Two Christmases

Later, I lay in bed trying to take inventory of what I'd seen. There were tattoos - I expected those - but the pockmarks and what looked like burn scars, those told a story of - what? Abuse? Self-deprecation? It made me wonder about her life after Claire and me, and if my assessment could be wrong.

In the morning, I found Ivy at the kitchenette counter, furiously writing. She gave me a distracted 'good morning.' I went to shower and when I came out dressed for the day, Ivy announced today's plan with a big smile on her face.

"Mark, we're getting off the ship in Vancouver," she pointed to her packed bags. I gazed at her, astounded.

"I want to explore," she continued. "The only time I've ever been there was a... let's just say, unpleasant experience."

"Why are you packed," I asked the obvious.

"We're spending New Year's Eve at a hotel downtown."

"Okay, but we're not going to be able to get a reservation," I honestly told her.

"That's already taken care of," she retorted. "Booked and paid for."

The whole thing scared me. She'd mentioned several times that she meant to explain... something big and she kept referencing this day.

"What are you doing, Ivy?" maybe she saw the concern I couldn't hide.

"We have a lot to do," she said as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "A lot to talk about, and to celebrate a new year. Come on, go pack, and let's get going."

I was skeptical, but I did as she asked. We debarked an hour later, without the help of a wheelchair. A taxi was waiting for us and we headed straight to our hotel - the Fairmont Pacific Rim.

Whatever she had planned, we'd be doing it in style. What surprised me most was Ivy's demeanor and energy level. It was like there was nothing wrong with her at all, and much different from the previous days. Hell, it was different from any day since I'd first seen her.

We hit the shops on the first and second floor, as she went on a spending spree. We also hit the high-end shops across the street.

"I'm getting Claire some things, and our grandson. Oh, and Richard. I think he's good for her." She told me when I asked what she was up to. I wouldn't allow her to buy me anything.

Later, at lunch, Ivy began to set the stage for our big talk. "Mark, I want you to know something."

I looked at her and stopped chewing. It seemed important for her to say.

"Of all the men... I've been with," she paused. "You're the only man I ever truly loved."

"All the men?" I guess I wasn't ready to address the other part of her statement. She understood and her sigh told me so.

"Yes," Ivy sat up straight like she was about to bare her very soul. "I stayed with Frye for almost six years. Six long years and I can't think of any reason I stayed as long as I did, except my foolish pride."

I raised an eyebrow waiting for her to continue. "He was abusive - physically and mentally - I think from almost the first week when I told you I wasn't coming home. He'd gotten what he wanted. It took me far too long to realize his true nature. I didn't want to see it."

"Is that where all those marks came from?" she already knew I'd seen them.

"My dear man," she snickered trying to hide her pain. "If I were to detail how I got those, you'd most certainly lose the one-hundred-fifty-dollar lunch you're eating."

I didn't budge, letting her comment roll off like Teflon. The question hung there.

"Not all," she seemed ashamed. "Frye's thing was mental abuse, reigning or lording over me, perhaps to prove he was something akin to my master. Before Claire even had her second birthday, I was already performing sexually for Frye and his so-called friends. Lots of it was disgusting enough that I won't share it. You think poorly enough of me already."

"What happened after you left him?" I was almost afraid to ask.

"Plenty of the same," she said it as if it was the most likely outcome. "The only people I knew were in the music business. Most were friendly with him or friends of his. Fire to the frying pan kind of shit. I had no support system. And honestly, I saw it as penance for what I did to you and Claire. Finally, and another six years down the drain, I met a woman who helped me get out. Helped me get my shit together. She got nothing out of it. Not money, or even sex. She helped me extort money from Frye. The legal system wouldn't have done a thing except take money I didn't have."

"I'm sorry," I stammered. "I... didn't know."

Strangely, Ivy burst out laughing. "Of course not!" she said loudly. "How would you have? You had our daughter. You had your wife and a son as well. Your job and a perfect family."

I realized the laughter was to mask her other feelings. She was... jealous.

"I used to dream," she changed the subject. "I mean, sometimes it was a dream, and I'm pretty sure others it was a hallucination when I was in a drug-induced stupor. Anyway, in my dream, I'd return home to you. Claire was always still around age one - just as I'd left her. You'd be waiting at our front door, not in our old place but in a newer bigger house. You had this smile on your face. Not a 'happy to see you' smile, but a knowing smile that said, 'told you so.' Every time, I'd be embarrassed for my behavior, but you'd still welcome me in."

"Why are you telling me this?" I had to know.

"That's easy," she giggled, "you're too kind of a man to ask. And because I told you from the start that I needed to unburden myself. In the grand scheme of things, it will do you better than me, I think."

I didn't have anything else to say just then. Maybe I was afraid to speak. The conflict was overwhelming. She'd gotten exactly what she deserved, and no part of me felt triumphant about it.

Ivy ordered a Crème Brulé for dessert. I was stuffed after the Dungeness crab salad and lobster bisque.

"Aren't you overdoing it a bit?" she knew what I meant.

"No," she stated. "Besides, what harm can come from it? I'm sitting here with you, enjoying the end of a year and the beginning of another. What little of it I get to see, that is."

Who was I to say? She took a bite and with an 'umm,' she continued her little unburdening.

"After I got out," she said. "Well, I spent most of my time trying to get well. First, I had to get clean. Clean and sober in my case meant checking into a rehab center, and the clean part meant getting my STDs under control and then cured. I spent a year there and it was a good thing Brianna, my friend, helped me get money out of Frye and the band because that place wasn't cheap."

She kept scooping at the velvety substance, so I waited. "After that," she looked up at me, "I became a recluse. I'd experienced every wild, outrageous thing I could ever imagine. Most of it was bad. The meds for the STDs had saved my life but had done a number on my immune system. That's not good when your family has a history of cancer."

She dug out the last remnants and savored it. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

Ivy told me a few more details that I asked her for. We sat in the restaurant long after we were finished. I expected her to get a nap in, so she could ring in the new year. Again, her stamina surprised me. Ivy wanted to go to the casino, saying she'd never been to one. I found that just about as odd as all the other revelations of the day.

When we arrived, Ivy handed me three hundred in cash and told me we were to be 'conservative' so we didn't run out. I told her that I thought she was rich. She laughed at me. "Not rich, Mark. Just well off."

We played the slots for two hours. She won three hundred and I had to laugh at the irony.

I don't like to dwell on the details of the rest of that night. We ate and danced, and we rang in the new year. We drank a toast to innocence, and we drank a toast to now. At midnight we sang Auld Lang Syne at the top of our lungs. Present company excluded; it was a wonderful distraction from what my life had become.

I expected I'd need to carry Ivy back up to our room, but she made it under her own power. I wondered if it was all muscle memory from her wild days.

We'd gotten into our respective beds, and I was lying there reflecting on the day when she climbed into my bed. Defensively, I scooted away, giving her a questioning look.

"Please, Mark," she said softly but with urgency. "I don't want anything except to cuddle. It's our last night and I want to fall asleep next to you - just one more time."

I relented. Why I'll never know. I had a hundred good reasons not to, and I was prepared to lay them all out for her. But I didn't.

In the morning, I woke before her and went quietly into the bathroom to do my morning business. After twenty-five minutes I came back out and saw her there still sleeping soundly. I was on my way to go make us some coffee when it hit me. A slight smell of urine.

I walked over to her side of the bed. The sheets and comforter were up to her neck. I carefully pulled them aside. As grey as her skin tone had been over the past month, the color I saw then scared me so much that my heart skipped several beats. Her face was cold to the touch.

I put my ear to her nose, even though I already knew what I wouldn't find. My fingers found no pulse.

The next several hours were a flurry of activity. Police, paramedics, the coroner. I was questioned, - hounded actually - until one of the officers found the information Ivy had written out in her purse. She explained her disease, gave her doctors' contact info, and explained we were on a last holiday to celebrate her life. That was a stretch, but she'd been clear that she knew she could pass on during our time together and that I was in no way responsible. After reading what she wrote, the attendants actually dressed Ivy, which blew me away. I didn't think that would have happened in the U.S. even with the note.

After Ivy was wheeled out on the gurney and the others left, I sat down on the sofa in an overwhelmed state and cried. Fucking Ivy, what a selfish bitch she was, right to the very end. Nothing like going out with a bang!

But then I thought about it, really thought. Why was I here? What was the point? Then I cried harder, for me. It dawned on me I'd been sitting there a long time. The clock said four in the afternoon. I had to call Claire. That conversation lasted another hour. The front desk hadn't even bothered me about checking out. Why would they?

I went through Ivy's purse as I'd already determined that she'd punched her own ticket. There was nothing there. But in her suitcase, I found the letter addressed to me.

Mark,

If you're reading this, then I guess I owe you yet another apology. It seems to be the story of my life. I'm sorry. Sorry for every single bit of it. You're the best man I've ever known, and unfortunately, I've known far too many.

Because of that, and for all I've done to shit on your life, I had to take a chance. Something good has to come from all the heartache I've caused, and the story should have some sort of happy ending.

That's why I asked you on the trip with me. You deserve a happy life. Despite what happened to Carrissa and all the other crap shoveled upon you. So, I took a chance. I did it for our daughter too.

Mark, Claire needs her father. You're what she has left, other than a fine husband. Our grandkids will need you too. Not half of you - rather all of you. They'll need exactly what Claire received. The best man in the world. You may not see yourself that way, but Claire and I do. No, she had no idea of my ulterior motives so don't blame her.

If I could have taken it all back and started again, I would have. I made so many horrible decisions and arguably paid the price. You have the rest of your life to live. Please don't dwell on what I've done. You lost a wife, but you also lost a partner and confidante. You had your rock and she was taken. Please find another rock. Don't bury yourself in a job you mostly do alone. Please don't be alone. You're not me, and you deserve better. To help a little, my will provides you the beneficiary of my two-point-five million dollars. I've left it to you alone to do as you see fit. I trust you to take care of Claire because you always have. Use some to help yourself too. Find something you're passionate about, and embrace it.

My eternal love,

Ivy

The snow came down thick and heavy the morning of Ivy's funeral and the dampness perpetuated our mood. I held Claire tightly as the reverend read the passages. Then Claire said a few kind words. We were the only attendees, and as we turned to make our way back home, the snow turned into rain.

Ivy had been successful in her mission. Claire and Richard had a beautiful son, Mark II, who looked an awful lot like Claire's mother. I took most of the money and with Claire's blessing, we started two foundations: one for battered women and another to legally assist and financially aid uninsured victims of vehicular accidents, which we named the Carrissa Sullivan Foundation. Brady moved back to the States and became the director of both. Even with the extra work we were all committed to spending more time together as a family.

By the time I reached age sixty-five, both of my children were married and I had four little grandkids to dote over.

Ivy had, in her final days and hours, embraced the concept of selflessly caring for others. She'd earned at least some redemption in my eyes and in Claire's. I'd never be completely sure if that was her plan, or if her true intent was to make amends by helping me past Carrissa's death. Either way, it worked.