Writing On The Wall (The King Brothers Duology #2)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

IVY

The beeping of my alarm pulls me out of sleep. My air mattress squeaks as I roll off and stretch. I’m so glad Carl is bringing my furniture this afternoon. This thing wasn’t made for long term use. I pick up the fuzzy cardigan that’s puddled next to my makeshift bed and pull it on.

My toes squish into the stained, sun-weathered carpets. These will definitely need to go. I make a note on my phone to find a Youtube video on DIY carpet removal. Hopefully there’s salvageable wood beneath.

I pad into the kitchen, noting the faded floral print that borders the trim. Nearly everything in this room looks the same as it did to my seven-year-old eyes, just a tad more faded. There’s a bittersweet nostalgia in the twirl of the vines on the wallpaper and the light spilling through the window above the sink.

This house was my childhood refuge, the only place I could be myself without any pressure to perform. Not to mention, I got much more attention here than in my own home. My parents were usually more focused on their missionary work or busy dealing with Ross, and he was usually getting up to mischief with friends and uninterested in spending time with his quirky Gran. Meanwhile, I lavished having her all to myself.

Throughout all of the years I walked around with my stomach in knots, the only time I remember feeling it unclench is when I walked through these doors. None of the things I had to prove to my parents mattered here.

But today, standing in this kitchen seems to have dragged up a few of those insecurities from the past. Now that I’m older and my problems have only matured over time, this place no longer feels like the sanctuary it once was. But if Gran wants to see it restored, I’ll give that to her.

Plus , homeless beggars can’t be choosers.

My chest rises with a heavy inhale as I shuffle into the living room, only to find more work to be done. That to-do list in my head is growing by the second. I’m supposed to be meeting with Gran’s lawyer this evening, and I’m praying her reno fund will be enough to cover everything, or at least enough to make the house livable.

Some of these walls will be coming down, that’s for sure. My slight claustrophobia will throw a tantrum if I’m forced to keep the narrow kitchen separate from the living room. Give me all the open-plan spaces.

But to my unskilled eye, the bones of the house appear good. I’m hoping most of the repairs are surface level and therefore less expensive.

My cold shower may be on-trend, but I still scream when I step under the freezing spray. I’m not looking forward to hair-wash day, and I shiver again at the thought. I’ll admit, I feel very alert and can even picture my endorphins putting on their party hats, but I won’t be joining the cold-plunge evangelists any time soon. There’s nothing like a hot shower .

During my drive to school I get lost in thought, daydreaming about the possibilities for restoring the cottage to its full glory. I have yet to explore all the nooks I remember as a little girl, but I can’t wait to get into it all. My mental Pinterest boarding is interrupted by my phone ringing.

“Ross,” I say after answering on speaker phone.

“Vee.”

“What. The. Heck!”

He sighs heavily into the phone, and I can picture him rubbing his forehead. “I know. I’m really sorry.”

“I love you, Ross. But you’ve gotta meet me halfway here. You left me in a really sucky position.”

Understatement of the year.

“I know. I’m—ugh, I’m in a bit of trouble. I just need a little more time.”

I lean forward, resting my forehead on the steering wheel when I stop at a light. Just once, I’d like to see my brother making the right choice.

“What kind of trouble?” I mumble through my curtain of hair.

“I had a bet go bad. It was supposed to be a sure thing. But I’m trying. I’ll get your money soon, I promise.”

“A bet is never a sure thing. That’s why it’s called a bet. Did you look into those community college classes I sent you?” I straighten, motioning with my hands even though he can’t see me. “Electricians are in high demand in this area, and I think a career like that could be so good for you. I’ll even help you pay for your classes. Just please ? — ”

“So you have a little more you could give me?”

I pound my fist on the steering wheel. “Ross! Are you for real right now? I literally have nothing left to give you!”

I hear him grunt through the phone, like he’s annoyed his ATM is out of cash. “Okay. I’ll fix this, Vee. I love you.” And then he hangs up.

The loud blast of a car horn startles me, and I raise a hand in the rearview mirror in apology.

The rest of my drive to school is spent pushing back tears and berating myself for wasting my energy being so upset about something I should have expected. I know better. But he’s my brother, and I just can’t give up on him.

Toby is the only one in the teachers’ lounge when I use my shoulder to push the door open. He’s sipping his coffee calmy, like an old man cherishing his quiet morning, but this fake girlfriend is about to mess that up.

“Hey, Tobes. Can we talk?”

“Of course.” He smiles, setting his coffee down. “I’m sorry you couldn’t find me yesterday. Stef said you were looking for me?”

“Oh, that’s okay.”

“She also said that ‘hunky playground dude’ was with you. It seems all women want a tall man,” He grimaces through his use of air quotes.

“Ugh.” I roll my eyes, looking to the side. “Not all of us, trust me. Hey…um, by the way, my Gran sorta thinks we’re dating. So I’m going to need you to return this fake-dating favor on occasion if that’s okay.”

Toby’s head falls back with a burst of laughter and a loud clap.

I get it. Our storyline is getting more complicated than a plot on Days Of Our Lives. But unlike a soap opera, these tiny fibs and omissions of truth aren’t hurting anybody. In fact, mine’s more of an assumption I’ve yet to correct.

“Wow. Nice deflection from your grumpy construction man,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “But, yeah, that’s fine with me.” He lets out a loud, slow exhale as he finishes laughing, then pushes off his chair. “I’ve got some things to prep in my class. I’ll see you later.” On his way out he pauses, turning to me with a hand on the door. “But next time, text me if you need my help. I’ve got your back, Vee.”

A sudden ache forms in my chest, along with a giant lump in my throat. I manage a series of quick, short nods to avoid letting him hear my voice crack. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without Toby, and that’s scary.

What would I do if I didn’t have someone with the intuition to fill in the gaps for all my shortcomings? Would I crack under the pressure or be forced to finally seek the help I know I need?

I bend to adjust the strap on my wedged heel before shuffling out of the lounge. Every now and then, I get the urge to wear flat shoes to school. But ultimately, I chicken out, afraid of having to hear someone compare my stature to my second graders’. Plus, parents tend to take me less seriously when I’m only a few inches taller than their eight-year-olds.

C.J. pops her head out her door, catching me on my way to my classroom. “Ivy. Can you step in here for a minute?”

“Sure.” Even as an adult, being called to the principal’s office is a new experience for me. As a child, I struggled to skate by and avoided any kind of reprimanding with every fiber of my being. Not letting my grades slip was a daily battle, and living in the shadow of my brother and his poor behavior was just as difficult.

You’d think that with such determination I’d have excelled and earned straight A’s. But I was stuck in that invisible state between under- and over-performing. My dyslexia was never diagnosed because I hid the evidence of my handicap so well. I was so concerned with making sure I never caused my parents any trouble that I internalized it all and made do with whatever I had. I guess it’s too bad I’m breaking my principal’s office streak today.

C.J. perches on the end of her desk chair at an angle, like she’s the model under the green check mark that says “Do This” in a posing tutorial. She’s all sleek lines at flattering degrees, while I’m the tiny slouch under the big red “What Not to Do” section.

“How’s the prep going for your field trip with Stef?” She glances at me over the rim of her dainty half-glasses. They’re the kind you’d call spectacles and then stick your pinky out while sipping tea. I’m getting etiquette lessons just watching her.

“They’re going great,” I say, leaning forward. “I’ve confirmed all the details with the exploratorium, and Stef is sending emails to the parents this week.”

“Good.” She smiles, taking a seat and flashing me her perfectly white teeth framed by her flawless red lips. She’s like a living advertisement for graceful aging, and her fingers fly across her keyboard while she talks like she was born multitasking.

“Anything you want to tell me about you and Toby?” She peers at me briefly with a teasing smile, though her fingers don’t rest for a second.

I open my mouth to deliver the same fib I’ve given to everyone else in my life so far, but I just can’t bring myself to put on the fake-dating show for C.J. It feels like a ‘don’t poop where you eat’ sort of thing. And now that I’ve allowed this white lie to seep into so many other facets of my life, I realize the need to protect the place I call a second home.

“Only that Toby’s my favorite coworker and that he’s like a brother to me.”

Her dancing fingers pause their routine as she gives me one of her gently appraising looks. One that lets me know I made the right choice telling her the truth.

“Okay. But if that changes, let me know.” She turns back to her computer before her hand shoots up to stop me. “Oh, wait! While I have you here…” Then she lowers her spectacles over her nose as she squints at her screen. “Where’s that email from Gil…” She intones the words as she searches, like she’ll forget I’m here if she doesn’t work to keep me entertained. “Here we are. As per Gil’s words, ‘We desperately need someone to head up the parent volunteers to paint backdrops and props for the end of year recital.’ ”

The glasses come off, and she holds them daintily in her hands as they rest together on her desk.

“I don’t want to overload you, but I’m asking you first because, well, you’re here. Do you have time to help with this?”

Nope.

“Absolutely.” I dip my head in a nod.

Do I have any more room on my plate right now? Of course not. But I desperately want to please her. Heck, I might accidentally call her ‘mom’ if I’m not careful here.

“Wonderful!” She beams at me, warming my people-pleasing little heart.

Welp.

What’s one more thing on my to-do list? This shouldn’t backfire on me at all.