It was close to a lake where gators sometimes roamed, and I had to always be careful there. I could never go past the fence in the backyard. Grandma would scold me.
My grandma didn’t have many neighbors close by. The closest was Mrs. Stevens, who was a little over half a mile away, and she was hard of hearing and much older.
They went to that house often to make it a home for us. For me. There was a long street in front of the house that led to the freeway, but not many cars took that road because of the cavernous potholes. Across the street was this really big Southern live oak tree. The same tree my parents hit.
The front of their car slammed right into the tree. They both went headfirst through the windshield, their bodies hanging out. I could picture all the blood, their mutilated faces. I always wondered why they didn’t pick up the phone—why Retta’s mom was so concerned about me that night.
I lowered my head, my throat thick with unshed emotion.
“Ivy, it was never my intention to hurt anyone. I was just trying to get to my doctor so I could get checked. I didn’t want to lose the baby because I had lost one already. It was with a guy I met before Corey, and it was the worst pain of my life. This was much, much worse, though,” she said, her voice thick. “Because of my recklessness, I killed two people, and because of the wreck, I lost the baby. There was no saving it. I suppose that was my punishment.”
I stared at the wineglasses.
“If—if you want, I can give you money. Just name your price and I’ll give it to you, but you have to promise to never say anything about this to anyone, and you have to agree to sign a confidentiality agreement.”
I stood up and knocked over the wineglasses and the bottle of wine. The burgundy liquid leaked on the cement ground, pooling around Lola’s feet, and she frowned down at it before focusing on me.
“Fuck you and your fucking money!” I snapped. “This is what you did with the detective too, right? Shoved your millions in his face? You’re such a fucking coward!”
I stormed through the house and through the corridor to get to the front door. Fuck her, Marriott. She can rot in hell.
As I stormed out, Georgia was coming from the driveway with brown paper bags of groceries in her arms. She seemed surprised to see me. I glared at her as I passed by, then snatched my car door open.
“Wait—Ivy!” Lola called, but I refused to let her catch up to me. I started the car and left, tires screeching along the cobblestones of the driveway.
So, this was the truth, Marriott. I knew it now. Lola had a miscarriage and it caused my parents’ death. Now I knew why the detective always used words like “accident” and “confidential.” I was right. She’d paid him to keep her name off the books.
Could I completely blame her for her pain? No, but she still covered it up. If it hadn’t been for some unknown person telling you Lola’s name, I never would have known it was her at all.
But . . . there were only two people who could have fed me Lola’s name. There was Corey, but if he’d known who I was from the start, he never would have slept with me, and considering how hooked on Lola he was, he wasn’t going to sabotage their marriage with this. It would have ruined him too.
That only left one other person.
The same person who’d informed Lola that I was relevant to her past, that I’d been snooping around in her office. Why else would Lola have dug for information about me? Georgia had facts about me. She had proof of some kind.
But why in the hell would Georgia, Lola’s household manager, do something like that?
PART THREE
THE PERFECT RUIN
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
GEORGIA
By now you know the truth, Ivy. You know I’m the one who got in touch with your therapist and told her to give you Lola’s name. You’re a smart girl. I was sure you’d figure it out.
Trust me, it wasn’t an easy choice. For starters, I didn’t trust you with that kind of information. I knew it could make or break me if you had the name. You were just a little girl. An angry, lonely, little girl. You’d made so many mistakes that it was almost sad to know you only made them because you grew up without parents.
What was with that boyfriend of yours anyway? Xavier. A drug-dealing hothead who had been arrested three times for possession. What did you see in him anyway? I’ve always wanted to know. He was six years older than you and lived in a shitty apartment, and you called his place home. You became obsessed with the idea of him, until you realized he was a no-good man. Just as you did Dr. Maxwell.