18
“Good morning, Meryl.”
“Mornin’, hun.”
I brush past her and unload my bag into my locker, then reach for the last shift’s notes.
“Or should I say...morning, Registered Nurse!” She pops out a noise maker and blows in it, then tosses some stringy paper confetti at me. I laugh and blindly grab at my head to remove it from my hair.
“Not an RN yet, Meryl. Still have to pass the licensure exam.” I uncap my five-hour energy and drink it, then check to make sure I brought a second one. I’m going to need it.
“Honey, you got that exam in the bag,” she tells me with a grin. “The real question is, are you going to stay here with us, or are you going to leave us?”
“If Harvest View will pay me what I’m worth, I’d happily stay,” I tell her honestly, and she rolls her eyes. We both know that’s a long shot. I think my next step is to get a job at Indianapolis General.
“You should be more spunky,” Meryl muses, eyeing me suspiciously. “Where’s that smile you’d been sporting? The pep in your step? It was here a few weeks ago and then, poof, it’s gone.”
I avert my eyes and shrug. “Just tired I guess.”
Just tired and not at all heartbroken.
But just like with my bitter, creamer-less coffee, I choke it down and hope that eventually, I’ll adjust to the new pain in my chest. I worry that ignoring it won’t make it go away.
“Well, there is a light at the end of this tunnel, hun.” She places a hand on my shoulder and pats gently. “After that licensure exam, you’ll get some time to breathe.”
Right. Time to breathe.
I wish I could say that I’m successfully moving forward, putting one foot in front of the other, and not stressing over what’s behind me. But if I said that, I’d be a liar.
I check Jesse’s social media every night. In the last few weeks since he’s moved, he has posted a couple pictures of Boston and one of him in a pub with a group of people that aren’t Ivy, Kelly, Bailey, or Riggs. He seems happy. Or as happy as one can seem in a filtered, square photo posted on the internet.
I tell myself I want him to be happy. I tell myself this is for the best.
But I also tell myself I’m full of crap because a part of me hopes he’s feeling even a fraction of what I’m feeling. If he feels what I feel, then at least I know it was real, even if it didn’t last.
I zombie through my shift.
New patients. Old patients. Small talk. Biohazardous materials.
Just another day in the life.
I miss him. I miss him terribly. But I have to focus on what’s in front of me.
After work, I put on the playlist I’ve created of my new favorite songs. Some are from Jesse’s mix, yeah, but most are from my own searching, and all have been approved by me.
It feels good. I roll the windows down and let the summer air kick around my hair. I turn the volume up. I sing along. I do my best not to dwell on the fact that tonight, after I’ve tucked my kids into bed, I’ll hold my breath as I open social media and search his name, and I won’t exhale until I see that there isn’t a picture that tells me he’s replaced me.
I don’t want to think of how I will feel on the inevitable day that I do see that picture.
I pick the kids up from their YWCA summer program, and we swing through a drive-thru for dinner because I’m exhausted and don’t feel like cooking. I set the kids up in the kitchen with their dinner and start on a load of laundry when there is a knock at the door.
“Ivy,” I say with surprise as I open the door. My stomach twists. “Is everything okay? Is Jesse—”
“Everything is fine,” she says quickly. “Sorry for worrying you. I just wanted to stop by and give you something.”
“Oh.” I stand up straighter. “Sure.”
I’m about to move to the side and let her in, but she holds out her hand and gives me a business card. I take it and flip it over. It’s for Pierce, Pierce & Associates, a law firm in downtown Indianapolis. I look it over, then raise an eyebrow at her.
“Forgive me ahead of time, Joss, because I might cross a few lines here,” she says with a small laugh. “I’ve come to consider you a friend. No matter what went down with you and J, I like you. We all do. You and the kids.” She takes a deep breath, her kind eyes never leaving mine. “If you ever want to take legal action against your ex-husband and secure a custody settlement that is in the best interest of you and your kids, I know the family practice lawyer at Pierce, Pierce & Associates would be willing to help you.”
I shake my head. “Did Jesse—”
“Jesse didn’t say anything,” she rushes out. “I promise. He doesn’t like your ex, but the rest...Well, I pay attention, I guess. And I made an assumption. Like I said, I’m probably crossing some lines.”
“No,” I assure her. “No, it’s fine.” I hold my hand out to give back the card. “But I couldn’t afford PP&A during the divorce. I probably can’t now. I’m still waiting to hear back from my lawyer.”
I called him last week. Twice. He hasn’t gotten back to me yet, but I’m determined to see this through. Patrick has crossed too many lines, and I’m not going to sit by and watch him destroy everything I love any longer. I can’t. I will not lose my children. I’ve managed to make up excuses to keep the kids from going to Patrick’s since the drunk driving incident, but I know, without legal representation, I won’t be able to hold out much longer.
“PP&A has income-based fees. And since you are friends with Kelley, I know Christina will take your case.”
“Kelley?”
“His mom is Christina Pierce,” she clarifies. “PP&A is his parents’ law firm. It’s where I intern. At least until I move to Chicago for law school.”
I stare at the business card. It’s heavy and embossed. It feels expensive. Pierce, Pierce & Associates is one of the best law firms in the state. I glance back at Ivy.
“Thank you,” I tell her honestly. “I’ll give them a call tomorrow.”
“I’ll tell Ms. Pierce.”
Somehow, her smile is both kind and professional, and it puts me at ease in an instant. When she leaves, I put the business card on the fridge with a magnet and go about the rest of my evening. It’s hard to feel hopeful about anything right now, but I’ll call tomorrow. It has to be done, and I’m harnessing every ounce of courage in my body so I can see it through.
Patrick Thompson’s reign of terror needs to end. He’s done enough damage.
He will not win. Not again.
* * *