Looking back on what just happened, I’d swear that I hadn’t drunk that much at the wake when I saw her leg suddenly stick out of the window. I’d swear on my life that I was hallucinating if it hadn’t been for her body still visible after I blinked rapidly several times in the attempts to clear my head.

I didn’t need to see the rest of her to know that it was Ivy, my Ivy. A man doesn’t forget the curves of a woman that he’s seen naked and obsessed over for years. Time doesn’t matter when it comes to remembering a woman’s body that you know intimately. A man doesn’t forget her scent or the way she moves and breathes either—not when you’re still in love with her and never stopped loving her.

My gaze fixated on the scar on her ankle that she got when we were twelve. Ivy got it from slicing her ankle on a fence while we were playing with some of the kids in the neighborhood. Finding that mark was the final confirmation that I was in fact not hallucinating.

Ivy looked like an angel; my confirmation from God that we do have another chance to be together again. She’s more beautiful than ever, something I didn’t think could ever happen. Though I couldn’t see her eyes through her sunglasses, I knew that I had an effect on her when she saw me. Her body told me everything, everything she wouldn’t want me to know. I knew that she experienced a wash of emotions from the moment she saw me: shock to relief and even desire with how her body moved. When our hands touched, I didn’t want to let go, afraid that I would lose her just like trying to catch fireflies in the summer.

I wanted to go after Ivy when she left the room, but I was scared thanks to the way Mrs. Abney was staring me down. “I’m sorry, Mrs. A,” I said lowly. My eyes shifted to Ivy’s father. “Mr. A.”

“Henry,” Mr. Abney replied kindly with a nod. “Looks like the hardest part for you both is over.”

Mrs. Abney held up the bottle of liquor that had remained in her hand to show her husband.

“Since when do you drink the hard stuff, Suellen?” Mr. Abney joked light-heartedly.

“This is what I found the two of them drinking out there on the roof,” Mrs. Abney states sternly. “And, I only had a sip to settle my nerves from the sight of it.”

“Looked more than a sip,” Mr. Abney snickered.

He and I exchanged a knowing smirk, but we quickly whipped them off our faces when we caught Mrs. Abney unamused by his statement.

“It’s as if she’s never grown up,” Mrs. Abney stated. “After all this time, you think she would have with what she’s been doing and with….”

When Mrs. Abney pauses, I look up, catching a silent conversation between her and her husband. My gaze darted back and forth between them, hoping to understand all that is hidden behind their glances. I still haven’t mastered deciphering the art of Mr. and Mrs. Abney’s language like Ivy can most of the time.

“It was my fault,” I claim. “I had the bottle with me. I’m sorry Mrs. A.”

“Don’t lie to me, Henry,” Mrs. Abney directed. “I know my daughter.”

I nod shamefully at her calling my bluff.

“Let the boy be, Suellen,” Mr. Abney instructed. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to encourage Ivy. They’ve both been through a lot and all.”

Mrs. Abney regarded her husband and me for a few seconds. “This’ll stay here,” she announced. “Just don’t do anything either of you would regret.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I returned.

Mr. Abney waited for his wife to take a step past him before turning and following her out of the room. “How did you see the bottle?” he asked her as their voices carried in the hallway.

“A mother knows,” Mrs. Abney returned. “Plus, I saw it in his hand when I met them in the room.”

Their voices continued off into the distance.

I remained in the second spare bedroom for a while, hoping to avoid the people in Julianna’s home and to figure out how I’d be able to see Ivy again before she leaves Blackburn all over again. It pained me to think that she’d be leaving and possibly soon.

After a bit, I eventually left the upstairs in search of food. It took me close to an hour to get to the kitchen because so many people wanted to talk to me. Most of the folks in this town would never bother to talk to me this much prior to Julianna and I getting married. Even once we did, they talked to her most of the time since she was the pure breed. I did my best to bite my tongue, to not yell at them and tell them to get the fuck out of her house. It’s always been her house, not mine.

For as kind as they’re being now, most of them, especially the older pure breeds, would talk about her behind her back for marrying me. I know the things they said when the subject of children came up. They’d say that her kids’ blood would be tainted because of me.

My mother must have seen the irritation on my face. She interrupted someone who was talking to me who wouldn’t shut up. Mom was able to get me to the kitchen within just a few seconds. I grabbed a plate and started piling things on it, at least two or three helpings worth. I saw Grady and he confirmed that Ivy will be staying for at least two weeks. I’ve got two weeks to win her back.

Then, I grabbed a six pack of beer and made my way out to the barn. I kept my head down as I passed people who were on the back porch, not wanting to acknowledge them.

“Get out,” I said the second I got inside the barn and found to two teenagers who were making out.

They didn’t hesitate and rushed past me.

I locked myself in and have stayed here ever since.

“I’m fine, mom,” I say, answering the phone.

“Where are you?” she inquires nervously.

“I’m in the barn…have been since I last saw you,” I share, knowing that she’ll push until I explain.

“You’ve been in there for five hours?” she exclaims loudly. “Henry, you have guests who you should be….”

“Julianna and her parents have guests,” I defend. “They’re not there for me. They’re there for themselves and for the Summerlin family.”

Mom doesn’t argue, knowing that I’m right. “Can I at least say goodbye to my own son for the evening at least?”

“How many people are still at the house?” I check.

“Just a few,” she returns.

“You and dad can come, I’ll open the door, but no one else, got it?” I say.

“Okay,” she confirms.

“I don’t like you living out here,” Mom states as she, dad, and Davis walk past me into the barn.

“I do,” I return.

“It’s fitting,” Davis comments.

“You have a house, Henry,” Mom sighs.

“That was never my house, you know that,” I remind.

“Julianna did her best to make you feel at home,” Mom defends.

“I know,” I reply. “But, it was still all for show to cover what was really going on.”

“Many marriages are rocky,” Mom claims.

Dad offers me a sympathetic expression, not daring to debate with mom.

“You and Dad…and the Abneys, are a select few in this town,” I remark.

“Did you at least thank them for coming?” Mom pries.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “I saw Grady and his parents.” I purposefully leave out the fact that I saw Ivy, not wanting to bring up old wounds.

“I heard Ivy was here,” Mom says, peering around my living area of the barn.

Davis’ face beams with excitement. I flash him a warning and he chuckles to himself.

“This is no place for you to live, sweetie,” Mom claims.

“I wouldn’t know,” I lie, focusing on mom’s first statement. “I didn’t see her.”

“That’s not what Bobby Joe’s mom told Esther, who told the twins, who told your grandmother,” Mom calls out. “They said that Mrs. Abney caught you two up on the roof together.”

“So?” I reply, not willing to confirm or deny anything.

Mom glowers at me. “I heard that there was a bottle of tequila involved,” she adds.

“Whiskey,” I confirm.

“Nice,” Davis cheers which irritates mom.

“So, she was with you,” Mom speculates. “What were you two doing?”

“I said that it was a bottle of whiskey…I didn’t say that Ivy was with me,” I defend.

“Leave the boy alone,” dad speaks up finally. “He’s a widower. And, he’s allowed to talk to beautiful women if he wants to. He’s not married anymore.”

My mother eyes my father with a challenge.

“We should be going, dear,” Dad suggests. “I’m sure the boy is tired. He needs some sleep.”

“I don’t know how you sleep at all here,” Mom retorts.

“I sleep just fine,” I announce.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Henry,” Mom snaps, obviously tired from the day.

“Ida, let the boy be…he’s dealt with enough the past few weeks,” dad defends. “You can see he’s living better than most. He’s got running water, a shower, toilet, and even a mini fridge in here.”

“Stocked with booze,” Mom quips.

“I’ll grab one for the road,” Davis states lowly, walking toward it.

“Every man needs a mini fridge stocked with booze from time to time,” Dad explains.

Mom glowers at dad a little, but doesn’t comment. She looks to me. “You’ll call if you need anything, right?” she checks.

“Of course,” I confirm.

Mom nods, hugs me, and kisses my cheek before leaving the barn without another word. Dad looks at me, shrugs his shoulders, and gives me a silent hug before chasing after mom.

“I didn’t see her,” Davis says. “How’s she looking?”

I feel a smile pop onto my face.

“That good?” Davis pries.

“Better,” I inform.

“Did you fuck her yet?” Davis asks with a wild grin.

I do my best to curb my smile, but Davis knows the expression on my face. The one that says if I didn’t, I will soon.

“You know where to find me,” Davis says, heading to the door. “I want all the details.”

“When have I ever given you details with Ivy?” I check.

Davis pauses and lifts his fresh beer to his mouth. “I still want them.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re going to get them,” I goad.

“But you’re gonna make sure she gets it,” he states, disappearing around the bend.

I prop myself in the crack of the sliding door, watching my family leave while wrangling up the few stragglers. I take a long pull on the beer Davis handed me when he got himself one and watch as the car headlights vanish in the distance just like the setting sun already has. When it’s just me and the barn, I head back inside, needing to carve again.

As I fall into the groove with the wood, my body begins to heat up and I’m left with just jeans and boots on. The wood chips fly, landing on my arms when I use the chainsaw. Larger curls of it gather at my feet when I change tools.

I take a step back, admiring the beginnings of my latest creation. Grabbing a celebratory beer and chugging it down with only a few gulps, I contemplate if I want to keep working through the night. I take a stroll through the back corner where I keep all of the other carvings I’ve done the past year and a half, yanking off the tarp that is covering most of them. The sight of my muse invigorates me, requesting that I keep working.