Page 4 of After All The Wreckage
Shit. I glanced in the rearview mirror, meeting Ivy’s gaze. My sister’s pale blue eyes were just like our mother’s, but at the moment, they were wide and desperate. A look I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen in Demi’s. I’d seen fanciful, whimsical, and even clouded, but never desperate. More often than not, Demi’s were strangely serene, even in the face of my anger.
Ivy wiggled in her seat, and panic filled my veins. I definitely didn’t have time for a bathroom accident. Didn’t have time to clean the car seat, the car, or tame the shamed tears that would flow. It wasn’t her fault. What three-and-a-half-year-old hadn’t had an accident or two?
“Hold tight, Ives,” I ground out.
I flipped on my blinker, zipped out in front of a car in a way that earned me a loud honk, then cut off another car before it could block the driveway of the school’s parking lot. After sideswiping the orange cone set up to keep people out, I pulled up along the sidewalk near the flagpole in front of the nondescript square building.
I was in the red zone, but I didn’t care as I jumped from the driver’s seat and jogged around to help Ivy unbuckle even as she protested. Holding her tightly to my chest, I ran toward the bathrooms outside the gym—smelly spaces I knew well from when I’d attended the school a lifetime ago.
I skidded to a halt outside the boys’ and girls’ restrooms, debating which to use.
“I don’t know if I can hold it,” Ivy’s small voice squeaked out.
Her alarm raced through me. I rushed into the boys’ room. When I didn’t see anyone standing at the urinals, I sent a silent thanks to the universe. Two stalls were empty. I’d barely set her on her feet before Ivy was jumping up onto the seat. I winced, trying not to think about what was on the toilet. It wasn’t likemiddle school boys were known for their hygiene. But the look of pure gratitude on her face eased the chokehold that had taken over my chest.
Her ponytail was askew. Little wisps of curls had escaped, surrounding her elf-like face dusted with a light sheen of freckles. If there was anything in my life that could make me feel like a failure, it was her damn hair. How did other parents do it? Every time I picked Ivy up from preschool, all the other girls seemed to have their hair still perfectly assembled—neat and tidy—while Ivy’s seemed to come loose the moment I put it up.
How was I, at twenty-seven, even in a position to be thinking of a little girl’s hair and where the nearest bathroom was? My life was so far from where I’d imagined it would be that there were days the simple weight of it was like an anvil sitting on my shoulders. I was living the wrong life. With that thought came the spike of anger and frustration that usually followed it. Fucking life. Fucking Demi.
Once Ivy was done, she leaped off the seat, and her face burst into a smile so bright it felt like heaven was shining a beam right down on us. It took every thought I’d just had about living the wrong life and all the rage, and zapped it away. She was worth it. She and Monte both.
“All better?” I asked.
She nodded, slipping her tiny fingers into mine, and we made our way out to the sinks where we both washed our hands. With our damp palms joined, we made our way back to the SUV as Ivy tried to skip. She looked like some malfunctioning robot, but it made my lips twitch upward for the first time all afternoon.
I was definitely going to be late now. But I had help at the bar. River would be there, and he’d pick up the slack by unloading the delivery. Audrey would handle the setup inside, and between the two of them, they’d shoulder the tasks I hadn’t been able to get to. It would be fine. It always was.
When I got back to our gray Pathfinder, I lifted Ivy into the back seat and watched as she struggled to buckle up. She was extremely proud of being able to do it herself and would get frustrated if I tried to help. It took her five times as long as it would have if I’d done it, but it all came down to that old saying about teaching someone to fish… No one ever mentioned how much patience and energy it took the teacher to do so.
I hopped into the driver’s seat and moved to a spot that had opened up near the school’s front office. I left the car idling, pulled my phone from my pocket, and shot Monte a text.
ME: Ivy had to use the bathroom. We’re parked in the lot.
A couple minutes went by, and the number of kids wandering past dwindled. The vehicles in the car line beyond the sidewalk started to fade. Still no sign of my brother. He knew the timing was tight from pickup to the bar opening, so he usually did his best to get out quickly. I flipped my phone over to see there was no response.
ME: Hey? Did you have practice today?
I had his basketball schedule taped to the refrigerator, logged into the calendar on my phone, and burned into my brain. But that was the other thing I’d found out the hard way—nothing was predictable with kids.
The principal meandered down from the head of the car line, picked up the cones in the driveway, and set them aside. Three kids tagged along behind him, backpacks weighing them down, phones in hand, and walking while texting in the way teens did despite the warnings that it could be dangerous.
An inkling of something that wasn’t quite fear but close hit me in the chest.
Nothing is wrong. Everything is okay.
It was a mantra I lived by these days.
Except last night Monte hadn’t slept, and neither had I because of it. His eyes had been shadowed this morning, a sense of despair clinging to him as he’d shoveled in the eggs and toast that his growing body demanded.
“What’s the point of even having the visions, Gage?” he’d asked. “I’m useless to stop whatever they show me. Nothing I can do. Nothing you can do. We’ve both tried.”
What if he’d gone on his own to D.C.?That singular thought caused more alarm than any kind of pee accident could.
While waiting for his response, I shoved my hand through the pitch-black of my thick waves. I looked nothing like my brother and sister. They were all Demi—strawberry-blond strands with pale eyes and soft white skin that showed off their freckles. I was Dad from my dark hair, gray eyes, and square chin down to my skin that always carried a hint of tan year-round.
As the minutes ticked away, my anxiety grew. I stabbed out another desperate message.
ME: Please tell me you didn’t go to D.C. I’m at the school. Ivy is about two seconds from melting down.
