A Broken Kind of Beautiful (36 page)

His mind screamed at him to step out the door. Flee. But his body wouldn’t listen. “Ivy, what’s going on right now?”

She turned around, lifted the globe into the air and let go. It crashed to the floor, and instead of bouncing or thudding like he expected, it burst into pieces. Tiny, fragmented scraps of glass that sprayed his flip-flops. He stepped out of the way and stared. Her expression would have been indifferent, if not for the pain he saw in her eyes. “But it’s nothing more than water and thin glass.”

He looked down at the broken pieces, the stain of water soaking into the carpet, and heat exploded in his chest. “What—you think that’s you? A snow globe?” His attention swiveled to the dried flowers hanging on either side of the mirror. “Is that what you want to be?”

“I can be whatever you want me to be.”

“How about this?” Before he could stop himself, he closed the gap between them, glass crunching with every step, dug his fingers into her hair, and forced her to look at him. “You’re not a snow globe. Or those dead flowers. You’re not empty. You’re not dead. You’re a person. A living, breathing human being.”

Her lips softened. She leaned forward.

Ignoring the way his body responded, he tightened his grip and looked into her eyes—at the thin rings of golden iris circling her pupils. And inside those pupils, an entire universe of desperation and hurt. “You might be able to hide yourself from the world, Ivy, but you can’t hide from Him. He sees you. He sees all of you.”

Before her brokenness could consume him, he let go of her and walked out the door.

As soon as Davis came around the side of the house, he spotted a slate-gray Toyota Prius in Marilyn’s driveway. The only person he knew who owned a Prius was Mom, but he was picking her up from the airport this afternoon. And anyway, hers was green, not slate-gray.

He quickened his stride, stepped onto the front porch, and swung open the door to an empty, cool foyer. Georgia scurried around the corner to greet him as he wiped his shoes on the welcome mat and walked to the kitchen. Annie stood by the sink, humming a tuneless melody as she dropped mint leaves into a pitcher of sweet tea and stirred the concoction with a wooden spoon.

“Annie, I didn’t know you worked on Wednesdays.”

Annie blushed. “Marilyn’s letting me work more hours to help pay the bills.”

Right. Twila’s procedure was tomorrow. “Do you know who’s visiting?”

“Short, tiny woman with spiky hair.” She let go of the spoon and pantomimed the haircut around her head. “Looking for you and Marilyn.”

“Me?” Who did he know with spiky hair and a Prius? “Is Marilyn here?”

“She’s running around, setting up for the party.”

Of course, and he should be helping. Davis looked through the kitchen door toward the formal living room. “Where’s the woman?”

“I had her sit out back in the courtyard.” She turned over two tall glasses from the cupboard, filled them with ice, poured the tea, and picked them up. “Follow me.”

Davis didn’t follow. At least not right away. He needed to tell Sara and Marilyn about losing the venue. He needed to come up with a game plan before all their hard work went to waste. He needed to unpeel the memory of Ivy’s hot skin from his fingers.

Annie elbowed the sliding door open. “Are you coming?”

Adjusting the collar of his shirt, he followed Annie outside onto the marbled courtyard, back into the heat. Ice clinked in the glasses. Annie set them on the patio table. The spiky-haired woman turned in the wicker sofa.

Davis recognized the cat-eye glasses first. It was the editor from
Southern Brides
. “Joan? What brings you here?”

Joan thanked Annie, picked up a glass, took a sip of the tea, then closed her eyes and let out a soft moan. “I could bathe in this stuff and never get sick of it.”

A chorus of birds twittered in the walnut trees lining the walk. An itchy sting pricked at his calf. Davis slapped at the spot without looking. Stupid mosquitoes.

Joan touched the glass to her cheek. “Have a seat, Davis. We have lots to talk about.”

Lots to talk about? Davis leaned toward the door. He didn’t have time for Joan.

As if reading his hesitancy, she waved her hand toward the wicker chair opposite the sofa. “Your aunt will be here soon. I called her on my way down. I’m traveling to Savannah for a bridal expo and thought I’d stop in for a visit.”

The door slid open. Annie reappeared with a tray bearing a pitcher of sweet tea and a plate of pinwheel cookies. She set it on the table, pulled a lighter from the pocket of her oversized jeans, and lit the citronella candles that cornered the courtyard. They did little to assuage the bugs.

Davis scratched his thigh. “You wanted to talk to me specifically?”

Joan bobbed her head and grabbed a cookie. “I’m dying for you to do another photo shoot for my magazine. The last one was absolutely enchanting. You have no idea how many compliments we’ve received about the spread.”

Okay, what was going on? First Ivy invited him to New York, and now Joan wanted him to do another job. Either God wasn’t completely opposed to his doing photography, or the devil didn’t mess around. He picked up his own glass of tea, the condensation cool against his palm.

“I would love to do an editorial in a sailboat. I keep picturing a bride at the wheel, her groom at the stern as they sail into happily ever after.” She bracketed empty air with her hands, as if envisioning a panoramic view of her story. “I want you to bring the vision to life, Davis. I don’t know any other photographer who can tell a story like you.”

Surely lots of others could. He took another drink, the cool sweetness soothing his parched throat.

“What do you say?”

He looked down at his shoes, praying for an answer. Maybe one of those God nudges Pastor Voss had talked about. All he felt was humidity. And bugs. He swatted at another mosquito. Two years ago he’d been so certain God was telling him to put away his camera. But what about the nature photography he did as a kid with his father on the trails of the Rocky Mountains? Or the pictures he’d taken of Twila? He had no idea
where fashion fell in comparison to those things, but weddings? Those were God glorifying.

“Davis? You still with me?” Joan perched herself on the edge of the sofa and refilled her glass just as the patio doors slid open. He turned, hoping for Marilyn, but spotted Sara, the birthday girl, holding Sunny’s harness, sunglasses covering her eyes. Davis’s burgeoning yes faded away. He had no right to do what he loved. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Joan’s face fell. “You can’t?”

Sunny led Sara to the empty chair beside his.

“When this fashion show is over”—if they could still make it happen—“I’ll no longer be taking pictures.”

Joan’s cell phone suddenly belted Aretha Franklin. She rummaged through her bag and fished it out, Aretha’s voice interrupting the birds. “Sorry about this.” She brought the phone to her ear. “Joan Calloway speaking.”

She straightened, then held up her finger, indicating she’d just be a moment. Speaking into the receiver, she stood and paced toward the far end of the courtyard, lost behind a towering line of hydrangeas.

“Marilyn called and told me the news,” Sara said. “Did Crestledown make a mistake?”

Davis took a deep breath. “We forgot to send in the deposit.”

Sara frowned. The two of them sat in silence for a moment until Joan came around the corner. “That was your aunt. She got caught up at Something New, so I’m going to meet her there for a quick word.” She picked up her purse and dug out a business card. “Please, Davis, think about it some more before saying no.” She handed him her card, took one more cookie from the tray, and disappeared around the house.

“Think about what?” Sara asked.

“She wants me to do another photo shoot for her.”

“That’s great!”

“I’m not doing it.”

Sara shook her head. “I wish you’d take pictures again.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“A favor for me and Marilyn. And then it’ll be back to your strange act of penance for what happened two years ago. You should say yes to her, Davis.”

He gritted his teeth. Sara had no idea how easy it would be or how much he wanted to. “I can’t.”

“So that’s it, then? You’re just going to keep punishing yourself?”

“Somebody should!” The words exploded from his mouth, making his sister jump. He could see and she couldn’t. Where was God’s justice? “You’re blind because of me, Sara.”

She winced.

Davis buried his head in his hands. He couldn’t get over it. As hard as he tried and as much as he prayed, he couldn’t let it go. Maybe Sara didn’t blame him for it anymore, but she had once. And ironically, life was almost easier when she did. Her blame, at least, felt like a tiny piece of vindication. He had no idea what to do with her forgiveness. “You deserve to see.”

“Oh, come on, Davis, I don’t deserve anything.”

“Yes, you do.” Sara hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d been completely innocent. It should have happened to him. “Why did it happen to you?”

“Maybe you messed up.”

The accusation stung, no matter how true.

“Or maybe I did. Or maybe neither one of us did. Who knows why.”

He dragged his hands down his face and peeked at his sister, sitting with her arms propped on the armrests, Sunny by her side. Davis had no idea what God wanted him to do. He thought he knew. For a while. Stop taking pictures. Get away from New York City. Be in Greenbrier. But now he felt lost and confused. His heart ached to take up his camera. His mind screamed to put it away. He didn’t deserve to take pictures. The proof sat two feet away from him. “I know you’ve forgiven me, Sara. For what happened. But I haven’t yet. I don’t know if I ever will.”

“Will you stop playing God already?”

Her words startled him, and her expression. It was fierce, much more like Ivy than Sara.

“It doesn’t matter if I forgive you. It doesn’t even matter if you forgive you. What matters, Davis, is that God already has. So stop wearing your past like a pair of handcuffs.” She stood. Sunny too. “You made a mistake, freaked yourself out, and instead of getting back up again, you threw the baby out with the bathwater. And you know what?” She jiggled Sunny’s harness. The dog led her to the sliding door, and she flung it open. “It’s a crying shame.” She stepped into the house and left him alone with the rising heat.

32

Three quick knocks sounded on Ivy’s door. She stopped, her powder brush frozen by her cheek. If that was Davis, she didn’t want to answer. She was much too embarrassed over the way she’d acted a little bit ago.

Whoever it was knocked again. “Ivy? Are you in there?”

Sara.

Ivy gave her other cheek a quick swipe of bronzer and made her way to the door. As soon as she opened it, Sara marched inside with Sunny. Something about her posture actually reminded Ivy of Marshall, and Sara never reminded Ivy of Marshall. “My brother is such an idiot.”

Ivy raised her eyebrows. “What happened?”

“He happened.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“Joan Calloway came over. She wanted Davis to do another photo shoot for
Southern Brides
, but he, of course, said no.”

That’s because he was probably having flashbacks of her terrible attempt to get him to New York. Ivy stripped off her top and selected something sexier from her closet.

Sara walked farther inside, faithful Sunny by her side.

“Wait!” Ivy yelled.

Sara froze. “What?”

“There’s glass on the floor. I don’t want Sunny to cut his paws.” Ivy pulled the halter top over her head and grabbed the DustBuster from underneath her bed.

“Why is there glass on the floor?”

“Um … I dropped one of my snow globes.” Ivy made a quick job of sucking up the glass.

Sara dropped Sunny’s harness and started to pace.

Ivy turned off the vacuum cleaner. “Why is Davis an idiot for telling Joan no?”

“Because I know he wants to do it. I can tell. But he’s determined to punish himself, and as long as he does, none of us will ever move on.”

“He told me about what happened.”

“I know I said some really awful things in the beginning. But we can’t change what happened. I’m over it. I just wish he’d get over it too.”