Their mother stepped outside. “My darling girls, welcome home,” she exclaimed, holding her arms open wide, her gold and silver bangle bracelets tinkling just as Ivy had remembered. Carlotta looked more vital and alive than Ivy had recalled.
Ivy glanced at Shelly, who’d noticed that, too, and looked smugly triumphant.
“Mom, you look gorgeous,” Shelly said. “New hairstyle?”
“And a week at the spa.” Carlotta shook her fluffy dark hair. Glossy silver streaks framed her face, giving her an elegant appearance. “I feel fabulous.”
Ivy was momentarily relieved. Carlotta Reina Bay was a woman who seemed to grow more striking with age. Ivy favored her mother with her petite frame and dark hair, while Shelly took after their father.
Their mother was descended from Spanish aristocrats who had once owned vast expanses of land in California before the state became part of the union. Carlotta carried herself with an air of authority. Even in a casual turquoise-and-white striped sundress and a chunky turquoise necklace, she looked as regal—and as fierce—as a queen.
As Carlotta observed the two of them, her smile waned. “What’s wrong? You both look angry. Come here and give me a hug.”
Ivy rushed to embrace her mother. “We’re just worn out, Mom. It’s been a long journey. Is everything okay? We came as fast as we could.”
Carlotta looked amused at her daughter’s worry. “Couldn’t be better, my dear. Come, your father’s waiting for you, too.” Carlotta turned, her skirts swishing around her slim, muscular calves.
Ivy followed her, not daring to look back at Shelly. This argument will blow over, she told herself, though she couldn’t help but wonder what Shelly had meant about Jeremy. An uneasy feeling pinched her neck. Did her sister know something she wasn’t telling her?
Carlotta led them through the spacious Mediterranean home that her parents had built shortly after their marriage and expanded as their family grew. Colorful, hand-embroidered pillows from Thailand punctuated long white sofas that rested on polished terra cotta tiles. Talavera Mexican pottery in deep blue hues, orchids in traditional Burmese pottery, and splashes of modern art blended to create a relaxed, comfortable atmosphere. The windows and doors stood open to the fresh ocean breezes.
Upbeat jazz piano music piped throughout the house. Ivy smiled in recognition. The recording was one of her father’s own private sessions. He’d sent an audio file to her, and she had it in her music collection on her phone and computer.
“You haven’t changed the house much,” Ivy said, noticing everything.
“Except for the photos,” their mother said, motioning toward a long hallway gallery where framed photographs and children’s artwork told the story of the Bay family. “Lots of new photos from your nieces and nephews.”
Ivy saw Shelly quickly glance away. Immediately, their silly argument diffused in her mind. What had they been thinking? She touched her sister’s shoulder. I’m sorry, she mouthed.
Shelly nodded. Me, too.
Carlotta led them to the rear patio, where the Pacific Ocean sparkled in the distance, and they had all gathered to watch sunsets and roast marshmallows over the years. Ivy folded back her sleeves, grateful for the sea breezes that cooled the hillside. The scent of honeysuckle from rambling vines mingled with those from orange blossoms, gardenia bushes, and Carlotta’s roses, perfuming the air with a mesmerizing mélange.
Gazing around the lush yard perched on a promontory, Ivy breathed in. She’d almost forgotten the intoxicating scents. These were the aromas of her childhood, imprinted on her olfactory memory. This is where Shelly had spent hours helping her mother plant and propagate all manner of plants.
“Hi, Dad,” Ivy called out.
Sterling Bay, a bear of a man with thick, steel-gray hair was at the barbecue pit assembling dishes for dinner.
Shelly raced toward their father, and he enveloped her in his arms.
“Two of my three favorite daughters,” he said, chuckling. “Good to have you back on the west coast.”
“Missed you a lot, Dad.” Ivy eased into his generous embrace.
“My darling Ivy,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Tell me, how’re you doing?”
She knew what he meant. She hadn’t seen her parents since Jeremy’s funeral. “Every day is a little better. Sometimes I have setbacks, but I’ve been making the necessary changes.”
“She made a huge decision today.” Shelly scooped up a slice of fresh zucchini from a platter of raw vegetables and bit into it. “I’ll let her tell you. I’m starving.”
“Tell us what?” Carlotta asked.
“It’s kind of a long story.” Ivy wondered where to start so she wouldn’t sound completely crazy.
Listening and waiting, Carlotta brushed a light veil of olive oil over the raw vegetables arranged in stainless barbeque mesh holders and finished them with a sprinkle of oregano from the herb garden. She handed the flat mesh holders to her husband, who positioned them over the flames with care.
When Ivy didn’t go on, her mother said, “I also made a lime-cilantro aioli for the veggies.”
Ivy peeked at the grill. Rosemary salmon and garlic shrimp were sizzling on the barbecue, sending out the most enticing aromas. With the three-hour time difference from the east coast, she realized they hadn’t eaten in hours. No wonder she and Shelly were hangry.
“Are you painting again?” Carlotta asked, her voice laced with hope.
“I’ve been teaching.” That’s a valid reason for not painting, Ivy thought. Yet it was still an excuse. After Jeremy died, she’d thought she’d lose herself in her painting, but instead, her creativity had been at an all-time low. She’d been so lethargic that she had barely picked up a brush except to instruct a student.
Her mother saw through her thin defense. “Find time for your own work, mija,” she said with a subtle nudge.
For years, Ivy’s mother and father had marketed the crafts of indigenous people from around the world—Asia, North and South America, Europe, Africa, Australia, New Zealand. As they traveled, they discovered new and traditional artists and connected them to their network of retail stores. Carlotta understood the artist’s journey.
Her father ignored her mother’s comment. Shifting the vegetables on flame, he asked, “So what
