Elvis Takes a Back Seat (24 page)

The moment I step into the hotel room, I need to leave. I can't breathe. Too many emotions wrestle inside me. I need time alone, away from everyone, and I won't get that kind of privacy in the hotel suite.

“I think I'll go swimming,” I announce. Not that I brought a swimsuit. But I can fake it, I suppose, and dip my toes in the heart-shaped pool.

From the couch Ben looks over at me. “Okay. Want company?”

No. “Well, I—”

“I'll go,” Ivy interrupts. “I brought a swimsuit.”

“Okay.” I'm both relieved not to be alone with Ben and disappointed I can't find space to myself. But at the same time I'm surprised and delighted that Ivy would choose to go somewhere with me.

“I'll change.” Ivy heads to her room.

“If you don't mind,” Rae says, settling on the couch beside Ben, “I'll stay here.”

“That's fine. I don't think we'll be long.”

“Just don't let Ivy get in the hot tub,” Ben says. “Not good for the baby.”

“I don't think there is one. Just a pool.”

“Heart shaped,” Rae adds.

Ten minutes later Ivy and I flip-flop our way down the hall toward the bank of elevators. Wearing a pair of shorts and a top, I carry two hotel towels over my arm. Ivy wears a pair of cut-off shorts and a bikini top. There's a slight swell to her belly, but she doesn't look pregnant. Not yet anyway.

Empty lawn chairs surround the vacant swimming pool. Chlorine taints the air. We plop our towels down on two lounge chairs. Ivy slides her shorts off her narrow hips and dives right into the pool. Her black hair floats out behind her, her long legs kicking up foam and waves. I sit on the dry decking and put my feet in the cool water. Little waves swell around my calves. I notice a line has been painted along the bottom, giving the impression of a broken heart.

Ivy turns at the end of the pool and swims sideways, making long sweeping motions with her arms and legs. She stops in the middle of the pool and treads water. “How come you're not getting in?”

“I didn't bring a suit. I just came out here to …”

“Get away from everybody?” she asks.

“Something like that.”

“Me, too. Are you mad I tagged along?”

“Not at all. You're easy to be around.”

“So are you.” A warmth spreads through me.

She swims closer, props her arms on the tiled edge. “Did Dad tell you to babysit me?”

“Not exactly.” I wink at her. “I'm supposed to watch you.”

She huffs out a breath. “Dad thinks I'm still a child.”

“Well, he is your dad. It's hard for dads to realize their little girls are growing up.” I decide not to reiterate that she did run away and give us all the scare of our lives.

“Was your dad that way?” she asks.

My heart lurches. Not only did my father, the man I will always consider my father, not live to see me to adulthood, but he wasn't really my father. Grief overwhelms me momentarily. He's been gone for more than twenty years, yet I still miss him, wish I could crawl into his lap and he could tell knock-knock jokes until my troubles are left far behind in the wake of laughter.

“I had a great father,” I say. Then I realize my father was much like Ben. “Like yours.”

She looks down at her belly. “I think Dad's handling it better than I expected.”

“He'll be okay. And so will you. What about the baby's father?”

She shrugs a slim shoulder. “Heath wasn't interested in being my boyfriend anymore, much less a dad.”

I wonder if my biological father would have reacted the same way as Ivy's boyfriend if he'd known Rae carried his child. Or if he would have wanted to be a part of my life. “Probably a shock to him,” I say in defense of young fathers. “Maybe—”

“He accused me of screwing around on him. Said it
wasn't his. You know, all that stuff. Told me he didn't love me. But I don't think he ever did.”

Some lessons come hard. I watch her face change, petulant one minute, angry, shamed, and sad the next. Why did it seem a rite of passage for young women to be treated poorly by men? I'd had my own experiences of heartache in my teens. I'd just come out of a bad relationship with a guy named Bob, who'd two-timed me, when I met Stu.

There are so many good guys in the world—my father who stood by my mother when she became pregnant, Stu, Ben. Each fallible, but each had a good heart, honor, and a strong sense of right and wrong.

“Men aren't all like Heath, you know,” I say.

“Maybe. My dad's okay. He's a good guy. But it's hard to tell the good guys from the not so good.”

“I know. Lots of frogs out there. But you'll start to recognize them.”

“You think you'll marry again?” Ivy asks.

Her question shocks me as if I had fallen into the cold pool. I want to shut down the conversation immediately. I've done it a million times over the last year with overly concerned friends. But Ivy's different. I force myself to open up to her, think of what Ben said about how kids make you open your heart to new possibilities. “I don't know. I loved my husband. It's hard to think of being with someone else.”

“But you could live to be like sixty or something. All alone.”

Like sixty or something.
I almost laugh. How old that seems to Ivy, how young it's starting to look to me. Yet it's twenty years away. Will I be all alone? What if I live to be
eighty or older? I realize it's the first time since Stu's diagnosis that I've even thought about my life and what might become of me.

“Rae's sixty or something,” I say, “and she seems content.” Maybe I can be, too. Yet Rae seems more independent than me. More of a loner. Was I made to be part of a couple?

“They say if you love once, you can love again,” Ivy says.

I smile at her. “Sounds like something Mother Theresa would say.”

“Who?”

I laugh. “Where'd you hear that?”

“
Sleepless in Seattle
.”

“The movie?”

Her eyes sparkle. “Have you seen it?”

“A long time ago.”

“It's really good. And it makes a good point. His wife died … can't remember his name. But he's Jonah's father. And he found love again.”

“At the top of the Empire State Building.” I remember Tom Hanks pining for his wife in the movie and Meg Ryan going in search of the passion missing in her own life. “I live far from New York.”

“Didn't the terrorists burn it down?”

I sigh. “That was the Twin Towers.”

“Oh, yeah. Anyway, so you can find love again, too.”

“We'll see.”

“Do you think I will?” Ivy asks, her voice suddenly reticent. Then I understand her purpose in finding love for me. “I mean, after some guy finds out I've got a kid … or had a kid … or whatever …”

“I'm sure there's a really special guy out there just for you.” But I also know that many guys might shy away from her. Stu would have.

He hadn't been interested in kids. We got pregnant only because I wanted it. Then when we lost the baby, our baby, he didn't want to try again. He hadn't really wanted a baby in the first place. It wasn't that he was a bad guy, a “frog”; he simply wasn't interested in fatherhood. He tried, for my sake, with the baby. Or maybe he wanted a baby more than he admitted. Maybe the loss of our own was more painful than he conceded. Maybe then he closed himself off from the possibilities. Maybe he lost faith in what could be. Maybe it was his way of closing himself from hurt.

The whys and wherefores don't matter now. I suppose it's for the best. If we'd had a child, then I'd be raising him or her alone. Our child would have to grow up without a father. Which makes my thoughts return to Ivy.

“I hope there's someone out there for my dad,” she says, her legs kicking under the water and making a ripple along the surface.

The nerves in my body tighten. Would Ivy be pleased or defensive if she knew we'd kissed, if she knew Ben loved me? She's never shared her father's affections or attention.

“He's been alone a long time,” she says.

I wait, unsure what to say.

“Why do you think my mom killed herself?” Ivy asks.

“I don't know, Ivy.” Tears burn my eyes.

“She was sick. Depressed,” Ivy says as I nod agreement. “I always imagined she'd come back for me someday. But I was wrong. I blamed myself when I was little. Then
I started to blame Dad, thinking he'd made her go away. But now …”

Words fail me. I hurt for Ivy who aches for a mother she'll never know. I hurt for Gwen who will never know the joy of watching her beautiful girl become a woman. “It's hard to understand why someone would do something like that. I know it wasn't you, Ivy. And I doubt it was your father. There was probably something in your mother … something that overwhelmed her, made her feel hopeless. She just didn't know there's always hope. If only she'd opened her heart, shared her fears, her struggles. But I think she closed herself off, from me, your dad.”

My own words surprise me. For so long I've felt hopeless. But maybe … maybe this trip has helped me find the hope that was missing in my life and see possibilities rather than despair.

“Last year,” Ivy says, “a boy in my grade shot himself in the chest. He died. It was weird. He was a loner, always by himself.” She shrugs. “I don't want to be like my mother.”

“You won't be.” I reach out for her across the cold water, grab her hand. Her fingers are cool, slender, and slippery wet. “You have to have faith.”

“I'm trying. I listened to what Myrtle and Guy said. They talked about God like they really knew him. I've kinda started to pray.”

“Me, too.” It's been a long time for me. But I'm realizing I can't do this life all alone.

“I ran away. Just like my mom.” She squeezes my hand, then lets go. “I'm sorry, Claudia. I shouldn't have scared you like that.”

“It's okay. We all do crazy things sometimes.”

“Have you?” Her pointed questions jab at tender parts of my heart.

“I'm here in Memphis with a butt-ugly Elvis bust, aren't I?” I laugh and she joins me. “Just know this, Ivy: You ran away to get
help
. You're different from your mom. We have to keep reaching out. You've helped me do that. I've learned a lot because of you.”

“Really?”

Her fingers trace the lines in the tile along the edge of the pool. Finally, she nods. “I want to keep my baby.” She blinks away tears. Her nose turns red. “But I don't know if it's possible.”

“You don't have to decide now. You'll know when the time comes. Maybe you should just keep your options open.”

She nods. Her face pinches as she fights back tears. “I don't want to abandon my baby like my mom did me. But also … I know how hard it is to grow up without a mom. Is it fair to make my baby grow up without a father?”

“You know what, Ivy? You're far wiser than I was at your age. I know whatever you decide, it will be the right decision for your baby … and you.”

“What about God?”

“He has a plan.”

“I just don't know what it is.”

* * *

“AT LEAST I don't have to fly back to Dallas,” Ben says, loading his suitcase along with the rest of our luggage in the trunk.

“No, you get to ride in a vintage Cadillac,” Rae says.

“Stylin',” Ivy says, dumping her backpack in the front seat. “With Elvis!”

Ben glances toward me. “You sure you want to take him back?”

“I can't leave him at Faithland, where he's not wanted. Maybe this was all a big joke by Stu to get me to appreciate Elvis more.” I'm feeling weepy for some reason and jiggle the keys against my palm. “Let's get gas for the car, then we'll pick up the King.”

“I saw a place not far from the chapel with the best gas prices in town,” Ben advises.

I pass about ten gas stations on our way to Beale Street. With Elvis belting out “Mean Woman Blues,” I feel like the woman he's singing about.

“It's just down this street,” Ben points to the left.

But I pull into a parking space along the street. I grab a couple of coins out of the ashtray, where Stu liked to keep change, and stick them in the meter. “I'll be right back.”

Before anybody can ask a question, I grab my purse and head across the street to a record store. It boasts original Sun Records, Elvis, Johnny Cash and the like.

“Can I help you?” an older woman asks.

“Do you have any CDs?”

“Of course.” She dog-ears a page and closes the paperback novel she's reading. With a slight grunt, she walks around the counter. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Anything but Elvis.”

“Too much of a good thing, huh?” She points me toward a side wall. I grab a variety of CDs from Josh Groban to U2 to Michael Bublé and hand her my credit card.

A few minutes later, back in the Cadillac, Ivy, being the youngest with the most know-how and most nimble fingers, pulls the shrink wrap and tape from the new CDs.

We pull into a gas station that has seen better days. But, as Ben said, the price is lower. He volunteers to pump the gas. He also refuses to accept my credit card. I busy myself punching out all the Elvis CDs from the player and inserting our new play list.

“Holy guacamole!”

“What is it?” I turn, afraid that Ivy is feeling sick or going into labor or something equally horrible.

She points out the side window of the Cadillac. Rae and I both look past the pumps. A red pickup truck, swarming with college-age boys, parks at the next pump. Their sound system throbs and pulses. Is Ivy salivating over some potential frog? Or maybe her boyfriend has shown up.

“Elvis,” Rae whispers.