The Book of Ivy

Page 37

 

  “Did he get remarried?” I ask.

  Victoria nods, eyes on her plate. “He married a girl from your side of town. One who didn’t get a match when it was her year. ” She pauses. “They had twins a few years ago. ”

  Twins are rare. A single live birth with all the requisite fingers and toes is cause enough for celebration, but twins? That’s a whole other level of achievement entirely. And I know who she’s talking about now. I never knew his name, but I saw him sometimes in the market with his wife, proudly pushing the double stroller. He was tall and gangly, with a shock of red hair and a goofy grin. Not who I would have pictured Victoria with in a thousand years.

  “Do you ever see him anymore?”

  “No. ” Victoria puts her trash onto her tray with brisk movements. “We did at first, but it was too difficult. ”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s not fair. ”

  Victoria laughs at that, a small, wounded sound. “No, it’s not. But not much is these days. ” She pauses in her cleanup efforts and finds my eyes. “We’re all doing the best we can. Bishop and his father included. ”

  “Do you really believe that?” I ask. I lower my voice. “About President Lattimer?”

  “There aren’t any easy answers here, Ivy. Maybe your grandfather’s vision would have been better. Maybe it would have been worse. There’s no way to know that. And President Lattimer and his father have kept more of us alive than we ever dreamed possible. We’re safe, we have enough to eat most of the time, our numbers are slowly growing, no one’s standing over us with guns forcing us to do their bidding. ”

  “What about the marriages?” I ask, my voice tight. “That felt pretty forced to me. ”

  “Maybe it did to you,” Victoria concedes. “But most of the people on that stage were happy to be there, saying vows and maintaining peace. For them it’s a tradition, not a duty. ”

  “I don’t think everyone feels that way,” I say quietly. “They’re just scared. No one wants to rock the boat. But the way things are now, someone else is still making their choices for them. That’s not freedom. ”

  “Maybe freedom’s overrated,” Victoria says as she stands. “We had freedom before the war. And look where it got us. ”

  There is no one I’m less prepared to deal with when I walk in my front door at the end of the day than Erin Lattimer. She is perched on the edge of the couch, as if sinking back into the cushions and getting comfortable would be beneath her.

  I want to ask her how she even got in, but I push a smile onto my face. “Hello. What are you doing here?” I ask, one hand still on the doorknob.

  She stands and smooths her dove gray skirt with both hands. As always, she’s styled to within an inch of her life. “We have a key,” she says.

  I shut the door, drop my bag on the floor. I hate the thought of her being in this house without my permission. “Okay,” I say. “Next time maybe you could wait outside? Or let us know you’ll be dropping by?” I think I sound very reasonable, but Mrs. Lattimer purses her lips like I’ve insulted her.

  “Fine,” she says.

  “Is there something you needed?”

  Mrs. Lattimer steps around the coffee table, closer to me. “President Lattimer’s birthday is coming up. ”

  I stare at her blankly.

  “And we always have a big party. ” She cocks her head at me. “I guess you haven’t come in the past, but I thought you’d know about it. ”

  I shrug. “I’ve heard about it before, but we’ve never been invited. ”

  “Well, you’ll need a dress,” Mrs. Lattimer says, voice brisk.

  “I have a dress,” I tell her. “I wore it the day I married Bishop. ” I have no desire to wear it again, but I don’t want her charity, either.

  “Not that kind of dress, Ivy. Something fancier. ” She gives me the once over. “Something that fits. ”

  “I like that dress,” I say, stubborn in the face of her pushiness.

  “No, you don’t,” she says. “I saw you fussing with it the entire time you had it on. It was too short. ” She walks to the front door and opens it, gesturing for me to step outside. “You represent the Lattimers now, and you are going to look the part. ” She doesn’t need to say whether you like it or not for me to hear it. “Most girls would be thrilled to have the opportunity for a new dress. ”

  “I’m not most girls,” I mutter as she ushers me out the front door.

  “Yes,” she says from behind me, voice crisp. “I’m aware of that. ”

  “Where are we going?” I ask her as we reach the sidewalk and she turns left toward the center of town.

  “I have a dressmaker I use. She agreed to meet with us today. ” Mrs. Lattimer’s heels click loudly on the pavement.

  “Am I going to get any say in this?”

  “Of course. ” Mrs. Lattimer looks me up and down. “As long as you have good taste. ” Her expression tells me she finds that possibility highly unlikely.

  It turns out I’ve passed the storefront of the shop every day going to and from work but never really noticed it. There’s no sign out front, nothing hanging in the windows. And Mrs. Lattimer has to press a buzzer before we are admitted.

  “Very exclusive,” I say as we go inside.

  Mrs. Lattimer doesn’t respond, but the tips of her fingers press a little harder than necessary into my back as she pushes me forward into the cool dimness of the shop. There are bolts of fabric leaning against the walls and two comfy-looking chairs near the front window. The back wall is all mirrored glass, other than a curtain-covered doorway on the far right. The woman who emerges from the doorway is younger than I expected. Given Mrs. Lattimer and her somewhat severe and formal style of dress, I pictured a wizened old woman with knobby fingers and a witch’s cackle.

  But this woman is in her forties, I’d guess, with short black hair and a friendly smile. It’s only as she walks toward us that I notice the foot she drags behind her, giving her a rolling gait that makes me fear she’s going to fall with every step.

  “So this is your new daughter-in-law,” she says, holding out both arms and giving me a hug. I stand rigid in her arms, not sure how to respond. “I’m Susan,” the woman says, “it’s nice to meet you. ”

  “Hi,” I say, trying to extricate myself as gingerly as I can.

  Susan moves from me to Mrs. Lattimer and gives her the same warm welcome. Although Mrs. Lattimer smiles, I suspect she is as excited with the hug as I am.

  “Like I told you, she’s tall,” Mrs. Lattimer says, and both women turn to look at me.

  “Very,” says Susan. She tilts her head and inspects me.

  “She can get away with something dramatic,” Mrs. Lattimer continues. “She has the body to carry it off. Maybe strapless?” She looks at Susan for confirmation.

  “Not strapless,” I interject. I would be pulling at the top all night, living in fear of it slipping down around my waist.

  Mrs. Lattimer raises her eyebrows at me. “Any other contributions, Ivy?”

  I figure staying silent won’t gain me anything. I’m not very good at it anyway. “I like purple. ”