Page 117 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“And what truth is that?”

Oliver puts his hand on my forearm. “I think we should talk about something else.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Ivy—”

“Oliver, no.” I pry his fingers off me and turn toward my cousin. “George is Diary Guy. He got Eleanor pregnant. And Charlie married her so no one would find out.”

I’ve definitely never seen Laurel look so shocked. “Okay,” she begins, like the words are shards of glass. “So…Charlie’s not actually our grandfather?”

“He’s not,” I snap. “And there’s more.”

“Ivy!” Oliver’s voice is desperate now. “Why don’t you and Laurel talk about this when you’ve both had some time to calm down?”

I ignore him and barrel on. “Charlie was gay. He was in love with Simon.”

All color has disappeared from Laurel’s face, a gaunt addition to the bags under her overworked eyes. “That can’t be right.”

My vitriol fades as awareness of what I’ve done seeps in. She’d made it patently clear that she didn’t want to dance with old ghosts. “It is,” I say quietly.

“Oh my God.” Her eyes fill with tears as she processes all the family secrets that I had weeks to learn in one fell swoop.

“I’m sorry to tell you like this,” I offer, as if apologizing will take it all back. But am I actually sorry? I don’t even know anymore.

Where my anger has faded back into guilt, her tears are now escalating to fury. “Then why did you? Why did you push this? I made it so clear that I didn’t want to unearth old secrets.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s been a shock for Ivy, too,” Oliver adds, putting a protective arm around my shoulders.

Laurel glares at him. “Well then she should have left well enough alone, and she wouldn’t have had to deal with any of it.”

“I—”

“Save it, Ivy. I’m going home.” She downs the last of her drink and grabs her purse. “It might be better if you found somewhere else to sleep tonight. I want to be alone.”

As she stomps away, Oliver pulls me against his chest. “I think you’re well within your rights to ignore her. But you’re also welcome to stay at my house.”

The thought of sleeping over in Oliver’s bed would have been beyond enticing even a week ago, but the reason for its necessity is making the whole thing seem dismal.

“Okay,” I say quietly. A soulful Van Morrison song comes on, and the lights over the dance floor dim. “Can we dance? I really need you to hold me.”

Oliver’s look of concern sends my guilt skyrocketing. “Of course. Come on.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the center of the floor, then hugs me to his chest. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs against my hair.

I’m not so sure that it is, but I just nod. It takes every ounce of fortitude I have not to burst into tears right now. I’ve ruined everything—created a mess with Laurel, forced my dad out of his comfort zone, and put myself in an impossible situation with work. And Oliver doesn’t realize it yet, but one way or another, I’m about to hurt him.

The tears spill over without waiting for my permission. Oliver starts at the sensation of one hitting his cheek, and he pulls back far enough to search my face. “Ivy, what’s wrong? I’m sure you and Laurel will be able to work things out.”

My head shakes back and forth of its own volition. “It isn’t just that.”

His bright eyes rush to find the source of my sorrow. “Then what is it?”

I absorb all of his perfection, committing it to memory. Knowing that in a matter of seconds, this will be the before, and I’m not ready for the after.

“I got a job offer this morning,” I manage. His brows go up like he’s about to congratulate me, so I rush out with, “It’s in Springfield.”