Ivey Pierce is an explorer, and thanks to her career as a wildlife biologist, she does not stay stationary for long. But when her parents die in a terrible accident, and her childhood home is left vacant for two years, she returns to the tattered me...
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tw: parental death, loss/death
WESTON DROPPED ME OFF at my front door the following day with a honk and waved goodbye. He drove home to Masie, who was likely wondering where her owner had been all night. With trashed Ivey.
Not turning on a single light, I stripped while walking through my bedroom and bathroom. With my robe and towel in hand, I made buttered toast and poured a glass of ice water, then stood at the foot of the stairs leading up to my parent's bedroom.
Unless I was gathering fresh linens or cleaning supplies, I had not been upstairs in any bedrooms since I got back. There was no need. Yet, my parent's clawfoot tub, which overlooked the bay, called my name.
After a long exhale, I hiked upstairs and pushed into my parent's room through the double doors. Their scent caged me, and I had to grip the door frame.
The floor-to-ceiling Chinoiserie curtains were taught, though the tiniest streak of light beamed across the room like a speckled wall of gold. Their sheets were slick and adorned with blue throw pillows.
The room appeared frozen in time.
My mom's perfume bottles and jewelry littered the dresser, and my father's ties hung over the wicker rocking chair beside the bay window. The same window seat I occasionally sleep on and watch the beams from the lighthouse revolve in a steady rhythm.
My shoulders sagged. "Hi, mom and dad."
The tile was cold on my toes as I opened the window shades and drew a bath. With effort, I avoided looking in the mirror because I knew I looked as bad as I felt, and I was surprised I survived thirty minutes in the car without puking.
My phone hummed with a text from Weston. Make sure you eat and drink water today. Don't skip meals.
My cheeks dimpled, and I glanced at his house, which I had a perfect view of from this window. I have buttered toast and water. Super nutritious. Getting into the bath to soak away the scent of the motel.
Except the buttered toast was not sitting well in my stomach, and just before I stepped into the tub, my cheeks began to water, and I bolted to the toilet, puking up all of the content inside of my stomach.
So much for trying to be proactive.
Leaning against the cool wall, I texted back, Never mind. Buttered toast came back up.
He sent back a frowning face. Come by the office. I'll give you IV fluids.
Even though he was joking, I chuckled, holding my stomach. The last thing I would want to do was go to work and the fact that he had to go into the office today made me doubly queasy; for him and me. I had never been more thankful for my computer.
My muscles felt like jello as I lowered myself into the tub and cracked the window. The hot water engulfed my body while my head was chilly from the bracing scent of damp earth blowing into the room.
