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Authors: Elizabeth Chandler

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BOOK: Everlasting
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Tristan sat for a long time as dusky shadows filled up the corners and height of the church. Ivy was supposed to leave a care package for him at the beach up the road, a kid’s backpack with Philip’s name scrawled on it, stuffed with food. He was waiting for nightfall.

When it was almost dark, he descended the turning stairway to the basement, wanting a glimpse of it before the light completely faded. The windows in the basement were clear and curtainless, so he stood with his back against the wall, surveying the room. In addition to old tables and chairs, it contained some of the church’s “memories”: a children’s puppet theater, tarnished Christmas decorations, and rusted fans on tall poles for warm summer Sundays.

Tristan memorized the layout so he could reenter the church in total darkness and find his way. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait any longer to get outside. It was dark enough, he told himself as he walked to the window with the broken latch. He froze. Someone stood at the edge of the church lawn, gazing at the church. Beth.

She stood as still as a stone figure in a cemetery. While she was too far away for him to see her eyes, he knew by the lift of her chin that she was looking upward, staring at the bell tower. He couldn’t see Gregory in her, but the unnatural way she held herself, her unrelenting gaze at the place where he had climbed, was creepy. Could Gregory sense that he, Tristan, had been in the tower?

No, of course not
, he told himself. If Gregory could perceive him, Beth would be focused on the basement.

But that left the question of why exactly Beth was there.

Twelve

“DO YOU MIND DRIVING TO THE PARTY?” WILL ASKED
Ivy Saturday evening. She and Dhanya met him outside the cottage, Dhanya walking like a robot, the polish on her toenails and fingernails still drying.

“You’re not going to Chase’s?”

“Beth has my car,” Will replied.

“Beth! You lent it to her?” Ivy exclaimed.
Open your eyes, Will
, she wanted to say.
Beth’s not connecting with people. She’s hostile. She shouldn’t be driving around alone.

Beth’s dream haunted Ivy—not because she thought it
was one of her prophetic visions; more likely, it expressed Beth’s fear that “Luke” would strangle Ivy as he had Corinne. But what if
Beth
believed it was prophetic and acted on that belief? What if she attempted to hunt him down to “save” Ivy? What if the dream was created by Gregory—seeded by him as he prowled her mind—the beginning of a dangerous and demonic plan?

“Look, if you don’t want to drive, I’ll call Bryan,” Will said, his voice growing edgy. Dhanya looked from one to the other.

“No, c’mon,” Ivy replied. “I’m just worried about Beth.”

Ivy realized that Will wasn’t looking forward to this party any more than she was. She wished they had gotten off to a better start this evening. She’d hoped that an uncomfortable party among people they didn’t know would make Will her ally, if only for the evening, and she could make progress toward talking to him about Beth.

They followed 6A west to Chase’s house, which took them past Tristan’s hideout. When Will turned in his seat to look at the church, Ivy got nervous. She reminded herself that Will was the one who’d first noticed it.

“Okay, keep an eye out for Toby’s Landing,” she said.

“There,” Will replied almost immediately, and she turned off 6A, following the road to another one marked
PRIVATE
. Chase’s was the last of three widely spaced homes facing Cape Cod Bay. The shingled home rose before them,
its center portion anchored by two large gambrels that faced the driveway, each one several windows wide.

“It’s perfect,” Dhanya said as she stood on the cobbled drive, gazing at the old home. “If I lived on Cape Cod, this is the exact house I would buy.”

“You could probably get it for five mil,” Will told her.

Dhanya was unfazed by the price tag. “Max’s house costs more than that, but there’s no comparison. I hope it has trellises with climbing roses and a bench under an old arbor. This is the way a house on Cape Cod
should
look!”

“Except of course, for the tiny homes that are actually called ‘Cape Cods,’” Will remarked.

Ivy laughed, but Dhanya was too impressed to pay attention to Will’s wry comment. “Chase said his father is a famous defense attorney,” she went on.

“Yes, we heard,” Ivy replied as they walked to the front door.

“Which tells you that crime pays—at least for somebody,” Will said.

“No, most of their money was inherited from his grandfather. Not that Chase’s father doesn’t earn a lot of money. His mother runs a gallery selling fine art during the summer, but Chase says it’s not about money. She’s fulfilling herself.”

Ivy and Will exchanged glances, and for a moment it felt like old times, when an unspoken thought passed between them: Poor Max, thwarted in his effort to drive Dhanya to
the party, was on his way to heartbreak. He might have a huge house and a lot of “toys” but Ivy didn’t see how he, with his bargain-chain father could compete with this tasteful, justice-seeking, self-fulfilled family.

Chase answered the door, then gestured and stepped aside, allowing them to appreciate the dark-paneled hall, the carved staircase with its mysterious alcove halfway up, and a gallery’s worth of art. Will, surrounded by painted canvases, could no longer act disdainful. When Ivy and Dhanya followed Chase to a porch off the back of the house, Will stayed behind to look at the art.

Chase introduced Ivy and Dhanya to his friends, a dozen guys and girls from various states who had grown up skiing together at Jackson Hole. His friends didn’t appear too interested in talking to the newcomers, but that was natural, Ivy thought, for a group enjoying a reunion. They were dressed casually in designer labels—the kind about which Suzanne had educated Ivy.

“Don’t sit down till you’ve snagged something to drink,” Chase said, leading Dhanya by the hand. He looked over his shoulder and beckoned to Ivy to follow them to a table of refreshments at the end of the porch. It looked like one of the college-faculty spreads put on by her mother and Andrew: chilled wine, imported beer, Perrier, fancy kabobs, and smaller hors d’oeuvres. The layout told Ivy that Chase’s parents had approved the alcohol.

After Dhanya chose a Perrier, Chase steered her toward a guy and girl who were deep in conversation. Ivy stayed by the table. Will entered the room, looked around at the strangers, hesitating, then joined Ivy. “You know you’re at a classy party,” he observed, “when you need utensils to pick up the snacks.”

“I sure could use a handful of chips right now. How’s the fine art?” she asked, borrowing Dhanya’s term for the kind of gallery Chase’s mother ran.

“I have to admit, some of it’s really good,” Will said.

Ivy nodded. “And I have to admit this place is beautiful—so close to the water.”

The lawn beyond the porch dropped down slightly to the beach. It was a warm, humid night, and the stars looked soft enough to melt over the calm expanse of bay.

“It would be real nice to set up an easel here,” Will said, his voice wistful.

Ivy was about to ask Will if he wanted to walk to the water’s edge when a pretty raven-haired girl, whose back had been to them, turned around. “Do you paint?”

“Yeah. Do you?”

Will and the girl quickly got into a discussion of art. Realizing that she had missed her chance, Ivy drifted on and ended up talking with a brother and sister from Chicago. She had started to enjoy their conversation about college—the guy had finished freshman year as a music major and
his sister was the same age as Ivy—when Bryan, Kelsey, and Max stepped onto the porch.

Bryan was wearing cargo shorts and one of his college team shirts; Kelsey showed as much skin as possible in short shorts, a glittery tube top, and heels that would have pitched anyone less athletic flat on her face. Perhaps Max’s two preppy shirts, which he had worn several times for Dhanya’s sake, were in the wash. Tonight he wore faded jeans and one of his many bright tropical prints.

“Well,” said the girl talking with Ivy, “looks like the entertainment has arrived!”

“A trio!” The guy eyed Kelsey. “Why don’t you ever dress that way?” he teased his sister.

“Stop staring, Brett. That’s what the girl wants.”

“Then I’m glad to give it to her,” he replied.

“The girl is my roommate, Kelsey,” Ivy interjected. “And Max and Bryan are new friends we’ve met on the Cape.”

“Does one of them play bongo drums?” Brett joked.

“No, a steel drum,” his sister observed, “if you’re referring to the Caribbean clubber.” She turned to Ivy. “But I’m sure they’re nice.”

“They are.” Ivy replied. Deciding it would be a waste of politeness to excuse herself, she simply walked away, joining Max and Bryan, who were parked at the food table. Max tried one thing after another, picking them up with his fingers rather than the toothpicks. Bryan studied the selection
of beer. Kelsey was quickly stolen from Bryan’s side by two guys who’d turned almost giddy at the sight of her. Bryan watched her walk off with them, then winked at Ivy.

“Next time,” Bryan said to Max, “all of us should wear tube tops. Did you see the way people stared when we walked in?”

Max looked down at his shirt. “I like this outfit.”

“And I like
you,
Max, for liking it,” Bryan said. “I gave you bad advice when I told you to wear the button-down for Dhanya.”

Max gazed across the porch at Dhanya, who was standing close to Chase, talking to another couple. The four of them were so perfectly matched, they looked as if they had double-dated for years and would one day be in each other’s weddings.
Boring
, Ivy thought, surprising herself that she preferred—and was even growing fond of—Max.

“You’re your own man, Max,” Bryan went on, “not part of the herd. Don’t you think so?” he asked two girls who had approached the table to get something to eat. They looked at Bryan, then Max, and giggled.

“The rest of these guys here—they’re wearing a uniform. This guy,” Bryan went on, clapping Max on the shoulder, “he likes to experiment with color. Don’t tell me you girls want a guy with no imagination or sense of fun! How romantic is that?”

The girls looked at each other. The taller one shook her
head at the shorter, dismissing Bryan, but he continued. “You like catamarans—you like flying across the ocean like you’ve got wings? Or do you like cigarette boats that race past Chatham at ninety miles per hour? Maybe you’re into yachts. Max has them all—take your choice.
And
he’s his own man.”

Max started to blush.

Ivy watched with amazement as Max’s endearing bit of shyness, along with his boat résumé and suggestion of wealth, drew the girls in. They introduced themselves, the shorter girl seeming especially interested.

The taller girl turned to Bryan. “Are you dating anyone?” she asked bluntly.

“Yeah,” he said, putting his arm around Ivy.

Ivy choked on her drink.

“Whoa! Careful. You okay, babe?” Bryan asked solicitously. “Come on.”

Choking and laughing, Ivy allowed him to lead her into the house. “What was that all about?” she asked when they were out of earshot.

“Maxie. He’s a good guy and deserves a girl,” Bryan said. “Not one of them, but they’ll do for now. I had to do that, Ivy. Otherwise he’ll wander around and make puppy eyes at Dhanya all night, which’ll be a real turn-off to her. I wish he’d get over her.”

“It would be better if he did,” Ivy agreed, and added with a sigh, “But you love who you love.”

Bryan tilted his head to one side, studying her. The room’s lighting softened his features. “You miss him.”

“Yeah. A lot.” Her voice sounded funny. It was hard to disguise the intensity of her feelings when talking with someone who also cared about “Luke.”

“You’re afraid something will happen to him,” Bryan guessed.

“Yes, and that I won’t be able to do anything about it.”

Bryan rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. “That’s the problem with Luke. You want to fix things for him, but in the end you can’t. He has to do it for himself, especially the drinking part, which is where he always gets in trouble.”

Ivy nodded, feeling more in control of her emotions now because they were talking about the real Luke, not Tristan. “Thanks. Thanks for understanding.”

“You know what you need? Solid food,” Bryan said. “I saw the last kabob get picked up out there. I’m looking for the kitchen.” Bryan studied the three doors that appeared to lead to other rooms. “My built-in divining rod—it’s very sensitive to food—says Door Number Two. Join me?”

Ivy wondered what Chase’s parents would say if they discovered Bryan and her raiding their kitchen; after a moment of indecision, she nodded and followed him, hoping for the chance to ask some questions. Bryan’s divining rod was spot-on, taking them to a kitchen worthy of Martha
Stewart: a square room with two cooking ranges, a granite-topped island, and a chandelier of copper-bottomed pots. There was a bouquet of daisies, a few of them tumbling toward their reflections in the dark, polished surface of the island. A ceramic pot with small sunflowers graced an open hearth. Bryan stood in front of a gigantic stainless-steel refrigerator.

“See anything good?” Ivy asked.

He turned around, grinning and holding up a container. “Leftovers—looks like steak. Want some?”

She shook her head.

Bryan continued with his exploration, opening and closing drawers, lifting lids. At last he said, “I’ve discovered what’s wrong with Chase. His diet lacks junk food. There isn’t one piece of decent junk food in this fridge. But the steak will do.”

He closed the door, then lifted the lid of the container, peering down at its contents. “Meat like this shouldn’t be mauled. . . . Knife and fork,” he murmured, surveying the large number of kitchen drawers, finding what he wanted on the second try, then setting the silverware and container on the center island.

“What if someone is counting on that for a midnight snack?” Ivy asked as he cut into the meat.

“What if several people have been counting on it,” he replied, “and no one admits they ate it? That would be a
scene.” He stuck his fork in a piece, raised it halfway up to his mouth, then paused. “You look very disapproving.”

BOOK: Everlasting
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