“Ivy’s gone.”
Alex blinked at me for a second. Then her brain processed what I’d said. “Oh. Oh, Celia … Oh, God. I’m so sorry. What … how?” The hard professional veneer cracked a little, giving me a glimpse of the much more honest, and vulnerable, woman beneath.
“I had a breakthrough in therapy. I finally accepted that what happened wasn’t my fault. Apparently that’s what she was waiting for.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded, suddenly unable to speak because of the lump in my throat. My vision blurred with tears. I closed my eyes, trying hard to breathe evenly, to not sob, and felt Alex’s arms around me.
“I know you miss her, and how much it hurts. But it’s better for her.”
I nodded, unable to say a word, and took comfort from one of the toughest women I’ve ever known.
5
Gran called later that morning, before she went to church. When I told her about Ivy, she was thrilled. She’s a true believer. It really bothered her that her sweet granddaughter hadn’t been able to go to heaven when she’d died. Gran believed to the depths of her soul that Ivy was finally exactly where she should be. She had me repeat the details over and over again, reveling in the description, taking comfort in the fact that it supported her own beliefs.
I was glad she took it so well. Knowing that Gran really believed Ivy was in a better, happier place made the situation easier for me. I felt … not great, but much better. Right up until Gran asked the question I’d most been dreading.
“Have you told your mother?”
Oh, crap. “No.”
For a long moment Gran didn’t say anything. I knew she was still on the line only because I could hear her breathing. Then, “She deserves to know.” There was no judgment or accusation in her tone, which surprised me.
Normally Gran vigorously leaps to Mom’s defense if there’s even a hint of a problem—a mama bear protecting her cub. Not this time. I wasn’t sorry. But it wasn’t normal, and I wondered what was wrong. “Gran, are you okay?”
There was a long pause, and I wished I could see her, especially because her voice didn’t sound quite right when she spoke again. There was something false about her tone, though I knew she was speaking out of genuine concern.
“I’m fine, dear. How are you doing? You and your sister have always been close, even after she died.”
“It’s hard,” I admitted, wondering why Gran hadn’t pursued the topic of my mom. “I miss Ivy, but I know it’s for the best.” I sighed. I knew what I had to say next, even though I didn’t want to. “I know I’ve got to tell Mom. I just thought it might be best to tell her tomorrow, during the session.” I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping that my Gran would volunteer to talk to my mother.
She didn’t.
“That makes sense,” she said, still in that slightly fake voice. “It would be better in person, but a video conference is better than just a call, and her therapist will be right there if there’s a problem.”
Oh, there’d be a problem. I’d bet the bank on that. Gran was right about having the therapist handy, too. At least with Mom being in prison I wouldn’t have to worry about her using this as an excuse to go on another bender. But hearing Gran say it, and hearing the way she said it, caused another little shiver of premonition. “Gran, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, dear,” she said again. “I’ve just had a bit of a shock.”
Well, I suppose my news was shocking. After all, Ivy had been a ghost for a very long time. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Don’t you worry about me. You just take care of yourself.”
Now she sounded more like her usual self. My gran always worried about everyone else and didn’t take enough care of herself. “If you say so.” My voice was clearly doubting.
“I do,” she answered firmly.
We ended the conversation by telling each other “I love you.” I hung up the phone feeling the odd mixture of relief and apprehension that was so familiar when I dealt with my family.
I shook my head. Gran said she was fine. And while she might lie to me about it over the phone, once I saw her in front of the camera, I’d be able to tell what was really going on. In the meantime, I needed to hustle and get ready for my brunch date with my boyfriend.
I’d been dating Bruno DeLuca exclusively for months. We had an extensive past; we’d even been engaged back in college, and we’d dated a lot, on and off, since then. He was smart, handsome, and one of the most talented mages around. When things were good between us, they were amazing. Unfortunately, things had been a little rocky lately. I hadn’t seen Bruno in days, hadn’t done more than text him a couple of times.
He was busy finishing his research and getting course materials ready for the classes he was teaching at the university in the fall, but that didn’t keep me from feeling just a wee bit neglected. Stupid, really. I’d been too busy myself to spend much time with him. But I’m willing to admit that logic and emotion don’t always coexist happily in my life. I wanted to talk to Bruno, to tell him about Ivy and to get his take on the situation with Chris and Dawna. Neither subject was exactly “text” material. I also wanted to be reassured about the upcoming family therapy session. I know it sounds needy, but everybody needs support sometimes, and I wanted his.
We had reservations at one of the nicest restaurants in the area. Antoine’s sits perched at the top of a steep cliff and has a wall of windows overlooking the ocean. The food is ridiculously expensive, but the view almost makes up for it.
It’s next to impossible to get a reservation there, particularly for Sunday brunch. We managed only because I knew the owner and chef. Once upon a time he’d worked in the kitchen at Birchwoods. He’d considered my condition the ultimate challenge. The Belgian waffles he made—which he somehow designed to go through a blender while maintaining their identity—were one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. I’d experienced his cooking again when he’d worked at a restaurant in L.A. Now he had his own place, and I couldn’t wait to see what he’d done with it.
I wanted to look my absolute best, so I spent a couple of minutes staring into my closet. There’s a fine line between being overdressed and underdressed. I finally decided on a short burgundy dress with a sweetheart neckline. The color was dark as a fine wine and looked great against the paleness of my skin. A short black jacket, black pumps, and a black picture hat would complete the ensemble. I kept my makeup understated, pulled my hair into a tight bun, and finished with garnet stud earrings.
I looked good, really good—elegant yet not overdone. Yeah, the hat was a bit much, but I needed to keep my face out of the sun. With the big sunglasses it gave me some old-Hollywood glamour, or at least that’s what I told myself.
So it’s no surprise that I was hurt and just a little annoyed when Bruno barely glanced at me when he arrived.
He wore a charcoal gray suit with a silver shirt and a black-and-silver-striped tie. The suit was expensive and tailored to fit him perfectly, showing off his athletic build to the best advantage. He’d cut his hair again. It was a little shorter than I like it, with just a hint of curl and a tiny dusting of silver at the temples. The only thing ruining his look was the sour expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as I let myself into the car. Normally he gets out and opens the car door for me. Not today.
“Nothing,” I lied.
I’ll give Bruno this, he’s not stupid. He turned to give me the look that that particular comment deserved, and finally,
I raised an eyebrow at that, high enough he could even see it over the sunglasses, but didn’t say a
