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IVY
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A WEEK AFTER DAVID heads home, I hear a knock on my door. I don’t think about it, but when I see a grown-up fifty-seven-year-old Scott on the other side, my eyes go wide. He looks so much like his dad and what I picture his dad to look like at that age. Not to mention, he’s well known in this town for all his charity work.
“Scott.” I smile and watch him force a smile. I can tell he’s uncomfortable. Heck, so am I now. “Come in, let’s sit.”
He’s quiet for a minute before he speaks. “What’s your name?”
I’m shocked for a minute because I had assumed he knew. “Ivy.”
I watch him nod, then he holds out a piece of paper. “This was left by my dad in his trust for me. I got it just over a week ago.”
I take the letter and read it. It’s just like David has said—he gave the items to my grandparents as thanks for everything they did for him. They were passed down to their only living relative, their granddaughter, me. There is a whole section about how to handle the purchase, so it keeps my family and me out of it, and money has already been set aside for the purchase. There is even a section stating that I am to keep the footlocker and instructions on what to do if at any time I wish to sell it to the museum.
By the time I am done reading the letter, I have tears running down my face. I run a hand over the letter, handwritten by David. I’d recognize his handwriting anywhere. I take a deep breath and hand it back to Scott and wipe my face.
“Is it true? Do you have the missing record?” he asks gently.
I nod. “Yes, and a few other items that were with it.”
“How did my dad know it would be at this address? This is his handwriting. I know it.”
I look at my hands in my lap. “I don’t know. Maybe he assumed my family would stay in this area.”
He looks out the window but doesn’t push the subject. I take in this man across from me and try to reconcile him with the four-year-old boy I played tractors with just nine short months ago.
“You have the footlocker too?” he asks.
When I nod, he continues, “Can I see it?”
“Yeah, it’s in my room.” I stop at the foot of the stairs and listen, thankful Adam and Clara are napping, then lead him to my room to show him the footlocker.
He pulls out a photo and looks from the photo to the locker.
“It has the same scratch down the side.” He compares them.
“That's what he said,” I say without thinking.
“Who said?” Scott asks.
I just smile and shake my head. I open the footlocker and show him where it says D. Miller.
“I never noticed that growing up. My grandma kept blankets in here, so I’d go in and get a blanket and not think about it. They never told me anything about it other than it would be mine someday. My grandpa was in the Army, so I always assumed it was his footlocker and never thought to ask.”
I pull everything out and pull open the false bottom like David showed me and start to pull everything out and hand it to Scott. He reads the letter, and then I hand him the record, and I see a slight tremble in his hand. I can understand what he is feeling. After David left, I spent a whole night holding it, just looking at this record. I tried to understand what it means that it was sitting here in my house, in my grandparents’ house, long before I even met David. That I touched this footlocker as a little girl, and it was David’s.
My head hurt before I finally made it to bed because it doesn’t make sense. None of it does from the footlocker, to how I was named after Ivy Hill, but Ivy Hill was named after me. How do you explain that other than this was meant to happen? I’m not changing history. I’m following history. If I never went back, it would have changed everything.
I focus on Scott and see tears running down his face. “My dad and I weren’t ever close; that's my mom’s fault. But being able to preserve his legacy makes me feel closer to him.” He looks up, and I can’t hide my anger fast enough.
“Why do you get that look when I talk about my mom?”
I sigh. I know I’m a horrible liar, so I go for a version of the truth. “I just don’t like her.”
“Ever meet her?”
“Yes.”
He laughs. “Then you know not many people like her, but a lot of them sure do suck up to her, thinking she can do something for them.”
“She hasn’t changed much then.” Dammit, I need to watch my mouth.
Thankfully, Scott looks at me a bit weird but doesn’t question it.
“I’d like to do a showcase at Ivy Hill. It’s coming up on the sixtieth anniversary of when my dad came home from his Army tour. Would you be willing to loan the footlocker for the exhibit?”
Just talking about the day David came back from France has the tears flowing again. I hide my face in my hands, not that it will hide all those emotions. The moment his eyes locked with mine, the relief of holding him after two years, the heartbreak of that night talking about Anna, and how it all led to him proposing and our wedding.
I remember that day looking out at the memorial garden realizing how hard it was to be away for those two years and then the four years while he was married to Anna. But I knew he was alive, and I’d have him in my arms again. How will I ever get out of bed and put one foot in front of the other if David is really in the ground at Ivy Hill? Then the thought of that being him sends a new wave of tears.
Scott mistakes my breakdown for him asking to showcase the footlocker and places a hand on my arm, which seems to sober me instantly.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry I asked.” I wipe my face on my sleeve and make a note to change my shirt later. I look at my hands and rub my wedding rings.
“That’s not it, Scott. I’d be more than honored to have the footlocker shown in the museum. That footlocker is attached to so many memories that I have kept pushed down for so long, and they have just come to the surface in light of all this.”
He takes my hand and looks at my rings. “My dad had a ring just like this that he wore up to the day he died. Even while he was married to my mom. It made her so mad when someone talked about it. My dad left strict instructions he was to be buried with that ring on. I’ve seen pictures, and it looks exactly like that.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Someone special gave it to me. We made promises to each other, and as long as those promises aren’t broken, I wear this ring.”
We head back to the living room and work out the details of the sale. We are talking for a few hours when Brian and Kevin come home.
“Ivy! Are Adam and Clara up yet? We got them the cutest outfit... Shit,” Brian says when he sees Scott.
“Scott, this is my best friend and family, Brian, and his husband, Kevin. They live here and help me with my kids.”
Scott is looking at me as though he is trying to work out a puzzle. “Clara was my great-grandma’s name. And Adam was my dad’s middle name.”
I nod. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I’m trying out a new street taco recipe. It’s what I do. I tweak recipes, then photograph them and all.”
“I’d like that,” Scott says with a smile. I know the longer he stays here, the more of a risk it is, but it just feels right.
“I’ll go get the kids up from their nap.” Brian heads upstairs, followed by Kevin, and a few minutes later, the kids come running downstairs.
They stop when they see Scott, and Adam stares at him before he smiles. “You look like my dad, older though. Do you know my dad?”
My heart stops, and Brian looks at me, but it’s Kevin who saves the day.
“No, little man, he doesn’t know your dad,” Kevin says, and Adam shrugs and runs off to play.
The rest of the evening goes smoothly. And there are lots of laughs and stories. Scott tells us about David, and some about Anna but lots about his grandpa teaching him about the business and how they set up Ivy Hill and funny stories.
When he’s getting ready to leave, he turns to me.
“Listen, this might sound weird, but I don’t have family in my life. I'm sure you know I don’t speak to my mother unless I have to. Or when she wants something. Being here felt like home. I know it’s weird, but I’d like to stay friends. Your family meant something to my dad. I don’t know why, but it’s a thin connection to him.”
“Scott, you are welcome any time. I just ask to keep us out of the spotlight. I don’t want the attention—things like loaning the footlocker. I don’t want my name for the public to see. But we can hang out here at any time.”
He laughs. “I normally have to worry about people only wanting to be around me to get in the spotlight, but you want nothing to do with it. It’s refreshing. Thank you again.”
We exchange phone numbers before he leaves. No sooner does the door close than the tears start pouring down my face. Brian and Kevin wrap me in a hug.
“I’m a horrible person. I have his brother and sister right here, and I can’t tell him. He has no family who cares, and with any luck, his dad will be here in a few years, and I can’t tell him. He is clinging to me for a slim thread to his dad, but little does he know how big of one I could give him. I could tell him so much about his dad. About how much he loves him. All the things his mom lied about.”
“Ivy, do you think he’d believe you? You are doing what's right. Maybe David could write a journal or letters for his son, and you can find them in more of your grandparents’ things. But otherwise, this is the best you can do.”
I know he’s right, but that doesn’t soothe my heart or my guilt.
