A Broken Kind of Beautiful (23 page)

Jordan didn’t go after her. He stood with arms dangling by his sides.

Mrs. Ludd looked up from her calendar. “My calendar’s clear, honey. You tell Marilyn we’d love to help in any way we can.” She glanced at her son, annoyance flickering across her brow. “Jordan can help too.”

Ivy searched the street, looking one way, then another. A lanky man wearing a large belt buckle and cowboy boots escorted a multipierced woman up the sidewalk. Ivy waited until they passed, then stepped over the curb to get a better look. She needed to find Sara and apologize. She shouldn’t have thrust Jordan on her like that, especially not if he’d broken her heart once before. But where could Sara be?

Ivy walked down the sidewalk toward Charlie’s Crab Hut, the place they were supposed to eat lunch before Ivy derailed the plans. A block and a half later, she spotted the furry backside of Sunny in the distance across the street, beyond a row of palm trees, off the boardwalk, sitting in the sand beside a woman with a thin ponytail on a wooden bench.

A blue truck marked with a silver F-150 rumbled pass. Ivy crossed the street, made her way through the sandy grass, and sat beside Sara. “Hey.”

Gentle waves hissed against the beach, and frothy whiteness receded in ripples out to the sea. The hot breeze danced wisps of hair around Sara’s face as she twirled a loose thread from her shirt around her finger until the tip turned red. “Did you know he was in there when you brought me inside?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do that?”

Sara’s softly spoken question pinched the small hollow beneath Ivy’s breastbone. Because she had wanted to know if Jordan loved Sara and if Sara loved him back. Maybe curiosity was a sin. “I’m not sure.”

Sara unwound the thread. “Do you think I wanted him to see me like this?”

“What do you mean, like this?”

She motioned to her person. “I don’t even know if my outfit matches.”

“He doesn’t care about that.”

A doubtful puff of air brushed past Sara’s lips.

“You can’t see the way he looks at you. I can. And trust me on this, Sara,
the man’s in love.” Ivy leaned back, her shoulder blades biting into the wood. “What I can’t decipher is how you feel about him.”

Sara’s ears turned red.

“You love him too, don’t you?”

Sara went back to work twirling the thread around her finger. Her nonanswer was really all the answer Ivy needed. She considered passing along her mother’s warning. Even sixteen years later, Ivy could still feel Mom’s fingers digging into her little-girl shoulders. Still see the dark circles beneath Mom’s eyes.
“Never fall in love, Ivy. Nothing good can come of it.”
Maybe the words in and of themselves wouldn’t have left such a lasting impression if Ivy hadn’t witnessed the truth of them. With every one of James’s rejections, Ivy’s mom had slipped further and further away until there was nothing left at all. “Why did he break up with you?”

Sara scratched Sunny’s ears. “He didn’t break up with me.”

“But your brother said—”

“I know what Davis thinks, but he made an assumption and I didn’t bother to fix it.”

“Poor guy.”

“Who—Davis?”

“No, Jordan. He’s lovesick. Trust me, I know that look well.”

“I’m sure you do.” Sara unraveled the thread and let it float away on the breeze. “Davis says you’re very beautiful.”

Ivy frowned. If Davis thought she was so beautiful, why did he treat her like a leper one minute and a broken toy the next? Why did he offer his friendship when she offered him more? She toed the sand. “Men have no problem falling in lust with me, but they get over it in a month or two.” Ivy looked out at the choppy surf, then back to Sara. “It’s been how long since you and Jordan broke up? And he still looks at you like he wants to drop down on his knee and propose.”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“I promise I’m not.”

Sara sighed. “It’s better this way.”

“For who?”

“Him. He deserves better.”

Better in what sense—the physical? Sara might not be a ravishing beauty, or even a beauty at all, but there was something about her—a lightness and a joy—that made her more appealing than any of the models Ivy had known in New York. It might have taken her a little while to notice, but Ivy saw it now. Sara was beautiful, and it had nothing to do with her appearance. The revelation caused something to shift in Ivy’s core. She tried to laugh, but the sound barely dented the air. “Sara, I don’t know how any man could do better than you.”

“Davis! What are you doing here?” Grandfather gripped the end of his driver and rested the club against the turf of the country club’s driving range.

Doc Armstrong, a longtime family friend, swung an iron and sent a ball sailing toward a distant yard marker—a shot that would have been straight down the fairway if a fairway existed. Meanwhile, Pastor Voss hacked at his Titleist. It shot a line through green grass and fizzled short of fifty yards. He grabbed his back. “This is why I don’t like golf.”

Doc set up another ball. “You’re pulling your head.”

“I’m pulling everything.” Pastor Voss rubbed his lower back. “And I’m too old for this.”

“You’re younger than I am,” Grandfather said.

Davis grinned. The three of them reminded him of the characters in that movie with Walter Matthau—
Grumpy Old Men
. “I wanted to run something by you.”

“Have you changed your mind?” Grandfather flexed his fingers inside his white golf glove and exchanged his driver for a three wood. “Going to quit that job at the church and finally put your college degree to good use?”

“Hey now,” Pastor Voss said, massaging his back, “don’t be putting that
idea into his head. What would my church do without him?” He turned to look at Davis. “How are those cabinets coming, by the way?”

“Finished an hour ago, and I haven’t changed my mind, Grandfather. This isn’t about that.”

Grandfather harrumphed. “What is it then?”

Doc took another graceful swing. The ball sailed into the air and out of sight.

“I’m helping Marilyn round up some honeymoon and wedding packages to auction at the fashion show.” Davis closed his eyes.
Here goes nothing
. “I wanted to ask if you’d chip in.”

“Chip in how?”

“Put together some honeymoon packages for auction. You have an in with five-star hotels and resorts all across the country. It’d help us raise money.” If Grandfather agreed, it would be a huge moneymaker.

Doc spit on the end of his club and rubbed it with his thumb. “A fashion show?”

“A charity event. All proceeds will go toward funding an art program at the community college.”

“Oh, right. I’ve been hearing talk.” Doc’s face split into a grin. “Speaking of talk, congratulations on your engagement.” He elbowed Davis and shot him a wink. “I hear your fiancée is quite the looker.”

Grandfather’s club clattered into his bag. “What’s that?”

Davis groaned.

“Just a silly rumor, Marshall,” Doc said.

“Started by my daughter, it would seem,” Pastor Voss said. “I suppose another sermon on gossip’s in order.”

“Your daughter didn’t start it, Pastor Voss.” Davis was pretty sure the blame for that lay on Ivy, whom he’d see again in two more days for their next photo shoot. He shouldn’t feel so eager.

Doc started to chuckle. “I’m sure there are worse rumors than being engaged to Ivy Clark.”

Something like a growl rumbled from Grandfather’s chest. “That girl is nothing but trouble.”

“You don’t even know her,” Davis said.

“I know enough to warn you against getting mixed up with her kind.”

Tension settled in Davis’s jaw. “What kind is that?”

“Don’t play stupid. She’s a regular Jezebel.”

Doc Armstrong waved his club between them. “No fistfights on the driving range, gentlemen. Marshall, I know you think you’re tough for an old codger, but a fight with your grandson will do your heart in, I’m afraid.”

Grandfather tapped his chest. “My heart’s fine.”

If his definition for “fine” was cold and hard, then yes, it was.

Pastor Voss unzipped a pouch in his golf bag and pulled out a bottled water. “The child’s lost, Marshall. She needs a Savior, not an old man heaping judgment on her shoulders.”

Davis nodded vehemently. “Exactly.”

“Whatever she needs won’t change who she is.”

The water bottle crinkled as Pastor Voss untwisted the cap. “A little faith can bring about a world of change.”

“Spin it however you’d like, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

“Jesus turned water to wine,” Pastor Voss replied.

Davis ground his teeth. This conversation would spin in circles until the crickets started chirping. Pastor Voss might have time to stand around debating theology with Grandfather, but Davis didn’t. He needed to check on the air-conditioning unit one more time before tomorrow’s service, then get home and prepare his equipment and his heart for another photo shoot on Monday. “I came here to ask if you’d help out with the show. You might not approve of my part in it, but you love Sara and she loves painting. So are you in or out?”

Grandfather studied the head of his three wood. “If I say yes, will you consider helping out at the office?” He wiggled the head of his club behind
the ball and spread his feet into position. “Men my age retired fifteen years ago, but here I am.”

“We haven’t retired yet.” Doc Armstrong opened a bag of sunflower seeds and poured some into Pastor Voss’s waiting hand.

“Exactly my point.” Grandfather swung. The ball flew into the air, slicing a hair to the left. “You two are pups compared to me.”

“Pups?” Pastor Voss laughed. “I’ll be seventy next month.”

Davis gritted his teeth. James had had a posse of men lined up, all capable and eager to fill in the spot James would leave when he became too sick to work. Grandfather stuck around, not because he had to, but because he was too controlling to leave. It would be no different if Davis took over. “You know my answer.”

“Come on, Marshall. Help the boy out,” Doc said, popping a few seeds into his mouth. “It’s for a good cause.”

Grandfather pulled a meticulously folded handkerchief from the back pocket of his golf pants and mopped his brow. “Fine, Davis. If you think this is going to brighten Sara’s life, then all right. I just hope you remember my generosity when I’m too riddled with arthritis to work and my business has nobody to manage it.”

21

Thick morning mist hovered over the ground as Marilyn walked through her backyard toward her place of refuge, coffee mug in hand, Bible and journal tucked beneath her arm. Some of the fog pockets were so thick it was like walking through a cloud. Marilyn closed her eyes and let the smell and sounds of the marsh guide her. Last night, she’d spent the late evening hours stargazing and hadn’t bothered to bring in her rocking chair. It would be nice to start the week in the same place—her and God—as the sun rose up from the horizon and broke apart the fog.

As soon as she stepped onto the dock, though, she discovered the chair was already occupied. Ivy sat with one leg tucked beneath her, the other draped over an armrest, her long hair pulled high in a messy bun. Marilyn paused for a moment, mesmerized by the intense way Ivy read from the book she held in her hands. The two had barely spoken since Marilyn caught Ivy looking at the pictures she’d stowed away in James’s desk. That little-girl longing Marilyn had seen in Ivy’s eyes still ripped at her heart.