by Laura Simcox
“Marcus, I—”
“My mother being wasted is my very first memory.” He rubbed his knuckles on his jaw. “I was four years old, and it was the middle of the night. A huge crash woke me up, and I walked into the little kitchenette of our trailer. Blood was everywhere and so were the dishes from supper. My mother stumbled around looking for a dish towel, and I ran to the bathroom to get something to help her. All I could find was my own towel. It had Snoopy on it, and I’d just gotten it for my birthday. But I gave it to her, and she wiped the blood from her forehead all over it, then passed out on the sofa.”
Ivy watched as Marcus hunched forward. Why was he telling her this?
“I learned pretty quickly to keep towels close by when she came home from the bar. If it wasn’t blood, it was puke. By the time I was ten, she moved her drinking from the bar to the trailer, and I became the beer fetcher for her boyfriends. By the time I was thirteen, the boyfriends had turned into paying customers.” Pain and disgust shadowed his eyes. “So I stayed out. A lot. And if I was really pissed, I’d get a can of spray paint from the hardware store and do a little decorating on people’s mailboxes.”
She wanted to say something. But any words of comfort froze on her lips. Instead, she tore her gaze from him and stared at her quilt.
“The night she died, my mom had begged me to stay home. But I didn’t. I didn’t want her to pretend to be nice to me. So I told her…”
His voice broke, and Ivy looked up sharply to see tears starting down his cheeks.
“I told her…that she was a stupid whore. And I left. A couple of hours later, the trailer burned to the ground.”
Ivy found her voice. “Why are you telling me this?”
A sob catching in his throat, Marcus whispered, “I just wanted you to understand why it’s so important to me to succeed. When I was fourteen and standing at my mom’s gravesite—which didn’t even have a headstone—I swore I wasn’t going to end up living the same type of life as hers. You heard what I said at the town council meeting when I pitched the Megamart—everything I have, I got on my own. It’s not like she helped me. Neither did Herman after I moved in with him. He never let me forget that I was an imposition.”
“So you resent your mother, hate Herman, and blame both of them for the fact that you had to struggle?” She regretted the words the second they left her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…assume that.”
Marcus looked at his hands. “I do resent them. Did.” He paused. “I used to, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep the bitterness going.”
“That’s because it’s pointless to waste your life hating other people,” Ivy said. “That’s what bitterness does. It shrivels up people’s souls.”
Marcus was quiet for a few seconds. “I know. But everyone has resentment and regret, Ivy. Even you.” He looked at her. “Is it worth shutting me out? Is resentment more important than us being together?”
Ivy looked into his beautiful eyes. She didn’t want to deny her love for Marcus. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go. But she had to come first with him. If he would just place her above his goals, like she had at the town-council meeting, maybe they could make this work.
“I want to be with you, but it’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is,” he said. He looked away.
Swallowing, she reached a hand toward his shoulder. Just before she could touch him, he stood up. She let her hand drop back to the covers as Marcus turned toward her.
His eyes were dry now but hollow and blank. “I’m so sorry, Ivy. I think the best thing for me to do is leave town.”
Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth.
Marcus stepped forward and placed a kiss on her cheek. “For what it’s worth, I love you.”
And then he walked out the door.
…
All the lines were lit up on Ivy’s office phone, and she stared at the blinking red buttons. Could one of them be Marcus? Probably not, because he hadn’t contacted her since the day he walked out of her parents’ house—and out of her life, just like that. It had only been four days ago, but it felt like months.
Just as she predicted, Christmas Day had sucked. After the hellish living-room showdown and then the heart-wrenching talk with Marcus, she’d spent the rest of the day in bed, except for an hour sitting next to the tree halfheartedly opening presents with her family. To their credit, Marcus’s name hadn’t crossed their lips, and they barely commented when opening the gifts he had left. Delia had held up a new apron and murmured, “Well. That’s thoughtful.” Colleen had opened up a new iPad case featuring an all-over print of bright red lips. She’d said, “Hot damn.” And Brian had unwrapped a large package to find a cat-grooming kit. He’d just grinned.
There had been a gift for her, too. But Ivy hadn’t unwrapped it in front of everyone, and nobody had asked her why. They knew. She’d taken the small, elegant box upstairs to her old bedroom and sat on the floor, looking at it. Then she’d untied the silk ribbon, pulled off the lid, and looked down at a beautifully crafted ivy leaf on a thin silver chain. Her eyes had blurred and the necklace had winked through her tears in the lamplight.
She wore it now, tucked under the neckline of her blouse, and it was warm against her skin. She couldn’t help but wonder that if her reaction to him on Christmas morning had been different, he would be walking in the door any moment with a bag of doughnuts, handsome in his everyday suit and tie.
Maybe he would have stayed if she hadn’t hesitated. He’d thrown his love in front of her, and she’d thrown it right back, claiming that it wasn’t that simple. But it was. She could see that now. Love really was that simple. And now it was too late.
Swallowing, Ivy glanced at the lit-up phone again. The least she could do was focus and be good at her job. Lifting the receiver, she punched a random blinking red button.
“This is Ivy.”
“Are you sure you’re not going to fire me? You sounded angry earlier.”
She grimaced. Preston. Again. He’d been in her office twenty minutes ago, complaining about having to collect the rent for the downtown merchants. He wouldn’t last as the town planner, that much was clear. But she didn’t want to deal with finding a new one until the dust settled on all the changes in town. She’d give him until February to get his act together.
“No. I’m not going to fire you. As soon as the deal is made with Great American Novelty for the bakery property, you can work on improving your attitude about your job. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m counting on you.”
Preston sighed. “Good. There is something else I want to ask, though.”
“What can I do for you now? I think the New Year’s Day parade is in order. Good job.”
“Um…I was wondering if you had time to meet with my dad and me. It’s kind of important. We have an announcement.”
Yay. More earth-shattering news. Just what she’d hoped for today.
“Well. Okay. When were you thinking of stopping by?” Ivy frowned and twisted the phone cord between her fingers. She didn’t want to see Preston today. Or Jim. She didn’t want to see anyone who was involved with Marcus.
Sherry cracked open the office door, and Ivy turned her head.
“What’s up, Sherry?” she asked, putting her hand over the receiver.
“I think you need to hang up on little Mister Busybody there and take the call on line four.”
Sherry grinned, and Ivy gave her a weak smile in return. “Your opinion has been noted.”
On the other end of the line, Preston muttered nonstop.
“Preston. Preston. Save it for our meeting, okay? When are you stopping by?”
She heard Preston give a haughty sniff. “Well, we’re downstairs in the records office. I was hoping you could see us now.”
Sherry cleared her throat and stabbed a finger toward the phone. “Line four,” she mouthed.
Ivy nodded. “That’s fine, Preston. See you in a minute. Mmmh
mm. Yes.” She sighed. “You know what, Preston? You need to do a lot less talking and a lot more walking.” She hung up the phone with a thud.
Sherry cackled. “That was fun. Now get line four.” She winked and backed away, closing the door behind her.
What the hell was so important? Ivy rolled her eyes and snatched the phone back up. She pushed line four. “This is Ivy,” she snapped.
“Good morning, Ivy,” Marcus’s smooth voice filled her ear, and her stomach lurched. She stood up.
“Hi.”
“Just wanted to let you know that my…Jim and Preston are on their way up to see you.”
Heart hammering, she gripped the desk. “Yeah, I know. But why are you telling me?”
“I’m giving you a heads-up so you won’t be surprised. I’m asking Jim to buy out my half of the bakery.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Pardon? But didn’t you and Preston decide to sell to the novelty company?”
There was silence for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “I changed my mind, and it took very little effort to change Preston’s. The town is used to the bakery. It will be a lot easier to get that back up and running than to wait for a new company to retrofit it.”
Her fingernails bit into her palm. “When was this decided?”
“Jim suggested that the bakery should be a family business. He told me that about two seconds after we’d met for the first time, and I was pissed. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made for the town. I just don’t want any part of it. A family business is not my style.” His voice was raw.
Ivy sighed. “So you’re going to build the Megamart, and then what?”
“I still plan to continue funding the downtown-renewal challenge. The rent money for the business tenants has been deposited in the town-planning account. I doubled it, just like I said I would.”
She didn’t respond. She realized that he was still reeling from learning about his father, but what could she say to him to help when he seemed to be hell-bent on cutting all ties to Celebration? To her?
“Ivy, I—”
“Marcus, you don’t have to walk away. You know that, don’t you?”
She gripped the receiver until her knuckles turned white, waiting for his response. There was none. She listened as he hung up with a soft click.
A quick rap on the glass panel of her office door startled her, and she dropped the receiver. It bounced off the edge of the desk and smacked her in the knee.
“Fuck!” she muttered. With a quick motion, she grabbed the receiver and replaced it in the cradle. “Come in!”
The door swung open to reveal Jim Parliament, all smiles. Behind him stood Preston, all frowns. Preston pretended to be engrossed in his phone, scrolling the screen as if he was the busiest executive on the planet.
Jim nudged him. “Pay attention and learn something,” he said before holding out a hand to Ivy. She shook it and smoothed her wool skirt before sitting behind her desk.
“What can I do for you guys?”
Preston sat on a wooden chair. “It’s the announcement I was telling you about. Go ahead, Dad.”
Jim beamed. “Ivy, I have great news.” He plopped into the chair in front of the desk as if he’d sat there a billion times when her dad had been mayor. Which he probably had, if the big butt prints in it were any indication.
“Oh? What is it, Jim?”
Jim leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests. “Okay, here goes. My sons and I are going to reopen the bakery!”
Eyes wide, Ivy uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, too. “Wow. That is great news.”
Jim nodded. “Going to take a couple of months to get everything in order, but I’m putting help-wanted notices in the paper tomorrow. I already bought the ad space. The only thing that’s going to be different is the name. From now on Parliament Bakery will be called Parliament and Sons.”
Preston looked up. “Don’t worry, Ivy. I’ll keep my job with the town.”
Ivy barely contained her eye roll. “You don’t want your job with Celebration, Preston. You tolerate the business-development side of it, but you hate the festival planning. Why don’t you just admit it?”
He pretended to look hurt. “Well, if you can spare me…”
She laughed. “Considering that I was seriously considering firing you, I think you can be spared.”
“What?” Jim frowned, turning to Preston. “That’s the first I’m hearing about this. What did he do?”
Ivy shook her head. “I’m not going to waste my time with it, Jim. There are too many secrets in this town. I can’t keep up with all of them, nor do I care to.”
Jim gave her a sheepish smile. “I can understand that.”
“I’ll bet you can,” she responded. “Anyway. You still want to change the bakery name?”
He coughed. “Ah, yes, Marcus is part owner.”
Preston narrowed his eyes. “And me. I’m a silent partner. I sold dad part of my stake. But if I quit my job with the town, then I can get a lot more involved.”
Jim coughed again. “Yes, that’s true. I’ve got to tell you, Ivy, I haven’t been this excited in years. It’s great to be back in town. I can make up for all the trouble I caused by closing the company.”
Yeah, and you can make a bunch of money again, too.
Ivy forced a quick smile.
“I’ll tell you what,” Jim said. “There were so many times I wished I could have afforded to buy the place back. But now’s my chance, thanks to a son I never knew I had. Life’s funny.” He shook his head.
Swallowing, Ivy looked at Jim. So he didn’t know. Dammit, Marcus.
“Jim…I just got off the phone with Marcus. He’s planning on selling his half of the property to you.”
“What?” Jim gasped and struggled out of the chair. “I can’t afford it. Why would he want to do that?”
Ivy stared at her desk blotter. “You were there on Christmas morning. Just piece it together. Marcus doesn’t want to be in Celebration.”
Jim sighed. “Ah. Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out between you two, but the fact remains that we’re in a pickle here.” His face twisted with apology, and he held out a hand to Ivy. “Think you could call Marcus and ask him to reconsider? He might listen to you.”
“He wouldn’t.” She clasped her hands and stared at Jim, clenching her jaw to keep it from trembling. “And it’s kind of inappropriate for you to be asking me to do that, isn’t it?”
Jim stared at her for a minute, and then he nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry to involve you.”
And she was sorry to be involved.
…
Blustery air whipped around his head as Marcus pulled up the collar of his leather trench coat, staring across the open field. It was nice and flat, and he scanned the edges of the property near the road and imagined a large sign next to a landscaped main entrance. Perfect.
He’d bought the property from Herman two weeks ago, but it wasn’t until today that Marcus felt like pulling the For Sale sign out of the ground and making it public. He reached down with a grim smile and gave it yank. It didn’t feel nearly as good as he’d imagined it would. A sharp, frigid wind raked across his face and made his eyes water behind his sunglasses. Damn, it was cold.
Shivering, he hunched into the wind and headed for the road. As he propped the sign against his car and pulled the keys from his coat pocket, he heard the familiar sound of a knocking motor and a chicken cackle coming from down the two-lane highway. With a groan, he quickened his pace and broke into a trot. Maybe he could get into his car and drive away before Herman spotted him.
No such luck. Just as his frozen fingers fumbled with the car door, the chicken mobile roared into sight.
Herman pulled up across the road from the Lexus and maneuvered a clunky, three-point turnaround before coming to a halt with a jerk. Marcus waited in resignation as his uncle kicked open the rusted door and planted his thin legs on the pavement.
“Hey, To
othpick!” Herman looked both ways, twice, even though the road was deserted, and strutted across the asphalt to stand in front of Marcus, grinning. “How are ya, boy?”
“Fine, Herman. Feeling better?” Marcus forced the words from his lips.
“Yes and no. Can’t have no drink. Doctor’s orders. But my chest doesn’t hurt anymore. And I got lots of energy.”
“That’s great. But you just got out of the hospital, so you better take it easy. Look I need to—”
“Would’ve died if you hadn’t taken me to the hospital.” Herman peered up at him, and Marcus noted that for once his face wasn’t contorted in anger. He almost looked like a normal human being.
Marcus’s lips twitched. “You’re welcome.”
“Thought you left town.” Herman picked at a thread on his brown canvas jacket. It was clean, Marcus noted. So were the rest of the old man’s clothes.
“I’m not officially here. Just checking over my property.”
“Mmmhmm,” Herman responded.
“Can I do something for you?”
“Yep. Hang on a sec, Toothpick.”
Marcus waited while the old man pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his nose. Herman folded it up, stuffed it into his back pocket, and rocked back and forth on his heels.
“Herman.”
“Yep?”
“What can I do for you?”
Herman let out a wheezing laugh. “It’s what I don’t want you to do. That’s what you can do for me.”
The old fart said he wasn’t drunk, but most of what came out of his mouth in the past had been lies. “What are you talking about, Herman?”
“That Megamart. I don’t want it. Celebration don’t want it. It will kill the business downtown, and you know it.”
“Bullshit.” But even as Marcus muttered the word, he knew Herman was right. That Alberta was right. That Crystal was right. And most importantly, Ivy was right. The downtown was vulnerable. And still would be, even with the bakery up and running again. Building the Megamart would mean that he’d have to be in town periodically, too, and there was a good chance he’d run into Ivy. Just the thought of seeing her again made his heart ache. He couldn’t put himself through that. He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime already.
