Elvis Takes a Back Seat Read Free Page B

it’ll be fine.” I ignore Ben’s frown. “Ivy’s trustworthy.”
    Even if Santa isn’t.
    â€œI was telling Claudia,” he says, “I’ve been having trouble with Ivy.”
    â€œStealing?” Rae asks.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDrugs then?”
    â€œNothing like that. Angst. Mood swings. Boys. They’re here one minute, gone the next. Which I prefer.”
    â€œLove isn’t easy on a young heart,” Rae says. “Claudia, you should spend time with the girl.”
    â€œThat would be great.” Ben’s eyes fill with hope.
    â€œUh …” I stall, feeling a band tighten around my chest like the tiny yellow ribbon tied around the rattle’s handle. “I’m not the motherly type.”
    â€œYou have a woman’s heart,” Rae says, as if that’s the only requirement.
    Remembering Ivy’s birth, her childhood years when Stu and I babysat often, I ache for the girl who knows even less of her mother than I do about mine. At least my mother was able to make bologna sandwiches for me to put in my Monkees lunch box.
    â€œShe needs a woman’s influence.” Ben watches me.
    â€œOf course,” I say. “I’ll help Ivy anyway I can. You know that.” I place a hand on his arm, then pull back. “But you need to find a time to talk to her about her mother.
    Everyone needs to know as much as they can about their own mother.”
    â€œKnowledge like that,” Rae says, a flutter of emotions flying over her features like a butterfly’s course, “is overrated. I better get back to the garage sale. Check on that money box.”
    * * *
    â€œTHAT IS THE ugliest thing I’ve ever seen!”
    I don’t have to see the Elvis bust to know that’s what Ivy is talking about. Still, her blatant honesty rankles me. I don’t know why I feel defensive about Elvis. Maybe I’m protecting Stu even now as I step back into the heat of the garage.
    Rae surges past me and grabs the lunch box, which rattles with change, from Ivy. “I’ll take care of that now.”
    Ivy glares at Rae, her chin jutted forward.
    I’m surprised by Ivy’s appearance. I haven’t seen Ben’s daughter in a few months or since she dyed her blond hair black. She now wears heavy eyeliner, making her look older and wearier than her fifteen years.
    â€œSorry, Claudia.” Carrying the golf club, Ben steps down onto the concrete floor. He shrugs as if saying, “What can you do with a teen?” I wonder what I can do with an aunt who lacks diplomacy.
    Ben’s tried his best to be father and mother to Ivy. He even started Abandoned Families, a nonprofit organization, to help others who’ve experienced devastating losses the way he had. But obviously Ivy needs a little feminine advice.
    â€œIt’s okay.” I offer a smile to Ivy like a pact notblaming her for the sentiments we both share. “Elvis is rather nauseating.”
    She gives me a sideways glance but no smile when I walk up beside her and put a casual arm around her shoulders.
    â€œIt’s good to see you, Ivy. Like the color.” I flip one of her locks off her shoulder. “Very chic.”
    â€œDad hates it.”
    â€œI never said that.” Ben drops the club into the golf bag and heaves it onto his shoulder.
    â€œWhatever.”
    A group begins to form around us, everyone staring at Stu’s pride and joy. It almost looks like those gathered are worshipping a shrine of the late King.
    â€œIt’s amazing,” an older man says.
    â€œUnbelievable,” someone else adds.
    â€œVery true in its likeness, don’t you think?” Rae joins in.
    Irritated once again at the King for his intrusion into my life, I cross my arms over my chest. Slowly customers saunter away to look at the rest of my junk for sale.
    â€œBrings back memories.” Ben clunks the golf bag on the floor at his feet and