The most I’d seen of her in the last few years had been in glossy magazines and online tabloids. She’d met Oliver Frost when he came on board to direct her screenplay about a couple whose daughter had been abducted. It was a thriller. I’d seen it—it was clever.
Anyway, they both were nominated for an Oscar, and while Frost had lost out to another director, Ivy had won the Academy Award for Best Screenplay. I’d never seen Iris and Ira so proud as they were when she won.
So yeah, Ivy was the most stylish, glamorous person I knew.
Or she used to be.
Her dark hair was piled in a messy knot on top of her head. She wore no makeup and had dark circles under her eyes. Her cheeks were wan, she’d lost weight her slender figure couldn’t afford to lose, and the sweater and sweatpants she wore were hanging off her.
There was also a ketchup stain on the sweater.
This was not good. No wonder Bailey was so worried about her. Yes, her fiancé had overdosed. It was tragic. Awful. Horrific, really. But this seemed like more than grief. This was like …
It was like she’d given up.
That was scary considering what I knew of Ivy, she was sassy, smart, talented, and ambitious. Bailey, who was the most energetic person I’d ever met, had found it hard to keep up with Ivy.
Iris and Ira watched their daughter with worried frowns.
“How are you?” I asked.
Ivy flicked me a dull look. “Fine.” She turned to her parents. “I’ll be inside unpacking.”
I was ashamed to admit I relaxed as soon as she disappeared into the apartment.
“Sorry …” Iris’s voice lowered. “She’s still trying to pick herself up.”
“Well …” I searched for something positive to say. “She’s moving into her own apartment. That’s progress.”
“We wanted her to stay with us,” Iris said, scowling. “She insisted on getting her own place.”
“I still think it’s a good thing.”
“It’s on the edge of town. It’s a fifteen-minute drive.”
“That’s not too far.”
“At least you’re here, Dahlia.” Ira pinned me with his concerned dad stare. “You’ll watch out for her, won’t you?”
“Of course,” I responded, even though I was intimidated by the level of depressed Ivy seemed to have reached. It reminded me so much of how low I once got. However, Bailey would be ecstatic that her old friend was living in my apartment building, so I’d do what I could. For Iris, Ira, and for Bailey. “I’ll watch out for her.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Ira gave me a genuine smile. “You off to the carnival?”
“Yes. Will I see you there?”
“If we talk the Walking Dead into coming with us,” Iris quipped.
“Iris,” Ira admonished.
His wife pulled a face and stepped into the apartment, calling goodbye over her shoulder.
“She’s just worried,” Ira said. “Honest.”
“Ira, I’ve known Iris a long time. I know she’s especially sarcastic when she’s feeling something deep. It’ll get better. Ivy will come out of this.”
He nodded, but there was a bleakness in his eyes I hated to see. I sucked in a breath and released it shakily as I opted to share something I usually wouldn’t. “A long time ago, I went through something. People who cared about me thought I’d never come out of it. But I did. It takes time.”
He gave me a grateful nod. “Thank you, sweetheart.”