Take a Chance on Me(85)

“C’mon, Tiger!” Ivy said as she reached the deck. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

“Oh, he’s a boy; he’ll never be clean.” Ingrid came up behind her carrying the potato salad bowl and leftover hot dogs. “I think my boys spent their formative years covered in leaves, dirt, and woodchips.” She winked and headed toward the house.

Tiger came running up, and Ivy held open the door for him. Ingrid was piling dishes into the dishwasher. Ivy grabbed a rag and wiped Tiger’s face, his hands.

As she rinsed the rag, she saw Tiger head out the door, back to the fire pit. “I’m going to have an ’venture,” he said as he went outside.

“I’m glad you came tonight, Ivy.” Ingrid was still loading dishes. “You’re good for Darek.”

She was?

“I haven’t heard him laugh like that for . . . well, for years.”

Ingrid closed the dishwasher and began to fill the sink with hot water for the dishes that couldn’t fit. She picked up a sponge and a cup. Ivy grabbed a dish towel.

“He changed after he married Felicity. I think he realized that just because you make one mistake doesn’t mean you should make a second. But he had to make his own decisions. I think he thought we expected him to marry her, but we just wanted him to take responsibility for his action. Marriage only made things worse. He puts such pressure on himself.”

She handed Ivy the cup. “That’s why it’s so good to see him loosen up.” She met Ivy’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Ivy gave a little laugh. “Yeah, well, I used to be the best little scullery maid in the foster system.”

A tiny frown crossed Ingrid’s face. She turned back to the sink. “How long were you in the system?”

“I had fourteen homes altogether, from the time I was nine to eighteen. Thankfully, the system also helped pay for college, along with my grants, so it turned out okay.” She set the cup on the counter.

“Fourteen. Wow. I thought the system tried to adopt kids into homes.”

“I wasn’t adoptable.”

Ingrid glanced at her, frowned again.

“Oh, it’s not like they didn’t try. But . . . it never worked out.” She took the next cup from Ingrid’s hand and began to wipe it. “I realized pretty early that the foster care system is like a business. The families gave me a bed and food, and I gave them a paycheck. I was a commodity, worth a little more every year.”

Ingrid stilled. Drew her hands from the water, dripping with soap. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be at all. You’re not a commodity, Ivy. You were a little girl who needed a mom and a dad and a family. To be loved and hugged and cherished.”

Ivy’s eyes began to burn, and she let out a laugh, anything to loosen her breath. “No. It was fine. I was fine. It worked out just . . . fine. I didn’t need any affection. It wouldn’t have been real, anyway.”

She looked away, blinking, put the cup on the counter.

But Ingrid didn’t move. Water from her hands dripped onto the wood floor. “No, it wasn’t fine. You should have been cared for. Loved. You should have been adopted into a family.”

Ivy looked down, glanced at the open door. She should check on Tiger, see if he made it back to the fire pit okay.

Her voice sounded small as it emerged. “I did fine on my own. I learned to fit in, to not make trouble—at least until they figured out I didn’t belong, and then, well, I adapted. Learned to fit in somewhere else.” See, the terrible rush of heat had passed. She reached for another cup, but Ingrid caught her hand in her wet one.

“You don’t have to learn to fit in here, Ivy. Just be who you are. That’s enough for us. And it’s enough for God. You’re not a commodity to Him. You’re His precious child whom He loves.”

It was back, the tightness in her chest, the burn in her eyes, and now . . . Oh no, she had to look away because her face had begun to crumple. She wanted to say it—No, God doesn’t love me—but it felt too . . . raw. Pitiful, maybe. She blinked, trying to shake it all away.

“Oh, my sweet girl. I’m so glad God brought you to us.” Then Ingrid reached out and pulled Ivy close, into her flannel embrace.

And Ivy didn’t know what to do. Because it just felt so . . . so . . . Aw, shoot, Ingrid had such a tight grip on her, was holding her like she really meant it, and Ivy couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop herself from tucking her head into Ingrid’s shoulder, from covering her face with her hand, from letting the tiniest hiccup of sound escape.

And then she was crying. Really crying and not sure why. She just couldn’t stop this terrible, ugly rush of emotions that bubbled up and out of her. She came out of herself and could hardly believe that, indeed, she was holding on to Ingrid, weeping, and becoming an awful mess right there in the kitchen.