A Broken Kind of Beautiful by Katie Ganshert Page A

How could he celebrate his grandparents’ anniversary with Ivy in the room, the question she’d asked earlier echoing off the walls of his mind?
    “What makes you think you’ll be any different here?”
    What, indeed?
    “I’m surprised you’re here,” he said.
    “I hadn’t planned on it, but then Marshall opened his mouth and I couldn’t help myself.” She looked over her shoulder, through the foyer, then back toward him. “You didn’t tell me she was blind.”
    She said it like Sara was engaged. Like it was something to be excited about. The tone made him bristle. “Does it matter?”
    Her eyes widened. She leaned back. “Not to me, but it obviously does to you.”
    Of course it mattered. His sister, once a promising artist, couldn’t paint or walk through art galleries without seeing darkness. Davis caught her once, paintbrushes gathered beneath her nose, like the smell of the bristles might bring shape and color to her sightless eyes. The memory still broke his heart.
    Ivy snuck another glance over her shoulder. “She wasn’t blind when we were kids.”
    Davis nudged away the jumping Georgia with his foot. “What’s your point?”
    “How does that happen?”
    “If you’re so curious, why don’t you ask her?”
    “That would be rude.”
    “And asking her brother behind her back isn’t?”
    “Curiosity isn’t a sin.” Her mouth curved into a smile. “You’re curious about me, remember?”
    He took a step away. Why did she have to turn everything he said around? His curiosity didn’t stem from his attraction. His curiosity had everything to do with the sadness he spied in her unguarded moments when she thought nobody watched.
    “Davis?”
    Georgia scampered across the room. He turned at the sound of Marilyn’s voice and found her standing beneath the crown molding at the end of the foyer. “I thought I heard you come in. Care to join us?”
    Did he want to escape this conversation with Ivy? Yes. One hundred percent yes. He swept his hand toward Marilyn. “After you.”
    Ivy frowned but didn’t argue.
    He followed her into the dining room and found Sara at the diningtable, her unfocused eyes staring toward the windows as she chatted with Grandma Eleanor. Faded evening sunlight lined the edge of her profile, illuminating her skin. Her guide dog lay at her feet. Resolve settled into his limbs. He had to do something—no matter how small—to help Sara. Even if it meant unpacking his camera in order to do it.
    “Davis, honey, you look peaky. Are you feeling okay?”
    He shrugged off Grandma Eleanor’s comment and wrapped her in a hug.
    “Of course he’s not okay.” Grandfather stood by the windows and drummed his fingers against the frame. “He’s wasting his college education working maintenance at Cornerstone Church when he should be taking over for me.”
    Never mind the fact that Davis had no interest in hotels or investing or that he truly enjoyed the slow pace at Cornerstone Church. He let go of his grandmother. “I thought you and Pastor Voss were friends.”
    “What does that have to do with anything?”
    “You think he likes that you’re trying to steal me away from Cornerstone?”
    “Anybody can fix a church.”
    Davis gritted his teeth, kissed Sara on the cheek, and sat beside her, pretending not to notice as Ivy relaxed back in her seat with folded arms, watching the interplay between him and Grandfather with open interest.
    “Come sit down, dear.” Grandma Eleanor motioned to the head of the table.
    Grandfather sat.
    Marilyn passed around the greens and filled glasses with sweet tea. “I was thinking it might be a good idea for Ivy to go to the plantation with you tomorrow.”
    “Oh, I can go by myself.” His answer came too quickly.
    Sara held out her hand, palm up, waiting for her brother to take it. “Davis, are you going to say grace?”
    Everybody bowed their heads. He spoke some stilted words to God, all too aware of Ivy’s unbending head and probing