White Ivy(55)

“Should we go to the hospital?” Poppy asked, clutching her throat. She called over her shoulder, “Ted, can you come here? We need you.”

Ivy said she thought she might be having an allergic reaction. She’d had one when she was very young, to a bee sting, only less severe. That time, her throat had been itchy as well. She swallowed to check her reflexes, which seemed intact.

“The cat!” said Gideon. “Ivy, are you allergic to cats?”

“I don’t know,” she said through rubbery lips, beneath which, even as she looked into the mirror, she could feel the blood beginning to pulse.

“Is everything all right?” Ted asked, switching places with Gideon, who’d gone to fetch the Benadryl.

Poppy explained the situation to her husband. “Should we take her to the ER? Is this like a peanut allergy? Do we have an EpiPen on hand? How’s your breathing, Ivy?”

“What’s going on?” asked Sylvia, joining the fray.

“Ivy’s allergic to your cat,” said Poppy. “She’s been playing with him all evening. Look at her eyes.”

Sylvia frowned. “You’re allergic to Pepper?”

“I don’t know,” Ivy said again. She felt it was her fault she didn’t know anything about her own allergies.

Ted asked if she’d been around cats before.

“Not really.”

Gideon returned with a Benadryl and a glass of water. After she swallowed the pill, she said, “I’d better stay in my room in case it gets worse.”

“Oh yes,” said Poppy, “stay upstairs until the cat leaves tomorrow.”

“Pepper’s not leaving,” said Sylvia.

“We can’t keep him here if he makes Ivy sick.”

“We don’t even know she’s allergic to cats.”

“It’s not a food allergy,” said Gideon. “We’ve only had salad and steak. Have you been touching your eyes after petting him?”

Ivy tried to remember if she had done so; she wasn’t sure.

Sylvia said, “See—it might not be Pepper.”

Poppy, a tad shrill, said, “Really, Sylvia, now is not the time to argue about this.”

Sylvia’s cheeks flushed; she whipped her head around and disappeared down the hallway.

Gideon asked again about going to the hospital.

“I’m fine—really,” said Ivy, embarrassed at everyone’s attention. “This happened before when I was young. My throat feels fine. I’m just going to go shower and wait for the Benadryl to kick in. You guys go and finish your dinners.” She tried to smile but the effect was gruesome. With great effort, she convinced the Speyers to return to the table. Roux hadn’t moved a centimeter from his chair. He glimpsed her face on her flight up the stairs; she thought she saw his lips twitch. But of course he would laugh at her misfortunes. What had she expected? Concern?

Upstairs, she took her second shower of the day, careful to avoid scrubbing the sunburned spots on her nose and cheeks. The steam soothed the itchiness; when she stepped out, some of the swelling in her lips had gone down. Looking in the vanity mirror, she said, “I’m a troll,” and turned away.

A few minutes later, Gideon came up holding a breakfast tray. One plate held the remains of her steak and potatoes; the other plate had a slice of apple pie, the filling congealed on the bottom like amber-colored slime. Ivy thought woefully of the hours she and Poppy had spent that afternoon slicing the apples, simmering the bourbon, rolling the dough, brushing egg wash onto the beautiful lattice pattern of the crust as the house filled with the wonderful aroma of cinnamon and butter. How she’d looked forward to that pie.

“So much for making a good impression,” she intoned.

“What are you talking about?” said Gideon.

“This evening was a nightmare. What your family must think of me.”

“They love you.”

“Do they?” It wasn’t rhetorical, she really wanted to know. But Gideon only patted her leg as a gesture, meant to convey his support, but already she could sense his thoughts leaving her, waiting for the proper moment to retire to his room, where he could shed his boyfriend duties and resume his primary relationship with his laptop.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he said. “We’ll go to the hospital first thing if your rash doesn’t improve.”

But what about tonight? she thought at him. But with a face like boiled crabmeat, she was in no position to demand anything just now. There were women who went their entire lives without letting their husbands see them without lipstick and perfectly drawn-in eyebrows. Perhaps she’d gotten complacent. Once you saw something, you could never unsee it. People were shallow that way, no matter how they tried to convince themselves otherwise.





13


IT RAINED ON AND OFF all week: bleak skies and a monotonous downpour kept them indoors all day reading, drinking, listening to Gideon play the piano, helping Poppy bake endless trays of oatmeal raisin cookies that they gave away to the neighbors. Ivy’s allergies grew so bad that she began medicating with two kinds of antihistamines, which made her feel as if a weight hung on each individual eyelash. Gideon offered to leave the cat with the Walds but Ivy didn’t want to cause any more of an inconvenience. Instead, Sylvia kept the cat in her and Roux’s room. Every chance she had, Sylvia expressed her doubts that Pepper was the cause of Ivy’s allergies, but not to Ivy herself, though she always said it within Ivy’s hearing. Emotions ran high all around. Every gesture, tick, personality quirk, all normally benign, quickly became small but continuous irritations under the confines of a single roof.