Black and Blue Ivy

Learning

Over thick potato soup topped with shredded cheddar and slices of thick sourdough bread, Bentley laid out my new education "curriculum" and schedule, all overseen by him. I was thrilled. My "classes" would consist of the basics: reading, writing, and arithmetic, plus history and literature. All of these I would take through a self-directed course, like before, only Bentley was somehow able to convince Gardenia to let me use Providence House's library instead of that nasty attic room. Already my mood was elevating at the prospect.

"And the best part," Bentley said, leaning over the table. "Is that your afternoon lessons will consist of art and music."

"Really?" My heart leapt.

"And...physical education."

"Uh oh." I shuddered at the memory of the St.Vincent dodge ball games. "What kind of physical education classes?"

"How does swimming, tennis, and horseback riding sound?"

"Sounds great!" In truth, I was scared of riding and I never touched a tennis racket in my life. "Swimming in winter?"

"We have an indoor pool in the solarium out back. And an indoor tennis court. Don't tell me you've never seen it."

"No, I haven't."

"No one's ever given you a complete tour of the estate, eh?"

"Nope." It was true and it bothered me. In fact, for someone who was for all intents and purposes adopted by the family, I still felt like an interloper, a hired hand. A nanny.

"Bentley, do you have any idea why your mother would refer to me as a "nanny"?

Bentley sat back in the restaurant booth. "Did she say that?"

"She kind of implied it to one of the church ladies who asked about who I was."

Bentley's gaze brushed the shaded lamp hanging over the booth before returning to me. "I don't know why she would have said that except maybe she's a bit...sensitive...about adopting so many children."

The explanation didn't make but sense to me, but I didn't question it. But then I blurted, "Who's Marjorie?"

The ruddiness drained from Bentley's face and I knew I had hit a nerve. I didn't want to alienate my one friend and ally, someone who had been so kind to me, but—

"You finished?" His face was grim and I was immediately sorry I'd opened my trap.

He silently paid for our meal while I stood next to him, my coat bundled in my arms, wishing I could take back my nosy inquiry.

The street felt much colder than before. The sun that had peeked through the clouds earlier had now vanished behind a gray shroud. My feet dragged with regret along the grimy city sidewalk. Bentley's arm, that had only a while before was draped around my shoulders, was now shoved into the pockets of his tweed coat. A burgundy wool scarf fluttered at his neck, obscuring most of his face. I couldn't read his expression, but I could feel the coldness emanating from him and it made me want to cry. Never one to leave well enough alone, I grabbed his arm.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I—"

"Skip it, Ivy," he said, unlocking the car doors with a beep. He opened the door for me, but it was only with politeness.

I slipped into the Corvette's passenger seat, blowing on my hands to warm them. Tears stung my eyes.

We drove a few blocks and at last the car warmed up enough to relax the tension in my spine, but I still felt horrible about hurting someone who had been so kind to me. This Marjorie person must have meant a lot to him. But what happened to her?