Evercrossed (10 page)

"It is."

"I made him nervous yesterday." When Ivy didn't comment, Guy went on. "I thought about telling him that he had nothing to worry about. . . . Does he have anything to worry about?"

"Like what?"

He smiled. "Well, when I was making the great escape from the hospital, I asked if I should say that I was your boyfriend. You quickly corrected me—brother, you said."

Ivy gazed downward and turned over a shell with her toe, as if fascinated by how it might look on the opposite side.

"A girl who quickly informs you that you cannot be her boyfriend is one of two things: very committed to her boyfriend, or feeling guilty because she's not."

Ivy crouched to pick up the shell. "Which was it?" he asked. She didn't reply.

Rising to her feet, she attempted to distract him from the question by holding out the shell to him. But instead of looking at it, he caught a piece of her hair.

The light tug of his hand, the way he opened his palm and looked down at the lock of her hair, made her heart pound. His gaze was hidden beneath golden lashes. Then he raised his eyes and caught her mass of hair in both hands, lifting it away from her face. His hands slid to the back of her neck with the gentleness of someone cupping a flower. Gazing at her mouth, he bent his head, moving his face slowly closer to hers. A rush of cold water pushed them apart. "Sorry, I—it startled me. The water." he said, looking embarrassed.

"Me too." After a moment of uncomfortable silence, she added, "I'm starved. Why don't we have our lunch now?" He nodded and they returned to the beach towel, where they ate in silence. As Ivy took the last bite of her sandwich, her cell phone went off again. Guy hummed along with the familiar ring, and grinned at Ivy. She dug into her bag.

"I knew you'd give in sooner or later."

"Did you?" she replied. Leaving the phone in the bag, she pulled out a paperback and sunglasses, and began to read. Guy laughed, then spread his sweatshirt behind her and his T-shirt behind him. In five minutes he was asleep—Ivy knew it by his slow and even breaths.

She reached in her bag for her phone. Three calls and three texts from Will. One call, no message, from Beth. Ivy looked at Will's first text:
WHERE R U?

Can't I go anywhere without telling you?
she thought, then felt guilty. She clicked on the second message. It was an apology for whatever Will had said in his voicemails. Ivy moved on to the third, deciding not to listen to the voicemails—things between them were strained enough.

R U OK?
Will wrote.
B SAYS SOMETHING IS WRONG. 1 OF THOSE FEELINGS SHE GETS. MAKING ME CRAZY
. Ivy sighed. She couldn't blame Will for worrying when Beth went on like that, but this time Beth was wrong.
@ BEACH. HOME 4 DINNER
, Ivy typed to Will and Beth, then turned off her phone and dropped it in her bag.

Gazing down at Guy, Ivy reached, and with light fingers, touched his hair. She lay down close to him, wanting, for the first time in a year, to live in no other time but the present.

Fourteen

IT WAS NEARLY SIX O'CLOCK WHEN IVY DROPPED GUY off at Nickerson.

Arriving at the Seabright's lot, she noticed a bright yellow sports car parked next to Kelsey's Jeep and Dhanya's Audi.

Hearing voices in the direction of the cottage. Ivy checked her messages before following the path from the lot to the cottage. Will had written that Dhanya's and Kelsey's new friends were coming over for a cookout:
Y DON'T U STOP BY SOMETIME?
he had added. His concern had changed to sarcasm, and in a way, that was easier for her to handle.

Emerging from the path, she saw that the barbecue had begun. An old banquet table had been dragged out from Aunt Cindy's shed and covered with a checkered cloth. Extra chairs had been borrowed from the inn's porch. Will was poking at coals in the grill and glanced up at her as she approached. "Nice of you to show," he remarked, and went back to work.

Beth set large bowls of pretzels and chips on the long table and turned back to the cottage as if she didn't see Ivy. "Hey," Ivy greeted her.

Beth looked over her shoulder, then glanced toward Will, which annoyed Ivy. It was as if all that mattered was how Will felt.

"Hey, girl. Where ya been?" Kelsey sang out. She and a dark haired guy were setting up a badminton net.

"Around," Ivy replied. "Looks like I got here just in time."

"You did, and now you've got clean up duty?" Ivy laughed. For once she was glad to be around a party girl with a big voice. It sure beat Beth's and Will's icy welcome.

"Cans are in the cooler. Nothing good," Kelsey said with a flick of her head toward the inn. Ivy assumed she meant nothing alcoholic, not around Aunt Cindy.

"Back in a minute," Ivy replied, and went inside. Dhanya was in the kitchen, whipping together a dip, her arm jingling with gold, silver, and copper bracelets.

A guy relaxed in a kitchen chair, watching her. It had to be Max, Ivy thought, noticing the shirt. It was Hawaiian silk, and its bright aqua and lime green floral stood in contrast to his monochrome coloring: tan skin, faded brown hair, and when he turned to look at Ivy, light brown—almost amber—eyes.

He smiled, his row of perfect white teeth gleaming against his beige coloring.

"Max Moyer," he said, holding out his hand.

"Ivy Lyons," she replied, walking over to him, amused that he had offered to shake hands but remained in his chair, his foot casually propped on his knee.

Glancing down, Ivy recognized his brand of boat shoe—Gregory had worn the same ones. "I've heard lots about you," Max said.

"How much do you think is true?" Ivy asked. Her quick reply seemed to catch him off guard. She smiled, and after a moment Max matched her smile.

"All of it. Dhanya wouldn't lie to me." Dhanya glanced over her shoulder, but said nothing. "Still," Ivy said, "you should only believe the good stuff." She turned to Dhanya. "Hey. What're you making?"

"Cream cheese and dill. Tell me what you think," Dhanya said, dipping a clean spoon in her mix and holding it out to Ivy.

"Mmm. I think I'm sitting wherever you put this bowl."

"Can I taste?" Max dipped a cracker. "Awesome!" he exclaimed, and then dipped his half eaten cracker into the communal bowl. Dhanya glanced at Ivy, shook her head, and fastidiously scraped out the section where he had just scooped.

Trying not to laugh—at Dhanya or Max—Ivy headed upstairs to change into a clean top and shorts. When she joined the others outside, Max was standing next to Will, watching him slide burgers onto the grill.

"You're not planning to join a frat?" he said to Will, his light eyes round with surprise. "What are you going to do all day? You'll die of boredom."

"I'll think of something. Studying for instance."

"But how are you going to meet people?" Max persisted. "Facebook's good, but
fraternities
, they're the melting pot of America."

Will laughed. "Never thought of them that way." Beth sat a few feet away from them, listening. It wasn't unusual for Beth to be silently observant at social events—taking mental notes, happily gathering dialogue and details for her stories.

But the "happily" part was missing, Ivy thought studying her friend's face. It looked more like Beth was cramming for a test.

"Doesn't anyone want to play with us?" Kelsey called from the badminton game.

"You're going at it way too seriously for me," Ivy replied, carrying a soda over to the swing. Dusty followed her, and she lifted her hands so the cat could jump in her lap.

"And for me," Max said. "With
Bryan
, I play only electronic games." Kelsey's competitor, who was medium height but powerfully built, pointed to his friend, lifted his elbows, and squawked like a chicken. Max shrugged it off.

"So let's quit. I'm thirsty anyway," Bryan said to Kelsey, then strode toward the ice chest and foraged through the frozen chips. "No Red Bull?"

"Just Mountain Dew and Coke." Dhanya answered.

Max toasted Dhanya with his can, then said to Bryan, "This is a classy affair."

"Then we should at least have wine Bryan mumbled, grabbing a Coke. He sat on the swing next to Ivy, which made the cat jump off.

"I like you, too, kitty," Bryan said to Dusty, then turned to Ivy. "And you are?"

Kelsey blew threw her lips. "You know who she is."

"Ivy," Max told his friend.

"Will's one and only," Kelsey added.

"Well, that's very limiting," Bryan responded.

Ivy fought the urge to roll her eyes "Nice to meet you." Both his build and his movement indicated that Bryan was a good athlete. He wore a T-shirt with
BOSTON UNIVERSITY
printed across his massive chest and shorts that bore the college's insignia. His thick dark hair and green eyes were striking. His Irish complexion gave him a ruddier tan than Max's.

"We were telling Bryan and Max about your accident," Kelsey said to Ivy, dragging a lawn chair over to the swing, "how your car was totaled and all."

"I would never have known it, looking at you and Beth now. How are you feeling?" Bryan asked.

"Fine. The same as before."

Max leaned forward. "What kind of car ran you off the road?"

"Probably a Ferrari Four Fifty eight," Bryan quipped. "That's what Maxie owns. People with Ferraris always drive like they own the road."

"All I could see were the headlights," Ivy explained, "so I have nil idea what it was."

"Were the headlights low to the road?" Max asked, spooning the bowl of dip with his half eaten pretzel. Ivy glanced toward Beth, then said, "Neither of us was thinking like witnesses to an accident. We didn't notice those kinds of details."

Bryan nodded and laid his hand on her arm. "Must have been a pretty scary scene."

Kelsey, facing Ivy and Bryan, put her feet on the swing between them. "I wonder whatever happened to that guy who was in the hospital when you were. Ivy—you know, our friendly local amnesiac." Out of the corner of her eye. Ivy saw Will stiffen.

"Our friendly local amnesiac?" Max repeated. "Yeah, some guy they fished out of the ocean in Chatham, the same night as Ivy's and Beth's accident"

"Really?!" Bryan said with surprise. Then he turned to Max: "Do you think he went to your party?"

"No," Kelsey said. "I would have remembered him. He was gorgeous—even beat up. He has these incredible, seductive eyes." It lasted no more than a half second, the flash in Bryan's eyes, but Ivy had seen it.

Kelsey had succeeded in pushing the little green button in him— and in Will.

But Bryan was better at covering up his jealous moment; Will continued to scowl.

"I don't know about that" Dhanya replied. "I thought the guy was kind of scary."

"Amnesia," Bryan said thoughtfully. "Why didn't I think of that?
I don't know
. 
Officer, none of this looks familiar
. . . .
I have no idea, Mom
....
Really, babe? I can't
remember anything
. What a great excuse!" Will snickered.

Ivy changed the subject. "Do you play a sport for BU?"

"Hockey."

"Yeah?" Will replied, interested. "They've got a great team."

"How long have you been playing?" Ivy asked. J'I can't even remember the first time I stood on a pair of skates and held a stick. I think I was six months old Kelsey laughed. "

"A child prodigy. He could walk at six months!" Bryan grinned at her.

"No, but I could skate."

"Your dad was into hockey?" Ivy guessed.

"My mom. She was from a hockey family—all brothers. I work for my uncle, who owns the rink in Harwich. Every year I come to the Cape to help him with summer hockey camps. And I work out, keeping in shape for the season."

"Six a.m., he's at the freakin' rink at six a.m. every morning," Max told them, "even if he has to drive there from a party."

"Max exaggerates," Bryan said, turning back to Ivy, flashing a bad boy smile, "I always leave parties by four thirty, so I can get in an hour of sleep before I hit the ice."

Ivy simply raised an eyebrow and Bryan laughed good naturedly. "So how about coming around for some lessons? Private lessons," he added, raising an eyebrow back at her. "I'm a good teacher." Uh oh, Ivy thought.

"We're out of salsa," Kelsey said. "Your turn to fetch. Ivy."

"Glad to," she replied, vacating her place on the swing, figuring Kelsey would be sitting there when she returned. Little green buttons everywhere.

Fifteen

ON THE FIRST DAY OF WORK AUNT CINDY HAD MADE it clear that, at an inn, where your job was to be cheerfully helpful to guests, arguing or turning a cold shoulder to another employee was prohibited. "Get over it or fake it," she had said.

Tuesday morning, Ivy and Will were assigned to the breakfast room; they faked it. But when a toddler threw his jelly toast on the floor, and the two of them bent over at the same time and knocked heads, Ivy began to giggle.

"I've got it," Will told her, reaching for the goopy toast. Before Ivy could straighten up, the toddler poured milk over the side of his booster chair. Ivy felt a splash on her head, followed by liquid dribbling down her back. Will stared at her sopping hair and Ivy laughed at his expression. Grabbing a table linen, he started blotting her head, which made them both laugh.

By the time the tables were cleared and the dishes in the dishwasher, most of yesterday's tension had disappeared.

"We should leave here about two forty five," Will told Ivy as they left the inn together. "After we get the bonfire permit, we can check out Race Point, then find a place for dinner in Provincetown."

"Sounds good," Ivy replied. At the cottage, she picked up her music and headed to church. She was determined to make her practices regular and focused as it had been in Connecticut.

But as Ivy warmed up at the keyboard, her mind continually played back moments from yesterday—Guy standing behind her as she played the sonata, Guy lowering his head close to hers as they stood at the edge of the sea.

At last she got back her concentration and worked hard for more than an hour.

When she finished, she played songs she knew by heart—"To Where You Are," then "Moonlight Sonata." Several measures into Beethoven, she stopped. She was thinking about Guy, about the way he had wandered about the church while she played, and how he had known the name of the piece. She was thinking about Guy when playing Tristan's song!

She dropped her hands in her lap. "Why did you stop?" Ivy's head jerked up. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I know." Guy was sitting on the end of a pew, halfway down the aisle of the small church. "About ten minutes ago you were playing like a crazy woman, like you were performing at Lincoln Center."

Lincoln Center? He knew what the concert hall was—another clue about his life, slight as it might be. "How was work?" she asked.

"You didn't tell me why you stopped," he replied.

Ivy turned all the way around on the piano bench. "I don't tell you everything."

He smiled and let her off the hook. "Work was terrific. It felt good to be doing something physical and thinking about nothing but what I was doing. The guy, Kip McFarland, is in his twenties and has a small landscaping business. The pay's low, but it's a start, and there's a fringe benefit."

"Which is?"

"I get to sleep with the lawnmowers in an old barn. It has one window that isn't covered, a toilet, and an outside shower. It also has a pile of useless stuff I'm supposed to clean out. Want to come see it?"

"A pile of useless stuff? How could I resist?" a few minutes later, with Guy supplying directions, Ivy drove to Willow Pond, which was off Route 6A, close to the bay side of the cape.

A crushed stone drive led them through woods to an old clapboard house with gables and a wraparound porch. With a lot of hard work—and gallons of paint—the house, its weeping trees, and the round pond reflecting them would look like a scene on one of Aunt Cindy's jigsaw puzzles.

"Kip and his wife bought the house last fall and are restoring it," Guy said. "They want to run a B and B some day, but they need money, so he does carpentry and landscaping, while she teaches, and in the summer helps him with the business."

Guy led Ivy past the right side of the house to the barn. The gray wood structure leaned noticeably toward the surrounding woods, like a building seeking shade. "Home sweet home," he said. "If you tilt your head, it looks straight."

Ivy grinned. "I can't wait to see inside."

Moving from the bright June day into the building's darkness. Ivy couldn't see anything at first, but she could smell. "I know," Guy said, hearing her sniff. "You get used to it."

"Mulch. And fertilizer. Some . .. very rich fertilizer."

As her eyes grew accustomed to the dim lighting she saw the mountain of stuff that needed to be cleared out—furniture, books, lamps, lobster pots, and fishing gear that looked old enough to have been used by the pilgrims.

"Is there a light in here?" He pointed. "Over the rider mower. Everything on that side is equipment for the landscaping business." He picked up an old lantern. "Kip's wife is lending me this." When he lit it, the lantern's heavy, ringed glass glowed warmly.

"Oh, I like it!"

"I thought you might. Hey, here comes my new roommate, Fleabag."

A skinny black and white cat had slipped through the open door and was sauntering toward them. "You're kidding, right?"

"About the fleas or us being roomies?"

"Both."

Guy set down the lantern. "Well, I was here for twenty minutes when Kip was showing me the place, and Flea bag scratched himself for about ten of those minutes, then flopped down on my backpack."

"I'll get him some flea medicine."

"You'll be more successful getting it for me. Kip said it took forever to trap him and get him to a vet. He's too feral to adopt, but he enjoys showing up now and then and hanging out. You can see why we're meant for each other," Guy added dryly.

"Yes." Ivy surveyed the mess around them. "So where exactly are you going to sleep? You could try that rafter, if you don't mind hanging upside down by your feet."

"I don't mind, but I'm guessing it's already taken by the bats. Thanks to you, however, I have my bedroll. I'll just have to clear a space."

"Let's get started," she said.

"Now?"

''With two of us, it will be easier to move the big things," Ivy told him. She eyed the cat. "And I don't think your roomy is going to lift a paw."

"He will when we disturb a nest of mice."

"Till then," Ivy replied, picking up a chair with a missing leg and heading toward the door. She carried it out to the portable Dumpster that she had seen between the house and barn.

Guy followed with a bent floor lamp and old radio. "If we can get the two sofas out of there," he said, "we'll have some elbow room to work."

A short sofa with exposed springs was fairly easy to move, but the other one, a sleeper that kept unfolding, was twice as heavy. Ivy and Guy tugged and pulled and dragged.

"How are you doing?" Guy asked when they were almost to the door. Sweat dripped in her eyes and made tiny rivulets between her ears and cheeks. "Okay. Hey! Look how clean your floor is where we've scraped it."

"That's where my bedroll will go," he said. Why don't we leave this here for now? I'll ask Kip about using his trailer. If we drag the sofa across the lawn, we're going to take the grass with us, roots and all."

"Agreed."

They found brooms among Kip's lawn equipment and swept the concrete floor, beginning to make a space for Guy, then set to work on the pile of stuff. It was a kind of treasure hunt, and they began calling out "Loot!" when one of them found something of interest—a lamp base shaped like a rearing horse, magazines from the sixties, a turntable with a scratched record still on it—"Chad and Jeremy," Ivy read from the label, then shrugged and carried it outside.

They settled into a comfortable rhythm, examining, sharing, walking back and forth to the Dumpster.

At one point Ivy saw Guy walk into the shed with an armful of
National
Geographics
. "Excuse me, I just put those out," she said.

"I know, but they looked interesting." He placed them next to his bedroll, with the magazines from the sixties. After rolling out a rusty push mower, he returned with a stack of old science books. This time Ivy didn't comment; after all, it was his place.

Between the two of them, they carried out a heavy sink. "Look at this!" he said, holding up several sports books filled with pictures and large print, apparently written for children. He tucked them under his arm and carried them back to the shed.

When, two hours and many books and magazines later, he added to his stacks the cookbooks that Ivy had just carried to the Dumpster, she could keep silent no longer. "Did you happen to notice you don't have a kitchen?"

"I might someday." Ivy laughed.

"Time for a break. Let's sit in the living room," he said, gesturing to the bedroll. "Something to drink?" He opened his backpack and drew out two bottles of water. Ivy took a long drink, then wiped her sweaty face on her sleeve. "Nice shade of dirt you're wearing," he remarked. She touched her cheek.

"Other side," he said, then reached and softly wiped that cheek. For a moment, Ivy couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. She was under a spell from the touch of his fingers. Then something brushed past them— Fleabag. Ivy quickly turned away from Guy, acting as if her attention had been caught by the cat.

"Now you show up," Guy grumbled to Fleabag, then rested against his backpack. "It's shaping up. I like it," he said, surveying the piles of books and magazines encircling them. "It's homey."

Homey, thought Ivy. That was how she would describe the house where Tristan had lived with his parents. She remembered the first time she saw it, when Tristan adopted her cat, Ella. Their living room was buried under books and magazines. "You're smiling," Guy said.

She shifted back to the present. "It's comfortable, but not my dream home."

"What is your dream home?" he asked curiously.

"A small house on the water. Living room, kitchen, and bedroom, a porch facing east, another facing west, and two fireplaces. How about yours?"

"I'd live inland, in a fancy tree house." Ivy laughed. "It would have several levels—and be built between two trees," Guy continued. "I know a place like that."

"It would have a rope ladder, of course. And a swing." Ivy loved the swing that hung under Philip's tree house, which was near the edge of her family's property. High on the ridge above the river and train tracks, the view was spectacular.

"And it would be high on a ridge, so I could see over the countryside." Ivy looked at Guy with surprise. "What is it?" he asked.

"That's exactly like my brother's." Her mind slipped back to the day that Philip had almost fallen from the tree house's walkway. Gregory had never admitted to loosening the board, and Ivy, who had lost her faith in angels, had not seen the golden shimmer that Philip had. But she believed now, as Philip did, that Tristan was there for him. Was Tristan here still?

I'll always be with you, Ivy
. She heard the words now as clearly as she had the night of the accident when Tristan kissed her. Ivy knew the old saying —the eyes were the windows of the soul—and sometimes when she looked in Guy's eyes, it was as if Tristan...

No, she was imagining it. "Ivy, you're trembling." He touched her hands lightly and she tried to make them still in her lap. "Tell me," he said.

Ivy shook her head no. Guy was confused enough about his identity, without her telling him that he made her feel as if Tristan was present.

"Sometimes you look so sad," Guy said. "I don't know how to help you."

Ivy touched his face gently. "I know how you feel—sometimes you look so lost."