Chapter 28
In a hundred years, Ivy could never have predicted the events of the first day of her new life. If anyone had told her as little as forty-eight hours ago that she would be going out to dinner with a man and his daughter, she would have told them they were crazy.
Her thoughts were all over the place as she drove to her dad’s house. She had completely forgotten exactly why she was going to his house, though he’d be glad to see her out and about, no matter her reason. Fifteen minutes later, she parked her Mercedes next to her father’s red Corvette. When did this happen? Maybe it isn’t his, she thought as she got out of the car, taking the keys with her. Out of habit, her father always kept the doors locked. He’d once told her it was habit from when her mother was ill. If, God forbid, someone tried to get into the house, her mother would at least be able to call the police. His reasoning was that if someone tried to force the door, she would know that it could not be him. To this day, Lila and Rebecca still had keys to the house, even though Lila had moved to Raleigh years ago and no longer needed them. It had not made much sense then, and it still didn’t, but she understood habits and how hard they were to break.
She slipped her key into the lock, turned the knob, and called out. “Dad! It’s me. You decent?” She smiled at the image her words brought forth.
“In the kitchen,” he said.
Despite his great wealth, her father had never updated the kitchen. The same white side-by-side refrigerator, the stove with those next-to-impossible-to-cook-with electric burners, and the dishwasher that had broken years ago were exactly as before. A small parlor-style table, with three wrought-iron chairs, remained by the window that looked out on the mountains, in all their brilliant fall colors. Not many changes in the kitchen.
Her father wore a pair of faded jeans and a Duke sweatshirt, along with a floral-patterned apron. She was briefly reminded of the waitress at The Blackberry Café. The image made her laugh out loud.
Her dad turned to her. “Ivy Fine, you look”—he gave her a quick once-over—“happy as a lark. It’s good to see you out and about,” he added, giving her a peck on the cheek.
“And you look, well, silly,” she said, smiling. “What’s with the apron? And what smells so good? I did not know you still cooked for yourself. I thought you went to all those fine restaurants you own.”
“Thanks for the compliment. This was your mom’s apron, as you well know. I guess I’m a bit of a sentimental old fool, still wearing it. I’m making beef Wellington. It’s quite an undertaking.”
“I’m impressed. A big deal for just one person,” Ivy remarked.
“Margaret’s coming over for dinner. She’s picking up her car.”
“So that explains the red car parked outside. I thought it was a bit too sporty for you. Where is your car?”
“We traded cars. Hers was due for an oil change at the dealership, and she had a doctor’s appointment, so we traded for the day. I had a bit of time on my hands, so I took the car in and waited.”
Ivy nodded, but did not say anything. Margaret was a great lady, but every time her name was brought up, Ivy was reminded that it was her son, Mark, who was piloting the plane whose crash had taken her family’s lives. But had it really been Mark’s fault? Though the NTSB had determined the crash to be the result of pilot error, it had never been proven, and the error that had presumably caused the crash still remained a mystery.
“So I had lunch with Sarah Anderson today,” Ivy said, opening the refrigerator and taking out a can of soda. “I didn’t know she was teaching fifth grade here in Pine City. I didn’t even know that she was back in town.”
“Yes, she moved back several years ago. Her mother was ill, still is, as far as I know. It’s a good thing, your going out today. You look good, Ivy. Better than I have seen you in quite a while.”
She took a drink of her soda. “I’m not sure if I should be offended or complimented. You saw me yesterday, remember? Surely, I cannot have changed all that much.”
He stirred something on the stove, which smelled delightful. “It’s the attitude. Something’s changed.” He turned his back to her, added some spices to the concoction on the stove, turned the burner down, then faced her. “You look as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You want to talk about it?” He motioned for her to take a seat at the parlor table. They’d had many talks at this table, and Ivy was warmed to know that her father was still on that page. She sat in what was once her chair and took a long pull from her soda.
“I guess your visit opened my eyes,” she said.
“So, out of the blue, you called Sarah and made a lunch date?” he asked, his tone clearly disbelieving. “I’m glad, though. For whatever reason,” he slyly added. He knew her well.
“There was more to it, but you already know that. This little girl showed up at my house last night. Apparently, she had gotten lost in the woods, and she used my phone to call her dad. You might know him. Daniel Greenwood.” Ivy watched him for a reaction.
“Of course I know him. He’s a master with anything that grows. He works . . . Rather, he runs the horticultural end of The Upside, and all my grounds. The restaurants, all of my properties. So you met him?”
“I did.” No way would she give him more information. He’s going to work for it. Just like the old days. She smiled at the memory.
“What?” he asked.
“I was just thinking about . . . the old days. Nothing specific,” she said. “So what’s your take on Daniel Greenwood?”
“What do you want to know?”
Ivy finished her drink and crushed the can, then threw it across the kitchen into the garbage can. She chuckled. “It’s good to know I haven’t lost my aim,” she said.
“Daniel Greenwood is a private guy, that much I know. He has an excellent reputation, hard worker. I can’t say I know him well, but what I do know is all positive. Why are you asking me these questions? And why now?”
Why was she? She was not sure herself. Maybe she was searching for the voice of approval. If her father thought Daniel Greenwood a decent man, then it would be fine to spend an evening with him and Holly.
“I was curious, that’s all,” she replied. “Actually, that’s not the only reason.” Here goes, she thought. “I’m going to Ollie’s with him and his daughter. Tonight. For pizza.” Ivy waited for the onslaught of guilt, but only felt a touch of sadness that James and Elizabeth had not had the pleasure of Ollie’s pizza.
The look on her father’s face was worth a million bucks times ten.
“I’m not going to ask how this came about”—he shook his head left to right—“but if it’s the reason for the sudden change, I’m beyond thrilled for you.” He took her hand and gave her a quick pat, just like he used to do when she was a kid. This pat always indicated their chats were over, but now, she knew otherwise. The delightful scent coming from the pot gave off a tinge of a burned smell.
“Good gravy!” her father said as he picked up the pot and carried it to the sink. “No, not good gravy. See, this is what happens every time I try to make this recipe. I need to stop watching the Food Network late at night.” He dumped the contents down the garbage disposal, then rinsed out the pot. “I’ll have to start over. Good thing I have extra ingredients. I always buy double, and often triple, just in case something like this happens.”
“I need to go. Sorry about your gravy,” Ivy said, standing to give him a quick peck on the cheek.
“Enjoy yourself, Ivy. It’s time,” her father said.
She nodded, not bothering to say anything.
* * *
As she backed her car out of the drive, it suddenly hit her that she was actually going on a date! And with the man Sarah had set her heart on. Sort of.
This is for Holly, she told herself as she drove home. The child needed female companionship, and her father was simply part of the package. At least that was what she tried to convince herself of.
She parked her car and hurried inside, so she could get ready. It had been so very long since she cared about her appearance that the thought felt strange, almost foreign to her. Inside, the house was dark, and everything smelled of old coffee. She went to the kitchen. She had forgotten to turn the coffeemaker off; she had been in a bit of a daze when she had left for her lunch date.
Venturing out to lunch with a friend had not been a part of the routine she had established for herself. She took the carafe of thick coffee, ran cool water in the pot, then added a bit of dish detergent.
“Later,” she said, followed by, “Now I’m talking to my coffeemaker!” She rolled her eyes, but inwardly she was thrilled that she could joke about such nonsense.
Before she could change her mind, she opened the drapes in the living room, then ran upstairs and opened her bedroom drapes. She looked at her bed. A pile of messy sheets twisted every which way. Quickly she made the bed, straightened the items on her night table, then went to her closet in search of something to wear.
Her clothes were top-of-the-line. Chanel, Prada, Stella McCartney, were just a few of the labels. Though they were almost a decade old, she knew they were still stylish. However, she was not going to the Oscars. She was going to Ollie’s for pizza. She snickered at the thought of wearing a designer dress to a pizza joint. She had lost a lot of weight in the past eight years. All of her slacks were too baggy, and her blouses hung from her shoulders. But, thanks to Rebecca, who was slender, and always thought of Ivy before she took a trunkload of last season’s clothes to a local consignment shop, Rebecca would choose a few items that Ivy could wear. Other than these clothes, she had not acquired anything new in years, other than the undergarments she ordered online. Thankfully, she found a pair of Ann Taylor jeans in a small size, then slipped them on and walked across the room to stand in front of the mirror. The fit was perfect, not too loose and not tight. She pulled them off and walked across the room, wearing her T-shirt and undies. And that was when she was hit by pangs of guilt.
“What am I thinking?” she asked aloud. “How can I do this? How can I act as though I am just a normal woman going out for pizza with a friend?”
She sat down on the bed. Tears blurred her vision, but she let them fall. She was making a big deal out of nothing, she thought as she wiped her nose on the hem of her shirt. She had to eat, didn’t she? And was it wrong to share a meal with others?
She didn’t think so.
For once, she was going to do what was expected of her by her father. If she bawled her eyes out later, well, she would have puffy eyes and a stopped-up nose.
And with that thought in mind, she headed for the shower.