Chapter 10
After her father left, Ivy spent the morning folding laundry and scrubbing the bathrooms. Why this sudden desire to clean had overtaken her, she had no clue, but she was active, burning off this newfound energy. These were mindless tasks. She used to have a housekeeper when she worked, but now that she had to do the chores herself, she realized their therapeutic value. It was as if she were trying to wipe away all the negativity in her mind; by scrubbing her house, she felt something odd overtaking her. She had not even bothered to take her morning hike or turn on the television. She was actually doing what most normal people did. She felt good about herself for the first time since . . . since her family had died. Maybe her father was onto something. Eight years was a long time. She would never stop grieving for her family, but maybe she could start cleaning up her act. And scrubbing the house from top to bottom was a good place to start.
Upstairs, she walked past Elizabeth’s and James’s locked bedrooms. Tears sprang to her eyes, but they were not really tears of grief. They were tears of a new beginning. Her dad’s visit this morning had unlocked something inside her, and it felt as though a floodgate had opened, drowning her with held-back emotions. Not sure that what she was about to do wouldn’t bring her grief back in full force, she knew it was time. She had been putting this off far too long.
Ivy went downstairs to the kitchen and began her search. After digging through four drawers filled with a variety of junk, she found what she was looking for.
The business card for Andy’s, the name of the locksmith who still had the keys to the locks she had had installed on Elizabeth’s and James’s bedroom doors. She held the card out in front of her, saw that her hands were trembling, and was about to toss the card back into the drawer. But something made her stop. She would make the call. One step at a time. Just because she had the keys did not mean she had to enter the rooms. So she picked up the phone and dialed the number on the card.
Ten minutes later, she grabbed her purse and her car keys and headed downtown to pick up the keys to the children’s bedrooms. She did not bother with her hair or makeup; she hadn’t in years and decided that a trip to the locksmith was no time to start. Surely, all the cosmetics in the house had expired, anyway, and were useless now. It did not matter, and why the random thought had even occurred to her seemed odd, given the way she had been living for the past eight years. She could not recall the last time she had fixed her hair or worn makeup.
Putting her strange thoughts aside, she pulled into the parking lot at Andy’s and went inside. It smelled musty, and oily, but this was a locksmith’s, not Macy’s, where she used to shop for perfume.
A man in his midfifties, with a big belly and a bald head, sat in an old, faded green recliner behind a glass counter, which was at least ten feet long. Inside the glass case, there was a variety of locks and keys.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a pleasant voice as he slowly pushed himself out of the chair.
“I called about picking up the key to my locks.” She was sure this was the man she had spoken with earlier. She looked at the name sewn in dark blue letters on his shirt. ANDY. She was also sure that this was the man who’d installed the locks, but he’d aged and put on a few pounds.
“Yes, I know. I remember installing those locks myself. You are ready for the keys, I’m guessing.”
Was she?
She sighed. “I don’t really know yet, but I think it’s time I have them.”
“I understand, Mrs. Fine. I lost my son three years ago in Baghdad in a terrorist bombing. He was twenty-eight, loved serving his country. He was a Green Beret, best of the best. Susan, his wife, was pregnant with their first child when he was killed. But you gotta keep on living. She’s a great mom, and she remarried about three months ago. Next to Andrew, Richard is the greatest. Loves little Andy like his own son. You ever remarry?”
She just wanted the keys to the locks. Her personal life was none of his business. He was just making conversation, but she wasn’t quite ready to talk about her past. So she said, “No, it’s just me. I . . . well, I have things that keep me busy.” Lame as ever, but she was not about to tell Andy that she spent the mornings in bed, drank coffee like an addict, and spent her afternoons traipsing the trails behind her house, then boozed it up in the evenings. No, that truly was not his business, either. “If you’ll just get the key, please. I’m in a bit of a hurry.” She wasn’t, not really, but she did not want to stand here and discuss life and death. That’s all she ever thought about, day and night.
“Sure, sorry. I get carried away. Be right back.” He opened a door behind the counter, which led to some kind of storage area. He returned with a small manila envelope. “Here you are. If the locks give you any trouble, spray a little WD-40 on the key and the lock. Should slide right in.”
Her only thought was she did not have any WD-40, but she had yet to make the decision to unlock the doors. One step at a time. “Uh, sure, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for keeping the keys for me. I’m sorry about your son.” She knew what it felt like to lose a child.
“You have any troubles, just call me,” Andy said as she made her way to the door.
Ivy waved good-bye, and once she was back in her car, she took several deep breaths. Her heart was pounding like a Gatling gun. One step at a time. This would be her new motto. Wasn’t that what alcoholics said to get through the day? She had heard it somewhere, probably on TV or the Internet. She backed out of the parking lot and thought about driving to Dad’s house, but he was probably working, making preparations to sell his house and the airline, so he could start his new life. Somehow she did not see him fully retiring. He was not the kind of man who could sit around and do nothing, or play golf all day.
He’d worked so hard to make Macintosh Air a success. Could she really just walk away from the family business? She had already, but she knew how passionate her father was, knew all the blood, sweat, and tears he’d poured into the airline to make it as successful as it was today, in spite of the crash. They’d had a perfect record before that crash and one ever since. She read the papers online, so she was not totally out of the loop, though Ivy would never tell this to her father.
She thought about it as she drove along Main Street. Many family-owned shops lined the street. Some had already started putting up Christmas lights; giant pine wreaths and pots of bright red poinsettias flanked their doors. Pine City was such a simple little town, just an hour from Asheville, and she had always loved living here. Every year, Main Street was decorated to the nines for Christmas. She could never leave her hometown, that much she knew. She had too many good memories here.
What the heck was she thinking, anyway? She was not going anywhere. Her dad’s visit, it seemed, had affected her more than she wanted to admit. He’d made her think about her future. One step at a time. That was the best she could do for now.
* * *
With all the positivity flowing through her, she suddenly knew what she had to do. She had only been there once. It was the second worst moment of her life. It had been a cold, dreary day. Temperatures had plummeted into the teens, the wind sharp and cutting, whipping at the dark wool skirt Rebecca had given her. She had been in such a state of shock, she had not been able to focus on Father Angelo’s words.
It was like a bad dream. She remembered thinking she would wake up, and they would finish decorating the tree. But standing in the bitter cold, listening to words that offered no comfort, the cold wind biting at her bare legs, her father at her side, Ivy had wanted to crawl into the ground, into one of the three empty graves with caskets that held nothing but the mementos Rebecca had picked out just so there would be something placed in the two small white coffins and John’s larger one.
She did not remember much after that. She had lived in a complete and total fog for months after their deaths. Every time Ivy tried to imagine the last few minutes of her family’s life, she had to drink to block out the horrifying images that plagued her every waking moment. The alcohol became her best friend. It helped to blur the vile images, to still the screams she imagined the passengers uttered as they felt the plane hurled toward the ground.
To this very day, the true cause of Macintosh Air’s fatal crash was a mystery, since the nature of the supposed error had never been revealed. The media had tossed out everything from a drunk pilot to a fight in the cockpit. Her father had other ideas, but she refused to listen to them. In her mind, Mark had somehow made the deadly error and killed over one hundred people.
She made a right turn, then a left, where the road narrowed to two lanes, and merged into one at the cemetery’s entrance. Giant black gates reminded her of two black widow spiders, their fuzzy tips coming together to form a barricade. Clearing the insane image from her head, she pulled up to the gates and pressed a button to open them.
There were no special codes, no mechanical voice coming from the small speaker and asking her questions. The gates slowly opened. Ivy could hear the mechanical grinding as they slid aside, allowing entrance to grief-stricken mourners and others. Before she changed her mind, she tapped the accelerator a bit too hard, sending little bits of dust whirling behind her. The gates closed as soon as she had entered, and for a minute, she was not sure she should be there. Her heart pounded and her hands clutched the steering wheel in a death grip, fear and nerves causing her hands to feel damp and slippery. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her car off to the side, where two other cars were parked. Probably belong to people who work here, she thought. She forced herself to focus on her surroundings, anything to keep her on this path, literally, or she was going to run back to her car and leave this horrible place, where memories of her babies were buried.
A small cry came from her lips when the sidewalk curved to the left and she saw the small rise in the earth. A giant oak tree, its leaves all but gone, shadowed the three headstones that memorialized all that she had lost. The graves were well tended. Her father, she thought. Artificial fall leaves were placed in special vases on the ground above each grave.
The trees whirled around her, and the bluish-gray sky began spinning like a globe. Reaching for something, anything but the headstone to steady her, Ivy screamed when a hand touched her on the shoulder.
“Are you all right?” a masculine voice asked. “You look a bit . . . unsteady.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Ivy realized she had been on the verge of fainting. To the best of her knowledge, she had never fainted in her entire life. Her hands shook, and her heart raced, but she was okay. Ivy nodded to the stranger, then pushed herself up. “Yes, I’m . . . okay.”
“Are you sure?”
Ivy closed her eyes, hoping to block out the engraved words she had just read on her family’s headstone, but the image was now branded on her brain, and she knew it would never leave her. It had been a bad idea to come to the cemetery.
“Ma’am?” the male voice came again.
Ivy shook her head, as if she were clearing away a cobweb, and turned around so she could see who was there.
He was very tall, and his shoulders were so wide, they looked as though they were about to pop the seams on the yellow windbreaker he wore. Pale blue denim encased long, muscular legs. Dark hair curled around his collar as Ivy looked into a pair of clear blue eyes. What calming eyes, she thought as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I’m sorry. It’s my first . . .”
“Your first visit?” he finished for her.
She nodded. “Yes,” she said, her voice a mere whisper, tears filling her eyes and clouding her vision.
“I can help you to your car,” he offered.
“No, no, I’m fine, really.” She raked a hand through her hair, used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her eyes. “I’m going to go now. Thanks.” Before he could say another comforting word, Ivy turned and walked back to her car as fast as she could. When she reached her car, she cranked the engine over, turning the heat on as high as it would go. She was so cold, her teeth chattered.
Unsure of the temperature, Ivy knew that her shivering was more of a nervous reaction rather than a response to the cold. It was cool outside, but not so cold that it would have brought on a case of the shivers. No, she was simply overwhelmed. This trip to the cemetery was not a good idea at all.
She sat there with the engine running, the vents blowing hot air in her face. Feeling the warmth, she huddled even closer to the vents, so the air could warm her face. What made her think she was ready for this, she did not know. Her father’s visit, she supposed. When she felt warmer, and in control, she backed out of the parking space and turned the car toward the closed gates. She pulled her car as close to the metal box as possible and pushed the button that opened the gates. As soon as they were open, she raced away from the cemetery as fast as possible. Her hands still shook, but she was able to drive safely.
After such a harrowing experience, all Ivy wanted to do was go home and pour herself a drink.