Evercrossed (3 page)

The four beds were tucked in the four corners of the cottage, beneath the sloping roof. Beth's and Ivy's beds were to the left of the steps, Kelsey's and Dhanya's to the right.

"Feels like home," Dhanya said as she pulled her iPod and earbuds out of her purse and climbed into bed. "Thanks, Ivy." Just before Dhanya slipped in the buds, Ivy caught a snatch of the song from Aladdin, and smiled to herself, wondering if Disney was Dhanya's form of retro comfort.

Beth snuggled in her own bed, pulling up a light blanket. June nights were cool on the Cape. Turning on her side, Beth reached toward the chest between her and Ivy, letting her fingers rest on the angel statue. She caught Ivy watching her and smiled a little before closing her eyes.

Ivy lay on her stomach, gazing out the low window between her bed and Beth's.

Last night there was a new moon, and tonight the thinnest scrape of silver hung in the sky. The scent of the Cape Cod night—salt and pine—was stronger than the pale shapes surrounding her, making the everyday objects seem less real. The love she had shared with Tristan was like that, stronger than any emotion she experienced in her everyday life, even her feelings for Will. She still ached from its intensity.

While Ivy couldn't admit it to anyone, she doubted she'd ever fully heal. For reasons she didn't understand, her life had been spared last summer; but she had not been spared the longing she felt for Tristan. The way Tristan had made her laugh, the way he had drawn her into his life, the way he had delighted in her music—how would she ever stop yearning for him?

Ivy wiped her wet cheek against her pillow, then turned on her side and reached out to touch the carved stone angel. A long time after, she fell asleep.

Three

THE NEXT MORNING, WHILE IVY, BETH, AND DHANYA dressed for work, Kelsey slept, the sheet pulled over her head, the soles of her feet poking out the other end. The girls agreed that if they didn't get her up, this was going to be a long summer of them working and Kelsey partying. She was dragged out of bed and made it to the inn's kitchen at 6:33.

The girls and Will served breakfast, then cleaned rooms and laundered towels and sheets. By Sunday noon, the weekend guests had checked out and Beth and her aunt had slipped away to church in Chatham. Beth came back looking pleased with herself. "I found you a piano to practice on, Ivy! A baby grand!"

"Father John said you are welcome to use the one in the church," Aunt Cindy explained. "Just call ahead to make sure someone can unlock the door." Will smiled at Ivy. "We have a whole summer of Sunday picnics ahead of us," he said, guessing how eager she was to be playing again. "We can change our afternoon plans to an evening hike by Chatham's lighthouse and meet at the church."

Ivy gave him a grateful hug. They finished work and, after an early supper, she rushed off with her music books.

It was already sunset inside the timbered and white interior of St. Peter's, with the sun glowing through the stained glass windows that ran along each side of the small church, coloring the walls crimson and gold. A window above the altar, pieced together in deep blues and greens, showed a boat tossed in a storm, with Jesus holding out his hand, inviting Peter to cross the waves.

Ivy's mother chose churches according to the minister rather than the core beliefs, so Ivy had attended a variety of them. She couldn't help but feel at home in this church, with angels roosting in its small side windows and an angel guarding a fisherman in the round window above the entrance. She warmed up on the piano, playing scales, centering herself with each progression, enjoying the rising and falling tide of notes. Hoping she would find a piano, she had asked her teacher for music to work on over the summer. She began with Chopin, loving the feel of the smooth keys beneath her fingers, happily focused in her effort to learn the first movement of the piano concerto.

An hour later, she stretched and stood up. Walking around the small church, she worked her shoulders. The angle of the sun had changed, and the red and gold in the windows burned like dying embers in the growing dusk of the church. Ivy sat down again and played a medley of Philip's favorite songs. It had been really hard to leave her little brother for the summer. She began to play a song that had become special to her and Philip, 'To Where You Are." Philip was sure that it had been written about Tristan. The first time Ivy had heard Philip's young voice singing over Josh Groban's, she had cried.

Was Tristan, as the song said, just "a breath away"? Was he still, somehow, watching over her?

Ivy had always prayed to angels, but those angels were not people whom she had actually known and loved. She glanced around at the stained glass windows. Catholics prayed to saints as well as angels, and saints had been everyday people. When she called out for Tristan in her dreams, was she praying to him? Or was she simply missing him?

Last summer, when Tristan returned as an angel, he had heard Ivy. And Ivy, once she began to believe again, had heard him whenever he slipped inside her mind. But once she was safe from Gregory, Tristan had left. He had told her he would love her forever, but he could not stay with her. From that time on, she couldn't see his glow or hear his voice in her head. Could he still hear her? Was he even aware of her existence?

"If you can hear me, Tristan, this is for you." She began to play Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata," the movement she had played for him when they were first together. At the end, she sat still for several minutes, tears running down her face.

"I'm here, Ivy." She turned. "Will!"

He was sitting in the last pew of the church. She hadn't heard him come in. In the deep twilight of the building, she couldn't see his face. He stood up slowly and walked toward her. She quickly wiped away her tears.

When he reached her, he gazed down at her with such sadness in his eyes, she had to look away. He brushed her cheek gently with his hand. "That was the song you played at the arts festival," he said quietly. "It was Tristan's song."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry that you're still hurting."

She nodded silently, afraid that if she spoke, her voice would shake.

"What would you like me to do?" he asked, his voice breaking with emotion.

"Leave? Stay? I can wait outside the church until you are ready, if that would help."

"Stay. Stay, Will. I'm ready to go. Come with me while I return the key to the rectory, then let's take our walk" Will stayed close to her, walking by her side to the car, but didn't take her hand the way he usually did, didn't touch her at all.

He drove silently to the parking lot at Chatham Light.

It's just the anniversary, she wanted to tell him. If's just the time of year stirring up these memories. Everything will be all right. But she couldn't say that, because she wasn't sure it was true.

The sky over the ocean was dark blue, the first stars emerging in the east. In the western sky, the last splash of orange was fading fast, leaving the long spit of beach that ran south from the lighthouse painted in mauve. They walked the beach close to the water, carrying their sandals.

"We got an e mail from Philip," Will said at last. "You, Beth, and me. He wants us to look up his blog."

"His blog!" Ivy replied. "Hey! Some respect, please! I read it—it's an insightful commentary on summer camp. I just hope the counselor he calls "Tarantula Arms" doesn't hear about it."

Ivy laughed. "I guess the counselor's kind of hairy."

"And very mean, at least to a ten year old. He assigned the boys their buddies. Philip's buddy threw up on him."

"Oh!"

"That was after the other kids bet the buddy that he couldn't eat four hot dogs in four minutes."

"I see. I guess summer camp is where boys train to be frat brothers."

Will grinned at her, and she slipped her hand in his. "Philip's group is called the Badgers. He's the best pitcher and hitter of the Badgers."

"Of course he's the best. He's my brother." Will laughed. "He likes rowing. I can't wait till he comes for vacation—I want to take him kayaking on Pleasant Bay."

Ivy turned to look at Will. His dark hair whipped in the breeze. He had the longest lashes, which softened his intense brown eyes. "If I remember right," she said, "you promised him that you two would dress up as pirates."

"Right, well, maybe he'll forget about that part." Ivy shook her head, grinning.

"Philip doesn't forget that kind of promise. I hope you two don't terrorize girls sunbathing on the beach." Will laughed and put his arm around her shoulder.

They walked on, talking about Philip, then shifting their conversation to some of the week end's quirky guests. "The people in the starfish room," Will said, re-ferring to the suite decorated in a scallop and starfish motif. "Was that woman his wife or mother?"

"The only thing I'm sure about is that she wasn't his younger lover."

"Maybe he is her younger lover," Will suggested. Ivy laughed out loud. "Beth's going to be filling up her notebooks with characters."

They found the easy rhythm they had known for nearly eight months, walking and talking together.

Strolling back to Will's car, Ivy gazed up at the lighthouse, its double beacon turning against the starlit sky. "It's beautiful," she said. "So are you," Will replied softly, pulling her toward him.

Her arms slipped around him. He lowered his head. She would have known Will's kiss blindfolded—gentle, loving, asking, giving. She knew the curve of his upper lip, the place between his neck and shoulder where she often rested her head, the space between his knuckles that she liked to trace, and the way her hand fit into his. Ivy knew and loved these things, as much as she loved Will's kiss.

But she could not stop thinking of Tristan.

AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, IVY STOOD ON THE cottage doorstep, watching Will as he whistled his way back to his; room in the renovated barn, where he hoped to get in some painting. Needing time and space to think, Ivy walked around to the ocean side of the inn. With just two couples staying on until Monday, the Adirondack chairs on the porch and lawn were empty. Shrubs edged the lawn, then gave way to scrub trees and brush that covered the steep side of the bluff down to sea level. At the end of the yard a vine covered arbor led to wooden steps, fifty two of them—Ivy had counted—running down to a narrow boardwalk that connected to a path through grassy dunes.

Halfway down the steps was a landing, a small platform with facing benches built into it. Ivy sat down, facing north. During the day, the view was spectacular, the ocean sweeping in behind a sandy point, making a sparkling inlet where lobs term en and pleasure boaters moored. On a moonless night like tonight, the boundaries of land, water, and sky were nearly indistinguishable; the dunes and beach were so deep, Ivy couldn't hear the waves break. But the ocean was present in the salty tang and damp breeze. It was like that when Ivy thought of Tristan—she couldn't see or hear him, but still, she sensed his closeness.

Ivy swallowed hard. What was wrong with her? She had dated Will much longer than she had known Tristan, so why couldn't she stop thinking of Tristan?

She remembered what Tristan's mother had once said to her: "When you love someone, it's never over. You move on because you have to, but you bring him with you in your heart."

Ivy had thought she'd succeeded in moving on. What pained her even more was that Will thought so too.

Ivy loved Will. But did she love him enough if she didn't love him the way she loved Tristan?

Maybe her idea of love was too lofty; maybe she expected too much of herself and Will.

Ivy descended to the sand, then walked to the edge of the water, finding release in the ceaseless rush and draw of the sea.

She had no idea how much time had elapsed, but when she finally returned to the cottage, she saw Beth standing on the front step, cell phone in hand. "Ivy! Thank God you're back!"

"Is something wrong?"

"We've got to get to Kelsey before she does something stupid. Stupider," Beth corrected herself, grimacing. "Get your car keys. I've got the address, sort of."

"Where's Dhanya?"

"With Kelsey. And only a little more sober than she is."

"Where's Aunt Cindy?" Ivy asked. "Out still."

Beth's cell phone rang. "Here we go again." After a moment of listening, she said, "Dhanya, I told you before. Take the keys away from her. Throw them in the ocean if you have to. No, no! it's not a good idea for you to drive!"

"Back in a sec," Ivy said.

"Should I get Will?" Beth called after her.

"No, he's painting, and it'll take too long for him to clean up."

Ivy returned with her keys and wallet, and they sprinted to the car. "Where are we going?" Ivy asked, starting the engine.

"To a road somewhere off Route Twenty eight."

"Beth, three quarters of Cape Cod is off Twenty eight!"

"She said Marsala Road. But I've never heard of it." Ivy entered it into the GPS, with Orleans as the town, then Brewster, then Harwich. "Nothing's coming up."

"She said they passed a lighthouse. Try Eastham and Chatham—they have lighthouses. Chatham first. My cousin always goes where the money is."

"Marsala Road, come on, Marsala Road," Ivy said

"Morris Island Road!" Beth exclaimed suddenly. "I bet that was it. She was slurring her words. I think there's a place in Chatham named Morris Island."

Ivy typed it in.

"I have an idea for a new app," Beth added, "one that interprets directions from drunken party girls." She pointed to the highlighted route on the screen. "There it is, south of the lighthouse."

Ivy pulled out of the crushed stone driveway and onto Cockle Shell Road. "I know the way as far as the lighthouse. Will and I walked that beach tonight."

Ivy wound her way through the community. Once they got to Route 28, she pushed the speed limit, glad it was 11:50 p.m. and the weekend crowd had departed.

"I could strangle Kelsey," Beth said. "I could just strangle her."

"Try to get her on her cell."

"I did—I couldn't."

"Then try Dhanya again. We need an address."

As Ivy drove, she thought about Will. He'd be upset with them for not asking for his help. But Ivy couldn't ask one more favor, knowing all that he had already done for her, knowing that while she was kissing him, all she could think of—

"She's not picking up," Beth said.

"Keep trying." They drove through the commercial edge of Chatham and passed the lighthouse. Beach houses lined both sides of the road, most of their windows dark. "Stage Harbor should be coming up on the right," Beth said, looking at the GPS screen. "There it is. The road we're on goes directly to Morris Island. "

A minute later they entered the island's wooded community. Ivy's headlights showed a narrow, winding road and stripes of trees. "Want me to keep going? It's not that big of a place, just a few streets," she said, glancing at the map.

"Maybe we can go slowly and listen for the party."

They rolled down their windows. Ivy slowed to a crawl whenever they saw lights through the trees, and listened intently. The road ended with a pair of driveways. As Ivy turned the car around, Beth tried to call Dhanya again.

"I've got her! Dhanya, listen to me. We're close. What's the address? . .. Well, ask somebody! Who the heck is giving the party—they must know where they live!"

Beth turned to Ivy. "Unbelievable! She's trying to find the person whose booze they've been drinking." Ivy shook her head, and drove slowly down the road they had just scouted. It wasn't going to be a fun ride back to the inn, she thought.

"Ivy, look out!"

Headlights came out of nowhere. The person was driving crazily, as if no one else was on the road. Ivy stepped on the brake, then saw that stopping wouldn't help. She had to evade, but the road was too narrow. She accelerated, trying to get to a driveway and pull in.