Chapter 82
Ivy was flipping through her planner when she suddenly realized Emma’s birthday was just around the corner. She circled the date with a flourish, a slow smile spreading across her lips.
Her phone buzzed. It was Katrina, inviting her to a concert that weekend. Back in college, Ivy had been obsessed with music—her piano skills were good enough for the... It had been three years since she’d last set foot in a concert hall; she’d almost forgotten what it was like. She accepted the invitation without a second thought.
Ivy woke early. She carefully picked out an outfit and took her time getting ready. Emma had been cooped up inside for days, resting as her due date approached. When she saw Ivy come out all dressed up, Emma arched an eyebrow.
“Well, well. Off on a hot date, sis?”
Ivy just smiled. “That’s right…”
She was about to leave, but then paused, turning back. “Oh—Emma, your birthday’s coming up. Is there anything you want?”
Emma looked surprised; Ivy never offered first. Instinctively, she put her guard up.
“Don’t bother. Micah will get me anything I want. Better save your money for your hospital bills.” Emma couldn’t resist showing off her happy relationship.
Ivy kept smiling, genuinely relieved. “Alright, if you won’t tell me, I’ll just come up with something myself.”
With that, she headed out.
Rosetta watched her eldest daughter disappear down the walkway, a note of satisfaction in her voice: “Your sister really has changed a lot lately.”
Emma pressed her lips together in silence, annoyed. Only she knew that Ivy’s “change” was nothing but an act. Not that it mattered—she’d already made her move.
As the sound of a car engine drifted in from the driveway, Emma got up and watched through the window as Ivy pulled away. A small, triumphant smile flickered at the corner of her mouth.
Ha! Ivy, you’re not going to get the chance to buy me a birthday present.
Ivy drove across town to pick up Katrina, then headed for the city’s performing arts center. The venue was on the far side of town, and Sunday traffic was a mess. After checking her GPS, Ivy decided to take the expressway; it was a bit out of the way, but at least they’d keep moving.
The two women chatted about the latest drama in the Windsor family, music playing softly in the background. The mood was light.
But soon, Ivy felt something was off.
Katrina noticed the shift in her expression. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”
“It’s not that,” Ivy replied, shaking her head. She pressed the brake again, but the car barely slowed. The suspicion in her mind solidified.
The brakes weren’t working.
But how was that possible? This car was brand new—a luxury model she’d picked up less than a month ago.
“Ivy, what’s going on?” Katrina’s anxiety was building.
“The brakes are out. Hang on and hold tight.”
“What? What are we supposed to do?” Katrina’s voice shot up in panic.
Ivy forced herself to stay calm, checking the rearview mirror as she carefully steered toward the outermost lane.
“Katrina, call the police. Now.”
“Okay!”
Katrina immediately dialed emergency services, explaining their situation as clearly as she could. Before she’d even finished, two motorcycle officers pulled up alongside them, quickly clearing the way ahead.
Ivy rolled down her window. As one of the officers pulled up next to her, ready to reassure her, she called out first, “Please—can you lead us to a quiet road?”
The officer nodded, signaling ahead and guiding them off the expressway.
With police escort, Ivy felt a little less nervous. Katrina clung tightly to her seatbelt as they sped along at sixty miles an hour, her heart pounding.
“Ivy, we’re going to be okay, right?”
“We’re going to be fine. Just keep your head down and hold on.”
Ivy had stopped using the accelerator as soon as she realized the brakes were out and had shifted the car into neutral. The speed was gradually dropping.
But just as luck would have it, they hit a downhill stretch. The car picked up speed again.
Thankfully, the officers soon led them off the main road and onto a deserted side street. There was a cement plant nearby, with huge piles of sand stacked up in the lot.
One of the officers slowed to ride beside Ivy, shouting, “Do you see the sand piles up ahead?”
Ivy nodded, her face set. “Understood!”
“I’ve already called an ambulance!” he yelled back.
Ivy took a deep breath. “Katrina, hold on tight!”
Katrina squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the door handle in a white-knuckled grip.
Ivy tightened her hold on the steering wheel, instinctively pressing the useless brake pedal one last time. Then she aimed straight for the sand pile.
With a deafening crash, the car plowed into the sand, sending clouds of dust everywhere. The airbags deployed instantly, filling the cabin with thick, choking smoke.
The Maserati’s front end was buried; sand completely covered the windshield.
The officers jumped off their bikes and rushed over, pounding on the windows.
Ivy’s world was spinning, her ears ringing. It was as if she’d been dropped into a vacuum, sound and sensations sucked away.
Through the haze, she heard the pounding on the glass. She tried to lift her head, but her body wouldn’t listen.
Katrina began to stir, pushing away the deflated airbag. When she looked over and saw Ivy’s face streaked with blood, she panicked.
“Ivy! Ivy, wake up—please!”
She reached across to unlock the doors. The officers yanked the door open. “Are you hurt? Where are you injured?”
“Please—help my friend! She’s bleeding so much—help her first!”