What Happened to Ivy by Kathy Stinson Read Free Book Online Page B

it’s okay.
    The blanket smells of baby powder. In one of the pictures on the board in the dining room, I’m holding Ivy wrapped in this same blanket. I was almost four and she was a tiny infant. Mom had one arm around my shoulder and with the other she was making sure Ivy didn’t fall off my lap. But Ivy was my little sister, and was I proud.
    I remember the feel of her arms around my neck, later, when I was old enough to go to school. The slobbery kisses she planted on me every day when I left. And the way she shrieked ‘ Ga-beg!’ whenever I came home. Remembering is like a stab in the gut. Remembering the nice things but also remembering how I pretended she was nothing but a big pain whenever other kids were around.
    Thing is, she was a big pain sometimes. Lots of times. Including the last time I saw her alive. I never knew missing someone could actually hurt .
    “What are you thinking?” Hannah asks.
    “I don’t know.”
    After a while, only a few quiet voices drift in from the living room, along with the sounds of someone rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher. Fiddling with a sleeve of Ivy’s pajamas, Hannah asks, “Do you believe in heaven?”
    I set Ivy’s blanket back in her crib. “No. Do you?”
    She shrugs. “I think so. But not with angels and stuff.”
    “What then?”
    “I don’t know. I think heaven might be different kinds of places for different people.”
    It’s hard to see how that could be possible, but I won’t argue. Not with Hannah. Instead I reach up and wind Ivy’s mobile.
    Its colored fish swim in circles to the tune of “When You Wish Upon A Star,” quickly at first, then slowing. I tell Hannah, “This always helped Ivy fall asleep, even on her bad days. Sometimes we had to wind it up twice, but hardly ever more than that.”
    Hannah bites down on her lower lip.
    Each slowing note plinks out a memory of Hannah doing something with Ivy: reading to her at the cottage. Doing ‘the moon is round as round can be’ around her grinning face. Holding a sprig of lavender up to Ivy’s nose for a sniff. That was the first time Hannah came over to our house with her mom, the day after they moved in.
    My arm brushes against hers. Her skin is warm and soft. I’m aware of the flowery smell of the shampoo she uses, the soft sound of her breath, and the row of tiny buttons down the front of her shirt. A tear slides down Hannah’s cheek to the edge of her mouth. With my thumb I wipe it away. And then, just lightly, I kiss her.
    Her lips are salty and wet and how is it I’ve waited so long to do this? Having tasted her I can’t stop wanting to taste more but that’s okay because – oh God – Hannah is grabbing my head. She is kissing me back. My tongue finds the hot inside of her mouth and—
    As suddenly as it started, she shoves me away. “I have to go.”
    Swiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she leaves me then, shaking and alone, beside Ivy’s crib.

Chapter 17
    Going to bed that night, I know I’ve blown it. I can’t stop the brain-loop replaying that kiss and how it went wrong, and somehow that woman who somehow knew I’m relieved that Ivy is gone keeps getting all mixed up in it.
    I should never have kissed Hannah. What was I thinking?
    I wasn’t thinking. But the kiss wasn’t a problem at first. Because Hannah kissed me back , I know she did. And who wouldn’t be relieved that life might finally not be all about someone who was always messing things up, anymore? Besides, it’s not like relief is the only thing I feel.
    I’ve just turned off my light when the phone rings. My parents don’t seem to be answering. The jangling this late at night sets my teeth on edge. Why hasn’t the answering system kicked in?
    I haul myself out of bed and grab it. Unknown Caller.
    “Hello?”
    “Hey. Are you the guy who killed his own kid? You deserve to die.” Click .

Chapter 18
    Tina opens her tin of paint. It’s a deep red like the cardinal flowers in my front