by Anna Burke
“Can we leave it like that?”
Ivy dug out a water bottle and poured it over ashes. The last coals went out in a hiss of smoke and steam, and she shut the flue.
“Now we can leave it.” She felt like she’d poured water over more than ashes. The warmth that had accompanied Lillian’s embrace felt doused as well.
They walked down to the dock in silence. There was no point talking about what had happened. Not here. Not yet. She did pull Lillian into the shadow of a pine tree to kiss her one more time before they got to the landing, but when she opened her mouth to ask what happens next? she couldn’t form the words.
“Where are the workers?” Lillian asked as the dock came into view.
Ivy looked around. Lillian was right. The work crew and any equipment that could not be left out in the cold overnight should be here already. Instead, the dock was empty save for a gull. Snow blew sideways off the ocean, and Ivy took in the size of the swells and the whitecaps with a growing sense of unease.
“Give them a few more minutes. Here.” She led Lillian to the shelter of the boathouse and watched the path, trying not to let panic override her senses. The work crew should have been down here ten minutes ago. Something was wrong.
“Ivy—”
“I have the right time,” she said, cutting Lillian off. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was the size of the swells and the color of the sky, which was storm gray and full of snow. The ferry might have come early, she realized, and the captain, knowing Ivy was an islander, might have assumed she had gone to stay with the island manager. It was not his job to find day hikers.
Minutes ticked by, and three thirty came and went. No workers trickled down to the dock, and no boat cut through the storm. By three forty-five Ivy knew they were in trouble.
“What’s going on?”
“The ferry must have come early because of the storm. The weather wasn’t supposed to do this when I checked the forecast.”
“The weather never does what it’s supposed to do here,” said Lillian. “Will it come back for us?”
Ivy hesitated. She didn’t want Lillian to worry, but she also couldn’t conceal the reality of their predicament. “No.”
“What?” Lillian started for the door to the boathouse, as if she might hail a ferry like a taxicab.
“Lillian—”
“What are we going to do? We can’t stay out here. My dogs—I work tomorrow—”
“The ferry will come back in the morning. We’ll make it to work on time.” Barely.
“And if we freeze to death?”
“We’ll go back to the house and light the woodstove. There’s probably some cans of soup somewhere, and my mom hoards bottled water. We’ll be okay, Lil.”
“Nothing about this is okay.” Lillian paced the dock. Wind snatched at her scarf and snarled her hair. If they didn’t hurry, the house would be too dark for them to find anything, and Ivy needed to move before her own panic overruled her.
“I’m sorry.”
Lillian whirled. “Did you plan this?”
“Did I plan what?”
“To trap us here? Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“No!” Ivy took a step back, floored by the vehemence of Lillian’s words. “I swear to god. I had no idea the weather was going to do this. If you want, we can go to the island manager’s house. There’s electricity and heat.”
And I’ll never hear the end of it from my mother.
Lillian’s snarl softened. “You mean we’re not alone out here?”
“The manager lives here year-round. We’re okay. I promise.” A particularly strong gust of wind hurtled into them. She took hold of Lillian’s gloved hands. “Let’s get into shelter and come up with a plan, okay?”
“Okay.” Lillian blinked as snow frosted her lashes.
They walked quickly back, Darwin darting around in his constant search for shrews, and Ivy lit the first candle she could find.
“Let’s get the woodstove going. We can close off the sitting room, which will keep it warmer, and I’ll grab some of the down quilts from upstairs. Can you see if you can find anything to eat in the kitchen?”
“Sure.”
She lit a second candle and handed it to Lillian, then headed for the woodpile outside the kitchen door. Snow had piled up in inches beyond the reach of the back porch, and she filled the log carrier with kindling and enough logs to last them several hours, though she’d need to make a few more trips to get them through the night. Her fingers fumbled the logs in their gloves. The stress had triggered a small flare. Her hands felt like they were wearing electric mittens, and they prickled every time she moved them. It didn’t matter.
Back in the sitting room with its antique furniture and squat stove, she crumpled newspaper and laid the fire as she’d been doing for years. Make a house for the flame, her father had told her. She’d never had to lay a fire for her own safety, however, and the chill of the room and the growing howl of the wind jeered at her attempts. She blew on the small flame until the paper caught. The wood floor was hard and cold beneath her knees. When the kindling burned at last, she exhaled, and turned around to find Lillian studying her.
“I found some soup,” Lillian said, holding up a can of what looked like lentils. Ivy couldn’t see the label in the gathering dusk.
“Good. We can heat it up once the stove gets hot enough. Will you keep an eye on the fire while I go find some quilts?”
“Of course.”
The formality of Lillian’s tone sent splinters into her heart. Why had she thought things would be any different? They’d done what they came here to do, hadn’t they? And now they would go back to how they’d always been—perhaps a touch more polite, but still something less than friends. She didn’t want that.
She tried to think of what she could say to express this need for something different as she searched closets for quilts and dragged couch cushions in front of the woodstove, making a nest that they could divide or share. Water she found in the pantry, the bottles frozen but easy enough to thaw, and a small pot and two bowls for dinner when they grew hungry. There was still wine and plenty of bread and cheese to make a full meal, and while the septic system had been winterized, nobody would mind if they went to the bathroom in the woods behind the house—not that the prospect was particularly appealing in what was fast becoming a squall. They would be fine. In the morning, the ferry would take them back to the harbor, and no one ever needed to know what had happened here.
• • •
Lillian chewed on her lip, which was bruised and swollen from kissing Ivy, and stared at her phone. The cold had nearly killed the battery, and she had no way of charging it. That left her very few options. Biting down on her lip hard enough to risk splitting it, she composed a text to Angie.
LL: Stuck on Rabbit Island with Ivy overnight. I’m fine, but can you feed the dogs? And don’t say anything to Morgan. I’ll explain when I get back. Thank you. <3
This would be so much fun, she thought darkly as she pictured the look on Angie’s face. She didn’t have a choice. Hermione and Muffin needed dinner and breakfast, and Angie would take care of them. With any luck Morgan would be staying with Emilia and she wouldn’t ever need to confess she’d gotten stranded on an island with Ivy—or why she’d been there in the first place.
Ivy tossed a pile of quilts down the stairs and followed with her candle. The soft glow lit her face, making her look like something from a Wyeth painting against the wood-paneled walls.
Ivy.
Lillian looked away. She was raw and exposed here, huddled before the fire in her winter jacket, and she didn’t know what to say. A part of her had hoped fucking Ivy would get her out of her system. Maybe it would have, if she’d been able to leave, but that option seemed less and less likely. Ivy didn’t meet her eyes as she pulled the cushions off one of the sofas and laid them on the ground.
“Couldn’t you just move the sofa?”
“It’s the world’s most u
ncomfortable couch. We’re better off this way.”
Lillian helped her arrange the cushions and accepted the quilt Ivy offered her, wrapping it around herself. Ivy shut the door to the woodstove and watched through the small window to make sure it caught the draught from the chimney, then nodded with apparent satisfaction. Bundled side by side, they both stared at the flames through the glass and waited for the room to warm.
“I’m sorry,” Ivy said. It was her second apology of the afternoon and, coincidentally, only the second time in their lives Ivy had apologized to her. “I really had no idea this would happen.”
“I believe you.” The wind rattled the windows, reminding her that this house was completely uninsulated from the cold, and that they had fifteen hours before they could leave. Fifteen hours in Ivy’s company. She wanted to be back in front of the fireplace with Ivy’s arms around her, and she didn’t know how to ask—nor did she know if she should. The momentum that had carried them here had broken along with their enmity, leaving her adrift.
“Do you want to play cards or something?” Ivy glanced at her out of the corner of her eyes, her quilt a puff of expensive cotton and goose down around her shoulders. Her tone suggested cards was the last thing she wanted to do, and Lillian couldn’t help smiling.
“Let’s play a different game.”
“Like what?”
Lillian cast around her mind for the games she’d played while bored at friend’s houses growing up. “Two truths and a lie.”
“Seriously?”
“Why not?”
“Hang on.” Ivy shed her chrysalis and left the room, returning with a bottle of gin. “Okay. Now we can play.”
“There’s still a little wine—”
“I am not telling truths without something harder,” Ivy said as she uncapped it and took a sip.
“Fine. I’ll go first.” Lillian considered the very short list of personal truths she wanted to reveal to Ivy and instantly regretted her choice of game. “I’m an only child. I’m really good at soccer. I once swallowed a golf ball.”
Ivy shifted on the cushions to face her. The bite mark on her jaw was half hidden by shadow, but she knew it was there. “I know you’re an only child,” Ivy began. “You might be good at soccer, but swallowing a golf ball is too weird, so I’ll go with soccer as the lie.”
“Wrong. I played varsity soccer and I’ve never swallowed a golf ball, but Morgan did when she was a kid. Your turn.”
“Okay. I hate spiders, I have nightmares about earthquakes, and my friends in elementary school called me Hivey because I was allergic to so many things.”
“You don’t have nightmares about earthquakes,” Lillian guessed.
“I do. We were in one, once, while visiting friends in California. I like spiders. Go.”
“Give me a minute.” Lillian paused, then leaned forward. “I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid, my first kiss was with a boy named Ernie, and I used to wait to leave class so I could walk behind you.”
Ivy raised an eyebrow. “Why did you want to walk behind me?”
“It’s two truths and a lie, not two truths and an explanation. Guess.”
“Please tell me you didn’t kiss a boy named Ernie.”
“I did,” said Lillian, remembering. “His full name was Ernesto and he was really sweet.”
“What did you want to be when you were a kid, then?” Ivy asked.
“A marine biologist.”
“Of course you did.”
“One of my moms was in the Navy. I wanted to work with Navy dolphins. Your turn.”
“Fine. My first kiss was my cousin Brianna, I’ve always wanted to be a vet, and I had your schedule memorized all four years of school.”
Lillian considered the list. “It’s gross you kissed your cousin, which I think is true. I don’t think you’ve always wanted to be a vet. Did you really have my schedule memorized?”
“I did. It wasn’t intentional, but . . .” Ivy shrugged. “My cousin was a year older than me. I was twelve. We were bored. My mom caught us later that summer, which was a nightmare.”
“Did she have a problem with you kissing a girl?”
“No. She had a problem with me kissing my cousin. She assumed we were just experimenting, so I didn’t have to come out to her until later. I wanted to be an Olympic equestrian when I was younger.”
“Shocking.” Lillian had her next trio of answers ready. “I love blondes, I’ve never smoked weed, and I haven’t been sane since you started working at the clinic.”
Ivy toyed with a strand of her very blond hair. “I know you’ve smoked weed. I’ve seen you do it.”
“When?”
“You and Morgan, after finals in the orchard.”
“What were you doing there?”
“None of your business. So that means you don’t like blondes, but I drive you crazy?”
“Correct. Your turn.”
Ivy frowned. “Wait. What’s wrong with blondes?”
“Everything is so easy for you. Do you know how much I hate how much I—” She cut herself off before she could finish the sentence with like you.
“You weren’t easy for me, if that makes you feel better. And you’ve been driving me crazy for years, Lil.” Her voice cracked.
“It’s your turn.”
“I hate the way you smile. I love your hands. I want to buy you things, and I know you hate it when I do.”
Lillian wondered if the room was warming up or if the flush in her face was due entirely to Ivy’s words. “You don’t love my hands.”
“I think I just emphatically proved how much I do.”
“Okay. Um . . .” She searched for two more truths, but the recent memory of how her hands had felt on Ivy’s skin made it difficult. “I’m out of things.”
“Tell me about your boyfriend.”
“Brian?”
“Yeah. What was he like?”
“You really want to talk about my ex right now?”
Ivy passed her the gin. “I’m curious.”
“Don’t be. Brian—wait. How do you know about Brian?”
“Your Insta.”
“You creeped on me?”
“Like you’ve never done that.”
She had, of course. She’d gotten better about checking up on Ivy over the intervening years. Initially, she’d stalked her profile frequently. Meeting Brian had helped wean her off the habit, which usually corresponded with low moods. She knew enough from her infrequent checks, however, to turn the tables.
“I’ll tell you about Brian if you tell me about Kara.”
The mischief left Ivy’s eyes. “Kara was great. We broke up. I came here. That’s about it.”
“Is that why you came here? To get away from her?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“What happened with Brian?”
“Long distance got too hard. It happens.” She paused and listened to the fire. Had distance been the issue? She’d assumed so, but the assumption didn’t fit here as well as it had on the mainland. The shadows cast by that relationship shifted to match a different shape. “Brian was stable. We had the same goals, and he supported my career choices and didn’t get in my way.”
“Sexy.”
“Some things are more important than—”
“Than sex appeal?” Ivy smirked.
“Brian and I understood each other. We were partners. He should have been safe.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
Ivy didn’t make a joke at that. Her lower lip twitched instead into a slight frown.
“What happened with Kara?” Lillian asked to forestall further comment.
“We . . . wanted different things.”
Ivy took a long pull of gin, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and shifted her position on the cushions so only six inches separated them. “Let’s play a different game.”
Ivy’s lips, like hers, were swollen from the hours they’d spent kissing, and she could
detect the botanicals in the gin on her breath.
“I told you about Brian.”
“Trillium.”
Angie’s comic flashed into her mind before she remembered. Trillium. Their safe word. Backing down where Ivy was concerned defied instinct, especially since she’d just revealed so much about herself, but the pleading in those three syllables weakened her resolve. She’d let her off the hook, this time.
“A game, then. What did you have in mind?”
“Let’s pretend nothing exists outside of this room.” The howl of the wind picked up, as if to emphasize Ivy’s words. “No past. No future. No Seal Cove.”
“No consequences?”
“No consequences.” Ivy let the blanket slide off her shoulders as she leaned in to kiss first one corner of Lillian’s mouth, then the other. Lillian tilted her lips up for a third kiss, but it didn’t come. Ivy had paused a bare centimeter away. Her eyes, lit by the woodstove, had never looked so green.
“I’ll play.”
“Good,” said Ivy. “Now take off your shirt.”
“I don’t take orders, Holden.”
“Really?” Ivy slid her hands up underneath the hem of Lillian’s sweater and lifted. She let her take it off. Her undershirt remained.
“I didn’t take it off. You did.”
“I know.” Ivy’s thumbs brushed the curve of her breasts through the cotton, pausing just above her nipples. The slight pressure hit her dead center. “But you’ll take off this one.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her thumbs moved in slow circles, still barely making contact through the cloth. Lillian’s breath quickened, and the inhale brought Ivy’s touch close enough to make her gasp.
“You’d be surprised how stubborn I can be.”
“Not really.” Ivy pressed down and dragged her thumbs over her nipples.
She squirmed, then leaned back on her hands, breaking the contact. Ivy smirked and pulled her own layers of clothing off in one move, leaving only her bra. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders. Firelight teased honeyed hues from its waves, and Lillian fought to hold her position. What she wanted to do was bury her face in that hair and kiss the skin beneath. Ivy’s bra, which was uncharacteristically simple with only a hint of dark green lace along the straps, created a generous expanse of cleavage. Teeth marks stood out starkly against her skin.
