City Beautiful

by CM Foss

  I heard the bedroom door open, and I heard his footsteps. But I still wasn’t prepared when Patrick crouched beside me, smoothing the hair from my face. He started to pick me up in his arms but I shoved him away, as best I could.

  “No. Please don’t touch me.” My voice was trembling, my skin felt too tight on my whole body.

  I sat up, cringing, my breath coming in short pants as the spots in my vision cleared.

  “Ivy, you have to let me help you up.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t. I can do it. I have to do it.” Like a mantra, the words repeated over and over again in my head.

  He stood back, grim and pissed but also concerned. Like he didn’t know what to do with me. I knew the feeling. But as I started to try to struggle to my feet, I heard him mutter, “For fuck’s sake,” under his breath and he picked me up, ignoring my protests, carting me back to my bed.

  My jaw was locked tight as I seethed in anger and frustration and agony. He tucked me under the covers once more. I wouldn’t look at him or acknowledge him in any other way. If I did, I’d break. I only had so much more to break.

  When he placed the outfit in my hands, after taking his own moment to look at it, another part of my heart cracked off and fell away. I choked on a sob, forcing it away.

  “Can we talk?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

  I chewed on my lower lip and slowly shook my head.

  “No,” I whispered.

  Chapter 26

  Patrick

  I was sitting at a desk in Ivy’s second bedroom, where I’d been sleeping the past week. It was late in the evening, my eyes were bleary and my mind unwilling to concentrate.

  All I could do for work right now was some consulting and paperwork via the Internet. Useless. Eventually I gave up and closed down my computer. Whatever was supposed to happen was going to have to wait. All the pertinent stuff was done.

  I slumped in my chair with a sigh. I could have used a cigarette, but I fought off the feeling. Ivy would kill me. Or she wouldn’t care. I didn’t want to know which way she’d go.

  My phone buzzed from the table, and I saw it was Bob calling.

  “Ah, good. You’re still up,” he boomed, as usual, making me hold the phone away from my ear. “Can we talk?”

  “Of course.” Because what other choice did I have?

  I straightened in my chair and gave myself a little shake to wake up.

  “How’s it going, Patrick?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Ah, fine, sir.”

  “How are things going with your family emergency?”

  I chuckled mirthlessly and ran a hand through my hair. “Not, um… not great, really. It’s complicated.”

  “Do you wanna talk about it?”

  Not really. But I was hoping I’d need his understanding in the future. “My, uh… my”—fuck it, Ivy couldn’t hear me—“my girlfriend was pregnant. She had an accident and”—I cleared my throat—“the baby didn’t make it.”

  I hated saying those words. So fucking much. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she going to be all right?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. “Not really. I mean, she’s physically going to be fine. But she…”

  “Hm.” I heard the telltale squeak as he leaned back in his chair. “Listen, Patrick. I know you have your own father, but sometimes an outsider is easiest to talk to anyway. I’ve been married for over forty years. My wife and I have been through… well, through life together. Life always has its ups and downs. Sometimes it seems like there are more downs. The truth is, we do it better when we allow others to help. We’re more herd animals than you’d think.”

  I smiled at his description. “I would love to help her. She’s not… easy.”

  He chuckled. “I’m assuming this is Ms. Lang we’re talking about?”

  I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out right away.

  “Son, it was real obvious.”

  I gave a small huff of laughter, shaking my head. “Yeah, I guess it probably was.”

  “She seemed like a very special girl. Very smart. Different, for sure. But… I like different.”

  “Me too.”

  “Anyway, I wasn’t talking about her being alone. I was talking about you. You can’t deal with all that’s going on all by yourself. You know that.”

  I released a breath. “I know.”

  “You know, I called to talk to you about buying into the practice. You’re a great doctor, the patients love you, and you’re a damn hard worker. I’d love to have you on board. But”—a loud crack resounded as he slapped a hand on his desk—“I’m not going to offer anymore. Instead I’m just going to tell you that whatever you need, don’t hesitate to ask. Your contract here is not ironclad. I hate to lose you, but I’m a family man myself. And there’s nothing more important.”

  Ivy

  “If you try to spoon-feed me, I will flip the fuck out.”

  I eyed Connie warily as she approached the couch with a bowl of soup, spoon raised. She waved the utensil at me as she placed the bowl on the coffee table.

  “If you ate, I wouldn’t have to do it.”

  “It hurts to eat.”

  “And it’s gonna keep hurtin’ unless you get some nutrients in you. You know that.”

  I sighed. It hurt to sigh. “I’ll eat the soup but that’s it. I’m really not hungry.”

  “I don’t even care anymore. Eat that and tell me you don’t feel better.”

  I took a bite and faked a smile. Trying to force it down my throat was like swallowing sand. “It’s great. Thank you.”

  “Liar.”

  I threw up my hands. “You didn’t tell me I had to like it. I just said I’d eat it.”

  “More than one bite.”

  “I promise I’ll eat… most of it. If you leave me alone.”

  She muttered something under her breath and bustled her way out the door. When she reached the threshold, she stopped and turned. Her face was flushed, her eyes harder than I’d ever seen them. The look alone left me feeling chastised. She wagged a finger at me.

  “You haven’t done one thing to get better. If you were one of those damn goats, you’d be getting acupuncture, laser therapy, massages, whatever. And you damn sure wouldn’t be eatin’ that frozen crap Emily smuggled in. I know you think you’ve been hidin’ it.”

  I stared down at my hands, unable to meet her gaze. I did. I ate frozen food. I was so ashamed. It was only twice. I wanted to see if it made me feel better or worse. It didn’t make me feel anything.

  “Listen, lady. I know you need time to heal. But it’s not gonna happen all on its own.”

  “I know,” I whispered, but she was already gone.

  I sat quietly for a moment, then took a bite of soup. It still didn’t taste good, but then again, nothing did.

  I slowly stood, wincing at the strain along my incision line and throughout my stomach muscles. Still partway hunched over, even though I knew I should stretch, I shuffled to my room and into my closet. I reached into the back of a shelf and automatically found what I was looking for.

  Sitting on my bed, I laid the little billy goat onesie in my lap. I didn’t think about much, just stroked my fingers over it and tried to imagine what our son would have looked like in it. If I was still pregnant, I’d be in my third trimester, feeling kicks and rolls and assembling a nursery. Instead I was holding an outfit that was as empty as me.

  Chapter 27

  Patrick

  I scraped Ivy’s mostly untouched dinner into the compost bin and sighed. I was starting to understand how she must have felt the first time I told her I didn’t care about food. To put time and love and… and heart into making something that the other person just
discards… fuck.

  I could hear her tapping away on her computer, trying to stay busy by keeping up with the books and whatever other schedules and lists and spreadsheets she had on there. I knew she was frustrated at her lack of physical ability right now. Sitting and dwelling on my own thoughts was hard enough. I had to stay busy. I fixed fences and fixtures, scrubbed water troughs and raked gravel. I kept the house clean and dishes done. I cooked. Sort of. I was trying to eliminate frustrations for Ivy so she could rest and not stew over things she couldn’t fix.

  The client end of the farm was shut down for the winter. It was a slow time of year anyway, but I knew it killed Ivy to close up shop. Not because she told me, of course. She didn’t tell me much.

  The tap tap tap of Dimple’s nails approached me from behind. I crouched down to scratch her head and ended up getting knocked on my ass in her enthusiasm. I laughed and roughed up her cheeks as she crawled all over me, wiggling uncontrollably.

  “She’s tired of sitting around too,” Ivy said from across the room.

  I stilled, looking up to see her leaning against the wall. I think those were the first voluntary words she’d spoken to me in weeks.

  She looked smaller, almost delicate, swallowed up by oversized sweatpants that covered her toes and a large black tee. Her hair was pulled up in a high, messy bun. There were dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks were a bit gaunt. My heart physically ached at the sight of her looking so sad, so downtrodden.

  “How are you feeling?” I slowly rose to my feet, still stroking Dimple’s coat.

  She shrugged her small shoulders. “I’m okay.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “I can only be so okay, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “How are you?”

  My heart stopped and a soft ringing started in my ears. Truth be told, no one outside my family had really asked. I hadn’t even asked myself.

  I took a long breath and let it out in a mirthless laugh. “I’m okay, I guess.”

  We were standing twenty feet apart. It felt like miles. My mind raced for something to say. This was her first attempt at conversation, and I was failing miserably.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  She shook her head. “No. I think I’m going to shower. Emily’s stopping by in a bit. She said she’s bringing moonshine.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Real moonshine?”

  “None other. I think she wants to get me drunk.”

  “Well, that’ll do it.”

  “Should I?”

  “What? Get drunk?”

  She nodded, chewing her lip.

  “Do you think it’ll help?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I’d go with your gut on that one.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted in the very beginnings of a smile. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  My heart leapt at the thought, but I tamped it down. I actually did think that a night with her friend would do her some good. “No. You have a girls’ night. Just go easy on yourself.”

  “’Kay.” She turned to her bedroom and walked away.

  I looked down at Dimple who sat quietly at my feet during the whole conversation. “How ’bout you and me go on a date?”

  Her eyebrows wiggled, and her tail wagged on the floor a million miles per minute. “Let’s go then.”

  She spun around and leapt out the doggie door, ready to expend her boundless energy. I swiped a bottle of tequila from the cabinet on my way out. A date with a dog necessitated alcohol.

  The sun was just beginning to set and the world was silent. The air was cool and crisp and crickets were long gone for the year. Thanksgiving had come and gone with no mention. Neither Ivy or I were inclined to celebrate. All I could hope for was a better Christmas. Or a Christmas at all.

  I mindlessly followed the dog down a trail, through a small patch of woods, and between a small opening in a stone wall. She knew the way well by now. We passed the markers of some previous owner’s family plot. The names were mostly worn with age, illegible and spotted in moss that I tried to brush clear whenever I visited.

  Dimple had run ahead to my destination. I paused midstep just for a split second as I watched her circle the gray headstone once before laying down, chin on her paws. Her left eyebrow rose as she watched me approach, but otherwise she never moved except the occasional wag of her tail on the ground.

  I approached slowly and lowered myself next to her, placing a hand on her head as I leaned back against the stone. It was gleaming bright with newness amidst its older counterparts, but the fresh dirt was starting to show signs of looking more natural. Less stark. I took a long, steady drink from the bottle.

  David Lang Thompson

  That was all it said. No other words were necessary. His name alone was a life to be treasured and honored, and I refused to let it be in vain.

  Ivy

  “If there’s one thing that a woman needs every now and again, it’s a good old-fashioned girls’ night.”

  Emily held out her mason jar of ’shine and crashed our glasses together. I took a small, cautious sip.

  “Who made this?” I asked.

  “My granddad. He makes the best apple pie in the county.” She beamed with pride, taking an impressive gulp.

  I set my jar down on the coffee table and pushed it away with one finger. We were sitting on the couch in my living room, surrounded by pizza I refused to eat and what looked like every color nail polish Emily owned.

  “You’re gonna be drunk in no time.”

  “Sweetie, I was raised on the stuff. I’m not getting drunk. You are.”

  “That does not sound like a well-advised plan. Patrick told me to go with my gut, and my gut staunchly protests getting sick right now.”

  “Who said that?” Her blue eyes were bright and round, her eyebrows high and arched.

  I reached for my jar and took another sip. “You heard me.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “You make me sound awful. I’ve spoken to him before, you know.”

  “Not lately. And not voluntarily.”

  I took another sip, a bigger one. It was tasting better and better, less harsh and almost… better than real apple pie. “I don’t know how to act around him.”

  She stared at me with her nose wrinkled up. I lifted my jar to my lips again, and she snatched it out of my hand.

  “Okay. You really will make yourself sick if you keep going at it like that.”

  “I thought you wanted me drunk.”

  “I was kidding.”

  I rolled my eyes, pouting. As the alcohol spread through my veins, warming me, a pleasant, faint numbness followed. It was not unwelcome.

  “Why don’t you know how to act around him?”

  “Because… because I don’t know. I mean, we have no reason to… to be”—I threw up my hands—“anything.”

  “Since when does love have a reason?”

  “I’m not talking about love. We don’t know each other well enough for that.”

  “That’s a bunch of bull poop.”

  “Bull poop?”

  She nodded, lips pursed. “You heard me. I am a full believer in love at first sight. And I saw it with you two right away.”

  I stared up at the ceiling. “Love at first sight isn’t a third-person visual.”

  “I saw what I saw, and I still see it now. And I will only continue this conversation if you paint your toes.”

  I blinked several times rapidly. “O… okay.”

  I reached for the nearest polish and shook it up. Black. I shrugged, pretty morbidly happy with the selection, and unscrewed the lid. It was a tad awkward using my left hand, but I’d gotten pretty good with it over
the past several weeks. Emily sat forward and chose a deep red, propping her foot on the edge of the table. I chucked a roll of paper towels at her so she didn’t ruin my table.

  “Want help?” she asked as she watched me fumble.

  “No,” I snapped. “I can paint my own frigging toes, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her eyes were narrowed at me.

  I puffed out my cheeks. “Sorry.”

  She screwed the lid on her nail polish and set it aside.

  “We’re all worried about you, Ivy. We know there’s no magic fix for what happened. But you don’t even seem to want to get better. You’re a fixer. You’re always proactively fixing things, except yourself.”

  Her words stung, and I set my own polish aside, hugging my arms to chest. “This isn’t fixable. It doesn’t just happen like that.”

  “I know. I do know that. But you can’t keep living in a hole.”

  “You have to realize… I hurt in so many ways. It’s too much. It’s overwhelming.”

  “That’s because you’re carrying it all on your own. You won’t even let Patrick help. And if anyone deserves to help, it’s him.”

  Guilt washed over me, and I took another larger sip of moonshine, the sound of my voice rising with each gulp. “He is helping. He’s busy all day long. Fucking helping. He doesn’t need this. He has his own life, far away, that’s busy and important, and he should probably move on and go live it.”

  Emily froze, eyes wide and staring over my shoulder as the front door swung open.

  “You think it’s that easy for me?” Patrick asked, his voice hard and laced with hurt.

  I didn’t turn around, just stared at the jar in my hands, light reflecting off the ripples in the clear liquid. I took a deep breath and held it a moment before releasing it in a rush. “I don’t understand why this keeps happening. Why do I keep losing people? What was the point? What was the point of even meeting you, if this was the end result?”