Why did she have to sneak off like that, without giving Ivy a chance to go into town with her? Ivy would’ve appreciated a change of scenery, and maybe a chance to have a say in the grocery selection. She also could’ve dropped a few more hints about college tuition, and maybe helped the lady find a branch of her bank.
“I got some more food,” Mary Ellen announced, bursting in the front door with a bundle of grocery bags and a gust of freezing air. “Which is good, considering I got the car stuck.” She heaved the bags onto the kitchen table and shrugged off her coat. “I left early…didn’t want to wake you. I hope you weren’t worried.”
“I would’ve liked to go.”
“Oh.” Mary Ellen pulled out a can of beans and set it on the counter. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d rather sleep. I had to do some work stuff, make some phone calls.” Her face clouded, and she continued putting away groceries. “Oh, and! Don’t worry… I remembered what you said last night.”
“You did?”
Mary Ellen pulled a package of ground beef out of a bag. “Chili! I’m going to show you how to make it.”
“Oh.” Ivy went over to the sofa and sat down.
“No better time than a snowstorm, right? Snow always makes me want to cook something in a big pot. Chili…beef burgundy…coq au vin.” The lady started humming. Ivy didn’t know what she had to be so cheerful about.
“Is anyone going to come plow the driveway?” Ivy asked.
“Um.” The lady had her head in a cabinet. She stayed that way for a moment, tapping the door with her fingers. “I think I have that set up, yes. They’re supposed to come after a big snow. But they’re a little flaky, so we’ll see.” She slammed the cabinet shut and started folding paper bags.
“’Cause if they don’t, you know, we’re going to be here till March.”
“Don’t worry. My car can get up that hill. We just have to dig it out of that drift is all.”
We? Mario Andretti here buried her car up to its tailpipe, and now Ivy was supposed to dig it out? With her hands? “There’s no shovel, you know.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I have one around here—”
“No, you don’t. You don’t come here in the winter. Remember?”
Mary Ellen stared at Ivy for a second, working her jaw back and forth, then pressed her mouth into a smile. “We’ll figure something out. Are you worried? We have plenty of food.”
“No.” Ivy sighed. “I just don’t like feeling trapped.”
“Well, I think it’s kind of cozy. When you’re nice and warm inside, watching the snow fall, good smells coming out of the kitchen. You don’t have to go anywhere or do anything because, well, you can’t.”
Don’t roll your eyes, Ivy commanded herself. Do not. Roll. Your eyes.
Mary Ellen picked up her purse and a pile of books and came to sit on the sofa opposite Ivy. “So,” she said.
“So.”
“I was thinking about what you said last night.”
“About the chili?”
“No.” Mary Ellen smiled, crinkling her eyes. “About how everyone needs help along the way as they go after what they want. Especially if they’re taking the, you know, less-traveled path. It’s hard to do it all on your own. I realize that.” She clapped her hands on the tops of her thighs. “So if it’s all right with you, I’d like to be there for you. As a mentor. Not just now, but later. While you’re in college, and maybe afterward too? I’d like to stay in touch and, you know, offer my help along the way.”
“Oh,” Ivy said, feeling a dumb, surprised smile tug at her mouth. “Wow. Thank you. That would be amazing.”
Mary Ellen opened her purse. “Wonderful.” She put her hand inside her purse and drew a deep breath like she was nervous or excited or something. “So I have something for you.”
Ivy sat up. Okay. Maybe she’d have to endure another couple of days imprisoned with a crazy lady, but it would be easier knowing she had enough money to get to Montana when she finally got out. Way easier.
Mary Ellen pulled something out and laid it on the coffee table in front of Ivy. Ivy leaned forward. It was a leather book and a black box. She waited for the lady to pull out an envelope too, but that didn’t happen, so she picked up the black box and opened it. A pen. She picked up the book and flipped through the pages, but there was nothing tucked inside.
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
Ivy went back to the first page and skimmed the inscription, then closed the book and set it down on the table. “Was there…anything else?”
“What do you mean? It’s a gift. I saw it and thought of you. I wanted you to have it. I also got you these books from the library. They’re plays. See? Arthur Miller, Tennessee Williams…”
It was coming on now. Ivy could feel it—that familiar squeeze, like there was a locked seat belt crushing her chest, tightening its grip every time she tried to move. No way out, no way forward, just glass and snow and the suffocating weight of this lady’s need, her hot, hopeful breath and hungry, empty eyes looking at her like she wanted to swallow her whole. A mentor. Fuck. A mentor and an empty book. How far would that get her? About as far as the front door. About as far as the car that was stuck in a snowdrift and probably would be till March. She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest was too tight.
“Who—”
“Yes?”
Ivy gripped her knees. “Who are you?”
Mary Ellen blinked at her, still smiling. “What?”
“Whose house is this?”
“It’s mine, of course. I don’t know what you—”
“No, no, no, stop that. I don’t want to do this anymore. I know this isn’t your
