Chapter 6

Ophelia's POV

My apartment smelled faintly of toast.

I shut the door, slipped off my shoes, and set my bag on the bench beneath Ivy's coat hooks. Her yellow raincoat hung from one of them, one sleeve turned inside out. Beneath it, her spare sneakers stood neatly side by side.

James's work, almost certainly. My daughter usually left them wherever her feet happened to stop.

On the kitchen counter, he'd left a note beside a clean plate.

School drop-off accomplished. She says I cut toast wrong. Apparently you'll explain.

I laughed before I could help it.

Then I sat down.

The apartment was quiet. For the first time since I'd woken in Finnegan's bed, I could close a door and know no one would come through it unless I let them.

I stayed at the kitchen table for a minute, looking at the things I'd left out yesterday: a grocery list, a hair clip, the invitation to a school event Ivy insisted I attend even though she'd told me it was a secret.

Nothing had moved. It helped more than I expected.

My phone buzzed.

You home? Lisa.

Yes. About to shower.

Good. Water first. You're welcome for that excellent medical advice.

Please send your invoice to the birthday bartender.

Fair. Call me later, okay?

I said I would, then texted James my thanks and an explanation of the correct toast shape.

Triangles. Naturally.

His reply came a moment later.

She's very patient with beginners.

In the bathroom, I took off my dress and left it in the laundry basket. I turned on the shower, tested the water, and stepped under it.

There was no reason to hurry. My next hospital shift wasn't until tomorrow.

I stood there until the tightness across my shoulders began to ease. Every time I thought of last night, another question followed. Why hadn't he believed me about the room? What had he thought when he woke and saw me? Why leave without a word?

I wasn't going to find the answers in my shower.

I washed my hair, dried off, and pulled on an old T-shirt and soft shorts. Then I opened the bedroom curtains just enough to let in some light.

I'd chosen this apartment because of the windows. That, and the second bedroom, which Ivy had claimed before we finished the viewing. The building was well kept, her school was nearby, and the kitchen had enough counter space for us to bake without knocking everything onto the floor.

I paid for a cleaner to come every week. There was a good coffee machine, a sofa deep enough for two people to fall asleep watching cartoons, and a small balcony crowded with plants we were getting better at keeping alive.

I liked my home. I liked coming back to it.

Grandma's treatment had come first. Then help at home, so Grandpa could take a break without worrying about leaving her. I'd put money aside for school and, later, for Ivy. These days my salary covered our routine expenses, and there was still a cushion for the things we couldn't plan.

The cleaner's invoice lay on my dresser. I paid it and added coffee beans to the grocery list on my phone. Finnegan used to complain about the kind I bought. I put the phone down before I could wonder whether he still remembered that.

I sat on the edge of the bed and remembered him asking whether his mother had spoken to me. I'd looked him in the eye and denied it. Even now, I could hear myself telling him to forget me.

He had deserved the truth. I'd chosen my grandparents' safety and kept it from him instead.

I could still live with the choice. Remembering how I'd carried it out was harder.

My phone rang before I could think any further.

Grandma.

I answered the video call and found myself looking at Grandpa's chin.

“A little higher,” I said.

“I can see you fine.”

“I know. I'd like to see you too.”

The picture wobbled, and Grandma appeared beside him, already smiling.

“How was the party?”

“Good. Lisa had fun.”

“And you?”

“I drank more than I should have.”

“Well, have something to eat.” She turned toward Grandpa. “Don't start. You were young once.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were getting ready to.”

I leaned against my pillows and let them bicker. Grandma looked comfortable, her cardigan buttoned wrong at the top. She wasn't the woman she'd been before she got sick, but she was here, correcting Grandpa and asking about my breakfast.

We talked about their week, an appointment, whether they needed anything. They both said no, which meant I would ask again separately.

“Bring Ivy over soon,” Grandma said. “She promised to show me something.”

“She's promised everyone something. I'll check her schedule.”

“And get some rest. You look tired.”

“That's the plan.”

After we hung up, I set an alarm for school pickup and slept.

By afternoon, my head had cleared. I ate, checked my messages, and went to collect Ivy.

She came through the classroom door with a piece of paper held out in front of her.

“Don't fold it.”

“Hello to you too.”

She wrapped one arm around my waist, keeping the paper out of danger with the other.

“Hi, Mommy. Don't fold it, okay?”

“Understood.”

It was a drawing of our apartment, complete with balcony plants and a purple square I eventually identified as me on the sofa.

“That's your blanket.”

“Right. Very accurate.”

On the way home, she told me about James's toast and a disagreement at school over who got to use the green marker. I listened, asking questions in the right places, grateful that she had so much to say.

“Was there cake?” she asked as we reached our building.

“There was.”

“Did you bring me some?”

“I didn't. Sorry, sweetheart.”

She considered the seriousness of this failure.

“We could get some.”

We went back down the street to the bakery and chose a slice to share after dinner.

At home, I put her drawing on the refrigerator. She fetched her toys while I started cooking. A little later, she climbed onto a kitchen stool and watched me cut vegetables.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yes. James is taking you to school again. He'll pick you up too, and I'll be home after work.”

“Tell him triangles.”

“Already handled.”

I was a neurosurgery resident at UCLA Medical Center. The hours could be long, and plans sometimes changed with very little warning. Having money put aside helped, but so did having people I trusted and making arrangements before I needed them.

I wanted to be good at my work. I also wanted to come home and hear about green markers. Both took some planning.

After dinner, Ivy did her schoolwork beside me while I checked the information for my next shift. Then I put my phone away, helped her get ready for bed, and read the book she chose.

She stopped me halfway down a page.

“You skipped a bit.”

I looked back. She was right.

“Sorry.”

“Start there.” She pointed, then tucked herself against my arm.

I started again.

When she fell asleep, I stayed beside her for a while. Her cheek rested on the edge of the pillow, her hair falling into her eyes. I brushed it back carefully.

Finnegan didn't know about any of this. He didn't know her favorite book or how she liked her toast. He didn't even know there was someone to learn those things about.

I could no longer put that thought away as easily as I had before last night.

In the living room, I set out what I needed for work and checked my alarm. My bag sat where I'd left it that morning. I took out the cash, put it in a drawer, and left it there. I didn't want to make another decision about Finnegan tonight.

Tomorrow, there would be patients to see and work I understood how to do.

I turned off the light and went to bed.