A Broken Kind of Beautiful (37 page)

Ivy wasn’t sure that was something a person could just get over. The story was pretty awful. And as much as she wished she could console Davis with words like
It wasn’t your fault
, the truth was, it sort of was. “He feels guilty.”

“I know.”

“It’s kind of sweet, if you think about it. He won’t do photography because he loves you so much, Sara.” Ivy slipped into a pair of wedges and sprayed a tiny spritz of perfume onto the inside of her wrist. “I’ve never had anybody love me like that.”

Certainly not James. Not even her mother. Renee might have loved Ivy, but not enough to fight for her. Not enough to get clean and come back for her.

Sara stopped her pacing. “Are you blind?”

Ivy pulled her chin back, unsure how to respond to that particular question, especially coming from Sara. “What do you mean?”

“Is Marilyn invisible to you?”

Ivy blinked several times. Then she batted away the words. She didn’t have time to contemplate them, not now. She needed to find Duncan and see if there was any way she could get their venue back.

Davis sank into the empty pew. Stiff, but welcoming. Betsy Crestledown Theater was booked. He tried to fix the mistake, but the damage was
irreparable. He’d spent the remainder of the morning scrambling from one large building to the next. The community center—booked. Abandoned warehouse on Fifty-Third Avenue—safety hazard. Greenbrier’s country club—not even close to the right layout and way too expensive.

The cool, darkened air of the sanctuary bathed his skin—salty from a morning of sweating. Literally and figuratively. They had come too far to cancel now. He clasped his hands between his knees and bowed his head. While he’d meant to pray for a venue, his mind turned to Sara and the things she’d said about forgiveness.

A door opened, followed by a whoosh of air. Davis opened his eyes and placed his hands beneath his knees. The pew groaned. He didn’t need to look to know who sat down next to him. “Morning, Pastor Voss.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your sister’s surprise party?”

“That and a million other things.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Life feels a little chaotic right now is all.” More like shredded and torn, when hours earlier everything felt so ordered and certain. He scuffed one shoe over the other. “Do you think I’m playing God?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Sara thinks I am.” He stared at the hymnal rack. “You know everything that happened a couple years ago? She says forgiving myself doesn’t matter. But that’s ludicrous. Of course it matters.” He came to the edge of the pew. “Right?”

Pastor Voss scratched his chin. “Maybe what Sara meant was that as far as forgiveness and the kingdom goes, our feelings don’t mean anything.”

Confused. He was very, very confused.

“The minute you confess your sin, God removes it completely. ‘As far as the east is from the west.’ I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I’ve always assumed you’ve done that.”

“A million times over.”

Pastor Voss chuckled. “Once is all it takes.”

Davis mulled over the words.

“Annie Welch told me about your photo shoot with Twila. That was mighty fine of you, Davis.”

“We lost the venue for our show today.” Davis put his elbows on his knees. “Sorry for changing the subject. It’s just … if we don’t find another venue, like
today
, we’ll have to cancel everything.” He frowned. Saying the words out loud made them so much more real.

“Why don’t you use the church?”

He looked at Pastor Voss, sitting calmly, examining the light fixtures and twiddling his thumbs, like he hadn’t just thrown Davis a much-needed bone. He glanced at the pulpit. Wide and deep, leading into a generously sized aisle. He twisted around and examined the rest of the sanctuary. Enough seating to fit five hundred people. He imagined the lobby outside the doors. Spacious. Welcoming. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Sometimes God answers prayers fast. Sometimes slow. Sometimes not at all. Looks like you caught Him on a fast day.” Pastor Voss smiled and spread his hands. “You are more than welcome to use the church, Davis. Lord knows it wouldn’t be standing if not for all your work.”

Davis blinked, amazed at the ease with which his problem disappeared. He wanted to jump out of the pew and find Ivy. Tell her the good news. Her mistake didn’t matter after all. Sure, they’d have to get some information to the press and make some phone calls, but between the four of them, they could get it done.

“So was that all that was bothering you—forgiveness and a venue?”

“Yes.” Davis shook his head. “I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck and peered up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what to do about photography anymore. This lady, Joan Calloway—she’s a fashion editor for
Southern Brides
—she wants me to take more pictures for her. Earlier, I told her no, which is what upset Sara.”

A dull ache pounded in Davis’s temples. He tried massaging it away. His emotions had run the gamut and it wasn’t even noon, and most of those
emotions were tied up in Ivy Clark. At what point did she start meaning so much to him? Somehow, he’d let her tear open a seam of longing and stir it into flame. He wanted to hold her and shake her, protect her and get away from her all at the same time. “My sister’s not the only one who wants me to take pictures again.”

“No?”

“I never would have taken those pictures of Twila if Ivy hadn’t cornered me.” For whatever reason, Ivy genuinely cared—not just about this fashion show and helping him raise money for the art program, but about him and his photography. A groan stirred from the depth of his belly. “God wanted me to
see her
, and somehow I ended up falling in love with her.” The words tumbled out before he could take them back. Hearing his own voice speak them out loud set his ears on fire.

Pastor Voss continued to examine the light fixtures, thumbs twiddling, like Davis hadn’t just paraded his naked heart around the sanctuary. “That certainly makes things interesting, doesn’t it?”

Davis rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Interesting? More like catastrophic. Ivy lived in New York City. She belonged in the industry of high fashion modeling, a world he refused to be a part of ever again. Forget Romeo falling in love with Juliet. This was a hundred times worse.

Pastor Voss cleared his throat. “Romance aside, do you want to take pictures again?”

“Does what I want matter in light of what’s right?”

“Right according to whom?”

Davis stopped his eye rubbing.

“You know the story of the prodigal son?” Pastor Voss asked.

The son who left his father’s house and lived a life of sin, only to end up eating pig slop and returning home? Of course Davis knew that story. He was that story.

“It’s powerful, don’t you think? The father running out to the wayward-turned-repentant son, giving him the best clothes, preparing a giant feast.
All to celebrate his return. I always wonder, when I read that story, how different it would have been if, instead of accepting his father’s gift, the son would have worn sackcloth and worked in his father’s pigsty.”

A squadron of goose bumps marched up Davis’s arms.

“Loses some of its power that way, doesn’t it?”

“You think that’s what I’m doing?”

Pastor Voss squeezed his shoulder. “God’s calling you to be His son, not His slave. He doesn’t want you to wear shackles, Davis. Not when He’s already cut you free.”

Davis scratched his temple, trying not to feel like a yo-yo stringed to Marilyn’s house. Back and forth, back and forth. Only this time, he was back to tell Ivy the good news about finding a venue and to see if it wasn’t too late to accept Joan’s offer. As soon as he did that, he needed to hightail it to the airport, pick up his mom, and get to Sara’s party.

For the second time that day, an unfamiliar car was parked in Marilyn’s driveway. This time, a yellow Mustang with rental plates. Who was here now? He looked up at the second-story porch, where Sara liked to sit, and saw nothing but an empty rocker and potted plants. He jangled his keys and walked up the drive. Before he reached the front door, it opened and a man stepped outside. The image of James, only less gray and slightly shorter. Bruce stepped into the sunlight and gave Davis a squinty smile.

“What are you doing here?” Davis asked.

“On my way to a modeling convention in Miami. Scheduled a short layover here so I could speak to my dear niece. Who, oddly, hasn’t returned a single one of my phone calls. Have you seen her?”

“I’m looking for her too.”

Bruce puffed his cheeks with air and let it escape through pursed lips. “Well, hey, I don’t have much time here. Not enough to chase Ivy around Greenbrier, at least.”

“Is there something I can do for you?”

“You tell me. Are you coming to New York City after the fashion show or what?”

New York City after the fashion show? “I’m not sure what—”

Bruce waved his hands. “No time for uncertainty, Davis. The shoot is only a week and a half away. Vera Wang wants you.” He let his hands clap against his thighs and smiled. “To tell you the truth, I’m surprised Ivy hasn’t convinced you yet. She can be awfully convincing, especially when her future is on the line. So what do you say, Davis? Shooting pictures for Vera Wang. An opportunity of a lifetime. For you and for Ivy.”

33

Ivy paced outside the doors of Something New. Through the display window, Marilyn flitted from dress rack to dress rack, rearranging and straightening. The last thing Ivy wanted to tell her was that she had lost the venue. That, along with the all-too-fresh memory of throwing herself at Davis, did not make a good combination.

Had she gone too far this time? Surely the venue snafu combined with her desperate attempt to entice him to New York this morning had shown Davis the real Ivy Clark was still alive and well. And now that he’d seen that, would he throw her away like James had done to Mom? Ivy twisted her hands together. In an attempt to rectify her wrongs, she’d gone to the theater and used the only weapon she knew to get the venue back—her looks. Only it didn’t work. Duncan drooled all over the counter and even asked her out to dinner, but in the end, it came to nothing. The place was already booked and there was nothing he could do about it. She took a deep breath.

Just do it. Stop being a coward and go in there and tell Marilyn the truth
.

Ivy swung open the door.

Marilyn had her Big Band music playing extra loud. She looked up from a cerulean satin bridesmaid’s dress and smiled. “I was about to close up and come find you. Did you get a chance to straighten things out with the theater?”

Ivy couldn’t look her in the face, not when Marilyn’s eyes held such unwavering, unmerited confidence in them.

“Is Marilyn invisible to you?”
Ivy closed her eyes, refusing to contemplate Sara’s question. She had enough emotions swirling inside her without inviting more into the mix. “No, I didn’t.”

The door opened behind her. Ivy looked over her shoulder. Davis stood
in the doorframe, his face dark, as if a black thundercloud had cast a giant shadow over it. Ivy wondered if he was more disgusted with her for how she acted earlier or more upset with her for losing the venue.