Page 53 of Only Mine
THIRTEEN
WRENLEY
The red stain won’t fucking come out.
My knuckles are raw against the nubby fabric of my favorite cream cardigan, the one that feels like a hug. I scrub harder, the water and stain remover useless against the stubborn crimson bloom.
It’s not even a big stain. Just a small, accusing circle near the collar, a souvenir from me worrying my shoulder raw during another sleepless night. But it’s there, a mar on the perfect softness, a visible imperfection I can’t erase no matter how much force I apply.
Three days. Seventy-two hours of tiptoeing around Saint. When we do run into each other, polite, excruciatingly brief exchanges about Ivy’s schedule and meals are about all we can conjure up. He hasn’t mentioned the night of the storm, or what happened by the fire, or the gouges he saw on my shoulder.
He just studies me sometimes when he thinks I don’t notice, even though my thoughts seem to be on himall the damn time.
If it weren’t for Ivy, I’d have taken my suitcase and bolted. But Ivy is a pocketful of sunshine in this perpetual twilight. Her laughter, endless questions, and quests for the strangest art textiles are a welcome distraction. Her small, paint-stained hand in mine is a link to the real world.
Ivy’s enthusiasm for everything is infectious, and despite the tension between me and Saint, I find myself smiling more than I have in months. She’s been home from school every afternoon this week, our time together filled with paint, glitter, and the occasional foray into the kitchen to scrounge up snacks.
It’s Friday now, and I’m not sure what the weekend will entail. If I’m watching Ivy or if Saint will take over. If I’ll have to see him. If I’ll have to avoid him.
I hold my sweater up to the light. The stain is still there. It always will be. I throw it in the sink and grab a clean chambray shirt to put on instead.
Ivy’s school day is shorter on Fridays, and when I pick her up, she announces that she wants to paint tree trunks in the back garden of their house. I tell her it’s a great idea. The afternoon is already looking up, because Miss Erin isn’t in charge of the pickup line. It’s another teacher today.
Besides, painting trees isn’t the worst way to spend a Friday.
“Look, Miss Wrenley!”
Ivy steps aside to showcase the dripping rainbow on one of the larger oak trees. Her fingers are stained with the same colors, and her nose is streaked with green.
“Beautiful,” I say. “You’re going to have the most artistic garden in all of Falcon Haven.”
She wanders away from the tree and closer to the garden’s border, inspecting a small bush. “Is two weeks a long time?”
I blink at the subject change, considering I was just wondering what she planned to do to a blackberry bush.
Since I’m not sure where this is going, I hedge, “Kind of. Why?”
“Because that’s how long you’re staying. Right?”
My ribs seem to close in around my heart. “We still have a whole week to go, sweetie.”
Ivy’s brow furrows with a seriousness that makes her look older than five. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Oh, Ivy.”
I crouch down, wiping the green streak from her nose.
“Just stay forever.”
She says it as if it’s the simplest solution in the world, with a small, determined voice.
“I wish I could.”
“Papa can make you stay. He makes everyone do stuff.”
I laugh, though it comes out more like a strangled breath. “He’s very good at that, isn’t he?”
“Uh-huh.” Ivy nods. She leans in, whispering loudly, “He likes you.”
