Waiting Fate

by Kinnette, W. B.

  “How are you feelin’?” Austin asked at the same time Gunner said, “You look horrible.” He winked a light brown eye playfully, so she didn’t hit him too hard.

  “I’ve been better, but I’m happy to be alive,” Ivy answered honestly.

  “So, ya gonna tell us the gory details or what?” Austin asked with a devilish grin.

  She rolled her eyes in mock annoyance and launched into all the gory details of her crash, and they listened with the morbid fascination boys seemed to have with strange, life-threatening incidents.

  They settled her on the couch and covered her in blankets — too many, but she just giggled as they buried her. “We’ll check in soon. Be more careful from now on, will ya?” Gunner said as they went out the back door.

  “Yes, sir.” She waved.

  He didn’t hate her. They were still friends. Somehow, the world seemed infinitely brighter now.

  ****

  Ivy was giving Desee a bath. It was December twenty-third and they had lots of parties and things to do the next day, and she wanted Desee to look her best — which meant washing the mashed potatoes out of her hair. Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it over her shoulder, but she couldn’t answer it with her soapy hands. “How do they always know when my hands are wet?” she asked Desee.

  The baby giggled and splashed, pouring water from one measuring cup to another. Behind Ivy, the phone buzzed again, incessantly. Groaning, she stood up, drying off her hands and reaching for her phone. It was Vick. “You aren’t supposed to contact me,” Ivy muttered, hanging up on him.

  Seconds later she got a text. I can make this real easy on you. I’ve got the papers all signed, but I can’t bring them to you because of the restraining order. Come get them and it’s all over.

  Ivy rolled her eyes. You want me to drive all the way to Alaska, right before Christmas, to pick up divorce papers? Mail them, Vick. She was quite proud of herself. She leaned against the counter, facing the bathtub so she could watch Desee play.

  “Mama, out.” Desee stood up, wobbling in the water, and Ivy laughed as she reached for the cute little princess towel, scooping Desee out of the tub and drying her off.

  “Time for bed. Where’s puppy…” Ivy set her phone down while she carried Desee through the house on a search for puppy. She found it buried in the toy drawer, nearly a half hour later. They brushed teeth and Desee went right down, curled under her blankets with her puppy stuffed under her head. Free for the night, Ivy went to find her phone.

  The little light that alerted her to new messages still blinked, and she checked, hoping one was from Archer. Butterflies beat against her stomach as she realized the first one she’d gotten while Desee was still in the bath was from Archer. On my way home. Can’t wait to see you.

  She was about to write him back when her phone buzzed again; Vick this time. No, I’m in Morgan. Come get the papers.

  Serious? Morgan was a half-hour away. Her heart pounded, but in a completely wrong way, and the butterflies died a horrible death in her stomach. How did he get in the state without her knowing? How did he get so close? She was trembling, and she hated herself for it. Just mail them.

  She stared at her phone, knowing what his answer would be. He held her over a barrel here — he knew how much she wanted this over with. No. Come get them.

  But she wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t going alone. Not a chance. Do you think I’m an idiot?

  Public place. Fall Chicken Inn. Text me when you get here.

  Ivy paused. There wasn’t anything he could do in public. Especially not in Morgan — it was his home town. He’d never risk everyone he’d grown up with knowing what a monster he was. She bit her lip, going back and forth, literally, as she paced between her pajamas and her coat.

  Finally, she grabbed her coat. “Mom, I’ve gotta run get the divorce papers from Vick. Desee’s in bed, will you keep an ear out for her?” She paused in the doorway to the living room.

  Bev and Jack both turned to stare at her in surprise, Jack even muting the crime show they were watching. “Vick is in town?” he asked.

  “Yeah, and he’s got the papers. I told him I’d come get them,” Ivy lied. She couldn’t tell her parents why he couldn’t bring them to her, although going to meet him was violating the restraining order, too. Ivy rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Jack asked, half-rising from the couch. Ivy shook her head vigorously. She didn’t want her parents anywhere near that monster. She had a baseball bat in her car and mace on her keychain.

  “I’ll be back in about an hour.” She waved and grabbed her snow boot, jamming a single one on before her parents could change their minds.

  It was dark, and it was snowing. The canyon through Morgan made her nervous, but not as nervous as seeing Vick again.

  He can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt you. She pulled into the parking lot and put the car in park. She hesitated, gnawing on her lip before she snatched her phone out of her purse . She had just started to text him when there was a crash against the window next to her head.

  She screamed and jumped, spinning toward the driver-side window. Vick stood there, leering back at her. She held her keys tightly in her fingers and tried not to act afraid. He fed off her fear. Instead, she shoved the door open, making him leap back or be hit.

  “Hey! Watch it!” he yelled. His brown hair was cut military-short, and his dull brown eyes still held the shadow of cruelty. Other than gaining about fifty pounds, he hadn’t changed.

  Ivy shrugged. “How else did you expect me to get out? Where are the papers?”

  “They’re inside.”

  Ivy kept her phone clutched in her fingers. The restaurant was packed, but for some reason Ivy wasn’t comforted. She followed Vick up the outside stairs leading to the front doors, randomly noticing that he’d put on quite a bit of weight and his face looked fat. As if reading her thoughts, he stopped at the top of the stairs. “You look good.”

  Ivy ignored him. “Get the papers so I can go, Vick.” The stairs ended in a stone alcove, leading to the large wooden door. She was nervous here, where no one could see them from the inside, and there wasn’t anyone coming in or out of the restaurant at the moment. She tried to get her injured hand around her mace without drawing Vick’s attention.

  “I’ve heard rumors, Ivy,” he said, turning his back on her and going farther into the alcove, next to the door. Ivy didn’t respond. She knew what “rumors” he was talking about — George had seen her with Archer.

  “We’ve been separated for over a year, Vick. I can do what I want.” He froze ahead of her and jerked around. It had been the wrong thing to say — she recognized that look in his eyes.

  “You are still my wife, Ivy.” He snarled like a wild animal. Backing up, she nearly fell down the stairs; her boot still made her awkward and clumsy. She caught herself on the banister with her good hand, but dropped her phone.

  Vick reached down and grabbed it before she caught her balance. Pulling herself upright, she tried to snatch it away from him but missed. Having a broken thumb was definitely getting in her way.

  “What’s this?” He flipped through her messages, his face turning from dull to red and then a mottled burgundy, until he looked like a poisoned beet. “You little —” He threw the phone at her, and it smashed into her temple before she could get a hand up to block it. It fell to the ground, the battery popping off the back as it hit the stone ground at her feet.

  Heart pounding, she abandoned her phone and whirled, stumbling back down the stairs — she couldn’t get around him into the restaurant, but if she could make it to the street… she heard him coming behind her and screamed, unintelligible in her terror, and then screamed again when he grabbed her hair and yanked hard enough that she felt clumps tear out. “Vick, please!” she whimpered, one hand holding the banister, her bandaged hand trying to free her hair. Her head was already so sore.

  “You should have stayed in Alaska where we belong.”
She felt his hands on her shoulders. As if in slow motion, she felt him push and watched her good hand slide on the banister, gripping at air, and the first stair came at her face. She felt the pain as she slammed into it, and then blackness. Only blackness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She had a mask over her mouth and nose, giving her oxygen. Her eyes wouldn’t open right off; it took a while to get them to cooperate. She could hear voices, talking about bleeding on the brain and surgery and other big words that she didn’t understand. But as soon as her eyes were open, they stopped. “Miss, can you remember your name?”

  Ivy looked at them wide-eyed. Did they expect her to nod when her head hurt like this? The faces that belonged to the voices swam into focus, and Ivy could see a doctor and a nurse, both women. When they continued to stare at her, she gave in and nodded, wincing against the pain, and then wincing because wincing hurt. They stared some more, as if they didn’t believe her. “Ivy Bleu,” she said, pulling the mask away from her face a bit. Slowly she raised a hand to her forehead, but there was a thick bandage.

  “You’ve had a nasty fall, and —”

  Ivy pulled the oxygen mask away from her face. “I didn’t fall,” she rasped, her voice dry like she hadn’t spoken for weeks. “I was pushed.” The doctor’s eyes, above her mask, widened, and she looked at the nurse, who turned away, leaving quietly through the door. Ivy knew where she was going. “My ex-husband… where is he?”

  “You were alone when someone found you at the bottom of the stairs of a restaurant.”

  He left me there. Of course he did. “My phone?” Ivy asked.

  “Is this it? It was brought in with you. And these.” Her keys and her phone. Thank goodness.

  “What happened, exactly?” Another woman came in, this one in a suit and no mask. Ivy recognized her type right off. She had seen many just like her in different hospitals around the country. She started to shake, her entire body trembling. Too many hospitals, too many times.

  “I violated a restraining order,” she whispered.

  “Get me a warm blanket,” the doctor asked, her voice low, and the nurse hurried out of the room.

  “You have a restraining order against you?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No. I have one against my ex-husband. He told me he had the divorce papers. I could come pick them up. It was in a public place…” she trailed off as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d lost again. Vick always won.

  “And then what happened?” The woman’s voice was official, but kind. So many kind people. Ivy felt her eyes drift shut and fought to keep them open. “Is he the one who caused your other injuries?”

  Ivy blinked. Stay awake, Ivy. “No. I was in a car accident a week ago, maybe a week and a half? A — a car ran a red light.” She shook harder, her teeth chattering now and it made her head hurt. Everything hurt. Her shoulder, her arms. There had only been five stairs, but they were cement.

  “And then what happened?”

  Ivy stared at her for several seconds, trying to figure out what she was asking about... why did this random woman care about a car accident from a week ago? It took some time, but Ivy realized she was still asking about the restaurant. “Oh. He took my phone and saw some text messages from a friend. He got angry.” Ivy was whimpering, but she couldn’t help it. “I tried to run down the stairs but I was too slow.”

  “Okay,” the woman’s voice was soothing, but it sounded like it was coming from a long way away. They were always so nice to her — Vick said people were nice to her because she looked like she was still a teenager.

  “Ivy? Ivy stay with us.” She tried to force her eyes open, but they wouldn’t cooperate and she gave up. There was no pain in the darkness. She was safe there.

  ****

  “If you’ll eat just this much and keep it down, I’ll let you go home.” This nurse was male, and Ivy could tell he was a flirt even with his mask on, which was probably why they’d sent him to try to get her to eat. She stared at the tray in front of her, but her stomach revolted. “It’s Christmas Eve, you know. Pretty thing like you, you’ve gotta have all kinds of parties to go to.”

  Ivy raised her eyes and blinked at him. “Christmas Eve?” She’d been here for over twenty-four hours?

  “Yep. Now, are you ready to call anyone? Someone to come get you?”

  Ivy picked up her spoon, trying to navigate the food to her mouth. Putting Desee’s table together in her messed-up state was going to take forever. Who could she call? Her parents would have a heart attack. If they knew this happened, they might connect all her other hospital visits. She couldn’t call them. If she called Kim, Kim would forget about getting her home and go after Vick herself.

  Archer. Archer would come. “Yeah, I have someone. Can I have my phone?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ivy had never written him back. He’d called, but it had gone straight to voicemail. She must have given up on him. It hurt, but Archer didn’t blame her. He’d left when she’d needed him, and then he’d been gone longer than he told her he would be.

  Even if she was hurt, or mad, or whatever the reason she wasn’t calling him back, he had to talk to her. He had to tell her he was sorry.

  Again.

  Giving up on the calling-and-getting-voicemail-thing every time, he went to her parents’. “Hey, Mrs. Bleu, is Ivy around?” he asked when Bev opened the back door and motioned him inside.

  “Archie!” Desee flew around the corner and tackled him. He swung her up into his arms.

  “Hey, Desee. Have you been a good girl?” He could swear the little thing had grown two inches in the month and a half since he’d seen her.

  “Where you been, Archie?” She frowned at him, her dark eyebrows clashing together as her lips pushed out into a pout. She looked so much like Ivy it made his heart ache.

  Please don’t give up on me, Ivy. “I’ve been away for work. But I’m home in time for Christmas.”

  “Well, at least you are,” Bev said. She was smiling at Desee, but when she looked at Archer she sighed and shook her head. “Ivy went off with Vick somewhere to talk things out. Vick called last night and said she had a migraine and was sleeping it off, but that he thought they would be spending Christmas together. I can’t believe she would do this and not even tell us.”

  Archer froze, staring at Bev in horror. Desee laid a hand against his cheek. “Ivy wouldn’t have done that,” he said slowly.

  “I hate to say it, but she’s done it before.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “I know,” Bev interrupted him. “It’s Christmas. I can’t believe she wouldn’t be here for Desee. That’s not like her at all, but Vick makes her forget who she is, I think.”

  No, he doesn’t. He makes her sacrifice herself to protect all of you. “Do you have Vick’s phone number? Can you call him? Ivy isn’t answering her phone.”

  “I can try. Hang on.” Archer followed her into the kitchen, his heart pounding. He’d been scared before in his life, and he worried as much as the next person, but he had never known a terror like this. Ivy would never, ever leave Desee. Especially not on Christmas.

  His phone rang.

  He shifted Desee to his other hip and dug it out of his pocket. “Ivy?” he yelled into the phone.

  “Archer, I need your help.” Her voice was raspy, like she’d been in the desert for a month.

  “What’s going on?” He motioned at Bev, who put down the phone, watching him with a frown.

  “Vick… pushed me down some stairs. I’m in the hospital. But Archer,” she paused and he could hear the tears in her voice, “I don’t want my parents to know. You’re the only one I trust.”

  “I’m on my way.” He hung up and looked down at Desee. “You be good today, okay? Santa’s still watching you.” She grinned at him.

  “Was that Ivy?”

  “Um...yeah. She just isn’t feeling well. But she wants to come home.” Well, this is awkward.

  “Oh goo
d. We can go get her if you’re busy.”

  “Nope, not at all,” Archer said with finality, grateful he didn’t have to lie again. He handed Desee back to Bev, kissing her on the forehead. “I got you a present. I’ll bring it when I come back,” he said.

  She squealed and patted his face with both hands.

  ****

  For the second time in less than a month, he drove like a madman through town and up to the hospital. It was the same woman at the front desk, and even though she looked at him like she vaguely remembered his face, all she did was look up the name and room number and give him another funny look. “She’s in 315. Third —”

  But Archer was already racing for the elevator.

  She was sitting in a wheelchair when he came in. If he thought she’d looked bad after her car accident, it was nothing compared to now. She had a huge bandage over the right side of her forehead and across her temple. Her arm, the one with the broken thumb, was in a sling, and he could tell by the awkward way she held herself and the bulkiness under her gown that her ribs were wrapped too. This time she barely smiled, because her lip was split in several places, and her beautiful face was black and blue.

  I’m going to kill him. But instead, Archer said, “Let’s get you home, okay?”

  She nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks. A nurse helped her dress while Archer signed her out, pretending once again to be her brother. It took over an hour. The sun was just starting to set as he wheeled her out of the hospital. He cursed his massive truck as he tried to get her in without hurting her. She gasped once, but otherwise didn’t make a sound.

  “What am I going to tell my parents?” she moaned as he drove home, watching the road for anything that might jar her at all — snails, papers, speed bumps... He swore at other cars coming too close and threatened to kill some a couple times.

  “We’ll just tell them you were in another accident.” She rolled her head sideways at him, and he fought not to let her see his shock. She looked horrible.

  “Who gets in an accident twice in two weeks?” Her eyes brightened just a bit. “I know, we’ll tell them I fell down the stairs. Then at least we won’t be lying.”