Page 33
I am a fool.
“I’m sorry,” I say, willing myself to speak past the tears gathering in my throat.
“Don’t be sorry. ” I see the outline of his smile in the moonlight. “Just say it again sometime. ”
I nod. I will not allow myself to cry. “Good night, Bishop,” I whisper.
“Good night, Ivy,” he whispers back.
I stay kneeling on the bed long after he’s gone, until my legs are numb and my eyes are dry and I can’t feel anything at all.
President Lattimer looks genuinely pleased to see me. “Ivy,” he says with a crinkle-eyed smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” It’s possible he’s mocking me, but I don’t think so. He opens the front door wider. “Come in, come in. ” The air wafting out of the house is chilly and smells, as always, of flowers. Too sweet for my taste.
“Can we sit out here?” I ask, pointing to the front porch. “It’s such a nice day. ” It isn’t really. It’s hot and muggy, and I think I acquired a dozen new mosquito bites on the walk over, but I can’t stand the thought of being shut up inside the house with him. I need to be able to at least have the illusion of freedom, if not the reality.
President Lattimer glances at the front porch. The wrought-iron furniture arranged along its perimeter looks like it was picked for style, rather than comfort. But he nods and ushers me in front of him, closing the heavy door behind us.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever sat out here,” he says, confirming my earlier assumption. But he gamely takes a seat in one of the chairs and I sit down next to him, a small table edged with dust positioned between us.
“How are you, Ivy?” he asks.
“I’m fine. ” Ever since Bishop and I had dinner here and President Lattimer mentioned knowing my mother, I’ve wanted to come back and talk to him. Especially after I asked my father about it and it was clear he was keeping something from me. But fear kept me away. Fear that I would ruin the plan, say something in anger that would give away the game. Fear of President Lattimer himself. Fear of what I would find out. But the need to know has gnawed at me, not going away no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. I’m not sure where to begin, though, so I blurt out the question. “How did you know my mother?”
President Lattimer sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t let that go. ” He lowers his hand and looks at me. “It probably would have been better if I hadn’t said anything. ”
“But you did say something,” I remind him.
He gives me a quick smile. “So I did. ” He points across the street to the large house sitting kitty-corner to his. It is gray clapboard and is hard to see, hidden behind a screen of old oaks, half of them dead, half still thriving. “I grew up in this house, Ivy. And your mother grew up right there. ”
My breath catches in my chest, like a splinter snagged on cloth, a sharp, sudden twinge. Of course I knew my mother grew up on this side of town, but I’ve never known where. In my mind she’s always existed in some in-between world. I could never quite picture her as a living, breathing person, let alone one who grew up across the street from Bishop’s father.
President Lattimer leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees, and stares at his hands. In this moment, he looks very much like his son. “What do you know about your mother?” he asks me.
“I know you killed her,” I tell him, my voice flat. Sometimes my capacity for self-destruction surprises even me.
He blows out a shaky breath and lowers his forehead to his clasped hands. “That’s a cruel thing to say. ” After a long moment, he raises his head, keeping his eyes on the house where my mother grew up. “But I suppose, in all the ways that count, it’s a true thing as well. ”
I’m glad he admitted it, that we aren’t going to have to pretend. Dancing around the truth is exhausting. “Tell me about her?” I ask, and I half expect him to laugh in my face after what I just said to him. But he only nods.
“We loved each other,” he says simply. “From the time we were very young. ”
I knew what he was going to say, had known since the moment I saw the look on his face as he showed me her house, but my stomach drops all the same, something solid and heavy as iron taking its place. The day is as hot as ever, but I am suddenly cold.
“She was headstrong, your mother. She had the same eyes as you, the same beautiful hair. ” The corner of his mouth turns up at some ancient memory. “She did things without thinking, forever figuring out the consequences after the fact. ” He raises his eyebrows at me.
“That sounds familiar,” I allow, and he laughs.
“But she was full of energy and life and warmth. She made me happy to be alive, even when the world was dark and frightening. I could tell her anything. ”
I can’t help but like the picture he’s painted of my mother, and hope that I am as similar to her as he believes me to be.
He glances at me. “There was never anyone else, for either of us. ”
I’ve always known my parents didn’t marry for love. How could they, with their marriage arranged for them? But the way my father speaks of my mother, I know he did love her by the end. My heart aches to think that the affection may have only flowed one way.
“What happened?” I ask. “Between my mother and you?”
“She thought we would get married. Have children. She thought because I was the president’s son, I could make that happen. ” He looks at me, his blue eyes full of sorrow. “And I suppose I could have. I wanted to, so much. But that wouldn’t have been fair. I can’t expect everyone else to enter into an arranged marriage and not do the same thing myself. Westfall has thrived because we put the needs of the group ahead of individual desire. We start making exceptions, and the whole structure falls apart. ” He sounds like he’s still trying to convince himself, even after all this time.
“So you married Mrs. Lattimer instead?” I ask.
“Yes. I took all the personality tests and sat through the interviews and Erin is who fit me the best. So I married her. And despite what you might think, it hasn’t been a bad match. We have an amazing son. We work well together. In some ways, it’s been a much easier marriage than one to your mother would have been. ”
Which sounds a long way from love to me, but what do I know of love, anyway? I am hardly an expert.
“But I broke your mother’s heart the day I married Erin,” President Lattimer says. He leans back in his chair. “And in return, she broke mine. ”
“When she married my father?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I never blamed her for that. She was only doing what was right. What was expected. I was glad she made a life for herself. And Callie was born…and then you. I thought she was finally happy. Or at least that she’d found a way to move on and let go. ”
“Then how…how did she break your heart?” I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know.
He points again, this time with an unsteady finger, to the lone oak standing on his own front lawn. There are yellow roses blooming at its base. “She hanged herself right there. ” As I watch, he catches a sob between his teeth before it can escape. “More than fifteen years ago, and I still see her there every damn time I walk out the front door. ”