Black and Blue Ivy

Center City

The following day was Christmas eve, but the heaviness hanging over Providence House felt anything but festive. Perhaps as a result of Gardenia's outburst the previous evening, the children seemed subdued during breakfast. I was helping them eat their breakfast without making a mess, keeping one eye on the door, waiting for Bentley to arrive and whisk me away as promised, when Gardenia entered, fully dressed, with baby Topaz in a carrier. It had been so long since I'd seen the infant that I'd almost forgotten about her. Gardenia looked fresh in camel wool slacks and a matching turtleneck sweater, but fatigued ringed her eyes despite a generous application of mascara. While pouring herself a cup of coffee from the buffet, she mentioned heading into town for some last-minute Christmas shopping. My stomach flipped at this bit of news. Would Bentley be driving her? I was about to come up with some way to ask without raising her suspicions when Bentley barreled into the dining room carrying Aileen piggyback.

"Look what I found under the Christmas tree," he said, squatting to deposit her on the floor next to her siblings.

Mrs. Roche entered behind him carrying a pitcher of orange juice.

Gardenia rubbed the lines between her eyes and said, "Mrs. Roche, will you order the car service for me? I'm leaving in an hour."

"Of course, ma'am," Mrs. Roche said.

Bentley cleared his throat, and I braced for what I knew he would say. "Mother, if you don't mind, I thought Ivy and I might go into town today as well."

Gardenia's blue eyes flashed, and for a moment, I feared she would insist we travel with her. But instead, she said, somewhat flatly, "All right." She picked up a croissant, tore off a small piece, and took the tiniest nibble of it. "But plan on getting back early. We're decorating the tree. Remember?"

"Sure thing," he said. "We'll leave right away. Ivy?"

I jumped up too fast and was heading for the door when Gardenia fixed me with a diamond-hard gaze, stopping me in my tracks. "I forgot to ask you, Ivy. How did it go yesterday with your mother?"

"Uh." I shifted my eyes toward Bentley, who gave me the slightest nod of encouragement. "It went just fine."

Gardenia looked me up and down. Her pink lips curved as if she were about to say something but instead she dismissed me with a wave of her fingers. "Off with you then. But don't forget they're forecasting snow later today. You don't want to get stuck on the road somewhere."

"Don't worry. I'll take the SUV."

She sighed. "All right, dear." Distracted, she pulled Lilly toward her to wipe the grape jelly smeared around the child's mouth.

Bentley gripped my arm and pulled me through the swing door. When we reached the foyer, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's get out of here," he said.

"You got it." I walked fast to keep up with his long strides to the front door.

When he handed me my coat, he glanced down at my baby blue wool pleated skirt and matching sweater and scowled. "Why does she dress you like you're twelve?"

He held my coat for me. "How do you think I should dress?"

"I'll tell you in the car."

The heavy stone weight of Providence House and all its misery lifted as we drove away. Christmas lights twinkled cheer from the large stone houses' frosted windows and tasteful lawn ornaments. Suddenly I felt the Christmas spirit and wished I could spend the entire day with Bentley strolling through the city, but I'd promised Morningstar I would see Judge Phillip Maxim. I'd memorized his name and address.

"1432 West Rittenhouse Square," I told Bentley.

His eyebrow raised. "Fancy. Who lives there?"

I glanced at his chiseled profile while I told him about Morningstar's request. When I reached the end of my little speech, I noticed he was biting down on his lower lip.

"What's wrong?" I asked. He wheeled the Mercedes SUV around the end of Providence Drive and turned onto the main road.

Bentley shrugged. "It's just odd to ask your kid to do. You said it's his house, not his office?"

"I think so." I struggled to recall exactly what Morningstar had said. "Maybe his office is in his house. Or he's working there because it's Christmas eve."

"Hmmm." He lifted his hand from the steering wheel to rub his chin.

"All I know is that she told me it was really important that I plead her case."

"Yeah. That usually happens in a courtroom."

"What are you? A lawyer or something?" I tried to lighten the mood because I didn't like the look on his face. I didn't want him to decide it was a bad idea and not take me.

Bentley reached over and tousled my hair.

"Hey!" I cried in protest. I flipped the visor mirror down in an attempt to make myself look presentable. My hair could use a trim to even out the straggly ends.

"I don't need to be a lawyer to think there's something weird about that arrangement. Anyway," he veered on to City Line Drive, "At least I'll be with you."

My throat tightened. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Morningstar said I shouldn't tell anyone, meaning...."

"Meaning you should go alone?"

"Yeah."

He huffed out a deep sigh. "Listen. I'll take you there, but I'll be waiting right outside. If you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming in after you."

"Okay." I settled back in the smooth leather seat. His concern for me was a bit over the top, perhaps. What could be a big deal about stopping by some fancy judge's house, telling him who I am, and begging him not to send my mom away for twenty years? What's the worse thing he could do? Kick me out of his house?

The sky was heavy with gray clouds when we entered the expressway. We were both silent for a moment, absorbed in our own thoughts when Bentley broke my reverie by pointing at a billboard.

"Hey, it's your Dad." Bentley's voice was gently teasing.

I glanced up to see an enormous advertisement of Luther Black's latest concert, a one night only event at Philly's famous Electric Factory. The rock star glared at me with coal-black eyes. His haggard face framed by shoulder length black hair and his pointed beard completed the Luciferian image that had propelled him to fame. His bare torso featured a spattering of rune-like tattoos. And when the SUV passed the billboard, Luther Black seemed to follow me with his gaze.

"Very funny," I responded a few beats later.

Bentley shot me a glance, perhaps gauging if he'd hurt my feelings with his remark. "How'd you like to go to that concert with me?" he asked, changing lanes as we neared our exit.

"Maybe," I said. I couldn't think of Luther Black right now, only Morningstar and the assignment she'd given me.

My stomach erupted in a butterfly dance when we entered Center City. Rittenhouse Square was a ritzy neighborhood, a far cry from Kensington.