The Wishing Tree (10 page)

“Yeah, it’s all good,” Ivy responded. She hoped her face was as smooth and emotionless as she was willing it to be.

Shea looked like she was about to say more, but her eyes flickered to the closed laptop. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” She gave a little wave and walked away, a familiar whiff of her perfume wafting through the room, reminding Ivy of summer nights riding in a yellow Jeep with the top off, the warm air rushing past as they sang along to the Dave Matthews Band at the top of their lungs, thinking things would never change as only the young can do.

Monday morning Ivy woke with one purpose: to send out the
tags to Shea’s wishing tree. She would do the job she’d been assigned to do perfectly, because she could. And, in the face of everything else going on, taking care of something and checking it off a list felt like the perfect activity.

She walked downstairs, poured herself some coffee, added her mother’s plain half-and-half (not the same as her hazelnut creamer from home, but beggars couldn’t be choosers), and walked over to inspect the sad little tree.

When she’d set it down, one of the branches had listed farther over, causing a gap down the middle. There were hardly any rocks left in the bottom of the pot to anchor it down, which was why it wasn’t standing. And upon further inspection she saw a crack in the pot itself. She shook her head and stood back up, taking a sip of coffee while she
thought about what she needed to restore it. Her mom came over and stood beside her, silently observing the tree too.

“I think it’s the Charlie Brown version of a wishing tree,” Ivy quipped.

Margot raised her eyebrows, no doubt recalling all the Christmases she’d sat with her daughters as they watched the
Charlie Brown Christmas
show. “Remember what Charlie Brown did with that tree.”

Ivy smiled and shook her head. “That was the magic of television.”

“That’s what you need to learn, Ivy, my darling. That was the magic of love. You show that tree a little love and you’ll see what it can be.”

“Mom, it’d be better to just scrap the thing. I was just online last night, and you can actually buy a ready-made wishing tree. They even color coordinate the tags and everything.”

Her mother laughed and sashayed out of the room. “Now, Ivy, surely you know me well enough to know what my answer to that will be.” She stopped and turned to look at Ivy. “Don’t you give up.” She winked and disappeared into her bedroom, no doubt to get ready for another day of running wedding errands with Shea.

Ivy grabbed a sheet of notepaper from the pad her mother kept by the phone and the fuzzy, color-coordinated pen that apparently came with the notepad, shaking her head at how her mom still loved anything with some bling to it. Gripping the pen, she started writing a list of what she would need to fix that tree: rocks, a new pot, tags, ribbons to hang the tags. Shea’s wedding colors were blue and white, so she would get white tags with a pretty blue toile ribbon
if she could find it. Even though it might involve driving all the way to Myrtle Beach to do so. She remembered her aunt sometimes used ribbon in her cake decorating and resolved to make the bakery her first stop. She would love it if Aunt Leah could save her from running around on a wild-goose chase.

“Hey, Mom!” she called in the direction of her mother’s room. She waited but there was no response.

As she walked closer to the room, she could hear her mom talking on the phone. Suddenly she was thirteen years old, reduced to spying on her mom just to get a glimpse into her interior life. She stood outside the door, out of sight, and listened to her mom, trying to figure out who she was talking to by what she was saying.

“I’d like that too,” Margot said. Then she giggled.

Her mother? Giggling? She leaned forward.

“Of course I remember that.” Another giggle.

She sounded like a teenage girl.

“Are you still planning on arriving when you said? I’ve got that date circled on my calendar.” A pause. “Yes. Circled. In red.” The giggle had changed to this seductive purr that made Ivy cringe. Ewww. That was her mother talking.

“I guess I will see you then. Can’t wait.” Realizing Margot was hanging up with her mysterious beau, Ivy backtracked to the kitchen, her heart racing at the idea of Margot catching her listening. That was most certainly not a conversation she would want Ivy to overhear. And just who was she talking to?

Later, if she could find the right moment, she would ask Shea if mom had been seeing anyone. It was so odd considering the two of them had just talked about how nice it
would be for her dad and mom to not be at the wedding with other people. But maybe Simon deserved to have to watch Margot with someone else and eat his heart out while he did. Margot was turning out to be a strong woman, which meant perhaps Ivy could as well.

She glanced down at the list she had made and saw Leah’s name where she had written it across the top. First Leah and her new employee, Lester. Now her mom and some mystery man. She could remember when her mom and Leah swore off men forever, saying they’d had love and could never expect to have it again. What was going on around here?

She ran upstairs to shower and dress and get her errands taken care of. No sense worrying about her mother’s love life—strange as that sounded. She had her own issues to deal with without dwelling on someone else’s. And from the sound of things, Margot was holding her own.

There was a yellow Jeep Wrangler parked outside the bakery when she got there. Her heart started pounding inside her chest just at the sight of it. The image that had filled her mind the night before returned: driving down Main Street with Michael, the radio blaring Dave Matthews as they sang at the top of their lungs, her turning around to smile at Shea in the backseat with Owen, feeling like the world was indeed their oyster. That life would always stay just this good. She’d been fifteen years old, and her boyfriend owned a car. And not just any car—a very cool Jeep Wrangler. If only the girls back at her high school could see this. That
next fall she’d papered her locker with snapshots from that magical summer when everything changed.

And then everything changed again. And nothing was the same. And here she was. She looked over at the Jeep. As much as it looked like his, there was no way it was. He would’ve sold that thing years ago, gotten a much more sensible, grown-up car. For all she knew, it was Lester’s car. She smiled at a new image that filled her mind: Leah and Lester driving down Main Street, her hair blowing in the wind, singing Beatles songs at the top of their lungs. Maybe her mother and whoever her secret love was would be in the backseat. Ivy sighed and got out of the car.

This time Lester wasn’t manning the counter. Her aunt was there, packaging up a gorgeous birthday cake. This one was a daring black and white, for a fortieth birthday, no doubt. “Looks good,” Ivy said.

“Yeah, don’t know that I would’ve chosen it, but it’s not my birthday.”

“Looks like it’s for an office.”

“Yes, I have to get it delivered today. Lester’s out already doing some deliveries.”

Ivy’s gaze lit on the binder displaying photos of wedding cakes. “I take it the wedding rush has started?”

“When has it ever stopped? Our wedding business—phew! You wouldn’t believe how much it’s grown.”

“Still making the bride and groom come in and bake it together?”

Leah gave her a look. “What do you think?”

Leah had this crazy idea years ago that she would only make a wedding cake for a couple if they came in and baked
the actual cake with her. And so, all throughout the wedding season, you found Leah walking nervous brides and clumsy grooms through baking what was usually just the base of the cake. But it was enough to give them a good idea of the work that went into the cake. She had a saying, “You don’t get to taste the sweetness if you don’t put in the work.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was talking about a whole lot more than just cake. Leah believed that brides put too much focus on the wedding and not enough on what came after. This was her way of getting a few minutes with them, to help them remember what they were doing—and why. It was a bold move, but it had worked for her. If anything, the practice only made her services more desirable, her cakes more meaningful. When a bride or groom fed their other half that first bite of cake, they knew what it was they held in their hands.

Needless to say, Elliott and Ivy had never baked a wedding cake with Aunt Leah. “Ya know, Leah, they should do a study of all the couples who bake cakes with you. I bet they have a lower divorce rate than the national average.”

Leah put her hands on her hips. “That’s a good idea. I’ll put Lester right on it.” She cackled, slapping her hands together.

“So what’s the deal with Lester?”

Leah turned back to securing the cake for its journey. “What do you mean, ‘deal’?”

“You’ve never mentioned him when we talk. Just seems like someone you woulda mentioned.”

“Why? He’s an employee. That’s all. I hired him to do deliveries initially. But it’s gotten to where he does all kinda
stuff. Helps clean up. Waits on customers. I’ve even been known to have him help me with some of the baking. He’s right good at making those cheese biscuits you love so much.”

Ivy raised one eyebrow, something she once practiced for weeks to master. “And you’re sure that’s all he is? Just an employee?”

Leah stopped messing with the cake. “You girls and your fascination with love. It doesn’t always have to be about love.” She looked back at the cake, but not before Ivy saw two distinct circles of color spreading across her cheeks.

“It sure seemed like more than your typical employer-employee relationship when I was in here last time. If you ask me, he likes you. And you like him, Le Le.” Ivy raised her eyebrows at Leah, who ignored the reference to Lester’s nickname for her.

Finished with her packing, Leah pushed the cake farther down the counter and rested her elbows. “Of course he likes me. I gave him a job. A purpose. That’s all.” She quickly changed the subject. “Now, what about you? When’s that husband of yours getting here?”

Great. She’d walked right into that one. “Oh, he’s real busy with work. He can’t just come at the drop of a hat. It’s a six-hour drive, you know.”

“But he is coming to the wedding, isn’t he? I want to dance with that handsome man.” She rubbed her hands together with a devilish glint in her eyes.

Ivy felt panic rise in her chest. She had no idea where she and Elliott would be in a few weeks’ time. As it stood now, she really didn’t think it would ever be any better between them. And what about Michael? How would it look if she
and Michael were the ones dancing at her sister’s wedding while her husband was nowhere around? She would eventually have to come clean about the situation. But not now.

“Sure, sure. He’ll come a little closer to time.”

“That’s a relief. I haven’t gotten to dance with him since that great party y’all had in Asheville. Now that was some night.” Leah did a little pivot and twirl, being silly. Ivy winced a little at the memory of that night—of all the promise it held in spite of everything, of how grateful she’d been to Leah for showing up, the sole representative of her family.

“What was some night?”
Michael
.

Ivy and Leah turned to see the owner of the yellow Jeep Wrangler standing in the kitchen doorway, a goofy grin on his face, looking much more at ease than he had Saturday night. Leah and Michael were both smiling at her expectantly.

“Speaking of nights,” Leah jumped in to save her, “this one said the four of you had a little reunion the other night.” She nodded in Michael’s direction and waited for Ivy to affirm her comment. But Ivy’s mind was spinning. It was all too close, too real, too much. She was back at the bakery she’d helped to start, standing near the boy who used to pick her up after work, with wedding cakes all around her, symbolizing her greatest failure—and possibly her greatest regret.

“Yeah,” she managed. “It was … fun. All of us together again.”

A big smile filled her aunt’s face. “It does this heart good to think of you four back together again. Just like old times!”

Ivy thought she saw a hurt look cross Michael’s face.
Like her, he knew they were nowhere near old times. The old times between them weren’t strained or awkward or forced. And the hurt she saw on his face now? Well, there was no denying she’d put it there. She’d ruined all of that.

She wanted to blurt out “I’m sorry!” right there in the middle of the bakery. Instead she just said, “Yeah, old times,” and tried to smile in a way that looked convincing. From the look on his face, Michael was doing the same. It warmed her heart to know that, to see him trying. She was learning to take what she could. And today this moment of recognition was it.

She returned from Leah
’
s shop with a lovely ribbon that was close
enough to what she’d had in mind and didn’t require a long drive. She’d also run by Walmart in Shallotte and picked up some tags, a rubber stamp that said “Wish” on it, and a large bag of blue glass marbles. She hoped they’d be strong enough to hold the tree in place in the pot. The one thing she hadn’t been able to find was a pot to replace the cracked one. She was sitting on the floor, letting the blue marbles run through her fingers, thinking that a white or silver pot would look best, when Shea plopped down beside her.

“I take it this is going to be my wishing tree?”

Ivy looked over at her. “I’m not so sure you’re supposed to see it till it’s finished. Isn’t that like the groom seeing the bride in her dress before the big day?”

Shea studied the assortment of items Ivy had spread out
in front of her on the floor, then gave the Charlie Brown tree a once-over. “No offense, but I don’t feel like I’ve seen anything.”

Ivy smirked at her. “Touché.”

Shea lay her hand on Ivy’s forearm. “I’m sure it’ll be just beautiful when you’re done, though.”

Ivy froze, welcoming the unfamiliar sensation of her sister’s hand on her arm, as if the ice was breaking between them just by the warmth of her touch. She held her breath for just a moment before answering, knowing that when she did, Shea would move her hand away. She wanted to say something touching, something sweet, in response. Instead she went to her default and gave her a snarky answer. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

Shea stood up and stretched out her legs. “I’m going to go for a walk. Wanna come with me?”

Ivy gestured to the mess on the floor. “And leave all this?”

Shea waved her hand, dismissing the mess. “It’ll be here when you get back. Come on. Let’s get some exercise.” She hooked her hand under Ivy’s armpit and started pulling.

“Ow! You’re hurting me!” Ivy said, but she was laughing as she said it. Even getting manhandled by Shea felt good after years of polite distance and awkward conversations. You had to love someone to fight with them.

She shuffled off to find her flip-flops. Shea preoccupied herself with pulling her hair into a high ponytail that was so tight it tugged at the corners of her eyes. “You just gave yourself a face-lift,” Ivy said. Shea glanced in the mirror hanging in the entry way, laughed, and pulled the elastic back down a bit. A loosened strand fell onto her forehead, and Ivy resisted the urge to reach out and tuck it behind her
ear like she once would have. She looked at her little sister. “Ready to go?”

“Yep! Follow me!” Shea led the way out the door, down the steps, across the yard, and onto 40th Street, walking faster than Ivy would’ve thought. She had to hustle to match Shea’s pace.

“Should I have put on my running shoes?” she asked. “You said a walk. This might qualify as a run.”

“I said we were getting our exercise.” Shea had an intent look on her face and was moving her arms in time with her fast steps. She gave Ivy a sideways glance. “You’re not the one who has to fit into your wedding dress in a couple of weeks.”

The two were halfway down the street when Shea slowed and stared at a house with scaffolding covering the front of it. It was the McCoys’ place. Shea made a visor with her hand and scanned the front of the house, then peered around the edge. She shrugged her shoulders and kept going. “What happened to Mrs. McCoy?” Ivy asked. It hardly looked like the same place.

Shea resumed her fast pace, and Ivy kicked herself into gear to keep up. “She died a few years back.” Shea said it like Ivy should know. Mrs. McCoy used to make them cookies and have them over for tea parties. She and her husband were empty nesters so they loved entertaining the children on the street each summer. She and Shea and Michael and Owen figured that out pretty quickly and, consequently, found any excuse to go over there. Ivy felt a little pang at the thought of being so removed from things around here that she missed the death of someone who had once been a big part of her life.

“Wow, sorry to hear that” was all she said in response.

“Michael bought the house, and he’s the one fixing it up. Sometimes Owen helps him. I was checking to see if they were here.”

“So how did Michael manage to get the house?”

“Not really sure how it all happened. I expect he made an offer to the McCoy children. You’d have to ask him. I mean, if you’re willing to talk to him.”

“I’m willing to talk to him. In fact, I saw him at the bakery, and we talked just fine. I’d like to be … friends with Michael.” She used the word
friend
for lack of a better one, but the truth was she couldn’t imagine being friends with Michael, not with everything that had passed between them. But she couldn’t go into that with Shea, not yet. She couldn’t share her feelings about Michael without sharing her feelings about Elliott. And she just didn’t think she could say that out loud. Not without a lot of tears and incoherent blubbering. She and her sister were making strides, but they weren’t at a bare-your-soul point.

Shea slowed down and looked at Ivy. “You and Michael cannot be friends.” She started walking again.

Ivy, huffing and puffing, tried to get back in lockstep with Shea. “What does that mean? We’re adults. Surely we can work at being friends. Especially since we’ve got to be around each other for the next few weeks. What would you have us be? Enemies?”

“I just think that you should think about it. That’s all. I mean, what about from Elliott’s perspective? Would you want him being all buddy-buddy with some girl he almost married? Wouldn’t that weird you out?”

If you only knew
, Ivy wanted to say. “Let me worry about Elliott. This isn’t about Elliott. It’s about trying to salvage something I lost.” She didn’t just mean what she lost with Michael. She meant what she lost with all of them. “I–I made a hard choice five years ago. I followed my heart and it hurt a lot of people. I see now how things maybe could’ve been different.”
Like I could’ve not done what I did at all
, she didn’t say either. “So now I’m back here and I’m trying to put things right. If that can even be done.”

Shea kept walking in silence. Ivy knew her sister was mulling over what she had just said. Finally she spoke. “Just don’t expect too much. Michael’s in a good place. A really good place. I’m not sure he wants what you’re talking about. Friendship.”

The way Shea said it, it sounded like a dirty word.

“So you don’t think it’s possible for me to put things right?”

“I think it’s always possible to put things right. As long as you don’t expect them to be the way they were.”

The two women walked on in silence. Ivy wondered what Shea was thinking—if she was angry with Ivy still or had already resolved to move forward with this new—different—relationship. Perhaps that was why Shea could so easily touch her, ask her to go on a walk, talk to her about things that didn’t lie on the surface within easy reach. Somehow her younger sister had gotten wiser in the time they’d spent apart. She snuck a look at the set of her jaw, the intensity of her gaze, the rhythm of her blonde ponytail swaying back and forth with each step. Her little sister had grown up. It seemed she could take some lessons from her.

When they reached the Sunset Beach pier, Shea looked at her. “Wanna turn back?”

Ivy, panting, agreed that was the best idea. As they made their way back where they came from, Ivy remembered the strange conversation she’d overheard Margot having. “Hey, do you know if Mom’s seeing someone?”

Shea laughed. “Someone as in, like, a man?”

“Yes, that was the general idea.”

“Uh, no.”

“You’ve never seen her talking to a man? Not at church or at a store or anywhere? Has she met anyone new in all the wedding plans?”

“Ivy, no. Mom talks to Dad about money for my wedding, which is never pleasant. And sometimes she talks to Lester at the bakery. And, of course, occasionally Owen and Michael when they come over.” Shea thought about it for a moment. “No. There’s no one else.”

“Then Mom has a secret admirer.”

“What?” Shea shrieked so loud that a hovering seagull darted away, scared.

“I heard her on the phone this morning talking to someone. She was giggling like a lovesick teenager. And then she used—oh, this is gross to even say—but she used this kind of, I don’t know, sexy voice.”

As if it was possible, Shea started walking faster. “I don’t think so. Maybe you misunderstood. Maybe she was just being friendly. What you’re saying just doesn’t even sound like our mother. Some things have changed since you’ve been gone, but trust me, Margot is still Margot. She doesn’t like to get too excited. She never musses her hair. She is always
proper. And she’s not capable of flirting.” Shea’s voice got quieter. “And besides, she’s done with men. You remember.”

They both remembered that weird fall they’d come back to Sunset, missing a week of school before they were told they were going to live there “for now” and go to high school there, away from all their friends and activities and the comforts of home. Shea and Ivy had loved the beach house for vacations but never desired to live there full-time. But for that year, while their parents decided to divorce and fought over the details, that’s exactly what they did. The two girls lived on the fairly deserted island with their mother, who stayed in bed listening to Carly Simon a lot. The fact that Michael and Owen came down often to fish in the off-season was the only thing that made that year bearable. But even then, things started to change with her and Michael. Ivy had watched her parents split up, and something inside of her had split too, making her half of the whole she had once been. Sometimes she felt like the rest of her life had been a search for the half that had gone missing.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears.”

“Leave it to Margot to create some drama just in time for my wedding,” Shea said with an emphatic sigh.

“Just keep your ears open and your eyes peeled. She’s up to something.”

Shea shook her head. “As if I don’t have enough to think about without trying to figure out who my mother’s secret lover is.”

Ivy started to sing an old song, “This Guy’s in Love with You.” But instead she changed the words. “Our mom’s in
love. Our mom’s in love with who?” Shea pushed her playfully, started to giggle, and then broke into a full-on run. Ivy did her best to chase her sister but found that Shea was now hard to catch.

After they returned home, the two of them parked themselves at the kitchen table and began assembling the tags to go out. It took them the rest of the afternoon and into the night, but they stamped, ribboned, and addressed the tags to all of the guests, creating a stack of envelopes ready to go out in the morning’s mail.

“I’m still not sure it’s right to let you help me with this,” Ivy said. “Mom put me in charge of the wishing tree. You’ve got a lot of other things you could be doing.”

Shea elbowed her. “Let me decide that. It’s okay to need help, Ivy.”

Margot came in often, checking on their progress and making little digs about how Shea had refused to help her with the same project when she’d mentioned it. The first time they saw her, they both had to stifle their laughter. “What are you two up to?” Margot asked.

“Oh,
we’re
not up to anything, Mother,” Shea said. “What are
you
up to?”

“Why, nothing at all. I just came in here to get a Diet Coke.”

“Why are you drinking a diet drink, Mother?” Shea kept on. “Need to watch your girlish figure?”

“Shealee Montgomery Copeland, sometimes I don’t know what goes on inside of that head of yours.” Margot
looked at Ivy. “It’s a good thing you’re here to keep her in line or she just might not live long enough to see that altar.”

Ivy, meanwhile, was struggling not to crack up laughing. “Yeah. Good thing I’m here,” she managed with a straight face.

Margot wiggled her fingers with her free hand. The other gripped her Diet Coke in a silver can. “See you girls later.”

Once Margot was out of earshot, Shea said, “Just run along back there and call your mysterious beau,” which was enough to set Ivy off into the fit of giggles she’d been holding back since Margot had entered the room. She’d forgotten how nice it was to do life with a sister, someone who knew the whole you, and not just the part that you chose to show the people who came into your adult life. She thought of her choice to forsake all of this and wondered yet again what she’d been thinking five years ago.

After they called it a night, Ivy shut her bedroom door and got out her laptop, opening to Twitter and entering Elliott’s handle. This whole thing was like a train wreck—she didn’t want to look but she couldn’t turn away either. This man was talking to her in a public forum. She wasn’t ready to contact him—which is what would be required to ask him to stop—but she couldn’t ignore it altogether. Quite simply, the curiosity was killing her.

She gazed down at the Twitter account. Apparently, other people were drawn to it too. His following was
growing rapidly. One tweet by some guy she’d never heard of said, “@ElliottIdiot Way to show the ladies that men are capable of apologizing.” He’d included a link to a song by Timbaland called “Apologize,” which made Ivy laugh in spite of herself.

She scrolled down to the last one she’d read, then started reading again. He was tweeting several times a day, it looked like, random thoughts about the two of them interspersed with pleas for her to contact him. She read the tweets as if she were reading words written by a stranger, as if this were someone else’s husband. She wished she could feel something. But the jolt of finding out the truth about him had been like an electric current that short-circuited her ability to feel much of anything at all.

The only surge of emotion she was feeling these days was whenever she was around Michael. She thought about when she’d spotted his Jeep parked outside the bakery. She’d told herself it couldn’t be his, but deep inside she’d wanted it to be. And when she and Shea had walked by the McCoy house on the way back from their walk, she’d hoped he would be there. She bit her lip. In some ways it felt like that first summer when they’d become more than childish pals. How she’d lived for him to notice her, to tease her, to say something laced with meaning. That had been before her parents split, that one perfect summer she always went back to in her mind—when everything seemed filled with joy and she still believed that the kind of love she wanted was possible.