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Two Christmases
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It was another one of those days. Long hours put in on a project with an unreasonable deadline, then trying to explain the impossible to the client. I'd had many of those days recently, mostly because of my habitual work ethic and inability to say 'no.'
So I found myself that evening at the local grocery store, trying to rummage through whatever was left in the hot case at that late hour, seeking a suitable dinner. A typical December weather day in the Pacific Northwest had ensued. The morning forecast had called for forty degrees as a high and showers on and off most of the day, however, the temperature only ever got to thirty-seven and snow was falling in buckets.
As I made my way to the checkout stand, I happened to notice someone vaguely familiar walking out of the main exit. It couldn't be, I thought. I'd only caught a glimpse of her profile and hair, the rest being well-bundled for the weather. I was so flummoxed that I didn't hear the cashier the first time.
"Forty-two seventy-eight, sir," the cashier repeated.
"Oh, yes... sorry."
I was shaken and deep in thought during my short ride home. That's where it all began so many years ago. Honestly, I didn't think of her or the circumstances hardly at all anymore. I had issues of my own. I'd lost my wonderful wife of twenty-three years only ten months previously in a freak car accident. I suppose that to every survivor who loses a loved one, their accident was freakish. My wife, Carrissa, was leaving a department store, where she'd just purchased my Valentine's Day present, and was hit by a drunk driver who'd avoided all traffic in the busy intersection but had swerved up onto the sidewalk in front of the store, hitting several pedestrians, including Carrissa.
The pain and suffering I endured, were indescribable after her death. The manner and timing of it all contributed, I'm sure. After the funeral, I fell into a deep despair. Our son, Brady, but even more so, our daughter, Claire, helped me get loose from its grip and got me to agree to grief counseling. I learned a lot about myself, surprisingly. I even learned about unexpressed grief over 'losing' my first wife, although she'd not passed away. I left the therapist not a cured man, but a more determined one. That's when I sank deep into my work and that's where I'd been ever since.
I hardly had the lukewarm chicken on a plate and the mashed potatoes doctored enough to be edible when my cell phone rang. It was my daughter, Claire.
"Hi, Girlie! What's up?" I asked jovially. Since our shared tragedy, I always put on a brave face for the kids. Brady was twenty-two now and on a financial corporation's internship in London. Claire was twenty-five and living only thirty minutes away with her husband Richard. They were trying to start a family, which excited me to no end.
"Is everything okay, Daddy?" she prodded, and not in a good way.
"Of course, sweetie," I answered. "Just a long day at the office. "Why, shouldn't I be?"
"No. No, of course not," she stumbled with her words. I became instantly worried, as my daughter was always very articulate.
"What's going on, Claire?" I asked.
"Did... did anything happen when you were at the grocery tonight?" Now I was on high alert.
"Claire? What is going on?" I deadpanned. "Talk to me, young lady."
"Okay, Dad," she tried to start again. "Listen I have to tell you something and it's important. But I don't think you're going to like it. Am I interrupting anything?"
"Just my dinner," I told her. "So as long as you don't mind listening to me chew, give it to me."
"It's about mother," It fell out of her mouth. It was also weird, as she always called Carrissa, 'Mom."
"Okay..." I let it hang. "Go on."
"Not Mom," Claire realized her mistake. "My mother, Ivy."
There it was, and just like that, I was in a panic. Anger, worry, and confusion were all fighting for the predominant emotion of the moment.
"What about her?" my voice steely.
"She's sick, Dad," was her short response. "Very sick."
"And?" I wanted to say 'So what' but I held it in.
"Listen, Dad, there's a lot to this," she sighed. "Maybe I should drive over so we can discuss it."
I didn't want her to see the range of emotions that would most certainly be playing across my face. I ignored her suggestion. Still, this was a bombshell that I needed to hear. As far as I knew, Claire and her biological mother hadn't had any contact since Claire was too young to remember - about age one.
"What do you mean, really sick?"
"Dad," she changed direction. "I'm leaving now. I'll be there in half an hour."
Claire disconnected before I could say a word. My stomach didn't feel like taking in any food then, but I forced myself to eat at least the chicken because I was probably going to need a few stiff drinks before the night was through.
Claire arrived, looking both apologetic and scared. I offered her a beverage and we sat together at the kitchen table.
"All right, Claire," I preempted. "Let's start at the beginning."
My lovely daughter took a deep breath and began. "Okay, first of all," she said, "I never meant to keep this from you. I want you to know that. After I'm finished I think you'll understand."
She paused and tried to shuffle on the chair getting comfortable. "Mom... Ivy contacted me right after my twenty-second birthday. I was shocked, to say the least. Our first conversation was unbearably awkward, but after that, it got easier. I spoke with Mom, I mean Carrissa about her many times, and she was supportive of me having some type of relationship with my birth mother. We talked about how I could do that while ensuring that she'd never be able to hurt me, like when she abandoned us."
My head spun. I'd had no idea they were talking. "So just me," I snorted. "I was the only clueless one?"
"I wanted to tell you right away," she replied. "I just knew how badly she'd hurt you, and I didn't want you to be mad at me, by association. Carrissa told me it wasn't a good idea to keep it from you, especially if I didn't want to cause our relationship potential harm. I was going to tell you last January, but Richard and I went on that ten-day cruise, and then right after we got back the... accident happened. I couldn't tell you after that. You were so depressed - despondent even. You'd seen some Christmas presents under our tree last year, and you asked when everyone was in the room, I couldn't tell you. I knew I'd lied, and it hurt because I'd promised myself never to do that to you."
"Go on," I was furious now, trying to keep it together.
"We talked from time to time," she continued. "We talked about what she did - to us and about why. She'd apologize often and I'd get mad and say it was a little late for that."
She never apologized to me," the anger was making me petty. "That's for sure. It's a good thing too, because I'd never accept it."
"I know, Dad," she said placatingly, "that's part of why I held out on telling you. Carrissa made me see that it wasn't about your anger with Ivy, only about what you and I had together, as Father and daughter.
"Anyway, last summer Ivy called and I knew right away something was wrong. She broke down and told me she'd been diagnosed with stage three Pancreatic cancer. She was scared of course. I went with her to some appointments. I was there for her first round of chemo."
That was news to me. I was suddenly angry at Carrissa for not saying anything. I was pissed at my daughter. "Why did you go? Where's her big-shot husband?" I couldn't help myself.
"He left her years ago, Dad."
"So what does she want from you... or from me?" I asked gruffly. "She made her bed. Sorry, but it's true. This has to do with me seeing her at the grocery tonight, right? Does she need money or something?"
"No Dad," Claire said with a forlorn look. "She wants companionship."
I sneered, then laughed out loud. "The best I can do is money. She's lucky to get that."
"She doesn't need money," Claire corrected. "She's got plenty of that left over from her time with the asshole, Lucas."
That set me up straight in my chair. Just the mention of his name could send me into a blind rage. Lucas fucking Frye, the man who stole my wife, Ivy. It hit me fast and hard that I was still thinking that way. After everything I'd learned in counseling, that was where I went first. No, indeed Ivy hadn't been stolen, kidnapped, or forced in any way. She'd gone willingly. 'The asshole' was a nickname that I'd given to Lucas Frye over the years. There was no negative endearment involved or some means to immortalize him in a demeaning sense. I simply hated the man with my whole being.
Claire saw things weren't going well. She'd stoked the embers of a fire, she thought had long died out. I knew my daughter better than anyone else in my life, including Carrissa. There was a pleading in her eyes, even as she tried to search behind mine for a hint of compassion.
"I don't know why you're asking this..." I pushed that aside and went in a different direction. "Claire, why are you asking something of me, you know I can't do - did she put you up to this?"
Claire remained silent. Her lips pursed. I knew what was happening because I was the one who taught it to her. In her youth, Claire was impetuous, quick to fly off the handle, if you will. I'd spent a fair amount of time teaching her how the most successful people take their time to think before speaking and are purposeful with their words.
"No, Dad," she began. "She hasn't asked me. If anything, she's asked me not to - at least indirectly. I'm asking for me, mostly, I suppose. I also believe I'm asking for you."
"That's preposterous..." was all I could get out.
"No it isn't," she interrupted. "Hear me out, please. You're my Dad and I love you, very much. I loved Carrissa almost as much. Her... passing, almost crushed me. I'm still young, so it was a first for me. A glimpse behind the curtain of the inevitable. Then, I thought about how hard it was on you. Even at your age, and with all of the obstacles in your life, including... Ivy.
"Even though I'm not close with Ivy," she continued. "Not anything like I was with Carrissa or am with you, she's still my birth mother. When she's gone in the next few months, anything I'd ever need in a maternal sense will cease to exist. Carrissa and soon, Ivy, will cease to exist. Sure, I'll have my wonderful father, Richard, and soon a family of my own. The duties and responsibilities of the Matriarch will fall to me. And never again, will I have a mother to counsel me."
She began to sob at the end of that last sentence, and instinctively I rushed to her side. I cradled her head in my chest like I'd done a thousand times and let her cry it out. As she did, I had many thoughts.
What Claire was describing could be likened to what parents go through when their children leave the nest, heading to college or elsewhere. Almost everyone I'd ever talked to about it had at least that one thing in common. They never saw it coming, even though it was right there from the start. The kid is in high school, and deep inside we all know what's next, but we don't or won't think about it. Then one day the kid comes home with a bunch of brochures and it's like waking up to a glass of cold water in the face.
For Carrissa and me, it was the same. Claire was my daughter, and Carrissa's stepdaughter (she'd adopted her so it was more than that). Brady was our biological son, and even knowing that he'd soon leave just like Claire, we weren't emotionally prepared.
For Claire, at such a young age, it was a painful part of life and death that she was experiencing. But I couldn't allow her feelings on the matter to drive mine.
She looked up at me, no more tears to shed, and kissed my cheek. Then she got up to blow her nose and get a glass of water.
"Dad," she started up once more, before sitting down, "I thought hard about this. Other than Richard, you're the most important person in my life. Okay, maybe you two are tied." She giggled.
"Anyway, with all the loss, I'll need you more than ever." She paused to gauge me. "You've made strides, Dad. I've seen it. The counseling helped for sure. But I've also seen you withdraw somewhat. You've thrown yourself into your work, and you're more... guarded somehow. I can't exactly explain but I know one thing. I want my old father back. I want my kids to know the man who raised me, not some other version of that man."
She took a sip of water and continued. "Meeting with her, spending a little time with her - it isn't for her. It's for you. Maybe she earns a little forgiveness or absolution before she dies, but in actuality, you need closure. You never got that, not how she left us. How she left you. I know how much you loved... love Carrissa."
My tears weren't far from falling then. She sat on my lap to comfort me in return. "You've closed that chapter, Dad. You've made peace with the tragedy and the loss of Mom. But I think you badly need to close another chapter before you can find real peace. In a few months, it will be just you and me. Remember that song we'd sing when I was very young? The one we'd sing when we were just hanging out? You and me against the world? It talked about times long past and it talked about the future.
"What was that old phrase you once told me? I think it was Gaelic."
"Auld Lang Syne," I said more to myself than her. "In the literal, 'old long since,' but in English, 'times long past.' The song title was exactly that, "You and me against the world," except I changed the lyrics from 'mommy' to 'daddy.' I can't believe you remembered that!"
She smiled wide and held my cheek in her hand with great affection. "I love you, Daddy."
It was a banner moment for the Sullivans, at least her and I. Then my brain came back to the matter at hand. "Claire," I said softly. "I don't know about this thing you're proposing. I never tried to contact her, because I knew I didn't need an explanation. It would only hurt worse. I had to be... strong, for you. There was no point swimming in a quagmire. The mess she'd made was all on her. She wanted him. She chose him over me... and you. The end."
Claire nodded slightly. "Yeah, I know," she matched my temperament. "But that was times long past, Dad. This is now. She'll be gone soon. It won't matter much, except you could get answers, and close the book on the past, once and for all."
"I have to think about it, honey," I told her.
"I know that too," she kissed my cheek and stood up. "Don't think too long, time isn't on your side."
The restless night of sleep was expected when my head hit the pillow. Ivy crowded my dreams and thoughts. My wife, too, came into the mix as a co-conspirator. In one part of a dream that I remembered the next morning, Carrissa sat on a Victorian bench with me in some sort of garden. She held my hands and explained that Claire needed her help, and she couldn't risk hurting me after all the years.
I found the old Helen Reddy song on YouTube and listened to it while I shaved the next morning. It brought back plenty of memories, both good and bad...
I'd suspected. Ivy didn't try to hide it much, so suspecting was the easy part. Lucas Frye was an up-and-coming singer/ songwriter. His band, Pine Needles, was a stupid play on words, stemming from our geography in the Pacific Northwest.
Frye was also Ivy's high school sweetheart. He'd dumped her more times than I could keep track of, the way she told it, but she kept going back for more.
I'd always considered myself a logical and reasonable man, even back then. We met, dated for a year, and married. It didn't take long for my opinion of myself to be proved wrong. Ivy got pregnant right away. That hadn't been the plan. My condom failed, yet we were happy with the news. At least I was. A few months after Claire was born, Frye had found a way to get ahold of Ivy again, and he sweet-talked her into meeting somehow. I never knew the particulars.
She didn't lie about seeing him. She'd go to his studio, which was just a well-padded garage, and listen to the band. I was livid. She'd tell me to stop being paranoid. She loved me. She was there with the entire band present, and only to help him write songs like they had back in the day. At first, I told her I didn't want her there with him. The temptation was too great, and I pointed out that she'd already admitted the hold he had on her.
When that didn't work, I forbade her to take Claire to the band sessions. In my head, I'd pictured her and Frye fucking, with our not-quite-one-year-old sleeping in her car seat at the foot of the bed.
Frye's band recorded an album and an agent discovered them. Things moved quickly with the record label. Ivy became emotionally uninvested in me and Claire. I feared the worst, but I couldn't get her to talk to me.
I came home from work on Christmas Eve to find some of Ivy's bags packed and sitting in our foyer. She was in the bedroom, gathering the rest of her things. I just stood there looking at her, daring her to say out loud what we both knew it meant.
"I have to go," she tried the delicate approach. "I didn't tell you the whole truth. I couldn't. I have... real feelings for him, and I need to find out once and for all what those feelings mean."
My imperfect little life crashed into pieces at her revelation. I thought right then about all the things I could have done to prevent that moment, including beating one or both of them senseless.
Ivy ignored my pained gaze and posture. "They have a small Midwest tour starting in two days. I'm going with. I'm sorry to spring this on you..."
"You're not sorry, liar!" I spat. "Fucking liar. And what about Claire? She means as little to you as I do?"
Ivy wouldn't answer. She grabbed her last bag and headed for the living room. In a last desperate attempt, I blocked the hallway. "You aren't going anywhere!" I yelled. "Not as long as you're my wife."
She stopped to gauge my anger. At least that's what I thought she did. The details weren't all there after all these years. Ivy slowly set her bag down and looking me in the eye, said, "You can't stop me, Mark. I'll just call him, or the cops."
"Sure," I laughed maniacally. "Call him right now and tell him to come get you. I'm begging you to."
What I got was a strange look from Ivy, like she didn't know me very well. She strode right by me, dragging her case. I wasn't going to stop her, and it sank in at that moment. It also dawned on me that I no longer wanted to.
She lugged the bigger suitcase out the door and somehow loaded it in her back seat. When she came back to get the little one, she stopped and looked at me indifferently.
"The tour runs until January fourteenth. I'll be back on the third or fourth. I'm not going on vacation or some sexy adventure. I need to figure something out, and then I'll be back. We can talk then.
"Mark, look at me," I had zoned out, overwhelmed by a wide range of emotions and she saw it. "There's a detailed list for our daughter's care on the table. I feed her very few bottles now but there are four made up in the fridge, just in case she gets finicky with me gone."
I was still in some sort of shock. She walked right up to me and said "I'm sorry," as she attempted a kiss. Something blasted me out of my reverie, and I quickly stepped back, defensively.
For some reason that elicited a hurt look from Ivy, but she recovered and turned her back on me and headed for her future. I never saw her again.
The note, I couldn't call it a letter, came on January 2. She'd found out right away that she and Lucas were meant to be together. She didn't want to take our little girl away from her father, and because Frye was suddenly rolling in the dough, she wanted nothing - even our house - from me. In return, she simply asked me to treat Claire like the treasure she was and to raise her properly.
My parents and sister were shocked and outraged. Mom and Dad found out about her treachery on Christmas Day when they called. They'd moved to Southern California a year earlier to be closer to my younger sister. When they'd moved, I was of the mind that, as I'd suspected, they favored my sister over me. But that was proven wrong when Mom and Dad left for LAX immediately after Christmas dinner and flew up to help me with Claire.
Looking back over the years, I was quite sure Claire wouldn't have survived had it not been for my mother. Even with the scribbled notes left for me by the slut, I had zero idea how to be a caregiver to Claire. Mom has told me many times, that I don't give myself enough credit and that people - moms and dads - over millennia had to 'wing it.'
Dad provided moral support and we spent more than a few late nights commiserating over Ivy's actions. He took care of me, while Mom took care of Claire. Dad had me take Ivy's note to an attorney the day after I received it and start the process of gaining legal custody of my daughter and laying the groundwork for desertion and abandonment.
Oddly, I never heard a peep from Ivy's parents. They never seemed too keen on me, although it wasn't outward. I felt it more than saw or heard it. They probably thought Ivy had traded up.
One year and one month later, I met Carrissa at a specialized daycare for single parents of children under age three. She had dual degrees in child psychology and child nutrition. We hit it off right away but I was still a very damaged soul. I didn't trust people, and my faith in humanity had taken a huge hit. I wondered constantly why a woman like Carrissa would fall for someone like me. What was she after? Was the question I inevitably asked myself. My future wife figured out my dilemma but didn't challenge me with it. She kept it to herself and was both patient and nurturing with my heart and mind, until I finally came out of my funk, and fell totally in love.
My love for her and her untimely death weighed heavily on me that day, as I thought about her and Claire going behind my back with Ivy. I felt a... betrayal of sorts. I wondered how many other things my loving wife kept from me.
Strangely though, Some of my feelings about Ivy had softened by that evening. Totally? Not. In some ways, reopening the wound brought back feelings of angst, but as I thought about it, much of what I went through twenty years past felt so much less important in the grand scheme of life. Plus, she was dying. I was ashamed of myself in a way, for not being sadder about that. The truth was, she could no longer hurt Claire or me.
It took all of a day and a half when I called Claire the next morning and told her that I wasn't committing to anything but, was willing to meet Ivy and her in a neutral place and at least have a conversation. I'd decided to do it for my daughter since it seemed she needed it.
I felt immediately conflicted as Claire walked up to the table at Outback Steakhouse, her mother behind her. I'd chosen the place because no one we ever knew went there. Ivy stepped forward and I did all I could to force a smile. Her skin tone was sickly, and she was beyond feeble.
I hadn't been there for my mother when she got cancer, not like she'd been there for me my entire life. There was considerable guilt that I'd stuffed away surrounding that. Ivy was the first person I'd studied up close who was that sick. I was often distracted throughout the meal. Claire and Ivy felt it too. We sat there lost in our embarrassment as the conversation dragged.
Ivy was led by Claire in small talk for a good portion of the meal. No talk of the past, and much to my chagrin, no apology either. For me, the air became thick with tension the longer we played the 'reacquainted' game.
Ivy was on a very specific diet but ordered a flourless cake for dessert. That was when I couldn't take it anymore. "So, Ivy," I said clearing my throat. "What specifically do you want from me?"
Ivy's smile disappeared, as she looked from me to Claire. "Dad!" Claire admonished, several decibels too high.
Ivy looked sad, not angry. She gently touched Claire's arm and softly said. "Claire, it alright. I told you this might not go the way you thought. It's Okay."
That pissed me off, her taking some sort of moral high ground, maybe attempting to turn Claire against me.
"NO Ivy!" I gritted to keep my volume down. "It isn't 'all right.' I'm here, against my better judgment, asking a legitimate question. Let's all be clear, sick or not, I have absolutely zero trust where you're concerned. And still, here I sit. So, let's quit talking in platitudes and get down to business."
Ivy looked even sadder. Claire looked shocked enough to faint. In her whole life, she'd never seen her father act that way, not even with a punk kid in high school who tried to molest her at the homecoming dance.
My ex-wife was no spring chicken though. She recovered quickly and looked me dead in the eye.
"Okay, Mark," her voice measured. "A simple answer to a simple question. I require a companion for a few weeks. I have things I want to do before I die, and I'm afraid to do or try to do almost all of them alone. I'm too sick to do some, and I don't want to die trying to complete my bucket list."
She paused to let her words sink in. "At the same time, Claire's father is alone, still fighting a terrible loss. In between the bucket list activities, I need to unburden myself of my greatest sins, and since you're the person I committed most of them against, you also need to hear what I have to say. That's what I've been talking to our daughter about. I'm also quite sure your wife knew about it and would approve."
How dare the evil bitch invoke Carrissa's name! My blood pressure went into overdrive. "Don't you dare claim to know anything about Carrissa!" I spat. "Don't you ever mention her name to me!"
Claire reached across the table and took my hand, her eyes pleading with me to calm down. While that happened, Ivy looked over her shoulder and motioned for our server to bring the check.
"It's okay, Claire," she soothed. "I've caused a lot of trouble for your father tonight and ripped some scabs off of some old wounds. His reaction is perfectly normal."
Ivy looked at me then, staring right through me. "Mark," she stated. "I'm only asking you to think about it. Yes, I suppose you'd end up doing something nice for a person who so callously gouged out your heart. I have no imaginary notion that I can fix or make up for what I've done. That couldn't happen even if I lived to be one hundred. But I never possessed the courage to tell you 'why,' and that much I can settle. On top of that, I'm paying for everything so listening to a dying evil witch won't cost you a cent. That's the truth and if you can't bring yourself to believe it, then simply call me and say 'no.'"
I was pissed all night at home. Claire had hardly said two words to me after Ivy paid the check and we all left. How dare that fucking slut interfere in our family, causing problems just because she was about to check out. She was as selfish as she'd ever been. Well, I wasn't about to play her game. She'd be gone soon, and I could purge myself of her once and for all.
The next morning wasn't any better. I tried to call Claire twice and she let it go to voicemail, which she rarely did. Just before noon, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize but I knew who it was.
"Mark Sullivan," I answered professionally just in case.
"Hello, Mark," she replied. "Do you have a minute?"
"This isn't a good time, Ivy," I sputtered. "Plus, I'm not sure we have much to say to each other."
"Nonsense," she exclaimed. "I'm sorry about last night. Claire being there had the opposite effect for both of us. I should have known better. What I'm asking for was always about us, and only us. I'm sure by now any thoughts you've had of honoring my request are out the window. Here's my final attempt to change your mind."
I really was working on another deadline, so I didn't have time for her excuses. "I can't," I told her. "At least not right now. You have my cell number, obviously, so if you want to talk to me, call me tonight at seven. I'll be ready to talk then."
I had gone over several compromises the previous night. Maybe, she'd end up with one of them.
She called right on time. We exchanged pleasantries, and then she got right to it. "Again, I'm sorry about last night. Clearly, I bring out the worst in you, and rightfully so. Claire looked like she didn't know you. That was my fault too."
"Ivy," I cut in, "just stop. I know what you're doing, it's too damned obvious. It's been twenty-some-odd years. You made your bed. I was forced to rebound, and I did. I had the best life I could imagine until some bastard drunk took it all away from me. So, what could you possibly do to help me? What could ever cleanse your soul?"
There was a dreadful silence. I almost asked if she was still there. "I'll answer those in order if you don't mind," she responded in a small voice. "First, I can't help it if you won't accept my apology or if it makes you uncomfortable when I give one. You deserve them, many times over. I won't stop providing them.
Second," she paused a moment. "The... person who loved you most... She told Claire that her father had overcome every obstacle in his life and that she was very proud of him. If any one thing remained unresolved it was what happened between you and me. I have no idea what specifically that or those things are, but I have a good idea, and if I can help make you whole then it's the very least I can do before I die."
I didn't say anything, so she finished. "And lastly, I doubt anything will cleanse my soul. But it is on my bucket list to gain my own sort of redemption. That's me being selfish again. Bare minimum, to explain myself to the person I most wronged and maybe give him something he needs for closure."
I thought about what she'd said. I told her I had my own business and couldn't just take a month off to whimsically jaunt around with her, even if I wanted to. I told her that any time we spent together would be mostly for Claire's benefit. I told her that no matter what she said, not to expect any forgiveness. Then I laid out the parameters.
Ivy told me she'd think about my proposal, but that she was ninety-nine percent sure she would take me up on my offer.
Later that night Claire called me and started with a sincere apology. "Dad, I love you," she told me. "While I'm very happy that you're going to give this a chance, I also never knew exactly how much anger you had toward her."
"Don't get your hopes up, sweetie," I said. "There's a lot of baggage and none of us can predict the exact outcome. I may even end up even angrier at Ivy than I've ever been."
The next day, Ivy texted me and agreed to my terms. It was the oddest contract I'd ever been involved in. I'd given Ivy two - only two - items from her bucket list to choose from. I had no intention of spending the entire month with her. She asked for one additional thing.
"Will you allow me to spend at least a little of Christmas Day with you and Claire?" There it was. I was either crazy or suddenly generous and told her she could. She'd picked one simple request which was me accompanying her to the top of the Space Needle at sunset. That one seemed suspect to me. She could easily take a flight to Seattle - we only lived three hours away by car. Ivy could have taken a cab or Uber to the park and got on an elevator.
On the Tuesday before Christmas, Ivy and I drove to the airport and boarded a plane. The drive was dreadfully awkward. I figured Ivy must be having second thoughts about her plan. She had a bit more pep in her step than the night at the restaurant, but her skin tone was awful. I couldn't help but feel for her. Waiting to board our flight, Ivy broached the subject of Claire's childhood.
"Was she a happy child?" she trod carefully. "Did she need any special... did she need counseling?"
"No," I answered evenly. "She was only two years old when Carrissa came into her... our lives. She was too young to remember or to understand. I was a different story."
I had no idea why I'd said that. I'd promised myself time and again that I'd say as little as possible about my feelings in those dark days.
"Oh," she left it there and seemed to contemplate. It felt like things were going badly but I bit my tongue. It was her show and maybe, just maybe she'd call off the whole damned thing.
On the plane, Ivy dozed off almost immediately. I wondered how much of her fatigue was the disease and how much was the meds. Her face, relaxed in sleep, seemed younger. It was more familiar to me, like the times before she left. Then I thought about her and Frye and had the urge to strangle her quietly in flight. She'd meet a much more painful fate, I decided.
Ivy took a long time to get moving once the plane landed. That too, could have been the meds wearing off, or more likely her muscles betraying her. Betraying her... I thought.
I helped her to a seat at our gate, and she fished a pill box out of her purse. She seemed to double-check the plethora of pills before gulping them down.
"Sorry," she said. "I want to enjoy this." What Ivy didn't know was that I'd made a reservation at the very busy fine dining restaurant at the needle. If she wanted to unburden herself, she might as well get started that night.
On the cab ride from SeaTac, she had plenty of opportunities to talk, but she couldn't seem to find her voice. By the time we arrived, the sun was low in the winter sky. Ivy seemed fascinated with the structure. She touched the beams at the base. While those inside busied themselves in the gift shop, Ivy looked up and down and every which way. She amused me. I knew it was her first time there, but it was almost like she'd never been anywhere tall or marveled.
On the elevator ride, she held my arm tight and leaned into me for support. It wasn't endearment. I escorted her to the west-facing side of the building and we had to wait for a large group of tourists to take their photos.
"Are you alright?" I asked, genuinely concerned.
"There's a lot of... pain today," she grunted her response. "I'll be okay."
Finally seeing an opening at the rail, I directed her there, letting her use the barrier to hang onto. I expected her to want some pictures, maybe even one posing with me. I'd prepared for that but to my surprise, she just stood next to me and watched the sun go down.
"It's beautiful," she said in barely a whisper. She wasn't talking to me. She wasn't talking to herself or anyone. As I considered this first of her 'lasts,' emotion overtook me. I'd hated her for so long, I almost felt ashamed to have any compassion for her, whatsoever. There was guilt too. That was for the fleeting thought of how unfair it was that she'd survived my wonderful wife. Neither thing had anything to do with the other. Ivy took her right hand off the rail and put it on my forearm. Then she leaned her head into my shoulder, as the sun disappeared behind Puget Sound.
I finally understood at least one thing: Knowing her own fate, Ivy had no intention of asking permission - or worrying how something appeared. She waited a good five minutes after, taking in the colors and overtaking darkness of the December dusk.
Ivy turned slightly toward me and kissed that same shoulder she'd been leaning on. "Thank you for this." She told me. I waited until she turned away, before wiping a few tears from my eyes.
"Hey," I said as I once again let her grip my arm. "I've got a little surprise." Her face looked apprehensive at first. Then her eyes flew open wide, as I told her about dinner.
After making sure she was up to it, we made our way to the restaurant, and as I'd previously worked out, the host led us directly to the table. Ivy asked me for the time, and when I told her, she pulled her pill box out again and began the regimen.
The conversation was livelier but still forced. She wanted to know how my business had been built so well while taking care of Claire. I told her about my parents coming that first Christmas. She seemed to keep forgetting that Carrissa was in my life shortly after she'd left me.
"How long did you know?" it came out of the blue. I caught her eye immediately. "How long did you know about me and him, before I left?"
"I suspected," I took a deep breath and went on. "You weren't exactly hiding it - more like rubbing my face in it. I tried to... pretend it wasn't real."
Ivy nodded slowly, considering her next words. "That was guilt more than anything." She said it so nonchalantly I was taken aback.
"Not likely," was all I mustered.
"Yes," she said very quietly, probably not wanting to overexcite me in a crowded place. "I was very mixed up - maybe, no, probably - a very mixed-up monster. But I still knew right from wrong. You were my husband and I was supposed to be in love with you. We'd just had our first child together. Every time I tried to rationalize to myself, how fuc.. how screwed up I was, my thoughts just kept going back to him."
"Come on," I said with an edge. "We're here, on a bucket list expedition. You can at least humor me with a little honesty. In fact, I can't think of a single reason for you to lie or fib or bullshit me or yourself anymore. There's no point."
She knew I was referring to her impending demise. Her considerate face suddenly twisted up like she'd done a pickle shot. After a long moment, she surprised me.
"Yes," she said, "you're right. Some habits are hard to break, especially why the lie you keep telling is to yourself." She must have seen the change in my gaze. "Mark, please do me a favor. For whatever time we have together, please, when you see bullshit, call me on it. I should have talked to you... back then."
"Okay," I answered. "When did you decide to leave with him?"
That one surprised her. I wasn't going to be the only one.
"Frye found out about the tour four days before Christmas Eve. He asked me to come with him. He told me he loved me and we'd never be able to sort out our true feelings when I was spending an hour or two with him and then going home to my family. I decided the night before Christmas Eve. I was scared to death, but I had to know."
Of everything she'd said or admitted, the thing that struck me was her using his last name. It was out of place.
"Maybe it's time to call BS again," I said. "You were in love with him, long before you met me."
"No, Mark," she replied. "I was infatuated. He also scared me. There was an unspoken danger in him. I mistook that feeling for love."
"Fine," I was getting pissed. "You never came back. Would you care to explain that?"
"I will," she told me. "But not tonight."
We finished our meal in near silence. Ivy admitted that she used a private investigator to find Claire several years ago and would sometimes follow her just to watch her. I didn't know what to say to that either. The admission was borderline creepy.
Again, the car ride was stiff and light on conversation. She slept on the plane, and so did I. It had been an exhausting day for me.
Claire grilled me about our day and I found myself holding her at bay. I needed to process a lot of what I'd seen. Claire kept pushing. I did something I never thought I'd do.
"Claire, dammit," I lashed out. "Will you just let it go? I don't want to talk about it. I told you before, it might not go the way you thought. For fuck's sake, it's not your business anyway."
My daughter ended the call abruptly, but not before I heard her stifling a sob. Never once had I treated her in that manner. I apologized over and over, by text. She wouldn't take my call.
Honestly, I didn't know what to expect when I woke up on Christmas morning. I was certainly feeling sorry for myself and had no idea if I'd see my daughter and her husband. If not, it would be the first Christmas we were ever apart. I blamed Ivy for that too.
But at eleven-thirty, Claire walked through the door, just as happy as if nothing had happened between us. She ran to me and gave me a tight hug while exclaiming 'Merry Christmas!' She whispered 'Sorry, Dad' in my ear as Richard walked up for a group hug.
Right behind them stood Ivy, tentative and terse. "Merry Christmas, Ivy," I greeted her warmly. Her face lit up brighter than the Christmas tree and she stood there, arms open if I wanted to receive her offer. I hugged her, happy that I wasn't going to be alone on the special day. After the greetings, Ivy moved to the kitchen and looked to be getting the lay of the land. I gave her a questioning gaze.
"Claire told me we were having a ham for dinner," she said with more excitement than I expected. "What sides were you planning on?"
I looked at Claire, then back to Ivy. "Uh, mashed potatoes," I answered, "and peas." My ex came closer almost like she wanted another hug.
"Mark," she affably asked, "would you allow me to cook one last holiday meal?"
What is anyone supposed to say to that? "Of course," I stumbled a bit. "Uh... let me know what you need help with. We... Well, we can all help."
She looked a bit stung for a moment as if I was questioning her ability. But that changed right away when she realized I was simply being kind. At least kind enough to allow her control of my kitchen.
With that settled, Richard went out to the car and brought back several grocery bags. I helped unpack a plethora of sides and desserts that weren't on the menu. Based on our trip to Seattle, I didn't hold out much hope that Ivy would be able to pull it off. When I saw canned pumpkin for a pie, I was sure of it.
Ivy surprised us though. She battled through some obvious pain during the morning and afternoon and put herself into the preparation like it was the last meal she'd ever cook. Then it hit me. I spent a few emotional minutes hiding in the bathroom, trying to get myself together. Feeling sad for her, of all people, left me confused about myself - about my compass.
Just before serving, Ivy began to give in to her exhaustion. It was clear she was beyond frustrated by her limitations. I decided to insert myself to help but Claire gently touched my shoulder.
"Go keep Richard company, Dad," she half whispered. "I've got this."
Ivy took a long time to get herself squared away in the restroom. I became concerned enough to check on her, asking through the door.
"I'm fine, Mark," she said. "I'll be out in a minute."
Dinner was exquisite. She'd never prepared anything even close to that when we were married. "Wow, Ivy!" Claire complimented. "Where'd you learn to cook like this?"
My ex-wife seemed to ponder what to say or how. "After I left," she paused again. "Left Frye for good, I decided that I'd start doing things I was or always had been passionate about. I took two years of cooking classes, then two semesters at the local culinary school."
"You're very talented." I didn't know what else to say. It was too bad she was so accomplished now, at the end. Of course, I still didn't know when she left that asshole, or if he'd tossed her. That was not a conversation we'd have that night.
After cleaning up, we sat in the living room and Claire began distributing presents. The first she handed to me was a card. I had to wonder since it had always been a tradition for us to open gifts first and cards afterward. Within the heartfelt card was a black and white sonogram photo. I looked up at her quizzically.
"Yes, Daddy!" she squeaked in excitement, jumping onto my lap. "You're gonna be a grandpa!"
There was an uproar, and congratulations all around. I hadn't seen a smile like that appear on Ivy's face since a few months before she'd left.
When Claire got around to handing out Ivy's gifts, I felt a certain apprehension. Richard, being a handy fellow, and recently announced father, opened a $2500 gift card to Home Depot. He seemed to defer to me as if asking permission to accept it. I sat still.
Claire's gift was the one that broke the damn. There were two gifts, actually. The first was for one thousand dollars worth of diapers. Claire didn't seem to like that, but Ivy wouldn't be the first parent or grandparent to offer such a gift. When Claire discovered she still had one more to open, she glared at her mother. Inside was a felt box containing an Essential Tiffany necklace of Akoya Pearls, a piece of jewelry that cost somewhere between Twenty-five hundred and five thousand dollars.
"No, Mother," she stammered. "...Ivy. I can't... I can't accept this. It's too much." The words left unsaid spoke louder. Claire's love, respect, and forgiveness weren't for sale. Ivy understood right away, as a few tears slid down her cheek.
I'd had a thought about what kind of gift to give Ivy, ever since I'd permitted this little shindig to happen. The one I kept coming back to most, was the biggest chunk of coal I could get my hands on. I'd also thought about giving her absolutely nothing at all. But at that moment, I decided to offer up the one that landed somewhere between the fifth and tenth on my list. I excused myself to use the restroom, as the two women gently argued about the gift's merit.
I returned with a small, wrapped box and handed it to Ivy, interrupting the ongoing debate. She looked at me, stunned. The soon unwrapped box was quite recognizable to all. It was one that you might find in a game or novelty store. Ivy knew right away because the item was more from our generation than Claire's. It was an old game that lovers used to share after a wedding or on Valentine's Day. A bunch of coupons giving the other something of value - sometimes redeeming, sometimes sexual.
She looked at me with anticipation and fear in her eyes. She understood the contents could be good, or odd, or they could bring the celebration to a quick end. Tentatively, she removed the lid. Inside was a lone coupon. It read, "One free life mistake repellent. You are forgiven."
Ivy's eyes rolled up into her head. Both Claire and I closed the distance rapidly, with me getting there first. She didn't exactly faint, but she would have fallen off her chair without the intervention. Richard ran to the kitchen for a glass of water while Claire knelt in front of her mother asking if she was okay.
We didn't get around to Richard or my gifts for another thirty minutes.
>>>>
Claire embraced me at the rear of our car, bidding me farewell and a few other things. Richard had helped Ivy to the gangplank of the cruise ship and was waiting for the steward to return with a wheelchair.
"Try to have fun, Daddy," she said tenderly. "And, please, whatever happens, don't kill her." She gave a mock smile as she held my cheeks in both hands. I smiled back.
"No promises in that regard, sweetie," I half-joked, half cringed.
"Seriously, Dad," her smile dissipated. "There's not much point now." She was right of course. Ivy was in decline and we'd all seen it over the last week. Christmas Day had started for her with a burst of energy but had also taken a toll. She'd only had two days to recover before debarking on this journey if recovery was even an option at this point.
Ivy was given a free ride to our forward port bow suite, by the same steward. I guessed that in some way, Ivy wanted to look ahead, instead of looking behind her. In a few short weeks, she'd be embarking on a new journey, if one believed in that sort of thing.
After getting settled, I asked what she wanted to do.
"Can we tour the ship?" she asked. "And wave to the people at the dock as the ship pulls away?" Part of her reminded me of earlier happier days. Part of her reminded me of Claire when she was a little girl. When I offered her the chair, she immediately declined but I was prepared for that.
"The ship is as long as three football fields, Ivy," I scolded. "You want to have fun and see everything or do you want to stop for a break every ten minutes?"
She relented, hesitantly. I got the impression she wanted to hold my hand, rather than having me behind her, pushing. But push I did, for the next several hours. On the seniors' deck, she came out of the chair to play me in a game of shuffleboard.
Otherwise, it was a solemn and awkward day that rivaled our trip to the Space Needle. There was still an eight-hundred-pound gorilla looming over us. I tried pampering Ivy. Perhaps that isn't the right word. When we were on deck watching as the ship skirted the Canadian coastline, it began to snow. I worked to get my scarf off and wrap her for warmth. She vehemently told me to stop - that she didn't want it.
Other occurrences over the afternoon were akin to petulance. Childish outbursts. I was already beginning to curse myself for agreeing to accompany her.
We found ourselves at the first mate's table for dinner. Even with the money Ivy had retrieved from the asshole when she'd left, it didn't come close to gaining us a seat with the Captain. When Ivy ordered an after-dinner cocktail, along with the wine she'd consumed, I questioned if that was a good idea. The look I got along with the damned eye roll told me I'd overstepped and embarrassed her. She carried on with the couple to her right, ignoring me for the rest of the meal.
As people began to leave the table to dance, or explore, I asked, "Are we ready to go, Ivy?" She looked at me like I had two heads.
"What?" she asked a bit too loud. "No. The night's just getting started and I'm having fun."
The look, and the snarky reply, were almost forgotten memories from our past. They came back in spades, and my anger overtook me. "Well, don't you need your meds or something?" I grumbled.
"Or something?" She'd always argued by answering a question with a question. "If you want to be somewhere else, or uncomfortable here with me, you're free to go."
That was a new side of Ivy. I was taken aback and she picked up on it. "Mark," she said calmer, "You can stay or not. I'm having fun and I thought you were too. All day, you've been acting like a parent. A little drink after dinner isn't going to hurt me, with what I've got going on. Just relax."
I was angry enough to storm out, but I didn't want to make a scene. I scowled as I got up and left the table.
Our stateroom had two queen-sized beds. I got myself ready, but it was only ten o'clock, so I lay there thinking about how I was going to get through the next four days. The ship wasn't due back in port until late on the evening of New Year's Day.
Ivy was dying. Nothing was going to change that. I'd talked myself into the fact that she wanted my company so she could come clean about her misdeeds. Confess her sins. Now I saw that it was the same selfish Ivy, whooping it up with strangers instead of dealing with the important stuff. Just a bit ago, she'd dismissed me because I was trying to look out for her.
Well, fuck that, I thought. I could use the ship's size to my advantage for the next several days and she could find someone else to push her feeble ass around.
Somehow I was able to fall asleep. I didn't know how Ivy made it back to our room, but she was asleep in the bed next to mine when I awoke. By the time I'd done my three S's, she was up and sipping coffee in the living area. She was reading brochures about the ship's activities and looked up over its edge rather than meeting my eyes.
"Good morning," she said stoically when I didn't greet her first. "Are you still in a mood from last night?"
"You know what? Screw you Ivy," I couldn't hold back. "I try to be nice and it's the same old thing with you. I'm going to breakfast. You decide what you want to do for the rest of the day. I'm sure I can keep myself busy."
I walked out and headed to the buffet I'd read about before dozing off the previous night. I was halfway finished when I saw her wheeling herself into the room. One of the servers immediately went to offer help, and she scanned the room, finally pointing in my direction. He put her at the table left of me, and looked perplexed when I didn't stand or offer any kind of greeting.
"Mark," she looked pleadingly. "I'm sorry. My behavior was... loathsome last night. This morning, I was awful as well." I didn't say anything so she carried on. "I'm... trying to enjoy this. Originally, I expected I'd be traveling alone, so I'm trying to adjust."
"You asked me to accompany you, remember?" I asked sarcastically. "As far as your behavior, that's been a regular occurrence for the better part of twenty-five years. I expect it, I just no longer have to put up with it."
Ivy hung her head, then looked back up with a false bravado. "So, the piece of paper on Christmas? That's all it was, right, a gesture? You haven't truly forgiven me, have you?"
Before I could answer, Ivy continued. "This is going to be more difficult than I thought. I planned to have this conversation tomorrow night. Even to have it out with you, if need be. I wanted to do it right in the middle of our trip, so we could enjoy the first few days, and depending on how our talk went, maybe enjoy the last part too."
The gall of this woman. "Yeah, well, I wanted to win the lottery, be a four handicap on the golf course, and have a faithful wife. We don't always get what we want."
She rolled her eyes, which I was getting pretty sick of. "You had a faithful wife, and I'm sure she would have remained so if it hadn't been for fate. Your first wife was a fool, thinking she'd fallen for another man, or she'd have been the same. You've still got some of your best years ahead of you, so pay for golf lessons and buy a ticket more often." The bitch was going to play the death card.
"Alright, Ivy," a snarled through gritted teeth, "Enough of your damned self-righteous indignation. 'Poor Ivy' just like always. I know you're d... sick, but shit, you're always the victim."
Ahhh!" I shouted as I stood up and left her there. People all over the dining hall were looking at me and I didn't care one bit.
At about three o'clock, Ivy found me by one of the pools. Yet another ship's employee was pushing her chair. Watching her approach, I saw that she looked beat up from the street up. Even with the sun shining brightly through the glass-enclosed room, her skin had a grey hue. The cruise wasn't working out the way she'd figured. Too bad.
"May I sit with you?" she asked formally. When I nodded, she reached into her clutch and handed the man a hundred-dollar tip. She moved onto the lounge chair next to me and looked out of place without a swimsuit.
"Can I ask you a few questions?" She was being nice or cautious.
"Sure," I responded. Part of me was acting childish. Another was admonishing myself for coming on the trip. I was still angry with her after all this time had passed, deep down.
"What did you think when you got my note? The one saying I wouldn't be back?"
"It confirmed my suspicions," I said honestly. "You'd always been his, and you finally figured it out."
Ivy shook her head. "No, Mark, my fault," she said. "Not what did you think, but what did you feel?"
That was easy. I'd done the exercise dozens of times with my therapist. "Betrayed."
"If you thought I finally figured out that Frye was my true love, why were you surprised, betrayed?"
"Ah, I never said surprised, Ivy."
"I don't understand," she answered quickly. "If you felt betrayed by the announcement that I wasn't coming home, then that means you expected me back. That's why I said surprised."
I didn't want to have the conversation, but she wasn't going to leave me alone. I had no intention of hiding in a broom closet on a four-day Alaska cruise.
"Ivy," I sighed and took a deep breath. "I expected very little from you as soon as you started hanging out with his band. You were infatuated with him. I knew I was losing you. We had an infant. I had to put food on the table. I knew eventually you'd go to him. I never thought you'd just walk away, leaving your daughter. That was despicable."
She took that all in. "So, If I'd left with Claire, would you have fought for her? Fought harder for her than you did me?"
"Fuck off, Ivy." I spat. "I fought for you. I did."
"If I'd have come back like I originally intended to, would you have welcomed me back?"
"No," I told her. "No way. We'd have divorced, split custody."
"What happened to you, Mark?"
"What the fuck are you talking about, Ivy?" I was all worked up again. "Nothing happened. Everything happened. Be more specific."
"The one and only time," she said, "that I spoke to Carrissa, she... she said something that blew me away. She described you as cautious, timid, steady, and careful. It struck me that that wasn't the man I married. That wasn't you at all. So, what happened?"
"You fucking happened!" I needed to calm down.
Ivy nodded slowly in agreement as if those were the words she wanted to hear. I wasn't going to let that fly. "You ran off with your high school boyfriend. You didn't give a rat's ass about your husband or your daughter. You had the life you wanted with some egotistical prick and now you're rich and hey, you get to check out early with no regrets.
"I had to be the slow and steady turtle," I continued my rant. "So that I could take care of OUR daughter. So that I could take care of my new family. I didn't always get to do what I wanted to do, in fact, the opposite. Yeah, sometimes I hated you and envied you at the same time, but I'll still be the slow and steady turtle long after you're gone, so wipe that smug look off your face, darling."
The look did indeed disappear with that last comment. Good. It certainly didn't dissuade her.
"That's what I thought," she said. "And if I had to guess you leaned on Carrissa, just like she could lean on you. Then she was... just gone."
My need to discover where she was going overtook my desire to make her stop talking about my sweet, wonderful wife. She waited for me to counter but I didn't, so she kept at it.
"You did everything 'right.' In your mind, you were on the right track, and so was your life, until the accident. Is that correct?"
I didn't enthusiastically respond, but some of that was accurate. Instead, I slowly nodded.
"She left you, like I did, so..."
That was where it ended for me. "She was taken from me, unlike you. Don't you dare equate the two events. She never had any intention of leaving me."
"Then why are you still wrestling with it?" she jumped back in. "Everyone knows it was an accident. Maybe you played life safe for everyone else's benefit, but why haven't you moved on? What's holding you back?"
"I'm not..." my thoughts were all over the place. "I don't... I will move on, in my own time!" There.
No more words from Ivy. She just stared at me, waiting.
"I loved her," I was no longer in control. "I loved her more than anyone, ever. Shit. She was taken. I don't want another love. I don't want a girlfriend or a relationship. Relationship, hah! I'm clearly not meant for them. I lose every time."
Ivy was still just looking at me reflectively and she seemed more than content with that. The idea, let alone the reality that I'd opened up like I had was irritating.
"You wouldn't understand, Ivy." I remedied. "You got what you wanted, and the cream on top."
Finally, Ivy piped in. "Hardly. But we'll talk about that later. Tomorrow."
"Why tomorrow?" I demanded. "What's with all the cryptic bullshit? Maybe I don't care enough to hear it from you. Honestly, I just don't care period."
I got up and motioned for her to get in the chair. She didn't resist or make any snide comments. I could tell she wanted to stay. No, she just didn't want to go. Probably, she figured I was purposefully cutting into her fun.
Dinner was a quiet affair. She was lost in thought and so was I. Later, in our suite, Ivy seemed disoriented and weak. She asked me to help her into the shower and to stay in the bathroom until she was finished. Seeing her nude was a shock to me. Besides the obvious - disease - Ivy had several marks in many places on her body that weren't there when we were a couple. She was alert enough to notice me staring. I wanted to turn away but couldn't.
Later, I lay in bed trying to take inventory of what I'd seen. There were tattoos - I expected those - but the pockmarks and what looked like burn scars, those told a story of - what? Abuse? Self-deprecation? It made me wonder about her life after Claire and me, and if my assessment could be wrong.
In the morning, I found Ivy at the kitchenette counter, furiously writing. She gave me a distracted 'good morning.' I went to shower and when I came out dressed for the day, Ivy announced today's plan with a big smile on her face.
"Mark, we're getting off the ship in Vancouver," she pointed to her packed bags. I gazed at her, astounded.
"I want to explore," she continued. "The only time I've ever been there was a... let's just say, unpleasant experience."
"Why are you packed," I asked the obvious.
"We're spending New Year's Eve at a hotel downtown."
"Okay, but we're not going to be able to get a reservation," I honestly told her.
"That's already taken care of," she retorted. "Booked and paid for."
The whole thing scared me. She'd mentioned several times that she meant to explain... something big and she kept referencing this day.
"What are you doing, Ivy?" maybe she saw the concern I couldn't hide.
"We have a lot to do," she said as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "A lot to talk about, and to celebrate a new year. Come on, go pack, and let's get going."
I was skeptical, but I did as she asked. We debarked an hour later, without the help of a wheelchair. A taxi was waiting for us and we headed straight to our hotel - the Fairmont Pacific Rim.
Whatever she had planned, we'd be doing it in style. What surprised me most was Ivy's demeanor and energy level. It was like there was nothing wrong with her at all, and much different from the previous days. Hell, it was different from any day since I'd first seen her.
We hit the shops on the first and second floor, as she went on a spending spree. We also hit the high-end shops across the street.
"I'm getting Claire some things, and our grandson. Oh, and Richard. I think he's good for her." She told me when I asked what she was up to. I wouldn't allow her to buy me anything.
Later, at lunch, Ivy began to set the stage for our big talk. "Mark, I want you to know something."
I looked at her and stopped chewing. It seemed important for her to say.
"Of all the men... I've been with," she paused. "You're the only man I ever truly loved."
"All the men?" I guess I wasn't ready to address the other part of her statement. She understood and her sigh told me so.
"Yes," Ivy sat up straight like she was about to bare her very soul. "I stayed with Frye for almost six years. Six long years and I can't think of any reason I stayed as long as I did, except my foolish pride."
I raised an eyebrow waiting for her to continue. "He was abusive - physically and mentally - I think from almost the first week when I told you I wasn't coming home. He'd gotten what he wanted. It took me far too long to realize his true nature. I didn't want to see it."
"Is that where all those marks came from?" she already knew I'd seen them.
"My dear man," she snickered trying to hide her pain. "If I were to detail how I got those, you'd most certainly lose the one-hundred-fifty-dollar lunch you're eating."
I didn't budge, letting her comment roll off like Teflon. The question hung there.
"Not all," she seemed ashamed. "Frye's thing was mental abuse, reigning or lording over me, perhaps to prove he was something akin to my master. Before Claire even had her second birthday, I was already performing sexually for Frye and his so-called friends. Lots of it was disgusting enough that I won't share it. You think poorly enough of me already."
"What happened after you left him?" I was almost afraid to ask.
"Plenty of the same," she said it as if it was the most likely outcome. "The only people I knew were in the music business. Most were friendly with him or friends of his. Fire to the frying pan kind of shit. I had no support system. And honestly, I saw it as penance for what I did to you and Claire. Finally, and another six years down the drain, I met a woman who helped me get out. Helped me get my shit together. She got nothing out of it. Not money, or even sex. She helped me extort money from Frye. The legal system wouldn't have done a thing except take money I didn't have."
"I'm sorry," I stammered. "I... didn't know."
Strangely, Ivy burst out laughing. "Of course not!" she said loudly. "How would you have? You had our daughter. You had your wife and a son as well. Your job and a perfect family."
I realized the laughter was to mask her other feelings. She was... jealous.
"I used to dream," she changed the subject. "I mean, sometimes it was a dream, and I'm pretty sure others it was a hallucination when I was in a drug-induced stupor. Anyway, in my dream, I'd return home to you. Claire was always still around age one - just as I'd left her. You'd be waiting at our front door, not in our old place but in a newer bigger house. You had this smile on your face. Not a 'happy to see you' smile, but a knowing smile that said, 'told you so.' Every time, I'd be embarrassed for my behavior, but you'd still welcome me in."
"Why are you telling me this?" I had to know.
"That's easy," she giggled, "you're too kind of a man to ask. And because I told you from the start that I needed to unburden myself. In the grand scheme of things, it will do you better than me, I think."
I didn't have anything else to say just then. Maybe I was afraid to speak. The conflict was overwhelming. She'd gotten exactly what she deserved, and no part of me felt triumphant about it.
Ivy ordered a Crème Brulé for dessert. I was stuffed after the Dungeness crab salad and lobster bisque.
"Aren't you overdoing it a bit?" she knew what I meant.
"No," she stated. "Besides, what harm can come from it? I'm sitting here with you, enjoying the end of a year and the beginning of another. What little of it I get to see, that is."
Who was I to say? She took a bite and with an 'umm,' she continued her little unburdening.
"After I got out," she said. "Well, I spent most of my time trying to get well. First, I had to get clean. Clean and sober in my case meant checking into a rehab center, and the clean part meant getting my STDs under control and then cured. I spent a year there and it was a good thing Brianna, my friend, helped me get money out of Frye and the band because that place wasn't cheap."
She kept scooping at the velvety substance, so I waited. "After that," she looked up at me, "I became a recluse. I'd experienced every wild, outrageous thing I could ever imagine. Most of it was bad. The meds for the STDs had saved my life but had done a number on my immune system. That's not good when your family has a history of cancer."
She dug out the last remnants and savored it. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it."
Ivy told me a few more details that I asked her for. We sat in the restaurant long after we were finished. I expected her to get a nap in, so she could ring in the new year. Again, her stamina surprised me. Ivy wanted to go to the casino, saying she'd never been to one. I found that just about as odd as all the other revelations of the day.
When we arrived, Ivy handed me three hundred in cash and told me we were to be 'conservative' so we didn't run out. I told her that I thought she was rich. She laughed at me. "Not rich, Mark. Just well off."
We played the slots for two hours. She won three hundred and I had to laugh at the irony.
I don't like to dwell on the details of the rest of that night. We ate and danced, and we rang in the new year. We drank a toast to innocence, and we drank a toast to now. At midnight we sang Auld Lang Syne at the top of our lungs. Present company excluded; it was a wonderful distraction from what my life had become.
I expected I'd need to carry Ivy back up to our room, but she made it under her own power. I wondered if it was all muscle memory from her wild days.
We'd gotten into our respective beds, and I was lying there reflecting on the day when she climbed into my bed. Defensively, I scooted away, giving her a questioning look.
"Please, Mark," she said softly but with urgency. "I don't want anything except to cuddle. It's our last night and I want to fall asleep next to you - just one more time."
I relented. Why I'll never know. I had a hundred good reasons not to, and I was prepared to lay them all out for her. But I didn't.
In the morning, I woke before her and went quietly into the bathroom to do my morning business. After twenty-five minutes I came back out and saw her there still sleeping soundly. I was on my way to go make us some coffee when it hit me. A slight smell of urine.
I walked over to her side of the bed. The sheets and comforter were up to her neck. I carefully pulled them aside. As grey as her skin tone had been over the past month, the color I saw then scared me so much that my heart skipped several beats. Her face was cold to the touch.
I put my ear to her nose, even though I already knew what I wouldn't find. My fingers found no pulse.
The next several hours were a flurry of activity. Police, paramedics, the coroner. I was questioned, - hounded actually - until one of the officers found the information Ivy had written out in her purse. She explained her disease, gave her doctors' contact info, and explained we were on a last holiday to celebrate her life. That was a stretch, but she'd been clear that she knew she could pass on during our time together and that I was in no way responsible. After reading what she wrote, the attendants actually dressed Ivy, which blew me away. I didn't think that would have happened in the U.S. even with the note.
After Ivy was wheeled out on the gurney and the others left, I sat down on the sofa in an overwhelmed state and cried. Fucking Ivy, what a selfish bitch she was, right to the very end. Nothing like going out with a bang!
But then I thought about it, really thought. Why was I here? What was the point? Then I cried harder, for me. It dawned on me I'd been sitting there a long time. The clock said four in the afternoon. I had to call Claire. That conversation lasted another hour. The front desk hadn't even bothered me about checking out. Why would they?
I went through Ivy's purse as I'd already determined that she'd punched her own ticket. There was nothing there. But in her suitcase, I found the letter addressed to me.
Mark,
If you're reading this, then I guess I owe you yet another apology. It seems to be the story of my life. I'm sorry. Sorry for every single bit of it. You're the best man I've ever known, and unfortunately, I've known far too many.
Because of that, and for all I've done to shit on your life, I had to take a chance. Something good has to come from all the heartache I've caused, and the story should have some sort of happy ending.
That's why I asked you on the trip with me. You deserve a happy life. Despite what happened to Carrissa and all the other crap shoveled upon you. So, I took a chance. I did it for our daughter too.
Mark, Claire needs her father. You're what she has left, other than a fine husband. Our grandkids will need you too. Not half of you - rather all of you. They'll need exactly what Claire received. The best man in the world. You may not see yourself that way, but Claire and I do. No, she had no idea of my ulterior motives so don't blame her.
If I could have taken it all back and started again, I would have. I made so many horrible decisions and arguably paid the price. You have the rest of your life to live. Please don't dwell on what I've done. You lost a wife, but you also lost a partner and confidante. You had your rock and she was taken. Please find another rock. Don't bury yourself in a job you mostly do alone. Please don't be alone. You're not me, and you deserve better. To help a little, my will provides you the beneficiary of my two-point-five million dollars. I've left it to you alone to do as you see fit. I trust you to take care of Claire because you always have. Use some to help yourself too. Find something you're passionate about, and embrace it.
My eternal love,
Ivy
The snow came down thick and heavy the morning of Ivy's funeral and the dampness perpetuated our mood. I held Claire tightly as the reverend read the passages. Then Claire said a few kind words. We were the only attendees, and as we turned to make our way back home, the snow turned into rain.
Ivy had been successful in her mission. Claire and Richard had a beautiful son, Mark II, who looked an awful lot like Claire's mother. I took most of the money and with Claire's blessing, we started two foundations: one for battered women and another to legally assist and financially aid uninsured victims of vehicular accidents, which we named the Carrissa Sullivan Foundation. Brady moved back to the States and became the director of both. Even with the extra work we were all committed to spending more time together as a family.
By the time I reached age sixty-five, both of my children were married and I had four little grandkids to dote over.
Ivy had, in her final days and hours, embraced the concept of selflessly caring for others. She'd earned at least some redemption in my eyes and in Claire's. I'd never be completely sure if that was her plan, or if her true intent was to make amends by helping me past Carrissa's death. Either way, it worked.
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Posted on : Mar 31, 2025
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