A Broken Kind of Beautiful (26 page)

“Maybe she genuinely likes you. Did you ever think about that?”

Nothing about her kiss had been genuine. “I doubt it.”

“I think she likes you, Davis. I really do. I mean, yesterday she was asking about what kind of women you’ve dated.”

His wariness quadrupled. Ivy was digging and using Sara as her shovel. “Do me a favor, Sara. Next time Ivy asks about my love life, defer her questions to me. I don’t want you getting dragged into the middle of this, whatever this is.”

Sara petted the top of Sunny’s head. He panted by her chair, probably overheated from the cramped restaurant. Davis continued his saltshaker
hockey game, lost in thought, until Becky-Sue set two tall glasses of iced tea, extra sweet, on the table, placing Sara’s at her fingertips. “Your food will be out in a couple minutes. Enjoy your drinks.”

“Thanks, Becky,” Sara said.

Davis peeled the paper away from his straw and poked it through the ice. He wrapped his fingers around the glass, cool and damp from condensation, and took a long pull from the straw.

“Something about her makes me sad,” Sara said.

Davis took another drink. So Sara had noticed it too.

“I asked her about her childhood last night. She didn’t have much to say.”

“That’s because she didn’t have much of a childhood.” At least not from what Davis could gather.

“I know. Don’t you think that’s sad?”

Of course he did. It agitated faults in his chest that were better left intact. It made him want to reach out his arms and save her. But Ivy gave no indication that she wanted to be saved. And even if she had, his arms weren’t sufficient.

“Remember how you, me, and Dad would go hiking in the mountains when we lived in Telluride? Or how, when we moved here, Grandpa took us sailing and Jet Skiing? We’d dig for clams with no shoes on or chase fireflies out on the dock and pretend gators were going to bite off our toes.”

Davis smiled. He couldn’t help it. “Grandma Eleanor told you that story about her cousin who lost his pinkie toe to a giant crab, and you wouldn’t swim in the marsh for two years.”

“I like my pinkie toes.” Sara reached her hand across the table and felt for his knuckles. “Ivy never had a childhood like that, Davis. She didn’t get to run on the beach or collect seashells or squish her feet into pluff mud.”

“What’s your point?”

“We should give her some of those experiences.”

“Sara, she’s twenty-four years old.”

“So? Who says you have to be a kid to have childlike fun? C’mon, Davis.
Shouldn’t Ivy get to experience awe? The kind we felt as kids, when we looked at the sunset or pried open a clamshell or found a nest of sea turtles.” She squeezed his hand. “Let’s help her feel awe. Let’s help her see God’s beauty.”

Sara’s words sounded so much like Dad’s. So much so that they hurt.

Becky-Sue set two plates in front of them. Shrimp and gravy for Davis. Fried chicken for Sara. “You two need anything else? Drink refills? An extra side of gravy?”

“No, we’re good. Thanks.”

Sara felt for her fork. She picked it up and scooped some mashed potatoes. Davis watched, amazed. His sister had come so far—especially in the past year. She was almost as independent as she’d been before the accident. She chewed her food and swallowed. “Grandpa says there’s a new moon tomorrow.”

Davis shoved a bite of shrimp into his mouth.

“You know what that means, don’t you?”

“Spring tide.”

“The perfect time for some old-fashioned crabbing.”

Davis watched Ivy take in the scenery, strands of hair feathering her bare shoulders. Her gaze extended past the courtyard in Marilyn’s backyard to the dock that led out to the salt marsh. The wide mud path had morphed into a sparkling waterway. “As a kid, I never understood where all the water came from.”

“Just wait until it recedes.” Two small buckets clanked in Sara’s right hand while her left held on to Sunny’s harness. Jeans rolled and cuffed halfway up her calves as her flip-flops slapped against the soles of her feet. The image she created elicited long-ago memories, before New York and blindness had stolen their dreams. “Creates a fun current for boaters.”

“And we’re going to catch crabs?” Skepticism and a tinge of fear formed Ivy’s words.

Davis readjusted his grip on the container of crab bait and the net he’d rummaged from Marilyn’s storage shed and fought off the smile creeping across his lips. “Don’t look so nervous, Clark. They won’t bite.” He’d come for Sara. She was determined to give Ivy a childhood experience, and he refused to leave his sister alone with Ivy Clark on a dock near the water—not only in danger physically, but emotionally too.

“I was more concerned with the pinching.”

“C’mon. You can’t bail now.” Davis thumped Ivy on the back. “You’re holding the peaches.” He followed Sara and Sunny toward the edge of the dock, determined to keep things light. The wooden slats swayed along with the water, reeds growing underneath and sticking through the cracks like feet ticklers. He looked over his shoulder. Ivy had stopped short of the dock, clutching a brown paper sack with three ripe peaches tucked inside.

“Uh, Dave, not sure if you remember the Primrose Plantation or not, but didn’t the tour guide say something about alligators in the marshes that surrounded the rice plantation?”

“I promise I won’t let any gators get you.”

Birds chirped behind her. The sun played peekaboo between the pines on the other side of the marsh as Davis padded along the sun-warmed wood. The water splashed and gurgled over hidden pluff mud, diluting the sulfuric odor. Nature surrounded Ivy on three sides, turning her into a reluctant peninsula. Davis removed his Nikon from the knapsack he’d slung over his shoulder. He itched to turn it on and capture the image, but this had nothing to do with raising money for an art program. And hardly anyone carried around a real camera anymore. He certainly didn’t. So what excuse did he have for bringing it?

Sara used her bare foot to feel for the edge of the dock, found it, then sat down and dipped her toes into the water, creating a decoration of ripples over its surface. Sunny plopped onto his hind quarters beside her. Davis set the bait down.

“Uh, Sara …” Ivy straddled the dock, one foot on grass, the other on wood. “You do know we’re about to pull crabs out of that water, don’t you?”

Sara jerked her toes up and yelped.

Ivy lunged forward, as if she might save his sister from a giant toe-eating blue crab.

Davis laughed.

Sara plunked her feet back in. “Lucky for me, they prefer smellier bait.”

With hesitant steps, Ivy joined them. She looked over Davis’s shoulder, inside the container, then lurched back, cupping her hand over her mouth and nose. “What in the world is that?”

“Chicken necks and fish heads.”

She pressed her other hand against her stomach. “So glad I asked.”

“The crabs love ’em.” He reached inside the container, scooped up a fish head, and tied it to the end of the string Sara had pulled from her bucket.

Ivy looked away. “Remind me why we’re doing this again.”

“Because it’s fun,” Sara said. “We haven’t gone crabbing in forever. We used to do it almost every spring tide as kids, didn’t we, Davis?”

He finished his handiwork. “Sounds about right.” With a nine-year gap between them, Sara lived the bulk of her childhood in South Carolina, while Davis had lived the majority of his in Telluride. He was sixteen when he became a southerner, which meant he couldn’t muster the same level of nostalgia or enthusiasm as his sister.

“And now what? You have a strong urge to re-create the past?” Ivy scrunched her nose at the bait container.

“We thought you might as well enjoy yourself while you’re here.” Sara splashed her toes and petted Sunny’s head. The dog lay beside her, eyes half-closed as he leaned into Sara’s scratching.

“I’m more of a ‘find my enjoyment at a bookstore’ kinda girl. Or a club. Not so much into nature.” She swatted at a mosquito on her shin and missed.

Crouching on one knee, his other bent at a right angle, Davis felt in the
back pocket of his board shorts, pulled out a swiss army knife, and cut some of the string. He tied the end of it on a dowel and tossed the line over the dock. It plunked into the water with a small splash and sunk with the weight of the bait.

“Um, Sara,” Ivy said, “now might be the time to take your feet out of the water.”

Sara brought her feet onto the dock and sat with crossed legs. “If it makes you feel better. But trust me, the crabs won’t care about my toes with those little delicacies down there.”

Ivy set the peaches in Sara’s lap and sat down. “How will we know if we catch one?”

“If there’s a tug on the line, we’ll bring it up and see.” Sara unharnessed Sunny and gave him a couple pats. “You’re off the clock, boy. Davis will look out for me.”

Heaviness gathered on top of Davis’s shoulders and pressed him onto the dock. How could his sister have such confidence in him after his failure to look out for her in the past? He pushed the memories away, attached five more strings to dowels, tied the bait, and dropped them overboard until the dock looked like a long wooden insect with spindly white legs standing on water.

He washed off his hands and sat by Ivy’s side as a light breeze rippled over the marsh. The sweetness of honeysuckle and wild mint rode the breeze’s coattails, stirring Ivy’s lilac perfume. It was a smell he was growing accustomed to.

“So what do we do now?”

Sara opened the brown sack, pulled out a peach, and offered it to the air. “We wait.”

Davis took the fruit and bit into its fuzzy flesh, filling his mouth with peach juice and sweetness. He couldn’t help shaking his head. Three grownups perched on a dock like school kids. What was he doing? He took another
bite as the fluttering of butterfly wings captured his attention. Two beautifully patterned monarchs tangoed in midair, swooping and swirling over the water, one chasing the other as it tried to get away. Sara loved butterflies. She used to chase them in their backyard in Colorado. Sunny sat up, ears perked, like he had a mind to jump in after them.

Sara cocked her head and handed the second peach to Ivy. “Did we catch something?”

“Sunny’s about to. He found two butterflies.”

Sara took out the last peach and brought it beneath her nose. “Tell me about them.”

Davis swallowed another bite. “Orange and black. One’s larger than the other.”

His sister closed her eyes as if gathering the details and painting a picture in her mind.

He leaned forward, desperate to help her paint it. “One’s chasing the other. The other one’s playing hard to get, but the big one isn’t giving up. They’re sort of swooping over the water, and Sunny wants to taste them.”

Sara pulled Sunny back. “I love butterflies.”

He didn’t miss the longing in her voice. It pinged around inside his chest like a loose pinball.
I’d give her my eyes if I could, Lord
.

The sun dipped behind the pines and cast yellow and pink sparkles over the water’s surface. Sadness flickered across Ivy’s brow as the butterflies fluttered close, around her head, then swooped back toward the water. He sure would like to know what she was thinking.

“I’m glad God’s like those butterflies and not like that crab bait,” Sara said.

Davis took another bite of his peach and wiped at the juice dribbling down his chin.

Ivy raised an eyebrow. “You’re glad God’s not like a bloody chicken neck?”

He chuckled.

“I’m glad God doesn’t plunk Himself into the water and wait for us to find Him. I’m glad He chases us like that butterfly.”

Ivy frowned.

The larger butterfly twirled with the smaller, but the smaller twisted away with a flutter of wings and lifted higher into the air. Davis fiddled with the camera strapped around his neck. Did Ivy know God pursued her?

“He loves us too much to leave it up to us to catch His scent. Right, Davis?”

He tipped his face toward the sun. Sara was right. God loved Ivy too much to let her languish in a world of empty dreams. But she ran so fast. And like that smaller butterfly, she didn’t want to be caught.

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you,” Sara said. “I have called you by name, you are mine.”

Ivy tore her gaze from the winged insects and turned her eyes toward his, as if he’d spoken those words instead of Sara. The look on her face pinched a spot inside his chest.
You are His, Ivy. Not mine. Not Bruce’s Not the world’s. But His. Do you know that?

He bit the inside of his cheek. How could she when nobody had ever shown her God’s love? Not her father. Certainly not the men who treated her like an object.

Ivy blinked several times, breaking their stare. “Where’d you hear that, Sara?”

“From God.”

A seed of a smile planted in the corner of Ivy’s mouth. “The two of you speak, huh?”

“He speaks to everyone.”

The smile didn’t germinate. “Trust me, Sara. God doesn’t speak to people like me.”

“Yes, He does. All you have to do is pick up the Bible and listen.” Sara tilted her head toward the sky. “That verse was from the book of Isaiah.”

The skin between Ivy’s eyebrows puckered.