather stood by the windows and drummed his fingers against the frame. “He’s wasting his college education working maintenance at Cornerstone Church when he should be taking over for me.”

Never mind the fact that Davis had no interest in hotels or investing or that he truly enjoyed the slow pace at Cornerstone Church. He let go of his grandmother. “I thought you and Pastor Voss were friends.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You think he likes that you’re trying to steal me away from Cornerstone?”

“Anybody can fix a church.”

Davis gritted his teeth, kissed Sara on the cheek, and sat beside her, pretending not to notice as Ivy relaxed back in her seat with folded arms, watching the interplay between him and Grandfather with open interest.

“Come sit down, dear.” Grandma Eleanor motioned to the head of the table.

Grandfather sat.

Marilyn passed around the greens and filled glasses with sweet tea. “I was thinking it might be a good idea for Ivy to go to the plantation with you tomorrow.”

“Oh, I can go by myself.” His answer came too quickly.

Sara held out her hand, palm up, waiting for her brother to take it. “Davis, are you going to say grace?”

Everybody bowed their heads. He spoke some stilted words to God, all too aware of Ivy’s unbending head and probing stare. He said his amen and wrapped his fingers around his glass.

Lord, if You want me to see her as You do, I’m going to need some help
.

Ivy stabbed a piece of lettuce with her fork. She crunched the bite between her teeth and ran her pinkie along the crest of her bottom lip. “I’d love to go tomorrow. Thanks, Marilyn.”

Discomfort weighted the room and didn’t leave, not during the crab casserole and biscuits, not when Marilyn brought a french silk pie from the refrigerator, and not when talk turned to Something New and Marilyn’s I Do bridal wear line.

“I’m excited you’re taking pictures again.” Sara smiled a smile that was so uncalculated, so sincere, Davis had to look closer. How she could smile like that—especially about him and his camera—would never make sense.

Grandfather huffed. “He shouldn’t be taking pictures.”

Marilyn brought her fingers to her temples. “Dad, please, not tonight.”

Davis swallowed his bite. “He’s right, though.”

Sara turned in Ivy’s direction, her gaze landing a little left of her intended target. “He’s amazing. Have you seen his work?”

Ivy circled the fork tines around her half-eaten piece. “He told me he didn’t have any work to show.”

“I think Marilyn kept his magazine photos.”

“I did!” Marilyn’s chair scraped against polished wood. Davis held up his hand to stop her, but she ignored him and left the room.

“Tear sheets?” Ivy raised her eyebrows. “How professional.”

He tightened his grip on the fork and pushed remnants of pie around the china. When Marilyn returned, she waved torn-out magazine pages in her hand and pushed them across the table while Grandfather muttered something under his breath.

Ivy took two of the sheets—one from
Harper’s Bazaar
and the other from his last shoot for
Vogue
—the one featuring supermodel Clarissa Von
Steuben. The one that had fashion editors and agencies still calling from time to time. He watched her flip the pages over and study the other side, loathing the sliver of pride lodging in his chest. He hated that he cared what Ivy thought or that these tear sheets proved his worth in her eyes. Davis looked down at his plate. His worth didn’t come from his photos or women or success.

Forgive me for forgetting it once. Don’t let me forget it again
.

“So I guess I don’t have to worry anymore. I’m convinced.”

He looked at Ivy across the table. “About what?”

She fanned herself with the magazine pages, something hungry glinting in the caramel of her eyes. “That you know exactly what you’re doing.”

If only he felt the same way.

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