Page 124 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
Chapter Forty-One
Ivy
The first thing I notice when I step out of the plane is the humidity. It’s heavier than a wet winter duvet, and weighs down on me just as oppressively. There is also a lush, almost tropical smell to the place, a lowland combination of moss, tree bark and marsh that’s as distinctive as a fingerprint.
It’s hard to believe I lived here for years and years, because I’m sweating like I’m not at all used to this kind of atmospheric abuse. I stand next to Bobbi and wait for some memory—any memory—to come at me, like they occasionally do when I’m playing the piano. But…nothing. The only thing on my mind is how unpleasant the trickle of perspiration running down my spine is.
A silver Mercedes and a black Escalade are idling nearby. A driver in a starched black-and-white uniform is standing by the sedan. He comes over.
“Welcome home, Master Anthony.” He tips his hat in my direction. “Miss Ivy.” He turns back to Tony. “Your father sent the car for you.”
The gesture surprises me. I thought we’d be on our own. Then I wonder what Margot thinks of her husband sending a car for us. Regardless of what Edgar might have told Tony, there’s a part of me that can’t believe Margot actually wants us here for benevolent reasons.
Tony nods to Harry. “Go ahead.”
“What about you?” He glances at Bobbi, who’s moving toward the Escalade.
“That’s our car. We’re staying with Edgar.”
The chauffeur stands by patiently, his gaze swinging between Tony and Harry.
“It’ll be better if you stay with the parents,” Harry says.
“Maybe tomorrow or the day after.”
Even though Tony’s voice is smooth and reassuring, I know he’s lying. There’s no way we’re staying under the same roof as his mother after hearing the recording—and Bobbi telling us how easy it is to arrange an accident.
It’s too bad Harry is unhappy with our decision, but I’m not changing my mind on this. Not until I get an explanation about what Caleb said.
Bobbi drives the rental, and Tony and I sit in the back, our hands linked. We don’t speak. I’m too busy absorbing the scenery—the color and feel of Tempérane. It’s all unfamiliar, and restlessness jitters inside my heart. I try to force myself to relax, not be so impatient, while willing something to break through the murky wall that’s hiding my memories.
But the wall holds strong. I need… Maybe I need more to smash it down. Something with more oomph, more significance attached than some routine scenery.
“The place on the highway where I had the accident… Is it far?” I ask.
Tony’s fingers flex. “No. Why?”
I lick my lips. “Do you mind if we stop by?”
“No. But are you sure you want to do that?”
I squeeze his hand, wishing I could lessen his concern. He’s seen me do some self-destructive things out of frustrated desperation over my amnesia, suffered horribly because of it. I give him a reassuring smile. “I promise I won’t jump into the bayou. I just want to see the place. Maybe it’ll trigger something. If not, then…” I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I won’t be any worse off than I am.”
“Okay.” He gives directions to Bobbi.
The drive is short and quickly becomes much more rural than I imagined. So many trees—green and lush from the heat and moisture—grow on either side of the road. When we get to the highway, cypress trees rise out of the bayou waters like sentinels, creating a forest of green leaves and gray trunks. It’s impossible to see anything more than a few feet in.
Nothing is coming to mind. Not a sliver of recognition.
Is this going to be a waste of time?
The highway converges on the horizon, and I lean forward between two front seats. It’s not that wide, not like I thought. Just two lanes, with two solid yellow lines running down the middle.
“Pull over,” I say.
Bobbi slows down and pulls over onto the narrow shoulder.
There isn’t much traffic. I hop out the moment the car comes to a stop, willing the barrier blocking my memories to break. The heat smothers me instantly, but I ignore the sticky sweat misting my skin and walk slowly toward the edge, Tony following a couple of steps behind, giving me space to absorb the scene.
