Ivy turned to him, surprised. Guy took a step back. "Whoa! How'd I know that?"
They gazed at each other, mirroring amazement, then Ivy smiled. "And you thought you weren't a classy guy!"
IVY AND GUY STOOD AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS BY Chatham Light, the same place Ivy and Will had stood eight days earlier. In the afternoon sun, the wide stretch of sand, more than a quarter mile deep, burned hot and white. The ocean swept past, curving to the south as far as the eye could see, its color like the blue sea glass that Ivy loved.
They had picked up sandwiches and soda at a cafe near the church, and Ivy had given Guy the beach towel she had brought along. "Would you like me to come back in an hour? It's a long walk to Nickerson," she added, "and I'll be driving home in that direction."
Guy kept his eyes on the beach, and after a moment asked, "Would you come with me?" She was careful not to gush Of course—I was hoping—whatever I can do to help. "Sure. I like the beach," she replied, and started down the steps.
Reaching the sand, she stepped aside to let Guy lead the way, not wanting to do anything that might extinguish a spark of memory. She followed him across the beach, removing her shoes as he did when they reached the damp sand, then walking next to him, heading south. Toddlers played at the sea's frothy edge, running back and forth with plastic pails. A father played Frisbee with his kids.
A middle aged woman with wet, spiky hair smiled to herself as she carried her raft from the waves. Beneath a striped umbrella a younger boy played checkers with an older one and let out a shout of victory. Thinking about the way Philip had loved to play the game with Tristan, Ivy turned for another look and saw that Guy had stopped to watch the pair. "You were frowning," Ivy said when they moved on. "I thought—for a moment I thought I knew that kid, the little one."
They strolled on in silence and passed a sign that prohibited swimming from that point south. "The officer who interviewed me said that they found me about fifty yards beyond the no swimming sign."
They walked that distance and Guy stopped to survey the area. "Not very smart of me," he remarked dryly, "to swim at midnight in an area with dangerous currents."
"Are you sure you were swimming?" she asked.
"The doctors said there was enough seawater in me to drown an army."
"Okay, but it's obvious from your injuries you were in some kind of fight. Maybe you were knocked unconscious at the edge of the ocean and the tide came in. Do you know how to swim?" she asked.
He was standing back from the water as if he didn't like the feel of it washing over his feet.
"Doesn't everybody?" he replied.
"No, not everybody." He dropped his eyes.
"The water ... it bothers me. I don't want to get in. It scares me." he admitted, climbing the bank to the dryer sand.
"After what happened to you, it should," Ivy replied, following him, laying the beach towel where he dropped his backpack, about twenty feet beyond the tidal line. "It's okay to be afraid, Guy. Anyone who had nearly drowned would be."
He pulled off his sweatshirt and T-shirt. It took Ivy's breath away, the strength and the vulnerability she saw in him. His back and shoulders were broad and muscular, but his skin a pale, grayish green with fading bruises.
"None of this looks familiar," he said, surveying the distant houses spread beyond the dunes.
He sat on the towel close to Ivy. The desire to put her arms around him, to shield him from the confusion and fear that haunted him, was so strong that she had to look away. Water Angel, help him, she prayed, then asked, "Do you believe in angels?"
"No. Do you?"
"Yes," she said firmly. Peeking sideways, she saw the corners of Guy's mouth curling upward. Tristan had once worn the same amused expression.
"I believe there are people who act like angels," Guy added, "showing up unexpectedly at the moment you need them. Like the little boy who gave me this." He inched in his pocket, pulling out a gold coin stamped with an angel. "He came to my hospital room and started jawing with me like he had known me all his life. There was something about that kid, the way he looked at me—it was as if he could see through me and understood something I didn't."
Ivy took the coin from him. "That kid—he's my brother."
"Your brother." Guy's eyes narrowed, as if he was trying hard to remember something. Ivy's cell phone went off and they both turned toward her bag. After a minute, the familiar ring tone stopped, then it began all over again.
"Aren't you going to answer it?" Guy asked. Ivy handed the coin back to him.
"Later. I, uh, want to get my feet wet," she said, and headed toward the waves.
She felt as if she couldn't fight it anymore than she could fight the sea, this deep connection she felt with Guy. It was a relief to stand in the surf, the ocean rushing against her legs, making her skin cold and tingly. Tristan had taught her to swim, and after Gregory had died, Ivy had taken lessons, becoming an even stronger swimmer.
Still, her feet fought the undertow and her arms prickled with the ocean's spray.
She was both afraid of and seduced by the sea. She stood there for a long time, then moved closer to the shore, crouching to look at a sparkling crescent of shells and pebbles. When she glanced up, Guy was standing ten feet away, watching her so closely she became self conscious. She stood up, and at the same time, he moved toward her, smiling.
"Your hair!" he said.
Feeling the wind tossing it this way and that, she reached back and caught her hair, holding it still. "What about it?"
"You should see it. It's ... wild."
She imagined it looked like kinky gold seaweed blowing in the wind. "Hey, do you see me laughing at yours?" Not that there is any reason to, she thought. His streaky blond hair had a curl to it— like hair an Italian sculptor might give a hero.
Guy laughed, then glanced over his shoulder. Her cell was ringing again. They caught a snatch of it before the breeze carried off the sound. "Same ringtone," he observed. "For some reason, it sounds to me like Will."
"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. I
n 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.
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