Aunt Ivy's Cottage: A totally gripping and emotional page turner

by Kristin Harper

  “Thank you.” Zoey grinned. “You Armstrong boys are the best in the business.”

  After Ivy put her hair in rollers, she and Zoey spent the morning chatting, playing cribbage and drinking tea, a lot like they did at home. The nurse noticed Ivy was more relaxed with her niece there, so she permitted Zoey to stay as long as she wanted.

  While Ivy slept, Zoey sat beside her, texting Lauren and Kathleen. They both felt terrible that they’d missed her calls. After she updated Lauren on Ivy’s condition, her friend texted back, asking if Zoey wanted her to come to Dune Island for the weekend for moral support. Although Zoey didn’t take her up on it, she was touched by the offer.

  Kathleen tried to be supportive, too, asking if it would be helpful for Zoey to send Gabi home now. NO WAY! Zoey texted back, appalled at the thought of saying goodbye to her niece earlier than they had planned. She also expressed it was important for Gabi to finish her school year, especially since she was performing in the upcoming concert. Kathleen agreed, adding that Scott was completing his residential program that Monday and they were both looking forward to reuniting as a family once Gabi returned.

  Just as her aunt was rousing, she received a text from Nick, inquiring about whether Ivy felt well enough for company. Zoey replied that the doctor recommended limiting visits to family only for the next few days. While she was conveying everyone’s well-wishes to Ivy, Mark walked in bearing a big bouquet of roses.

  Zoey offered to go get something to put them in and after filling the pitcher a nurse gave her, she dawdled by the sink. Partly because she wanted to give Ivy and Mark a few minutes alone and partly because she felt uncomfortable, knowing she owed him an apology for what she’d said before hanging up on him the night before. Regardless of what she thought about his attitude and behavior, she had been wrong to imply he wasn’t legitimately a Winslow.

  When she returned to the room, an aide was preparing to take her aunt for another scan. “You kids should go to the cafeteria while I’m gone,” Ivy said as she was being wheeled out the door.

  Zoey hadn’t eaten since lunchtime the day before, so she was all for the idea. She expected Mark to make up an excuse not to go with her, but he didn’t.

  “Ivy looks really pale, doesn’t she?” he asked as they headed toward the cafeteria.

  Zoey agreed, although she’d noticed the same thing about him, which was odd, considering he usually spent a lot of time in the sun golfing. No wonder Aunt Ivy’s worried about him—he looks awful.

  “She was pale when I took her to Waterside, too,” Mark said. “And she kept complaining she was hot. I wanted to bring her home the same day. But she said, ‘Stop fussing or you’ll give me a headache.’”

  “She said the same thing to me when I told her I was concerned about her health.”

  “I wish I hadn’t taken her off the island.”

  He feels guilty, Zoey realized. As much as she wanted to blame Mark—as much as she had blamed him—she knew this wasn’t his fault, just like it wasn’t her fault. “Aunt Ivy didn’t get a blood clot because she left Hope Haven, Mark. She already had it by the time we noticed her symptoms. And you’re right—she’s stubborn. I tried to convince her to go to the ER or to call her doctor and she refused. So don’t blame yourself and I won’t blame myself, either, okay?”

  He hunched his shoulders toward his ears in a half-hearted shrug. They had reached the cafeteria and Zoey took a tray but Mark said he’d go find a table. After filling a plate at the salad bar, Zoey stood in line to pay for her meal. While she was waiting, she glanced across the lunchroom at her cousin. His arms were crossed against his chest, almost as if he were hugging himself and he was staring out the window, frantically jiggling his leg beneath the table. In that instant, he looked so lost. So alone. Like a little boy whose parents sent him away every summer because they didn’t want him around, Zoey thought, overwhelmed with compassion.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked when she joined him. “Their homemade mac ’n’ cheese looks decent. That’s one of your favorites, right?”

  “I only like it when Ivy makes it. It reminds me of being a kid.”

  Oh—so that’s why he always asks Ivy to make him his favorite meals and desserts. Zoey had thought he was just lazy and spoiled. “Yeah, I feel that way about her potato salad. One taste and it’s as if I’m on the top of the widow’s walk again, watching the Fourth of July fireworks over Beach Plum Cove with you, Jess and my parents, while Aunt Ivy and your grandmother were downstairs drinking tea in the living room.”

  “Yeah, because Sylvia hated the noise and Ivy was afraid of heights… I remember one time your dad put me on his shoulders while we were up there and your mom was so afraid he’d drop me over the edge that she started crying. I’ve never forgotten how that felt, sitting on your dad’s shoulders, having your mom worried to tears about me, and you and Jessica begging for a turn. It felt like…” He blinked and scratched along his jawline, not looking at her.

  It felt like he was part of our family, Zoey realized and her apology tumbled from her lips. “I shouldn’t have said what I said last night, Mark. I’m really sorry.”

  He hunched his shoulders again. “No big deal.”

  “No, I—” Zoey stopped talking because Mark abruptly stood up.

  “I’m expecting an important call in a minute and it’s too noisy in here. Tell Ivy I’ll be up in a while.” He strode toward the exit.

  As usual, their moment of closeness hadn’t lasted long, but in a way, that made it feel more authentic.

  Gabi wanted to see Ivy as soon as possible, so Zoey went straight from the hospital to pick her up from school, then brought her directly back.

  “Auntie!” the teenager exclaimed, diving into her arms after they entered her room. She nuzzled against her chest for so long Ivy finally patted her back and said if she didn’t stop squeezing her, the nurse was going to have to come in and increase her oxygen. Gabi giggled and let her aunt go and then gave Mark a cheerful greeting.

  “We won’t stay too much longer,” Zoey said. “You look tired, Aunt Ivy.”

  “How can I be tired? I haven’t done anything but lie around all day. Didn’t you bring my cards?”

  “They’re in your bag. I brought your coin jar, too.”

  “Good. Roll that tray table over here and pull up your chairs, everyone,” Ivy instructed them. “It’s time for a game.”

  “Mark and I will play against Aunt Ivy and Aunt Zoey,” Gabi suggested. “The cousins against the aunts.”

  “Nah. I want to be Doughy’s partner,” Mark said. “Is that okay with you?”

  “Yeah,” Zoey agreed. “We haven’t been partners since we were kids. It’s about time we were on the same team again.”

  After playing cards for over an hour—Zoey and Mark won every game—Gabi asked a nurse if it was all right if she played her flute for Ivy. The nurse permitted her to play just one song, with the door closed. Ivy requested “Flight of the Bumblebee,” because she said it reminded her of Sylvia and her flowers.

  Even more than the last time she performed it, Gabi seemed to play the dizzying piece effortlessly, masterfully. When she was done, Ivy and Zoey burst into applause.

  Mark didn’t clap but he commented, “I didn’t know you were so talented, Jessica.”

  “I didn’t know I was Jessica,” Gabi ribbed him. “But thanks, Mark.”

  His eyes went round. “I called you Jessica?”

  “It’s easy to do. She looks so much like her,” Ivy acknowledged. “But she’s one of a kind and so was her mom. Each one with her own special talents and beauty.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Ivy.” Gabi twisted the joints of her instrument apart and put them into her flute case. “I’m hungry. Does anyone want to go to the cafeteria?”

  Zoey wasn’t hungry but Mark went with Gabi. When they left, Ivy said, “This was such a pleasant day, wasn’t it?”

  “Pleasant? You’re in the hospital, Aunt Ivy.”

  “Yes, b
ut it didn’t feel like a hospital because you three kids were here.”

  Zoey teased, “We could make it feel even homier. I could bring in your portrait of Captain Denny and hang it on the wall over there.”

  “Oh, I love that portrait but I’ve found I don’t absolutely need it to see Denny. Sometimes, the best way to see someone you love is like this.” She lowered her eyelids and the corners of her lips slowly lifted into a smile. As Zoey studied her great-aunt’s dreamy expression, she smiled, too. Then Ivy looked at her and asked, “Did I ever tell you the story about my whirlwind courtship with Dennis Cartwright?”

  “Once or twice. But I’d love to hear it again.”

  She patted the bed and Zoey settled beside her and listened to the story of the man who won her great-aunt’s heart with a fish instead of flowers.

  “Is she sleeping?” Gabi whispered half an hour later when she and Mark returned to the dim room.

  “Almost,” Ivy answered for herself, without opening her eyes. “Come, say goodbye.”

  “Goodnight, Aunt Ivy.” Gabi kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

  “And I love you, my great and grand niece,” Ivy replied as the teenager picked up her flute case. She signaled Zoey that she’d wait outside and tiptoed into the hall.

  “I’ll stop by in the morning so we can talk in private,” Mark told his aunt.

  He’s probably going to ask her to sign the paperwork for Waterside, Zoey thought, without a trace of rancor. “Gabi and I won’t come until you’re done with your discussion. Will you text me to let me know?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He moved toward the door.

  “Give me a kiss before you go,” Ivy prompted him.

  He swung around and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, mumbling something that Zoey didn’t catch. Ivy said something back and then he shuffled out of the room.

  Zoey rose from the chair and leaned forward for her turn to kiss her aunt goodnight. “I love you, Aunt Ivy.”

  “I love you, too.” The sheet across her chest rose and fell with her breathing and while Zoey knew her aunt was drifting to sleep, she lingered, reluctant to leave.

  “Do you want me to bring a sweater from home tomorrow? Or your bathrobe?” When Ivy shook her head, Zoey asked, “Can I do anything for you before I leave?”

  “You’ve done too much for me already, dear girl.” Her aunt peeked at her and then lowered her eyelids again. “It’s time for you to go live your life.”

  “Auntie,” she scolded in a hushed tone. She was going to say, “Don’t talk like that!” But her aunt was already snoring softly, so she kissed her again and slipped from the room.

  Since Zoey and Gabi had agreed not to go to the hospital until Mark finished his private discussion with Ivy, on Saturday morning Gabi decided she’d attend her group meeting and Zoey walked to the farm stand for fresh eggs. The air was oppressively steamy, the scratches on her arms and legs from the rose bushes were stinging, and she was bleary-eyed because she hadn’t slept for more than three hours the night before, even though she’d been completely drained.

  So when she slogged up the driveway and saw Mark patrolling the stretch of bricks in front of his convertible, she bellyached to herself, What’s he doing here anyway? He’d said he’d text. He probably came over because he expects me to make him breakfast.

  When he turned in her direction and she noticed his face was red and contorted into a menacing grimace, almost all of the compassion she’d felt toward him the previous day evaporated. She understood it must have been a shock for him to see a large section of the fence flattened and splintered and a small crater dug around the roses, but couldn’t he exercise a little mercy, considering their aunt’s condition?

  “Hey, Mark,” she said but didn’t pause on her way to the back door.

  “Zoey!” He blared, storming toward her.

  She refused to engage with him when he was this angry and when she was this emotionally fraught. “Nick and Aidan are going to fix everything. I’m going to pay for it. It’ll be taken care of before Aunt Ivy gets back. That’s all you need to know and that’s all I have to say.”

  She let herself into the house and Mark followed her to the kitchen, where she set the eggs on the table. When she turned toward the sink to wash her hands, he was right in front of her, looming, physically stopping her from advancing.

  “What is your problem? Move!”

  “Zoey!” He took hold of her shoulders. “Listen to me. I—”

  “Let go!”

  She tried to shove his arms away but he pressed one hand against her back and cradled her head to his chest with the other. And that’s how she knew Ivy was gone—because her cousin, who had never been good at demonstrating affection, embraced her.

  When Gabi returned from her meeting an hour later and came into the living room where they were sitting on the sofa, Zoey looked up and shook her head, unable to break the news to her. So Mark recounted a second time how he had arrived at the hospital just as Ivy was being rushed into emergency surgery, but that she died before the doctors could operate. Then Gabi dropped onto the cushion on the other side of him and he wrapped an arm around her, too. And the three of them held onto each other and wept, their aunt’s chair empty beside them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Because Ivy had specified in her funeral arrangements that she wanted the reception hosted in her home, Mark agreed Nick should focus on finishing the kitchen remodel rather than tackling the attic floor project. Nick told Zoey that was a big relief, since it gave him more time to figure out how to explain that he didn’t actually know anyone who was interested in purchasing the reclaimed wood.

  They were both surprised Mark didn’t want to alter Ivy’s kitchen design, but he said since the remodel was nearly done and he was in a rush to lease the place out, Nick should keep going. Without their aunt in the house, Zoey and Gabi felt strangely comforted to have so much remodeling activity going on, as a distraction from their grief. And the final result was striking, from the black granite countertops and white subway tile backsplash to the pendant lighting and new fridge that matched the oven.

  Gabi loved it because it still looked retro, and while Zoey agreed, she thought it had a decidedly contemporary feel to it. “Aunt Ivy would have been thrilled. This is exactly the effect she envisioned,” she complimented Nick when he finished the project on the Tuesday after Ivy died.

  “I’m sorry she didn’t get to see it…” He puffed out his cheeks and let the air leak through his lips. “And I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye to her.”

  Zoey touched his arm. “I think she was saying goodbye that day you carried her upstairs. Remember what she told you?”

  “She said that I’m a true gentleman and the finest craftsman on Dune Island.” Nick rubbed his brow. Or was he hiding his eyes behind his hand? “But I wish I told her how I felt about her.”

  “You didn’t have to tell her. She knew because you showed her every time you were with her,” Zoey assured him.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the doorbell: another fruit and cheese gift basket had arrived. Because of the year-round islanders’ bent for gossiping, word about Ivy’s death had spread quickly and the residents responded with such a generous outpouring of sympathy that Zoey could hardly keep track of all the flowers, baskets and cards they sent. She offered to share the goodies with Nick for lunch but he had to go make an emergency repair to a client’s staircase. So after saying goodbye to him, Zoey sorted the mail.

  She was halfway through the pile when she opened an envelope containing a black and white photo, without an accompanying note. Glancing at the snapshot, she recognized that the young, leggy woman wearing Bermuda shorts and a crisp, white blouse was her aunt Ivy. But she wouldn’t have guessed the young man standing beside her was Mr. Witherell, were it not for his keeper’s uniform and Sea Gull Lighthouse in the background. She’d never imagined his hair as being anything other than white, wispy strands, so she was caught off g
uard by the dark, thick, curly locks sprouting from beneath his bell-top cap. She was also surprised to see that standing full height, he’d been taller than Ivy by about three inches.

  Who sent me this? Zoey flipped the photo over. “Ivy Winslow,” was inscribed in faded black ink beside a date that was too indistinct to read. Zoey suddenly remembered her conversation with Mr. Witherell’s niece, Melissa. How she’d said there was only one girl her uncle had ever been interested in, the “Winslow girl.” Because Zoey thought of Ivy as Ivy Cartwright and Sylvia as Sylvia Winslow, she had assumed Mr. Witherell was interested in Sylvia. But now she realized Melissa had been referring to Ivy by her maiden name.

  Her aunt had never mentioned any romance between her and Phineas. Because Zoey knew the story of their friendship, it was now easier to believe his niece’s claim that Phineas’s feelings hadn’t amounted to more than a passing crush. But if he hadn’t been interested in Sylvia, why had he written her such upsetting letters and come to the house to speak to her, as Ivy had told them?

  Maybe Ivy had been right; Mr. Witherell believed Sylvia was only marrying Marcus for his money. Perhaps in a misguided attempt to protect Ivy and her brother, he had decided to intervene? Zoey could feel her shoulders tighten as her mind began churning with other possibilities. I can’t go down that road again.

  She set the photo aside so she could share it with Gabi as another reminder not to take gossip at face value. And to prove to her that Mr. Witherell hadn’t been in love with Sylvia and he hadn’t kept a photo of her by his bedside. But he had kept an old photo of Ivy in a box in his attic, probably as a treasured memento of their youthful connection at a time when they both needed it.