Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“No. She wasn’t always schizophrenic. We met as teenagers. She was...” I hesitated to use the word normal and looked over at Ivy’s red curls—the one constant—sprawled across the pillow. “She was vibrant, happy then.”
Marisol continued to look at me as if she was expecting me to continue, but I didn’t. I just kept looking at Ivy sleeping.
“So, when did things change?”
“When she was about nineteen, about six months after we got married. Over the years, she’s gotten progressively worse.”
“This must be really hard for you.”
I really didn’t want to be having this conversation with a stranger. Did this chick really think I was going to get into this stuff with her? Of course, it’s been fucking hard for me! She couldn’t begin to understand the road that Ivy and I had been on over the past six years.
“We have our days,” I simply said dismissively.
“Well, she’s lucky to have you.”
I didn’t even know how to respond to that, so I didn’t.
She continued standing there, clearly unable to read my rigid body language. Then, I could sense her eyes lingering on me and when I looked over at her, she was staring at the tattoos on my arms. She looked up at me with a look I recognized all too well. “I hope you don’t mind my asking. Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Why would you ask me that?” I snapped.
“I’m sorry…it’s just…you’re a very attractive man and clearly a good guy. I just figured…maybe you get lonely. I’m getting off work in fifteen minutes. Would you want to go get something to eat?”
She had to be fucking kidding me.
“No. I have a train to catch.”
“A train? Where are you going?”
My responses were getting terser by the second. “New York.”
“On a trip?”
“No.”
“Wha—”
“With all due respect, aren’t you supposed to be working? I’d be willing to bet coming onto a resident’s husband is not in your job description.”
Marisol walked out without further questioning. I hadn’t meant to be that harsh, but she deserved it for treating Ivy like that. Sure, I lived a separate life outside of my marriage and dealt with that guilt. But this girl had no right to make assumptions about the nature of that relationship and to disrespect Ivy right under her nose. Ivy shouldn’t have been looked after by people that would take advantage of her so easily.
I felt my heart clench.
Ivy rustled in her sheets as she started to wake up. She leaned up against the headboard and grabbed a cigarette. Her chain smoking had gotten worse over the years. She got up and stood right under the clock on the wall, looking up at it without acknowledging me. She liked to watch the hand go by.
I walked over to her and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Baby girl, I have to leave. I was just waiting for you to wake up so I could say goodbye.”
She blew smoke in my face and said, “Don’t come back, Sam.”
Sometimes, she called me Sam. I had no idea why.
I’ll always come back, Ivy…even when you don’t know who I am.
On my way out, I demanded to see the house manager to request that Marisol never work with Ivy again. Since I couldn’t be here during the week, I needed to be able to trust in the people handling her care.
The blast of cold air outside was a stark contrast to the stagnant air in the group home. I hopped a bus to the Amtrak station and boarded the last train to Manhattan.
During the ride, guilt set in because with every mile closer to my destination, I felt a familiar relief, anticipating the reprieve that the work week always brought. When it came down to it, though, I was trading one place of emptiness for another.
***
When I approached the entrance to our building on Lincoln Street in Brooklyn, she was staring out the window as she often did late at night. It was like Rapunzel waiting in the wings, except instead of long hair, she wore a scarf tied around her head, and instead of a loving gaze, she gave me the stink eye.
I waved as I always did to mess with her. I knew she wasn’t going to wave back, and I knew what was coming.
In her strong Jamaican accent that had become like music to my ears, she said, “Go fuck yourself!”
Right on cue.
I smiled. “Fuck you too, Mrs. Ballsworthy.” I meant it in the nicest of ways, and that exchange with my neighbor was always oddly comforting.
Walking up the stairs to my apartment, I shook my head in laughter and repeated to myself, “Fuck you, too.”
Yup. I was home.
CHAPTER 3
Past
Desiree brushed her ass up against me and curled into my pillow. She wanted to cuddle. That meant I needed to get her out of my room as fast as possible.