The Truest Thing - Hart's Boardwalk

“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.

“He … once he locked me in our walk-in closet for nearly two days. I tried to find a way out but I … I pissed my own pants.” Bitterness curdled the last few words and my tears escaped, hearing the humiliation in them. “Another time, I wanted to leave this party we were at because he kept flirting with this twenty-year-old actress right in front of me. He dragged me into a bathroom and held a paring knife he’d found in the kitchen to my throat. He told me that the next time I made a scene, he’d take me home and hold a knife at my throat while he ‘showed me the only thing I was good for.’” She released a breath and it shook so badly, it almost felt like the porch trembled with the force of it.

“You know, he was actually nicer to me when he was high. You ever heard of the like?” Her dark eyes found mine. “I stayed in that nightmare, cutting out my mom and dad, because I was ashamed I’d let myself get into that mess. And I didn’t want my mom to know.” With an abruptness that shouldn’t have startled me but did, Ivy bowed her head and sobbed into her hands.

Crying silently for her, I got out of my chair and lowered to my haunches, my arms sliding around her. I pulled her into me. Ivy didn’t resist. She let me take her weight and her pain.

29

Emery

“Bailey will be so pissed I told you first,” Ivy said wryly as she sipped at a fresh mug of coffee.

It was awhile after her confession and the tears that had followed. She’d gone inside to clean up while I made her a fresh pot and tried to push down the rage I felt toward a dead man.

I chuckled at the idea of Bailey finding out Ivy had confided in me first. “Yeah.”

“I just feel like I can trust you. Not that I can’t trust Bailey, but … timing is everything, I guess.”

“You can trust me,” I promised her.

She nodded.

“Ivy, you need to tell your parents. They know and suspect something like this anyway … and they would never be ashamed of you. He did what all abusers do. He made you feel you were to blame for his actions. But you aren’t.”

“I know that,” Ivy whispered. “Deep down, I know that. I knew it while he was doing it. I … just … I was planning to get away.” She glared at me. “Believe me. I planned that shit every day for two years.”

“I do believe you. Ivy, do you know how many good, strong women are victims of domestic abuse each year in this country? The statistics are frightening. You are not alone.”

“I’m not strong.”

“You bashed a gunman over the head with an Academy Award statuette to protect Dahlia. If that isn’t badass, I don’t know what is.”

Ivy grinned, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That was pretty badass. Is it wrong that that’s what I think of now when I look at it instead of the screenplay I won it for?”