Read Online The Fixer by Jennifer Lynn Barnes - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Lynn Barnes
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answered. A month later, she’d called to wish me a happy birthday, like nothing was wrong.
After that, I stopped calling her, and I stopped asking why.
Across from me, Ivy began applying clotted cream to her scone. “What do
you
want, Tess?”
“Not tea and crumpets,” I muttered. “That’s for damn sure.”
An older lady at the table next to us shot me a dirty look. I stared down at the lace tablecloth.
“I didn’t ask you what you don’t want,” Ivy informed me. “I asked what you
do
want. Don’t think of this as a heart-to-heart. Think of it as a negotiation. I want you to give this arrangement a chance.” Ivy’s voice never changed—not in volume, not in tone. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll see what I can do.”
I wanted to go home. I wanted
Gramps
to come home. But even the great Ivy Kendrick couldn’t turn back the clock. She couldn’t
make
him well.
“Have you heard from the doctors?” My voice sounded dull to my own ears.
“I got an update this morning.” Ivy set her tea down. “He’s got some cognitive impairment, disorientation, mood swings.”
I thought of Gramps yelling, demanding to know what I’d done with his wife.
“He has good days,” I told Ivy.
Her voice was gentle. “They’re going to get fewer and farther between. There are some treatment possibilities. A clinical trial, for one.”
“I want to talk to the doctors.” I swallowed, pushing down the lump in my throat. “I want them to explain the different options. And I want to talk to Gramps.”
I’d tried calling but hadn’t been able to get through yet.
“I’ll get you the doctor’s direct number,” Ivy promised. “What else do you want?” She paused. “For
you
?”
I didn’t reply.
“I want you to give yourself a chance to be happy here, no matter how angry you are with me.” Ivy leaned forward. “What do you want?”
She wasn’t going to stop asking until I answered. I gritted my teeth. “No more afternoon teas.”
Ivy didn’t bat an eye. “Done. What else?”
She wants a negotiation. Fine.
I locked my eyes on hers. “I want a car.”
Ivy blinked. Then she blinked again. “A car?”
“I don’t care if it’s used,” I told her. “I don’t care if it’s borrowed or barely functional. I want transportation.”
I didn’t like depending on other people. I needed to know that if push came to shove, I could take care of myself.
“Driving in DC isn’t like driving in Montana,” Ivy told me.
“I can learn.” My words sounded strangely loud. For a moment, I thought I’d raised my voice. Then I realized that I hadn’t—I was talking at the exact same volume; it was the rest of the restaurant that had changed.
It was silent.
I glanced to my right. The old women sitting at the table next to us were gone. And so were the women at the table beside them.
The sorority sisters on the other side, the mother with the three little girls . . .
They were all gone.
The entire restaurant was empty, except for us.
Ivy took in the silence, the empty chairs, and she sighed. Then she picked up her tea and took another drink, waiting.
For what?
The back door to the restaurant opened. A man wearing a suit stepped through. He had an earpiece in one ear and a gun strapped to his side.
“Mark,” Ivy greeted him.
He nodded to her but didn’t say anything. A second later, a woman stepped through the door. She was in her early sixties but could have passed for a decade younger. She had blond hairthat had gone only slightly silver with age, perfectly coiffed around her heart-shaped face, and wore navy blue like she had invented the color.
A second armed man followed her into the room.
“Georgia,” Ivy said. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Don’t lie, darling,” the woman replied. “It doesn’t suit you.” She crossed the room and pulled a chair over to our table. Then she turned warm hazel eyes on me. “You must be Tess.”
CHAPTER 15
When the First Lady of the
After that, I stopped calling her, and I stopped asking why.
Across from me, Ivy began applying clotted cream to her scone. “What do
you
want, Tess?”
“Not tea and crumpets,” I muttered. “That’s for damn sure.”
An older lady at the table next to us shot me a dirty look. I stared down at the lace tablecloth.
“I didn’t ask you what you don’t want,” Ivy informed me. “I asked what you
do
want. Don’t think of this as a heart-to-heart. Think of it as a negotiation. I want you to give this arrangement a chance.” Ivy’s voice never changed—not in volume, not in tone. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll see what I can do.”
I wanted to go home. I wanted
Gramps
to come home. But even the great Ivy Kendrick couldn’t turn back the clock. She couldn’t
make
him well.
“Have you heard from the doctors?” My voice sounded dull to my own ears.
“I got an update this morning.” Ivy set her tea down. “He’s got some cognitive impairment, disorientation, mood swings.”
I thought of Gramps yelling, demanding to know what I’d done with his wife.
“He has good days,” I told Ivy.
Her voice was gentle. “They’re going to get fewer and farther between. There are some treatment possibilities. A clinical trial, for one.”
“I want to talk to the doctors.” I swallowed, pushing down the lump in my throat. “I want them to explain the different options. And I want to talk to Gramps.”
I’d tried calling but hadn’t been able to get through yet.
“I’ll get you the doctor’s direct number,” Ivy promised. “What else do you want?” She paused. “For
you
?”
I didn’t reply.
“I want you to give yourself a chance to be happy here, no matter how angry you are with me.” Ivy leaned forward. “What do you want?”
She wasn’t going to stop asking until I answered. I gritted my teeth. “No more afternoon teas.”
Ivy didn’t bat an eye. “Done. What else?”
She wants a negotiation. Fine.
I locked my eyes on hers. “I want a car.”
Ivy blinked. Then she blinked again. “A car?”
“I don’t care if it’s used,” I told her. “I don’t care if it’s borrowed or barely functional. I want transportation.”
I didn’t like depending on other people. I needed to know that if push came to shove, I could take care of myself.
“Driving in DC isn’t like driving in Montana,” Ivy told me.
“I can learn.” My words sounded strangely loud. For a moment, I thought I’d raised my voice. Then I realized that I hadn’t—I was talking at the exact same volume; it was the rest of the restaurant that had changed.
It was silent.
I glanced to my right. The old women sitting at the table next to us were gone. And so were the women at the table beside them.
The sorority sisters on the other side, the mother with the three little girls . . .
They were all gone.
The entire restaurant was empty, except for us.
Ivy took in the silence, the empty chairs, and she sighed. Then she picked up her tea and took another drink, waiting.
For what?
The back door to the restaurant opened. A man wearing a suit stepped through. He had an earpiece in one ear and a gun strapped to his side.
“Mark,” Ivy greeted him.
He nodded to her but didn’t say anything. A second later, a woman stepped through the door. She was in her early sixties but could have passed for a decade younger. She had blond hairthat had gone only slightly silver with age, perfectly coiffed around her heart-shaped face, and wore navy blue like she had invented the color.
A second armed man followed her into the room.
“Georgia,” Ivy said. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Don’t lie, darling,” the woman replied. “It doesn’t suit you.” She crossed the room and pulled a chair over to our table. Then she turned warm hazel eyes on me. “You must be Tess.”
CHAPTER 15
When the First Lady of the
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