The Truest Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 4)

Dana, the cheater.

Sadie Thomas, who slept around. A lot. Not that I judged. But I judged her judging me when she was used to people talking about her and knew it wasn’t nice or fun.

And Ellen Luther, whom I’d always thought better of.

But people liked their gossip.

I stared at every single one of them with a disdainful disappointment I’d learned from my grandmother until even Dana squirmed.

Without a word, I turned on my heel, dumped my basket at the door, and left Lanson’s.

By the time I got to Ivy’s, I was worried I needed her support as much as she needed mine.

“Em?” Ivy opened the door, looking a lot brighter than I’d expected considering her mournful tone on the phone. “Are you okay?”

“That’s what I came to ask you.”

Ivy scrutinized me for a second and stepped aside to gesture me into her home. “What happened?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her. To let it all burst out. But I was afraid if I did, I would cry, and those awful women didn’t deserve my tears. Instead, I focused on the original purpose of my visit. “I’m worried about you.”

“Em—”

“What did you mean? About Jeff not deserving you … about a rotten man, doing awful things?”

She exhaled shakily. “Shit.”

“Ivy?”

“Coffee?”

“Ivy—”

“I’m not deflecting. I just need more coffee.”

“I’ll have water.” I made a sad face and pointed to my stomach. “I’m only allowed so much caffeine now.”

She gave me a commiserating smile. “Right.”

Not too long later, we settled on her porch, overlooking the lake, coffee and water in hand, eating leftover pastries that Jeff had brought over the day before.

I waited patiently for her to speak first.

Finally, while I was halfway through a cinnamon bun, she spoke. “I haven’t told anyone this. I wasn’t even sure I could.”

I noted her coffee mug tremble and felt a lurch of aching empathy in my chest. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

“When I got off the phone with you, I realized I’d said to you out loud what I’ve been telling myself for years. And I’ve been telling myself those things because it’s the things he used to tell me. And yet, I know deep down I don’t believe them.” Something like loathing filled her eyes before she glanced away. “‘You’re worthless, Ivy. What would you be without me? No one would care about you. I made you. I can unmake you. You don’t deserve me. I could have anyone.’” Her words gathered more anger as she spewed out what I suspected was the abuse she’d received from Oliver. “‘Don’t even think of fucking leaving me. No one leaves me. I’ll fucking kill you before you leave me.’”

Tears built in my throat and stung my eyes. “Ivy.”

Hearing the choked way I said her name, her head whipped to me. “Don’t cry for me, Em. I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m Iris and Ira Green’s kid. Can you, in any stretch of the imagination, imagine my mom putting up with that shit?”

No. But many women did. “You were scared,” I guessed.