by Laura Simcox
Ivy sighed. “Well, you’ll just have to tell him the truth, then.”
Preston whimpered. “I think he already knows. He said he wanted to talk to Marcus about the bakery. Why would he even mention Marcus’s name if he doesn’t know?”
Ivy closed her eyes. “Well, did you ask him?”
“No. I…” He stopped. “I… I’d really like to talk to you about why Marcus and I made that deal. It wasn’t to sabotage you. Please, can I come over?”
Ivy didn’t respond at first, struggling to control the resentment she knew would be in her voice. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Let me get this straight. You want me to spend my evening listening to my ex-fiancé explain why he went behind my back to join forces with the man who is out to ruin the town? Thanks for the offer, but hell no.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Preston mumbled.
“That’s right! It’s Christmas Eve. So, no, you can’t come over. I don’t want you butting into my family time.” Right after she said the words, she realized how nasty she sounded. Especially since Delia gasped.
She avoided her mother’s glare. “I mean…I’m sorry, Preston, but it’s kind of bad timing. I’d be glad to help you, but it’s Christmas Eve.” Even that sounded kind of mean. Ivy sighed and tried again. “I’m sorry. Listen, um—”
The phone was ripped away from Ivy, and Delia hissed, “Ivy Louise! What is wrong with you?”
Ivy watched in resignation as Delia lifted the receiver to her pudgy cheek. “Preston, I’ve got to warn you—not many people in this house are very happy with what you did.” She paused, listening. “Yes, there’s nothing wrong with apologizing. Of course you can come over for a little while. Mmmhmm.” She paused, smoothing her apron. “Oh. Mmmhmm. Listen, Preston. Just come on over now. Right. No. Don’t bring anything…You don’t need to stay for dinner. I have to go now, okay? See you soon. ’Bye.” Delia pushed the “off” button and slid the phone into her apron pocket.
“Don’t say it,” Ivy pleaded, lifting her hands in defense.
Delia glared at her for a moment and then shook her head. “That boy is hard to get off the phone.”
“Oh, I know it.”
“Just get it over with. Let him clear the air and then decide if you’re going to fire him.” She grinned. “You were thinking about firing him, right?”
Ivy managed a weak smile before trudging up the steps. “Yeah, and I still might. But the timing would be really bad. His dad’s flying in tonight,” she muttered over her shoulder. Yawning, she pushed against her warped bedroom door and stumbled inside the dim room, flopping facedown on the bed and grabbing a pillow to hug. It smelled like Marcus, and she threw it on the floor. Tears welled up again.
From downstairs, she could hear her mom’s singsong chatter and then silence. Her grandmother cackled, and then her dad bellowed. “What the hell does that asshole think he’s doing showing his face in this town?”
Ivy winced. Well, she’d always wondered if her dad and Jim Parliament had stayed in touch after the bakery had shut down and Jim had moved away. Now she knew. Too bad every time she got an answer, ten more questions popped up. Like Preston pretending to go to law school. What the hell? He’d barely made it through college.
She sighed and rolled over onto her back. There was a soft meow from the corner of the room, and Ivy patted the bed. The cat hopped up, kneading her claws on the soft quilt. “Breezy, my life is a mess,” Ivy announced. The cat stared and placed a tentative paw on Ivy’s stomach. “Trying to figure out the politics in this town is like trying to herd fifty of you.”
Breezy heaved her furry body onto Ivy’s stomach. “Oof. You have punchy little paws,” Ivy muttered. “But right now, you’re the only one allowed to touch me.” The cat settled down and promptly sank her claws into Ivy’s rib cage.
Downstairs, the phone rang again.
A few second later, Delia’s voice floated up. “Ivy? Phoooone.”
…
Turkey. Mmm.
Ivy breathed in the delicious scent and smiled. She burrowed deeper into the pillows of her childhood bed and kept her eyes closed to imagine the upcoming Christmas feast. Her mom was no doubt fussing around the kitchen, already chopping potatoes and arguing with her grandmother. Her dad was probably sitting at the kitchen island reading the paper in his pajamas, ignoring both of them. And Marcus…
She cracked open her eyes. The thought of him completely killed her semipeaceful half sleep, and she groaned. He would be here in a few hours. Part of her desperately wanted to see him, to throw herself into his arms and let all the pain fall away. Let Christmas magic take care of everything. As if some kind of holiday fairy would sprinkle enchanted snowflakes and everything would be all better. She snorted. It was just a fantasy. That’s not how life worked.
She sat up and allowed herself a grim smile as she glanced around the room, noting that, though Marcus had occupied it for weeks, very little evidence of him remained. A crumpled receipt laid on the dresser next to a few coins, and the sweater he’d worn to the party Monday night was neatly folded and sitting on top of the bookcase. That was it. It was almost as if he didn’t want to leave his mark anywhere unless it had a Megamart stamp on it.
A soft knock on her bedroom door made her scramble for the quilt. She tucked the cover under her arms. “Who is it?”
“Ivy, may I come in?”
“Sure, Dad,” she answered, wincing at the sound of her own voice, which had dropped about an octave. She swallowed, the pain piercing. Great. She’d cried off and on for hours, and now her throat was on fire and she sounded like a seventy-year-old barfly who’d just finished smoking four packs of cigarettes.
The door creaked open and Brian walked in, carrying a cup of coffee and a doughnut wrapped in a paper towel. He raised them in a salute.
“Merry Christmas, Ivy.”
“Merry Christmas, Dad.”
“Breakfast in bed…Dad-style?” A smile lit his craggy face as he sat down next to her on the bed. He waited for a moment before continuing. “Something tells me you don’t feel well.”
“I don’t, but I’ll survive.” She reached for the coffee and wrapped her palms around the warm mug. She glanced up at him and saw the concern in his eyes. He was about to ask about Marcus, and she just didn’t want to deal with it.
“Dad, when Preston came over last night, he told me why the bakery failed four years ago. Do you remember when he moved to town a few months before our wedding and he was working for Herman selling insurance?”
Brian nodded.
“Well, Herman pushed him to sell a policy to Jim. It turned out to be a terrible policy with very little liability coverage. And then a worker sued, and it ruined the bakery.”
Brian looked at her. “I knew it went down the tubes because of an insurance issue, but the rest?” He shook his head. “Figures. Jim was always out to save a buck.”
“Oh, there’s more.” Ivy took a few sips and the hot liquid burned her raw throat. She placed the mug on the nightstand. “Preston said that he took the job with you as the town planner to get back at Herman. Apparently, when Jim was struggling, Herman approached him and offered to buy the bakery. Jim sold it to him.”
Brian stared at her. “But the main reason I hired Preston to be the town planner was because he was motivated to sell the place. And all this time, Herman owned it?”
“Yes.” She paused. “Well, not anymore. Not after Preston got Marcus involved. The two of them put their cash together and forced Herman to sell to them. I know why Preston did it—he wanted petty revenge. But Marcus? He has no excuse.”
Brian glanced at her and then looked down at his hands.
“Did Mom tell you that she invited Marcus to dinner?”
Brian’s eyebrows drew together. “Yes. I told her it wasn’t fair to you, that she was meddling.”
“She is meddling,” Ivy said. “So is Gramma.”
“I know. But your mom said nobody deserves to spend Christmas alone in
a hotel.” He sighed. “I spent a lot of time thinking about it before I realized that she’s right, as usual. What Marcus did…it was underhanded. And from your perspective, it was pretty awful, I assume.”
Ivy didn’t comment. Was he actually taking Mom and Gramma’s side? But her dad had never completely trusted Marcus, certainly not lately. What had changed?
She looked up to ask him, and he reached out a large hand to stroke her hair back from her eyes. He rested his palm against the side of her face. “I know this is hard to hear, but you did use his money to prop up the downtown, hoping that he’d never get that Megamart. It was a gamble, and you lost.” He smiled. “Being mayor is tough. I have war stories from twenty years ago that still piss me off when I think about them. You want to hear one?”
Ivy hesitated and then pasted on a weak smile. “Is it about Jim Parliament?”
“Hell, no. I don’t want to think about him.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she rested her forehead against her dad’s hand. “I don’t either. Or Preston, whose ass is going to be fired after Christmas, or Herman.” She raised a finger. “And don’t even start again about my relationship with Marcus. You’re right. I used him, and he used me right back. It’s a mess.”
She reached for the day-old doughnut and peeled the paper towel back from the gooey, pink frosting. She took a bite. It tasted like strawberry sawdust, but she swallowed it anyway. “At least Gramma and Mom will talk his ear off at dinner so I don’t have to,” she muttered.
“If that’s what you want.” He paused. “But what can I do to get you to talk right now?”
Ivy peered up at him. “Nothing. But maybe you will tell me why Jim Parliament is on your shit list. You two used to be the best of friends.”
Brian wagged a finger at her. “You know your mother doesn’t like to hear curse words come out of your mouth.”
Ivy raised her own finger and poked him in the shoulder. “Uh-uh. You’re avoiding my question.”
“Am not.”
“Are too. And I’ve become an expert at circumventing men who avoid questions, so don’t even try.” She took another bite of doughnut. It still tasted gross, but it was a doughnut and she was hungry.
Brian clasped his hands between his knees. “So even outside of the office, Marcus wasn’t very open with you?”
“He’s the king of evasion. I’m only letting him keep the crown because he’s not worth the effort. And I told you I didn’t want to talk about him. So, back to you and Jim Parliament.” She lifted an eyebrow at her dad.
Brian stared at her for a moment and then shook his head. “Fine. After he came and told me he was shutting down his business, we had a huge argument. I tried to convince him to get some loans and keep the bakery afloat, but he wouldn’t. I told him that he was putting a ton of people out of work. He didn’t seem to care. He left, and I haven’t spoken to him since the day of your nonwedding.”
Ivy gasped. “Was he that upset about me breaking up with Preston? Was that why he didn’t even try to fight for the bakery?”
“I know you think your leaving was a massive shock and that half the town was turned on its ear, but despite your wild imaginings, it really wasn’t like that. The only person who was truly upset was Preston. Your mom and I have been trying to tell you that for years.”
Brian grabbed the doughnut out of her limp hand and took a bite. As he chewed, he gazed at her with affection. “When are you going to let all of that go, Ivy?”
She shrugged. “When I stop screwing up my love life, I guess.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Ivy stared at the ceiling. “Oh, Dad. I’ve already made the mistake of almost marrying someone who valued his own vanity more than a relationship. I swore to myself then that I wouldn’t put myself in that position again. Marcus is…just not good for me.” She sighed. “Well, mostly not. He has too much pride.”
Brian reached out and squeezed her knee. “Sounds like someone I know. And someone I love very much.”
Ivy was silent a minute, letting his words sink in. He was right, but it didn’t change the fact that she was scared of letting herself get hopelessly caught up in Marcus, a man who didn’t respect her enough to be honest. She looked at her dad and shook her head.
“I understand what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it. But Marcus isn’t going to change.”
“Do you love him?”
Yes. With all my heart.
“Even if I do, it doesn’t matter.”
Brian patted her leg and stood up. “I know this is a cliché, Ivy, but love is all you need.” He winked at her and wadded up the paper towel. “Guess I better go back downstairs. Your mother is fluttering around about dinner like a bat in the daylight.” He started for the door.
Just as he reached for it, a loud knock sounded and he cracked it open. “Morning, Mother.”
“Merry Christmas, son.” Colleen pushed him out of the way with her walker and hobbled into the room.
“Hi, Gramma.” Ivy gave a weak smile that grew wider as she looked at her grandmother’s outfit. A large, fake poinsettia flower on a headband decorated her frosted hair and winking Christmas bulbs dangled from her ears. She wore the horrible kitten-bedecked sweater that Ivy had donned for party two days ago. It looked a lot better on her grandmother.
“What’s so funny?” Colleen plopped onto the side of the bed and gave the walker a disdainful shove.
Ivy snickered. “Life’s funny.”
“Ooh. I was right. You looked like shit yesterday, and now you sound like shit. You’re sick,” observed Colleen.
“I’m not sick, but thanks for telling me I look like shit,” Ivy muttered.
“I know what’ll cheer you up. Some Life Savers.” She reached into her baggy pants pocket and produced a small tube.
Brian cleared his throat. “You two have fun.”
Before Ivy could say another word, he made a hasty retreat out the door.
Ivy surveyed her grandmother, who gazed at her with sparkling eyes like she had juicy gossip. Which she probably did.
“Okay, Gramma. Spill it.”
Colleen grinned. She had lipstick on her front teeth. “Never in your wildest dreams would you guess. It’s un-fucking-believable.”
Ivy rolled her eyes but smiled back and took the proffered candy. “So don’t make me guess.”
“Okay. Brace yourself.” Colleen craned her neck and peered toward the door. Satisfied there were no eavesdroppers, she leaned forward and motioned for Ivy to come closer.
“This is a big secret. After Preston left last night, he stood on the sidewalk for a while. Naturally, I wanted to see why. I mean, who does that after visiting someone? It’s creepy. So I tiptoed over there, cracked the door open, and looked. He was on the phone with his father, and he was kind of loud. I couldn’t help but overhear.” Her eyes got big. “He was yammering on about Herman Weaver calling Jim with a big secret.”
“Gramma, spill it!” Ivy held her breath.
“Jim Parliament isn’t coming to town just for Christmas. He’s coming to see Marcus…his son.”
Chapter Twenty-One
On Christmas morning, Marcus drove slowly through the deserted downtown toward Ivy’s house, half hoping her car wasn’t in the driveway when he got there. As he turned onto Sterling Avenue and her house came into sight, he stopped. Her driveway was empty. The relief he thought he might feel, though, didn’t come. All he felt was a yearning, filling him up and at the same time leaving him achingly empty. He had to see her. He needed to see her. Now.
Quickly, he made a U-turn and headed for the Callahans’ house. Halfway up the block, he stopped again, gripping the steering wheel. Delia had said to be there at noon, and it was only nine. What the hell was he supposed to do for three hours? Nothing in Celebration was open, not even the diner. But his uncle’s house was empty, with Herman was lying in a hospital bed in Syracuse. And Marcus had a key. He sighed. At least it was warm.
He dr
ove the few blocks over, but there was no place to park in front of Herman’s house. Several cars with out-of-state plates crowded the curbs on either side of the street, and it occurred to him that they belonged to families visiting loved ones on Christmas. Normal people with normal lives, not people like him who had no real home.
Stop it, Marcus chastised himself. There was no point getting worked up about it now, not today. He had to focus on Ivy and Herman’s house wouldn’t help that. It was depressing and dirty, and every time Marcus thought about his mother’s letter, he also thought about Herman sitting on the edge of that sofa, hacking up a lung, his eyes bright with fever and bitterness. Screw that. Marcus put the car in gear and drove. He felt like a complete mess, but he had to do something.
He was apprehensive about walking through the Callahans’ front door so early, but it was minor compared to the overwhelming shock he felt every time Jim Parliament crossed his mind. The whole situation was mind-boggling, and he hadn’t even begun to sort it out. At least there was no rush. It wasn’t as if Jim knew that he was Marcus’s father. But if or when he did, what would his reaction be?
As Marcus turned onto the Callahans’ street, he shook his thoughts away. An unfamiliar sedan was parked in the driveway, and he noticed a large Enterprise car-rental sticker on the bumper. He braked in front of the house and frowned.
Who the hell was that? In the few weeks he’d lived with the Callahans, there had never been any mention of other relatives visiting for Christmas. Suddenly he saw himself inside, sharing a meal with a hostile Ivy, her guarded family, and a complete stranger. Or more than one stranger? He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the steering wheel, sitting there as he listened to the sound of his own breathing. He was a mess, all right.
