Page 21 of Clint & Ivy
IVY
The sun set on my firstday away from my family. Elle left after dinner, taking Boa to Rock’s unit on her way out. My new clothes were hung up and folded in the spare room. I had tried on my new shoes. The bathroom cabinet was full of period supplies. Clint moved the information from my old iPhone onto my new red one. He also added important numbers like his, Elle’s, and one belonging to the club’s lawyer who was his cousin.
Around eight, Clint took Hanzee down to the building’s courtyard. As soon as he left, I stared at my phone and thought about Uncle Dwight. With his mind failing, he might not even remember why I went away. Was he already dead? I imagined him alone when the end came.
The grief seared through me, erasing all the good from today. Sitting on the couch, I pressed my legs against my chest and cried against my knees. I wanted to call Uncle Dwight. If he was alive, I could tell him how everything worked out. I wanted him to die knowing he was my hero.
Except I knew Clint didn’t want me to call Dwight. And my uncle was no doubt already dead. That was why he told me to run. He was tired, and our time had run out.
But maybe Uncle Dwight could go home and live out what time he had left in the mansion. Linus would know his brother’s mind wasn’t strong enough to retain information about where I went.
I told myself Linus would bring Dwight home. They’d figure out the money situation. With me gone, the men might stick together. Everything could be fine.
Clint returned to find me sniffling and hiccupping. I felt better as soon as he shared my space. Settling on the couch, he stroked my head while resting Hanzee between us.
“Tell me why you’re sad.”
“If Uncle Dwight hadn’t wanted to save me, he could have died at home. Now, he’s alone somewhere,” I explained. “I keep wanting to call him.”
“What would you say?”
“Just that I’m safe, and I love him. I’d say he doesn’t need to be scared anymore.”
Clint stood up and walked to his front closet. He returned with a small phone.
“This is a burner phone. No one can trace it. Call your uncle and tell him that you’re safe.”
My chest felt heavy with worry, guilt, and anticipation. I took the phone with my shaky hands.
“Tell him whatever you need to say but don’t share where you are. Nothing good can come out of him knowing.”
Studying Clint, I admitted, “I feel like you’re testing me, and I’m supposed to give the phone back to you.”
“No, I’m not a gotcha-type guy. If I didn’t want you to call him, I wouldn’t have offered the phone.”
Unaccustomed to people trusting me to choose for myself, I studied the phone. I imagined Dwight answering. How would I handle if he cried and asked me to return to him? I’d probably break down and promise him lies.
Twice, I dialed my uncle’s number. Both times, my call went to his voicemail. I pictured the phone ringing in the Mercedes. Did Uncle Dwight even understand what the ringing noise meant?
In my heart, I sensed he was dead. Without me to keep him going, Dwight used the gun on himself. I didn’t want to imagine him going undiscovered in the Mercedes. Accepting his death, I called back a third time to hear my uncle’s voice on the voicemail message.
“Dwight didn’t impress many people, but I loved him,” I said and burst into tears. “He used to play dolls with me. When my mom put me on random diets, he would sneak me treats.”
