She smiled at him weakly. Nightfall was approaching, bringing low, heavy clouds that promised rain, already beginning as a dense curtain of damp air. Although it was only 7:00, the early evening was dark as dusk. She peered worriedly down the darkening streets that seemed to presage further danger and said. "I think we should go back inside; the corgis have finished."
Steve nodded and they turned back. Once in the house, Ivy returned to prepping their dinner. Earlier she had turned off the oven, but now put it back on to let the pork roast finish. Working in the kitchen, with its big sets of windows over the decks, made her feel vulnerable, even though Steve stood at the sink to keep guard. She started grating carrots for the cake, hoping that normal activities would channel her fears into a more positive direction. Mathew turned on the outside lights, and then took up a post in the hallway where he could keep surveillance on the front door and the stairs. Harry lay by his feet, ostensibly sleeping, but Ivy could see that his eyes flicked nervously between the stairwell and the door. While likely nothing more would happen that night, they had to act as if they could be under siege again at any moment.
***
Even two weeks later, Ivy was finding it impossible to sleep other than in fits and starts. Her nerves, still not recovered from her stressful work life, were unraveling. She kept forgetting what she was doing or where she was going. Her attention span disintegrated to where she could no longer read or concentrate on much of anything. She would jump at the slightest sound. Every time she left the house, it was with Steve or Mathew. Since they only made day trips to Spook Hills, the Portland house had become more of a nightly prison than a relaxing place of comfort and joy.
A contractor had replaced the shot-up door and windows and then painted the door and woodwork. The chair the gunman fell back on was out to be reupholstered and the rug had been cleaned. Even though physically the house was almost back where it was before that dreadful day earlier in May, those few minutes replayed in Ivy's nightmares. She still saw the man as he climbed over the railing. She saw him sprawled dead in the cozy room.
All seemed back to normal, except for the agents who stayed around the house -- two of them outside on surveillance 24/7 on a rotating basis. Police squad cars frequently circled the neighborhood, showing force as well. Even with the added protection, Ivy worried about when the next strike would take place. The FBI focused a team on tracking down the head of the drug ring with Steve receiving periodic updates. They conducted a raid on a Colombian drug shipment site, but so far Astuto evaded them.
The following week, they started staying again at Spook Hills to catch up on work on the vineyard and to push the contractor’s crew to work longer days on the house. Steve hoped that the change of scenery would restore Ivy’s peace of mind. He felt so guilty for having brought the attack at the Portland house on his beloved Ivy. If she had never become involved with him, she would be as feisty, confident, and radiant as the day that they met. Now she barely had color in her face, rarely smiled and jumped at the slightest sound. He hoped that with time she would find her way back to herself and to him. For now he would comfort and protect her.
On the fourth night at Spook Hills, Ivy broke down during dinner, trying to hide her sobbing by retreating to the bedroom area of their trailer. Only after a couple of hours, could she stop crying and shaking. That night she slept very little and was up making coffee well before dawn. Over a breakfast she barely ate, Ivy told Steve that she had to make a change. She was jumpier than ever at the farm -- every sound, every gust of wind, every flash of light made her think someone was outside, trying to break in. Going back to the Portland house with its memories of the intruders was out.
To Ivy, they were so exposed at Spook Hills. She could no longer stay there, waiting for the next attack. She felt compelled to drop out of sight for a few weeks or months, mend her shattered nerves and rebuild her inner strength. Steve wanted to accompany her but for her own self-respect, she had to heal on her own. She suspected that he would have her followed, no matter what they agreed.
Ivy viewed herself as selfish and cowardly to run away, but her life had changed so radically in the past year, culminating in the shooting at the Portland house. She needed time alone to regroup. Even though most of those life-changing events were positive, altogether on top of the accumulated years of work pressures, she had reached a point where a complete breakdown was inevitable. Her nervous system was short-circuiting. She did not want to leave Steve or Mathew. She wanted Harry, Cleo and Druid with her for comfort. Still, she had to be practical. For her own safety, she would need to travel incognito and change locations frequently. Her three little protectors would have to stay at Spook Hills.
Once she decided what her undercover appearance would be, she had photos taken, Steve arranged an alternate set of IDs through the Chief at the Bureau that were overnighted to her. She crammed her hair under a short fluffy silver wig, wore a different style of glasses and packed only casual clothes -- all things she could leave on a moment's notice and be Ivy Littleton again. Her new name was Anna S. Foley from Boothbay Harbor, Maine. The "Anna" was her middle name, the "S" stood for Stephanie, the female version of Steve, and the "Foley" was her grandmother's maiden name on her mother's side. The familiarity of the names comforted her. Steve hoped they were not too traceable.
Leaving Steve at the downtown hotel when he dropped her off was the hardest thing Ivy had ever done. That tough man had tears streaming down his face and she could only give him a hug and one last kiss. If she let her own tears start, she was afraid they would be unstoppable. To be any good for him again, she had to retreat like a battered female fox going underground to lick and heal her wounds. She forced herself to walk away and then exited through the front of the big hotel, found a taxi and went out to the airport.
She had a new debit card and two new credit cards as Anna S. Foley. Steve funded an account in her new name via a trail of other accounts he set up at various banks under an old false identity that he had kept when he left the Bureau. Mathew coached her on how to check for being tailed, how to lose a tail, where to go for safety, like a police station, and to always map out where the next one was. She had a new cell phone, a new laptop and a new iPad that Steve ordered for her. Steve bought a new iPhone with a new number for himself that Ivy was to use instead of the old one. She left with only a small rolling duffel bag, a light expandable briefcase, and her purse. In her jeans, tee shirt, windbreaker and walking shoes, Ivy had the appearance of any other newly minted retiree off to see the world.
Chapter 14
Steve slumped in a deck chair outside their trailer at the vineyard, staring vacantly up at the house construction site. With Ivy's departure, the light she had given him went with her. His emptiness was worse now from having his life so illuminated. Without the glow that she cast, everything around him was dull as if thickly tarnished. Steve knew she had to make a change to get relief from the life-threatening trauma that he had brought to her. He recalled how lovely, vivacious and spunky she had been and however unintentionally, he had made her into a shadow of herself. Her lively spirit that challenged him had disappeared.
He was thankful that Brian agreed to be her secret protector. Since that first traumatic experience against Matka last fall, he was becoming skilled at disguises. Steve wished Ivy had let him go with her. He believed she blamed him. She became remote and then left him downtown, not shedding a single tear. He felt so guilty -- he had driven her from her home and her life. She had to leave behind her dogs and her cat, as well as her clothes and identity. The only hope Steve held onto was that she had taken her engagement ring, strung on two gold chains around her neck and tucked out of sight. A small part of him clung to the belief that its closeness to her heart would bring her back to him. While Mathew insisted that they continue work on the house, it seemed a feeble task with her gone. Never had he been so bereft, not even after his parents died. How would he go on without Ivy?
That same afternoon, Ma
thew was working at the construction site and thinking. He had to burn off some frustration with Steve or his temper would get the best of him. Steve was driving him so crazy, he could take the tractor and send it right off the hillside with Steve on it. In the days since Ivy left, he had folded up. He showed no interest in anything -- not the house, not the vineyard, not even food. Almost overnight, Steve had become an old man. It was beyond Mathew's comprehension. Less than a year ago, Steve worked extremely long hours on challenging cases, and while he was always demanding, sometimes crotchety and occasionally impatient, never did he buckle under pressure. Steve had to appreciate that Ivy's love of him would compel her to come back. How could he have so little faith in what she felt for him?
Mathew used to think he was important to Steve. Here he was, trying to start a new business, struggling against a steep learning curve, dodging bullets for chrissakes, worrying about the next attack, taking over building a house, and Steve picked this time to stop contributing. What about me, Steve? Remember me? Your almost son?
He was digging the footing for a retaining wall on the slope behind the house. The local soil was called Decaan Basalt and was high in iron oxide which glowed a deep brick red in the sun as he turned it over. He dug hard in his frustration even though his muscles protested. Maybe the truth lay deeper. Maybe the issue was not only Steve. Perhaps it was also within himself. He had that same sense of abandonment as when his parents flew off to different parts of the world, leaving him to wander through their big, empty house with only a housekeeper for company. Ivy was gone. Steve was not there for him. They were in their own worlds and here Mathew was, reduced again to the little boy left alone at home. Well damn it, this time he was not staying silent. Steve was going to hear about the impact he was having. Mathew stopped to catch his breath, leaning on the shovel. At least dealing with his emotions had the digging job almost done.
Was this core loss from his childhood ever going to let him grow into the man he wanted to be? Manet Cicatrix, The Scar Remains. He went back to digging. He had to trust that Ivy would return. He had to believe that kind of love existed. What would Ivy do if she were here? Mathew thought about the two times he had seen her angry -- the time she and Steve argued over the mission in the Caribbean and the time right after that when she sent him out of the kitchen with a kick in the butt. The same image came to mind. Ivy standing, hands on her hips, and speaking in a harsh tone that was so unlike her. Each time she brought Steve or him to reason. Mathew guessed that every now and then, each of them needed a hit on the back of the head to move along on their journeys.
Maybe this was his time to do that for Steve. He had to believe that Ivy would come back to him. Mere bullets could not tear their great love apart. Steve had to realize that Mathew mattered too. While he could give this time away to Ivy to grapple with her fears, he needed Steve contributing at Spook Hills. He threw down the shovel and stomped from the jobsite down to the trailers. The digging made him hot; he pulled off his chambray shirt as he strode along and wiped the sweat off his face with it, streaking the pale blue shirt with the damp red soil. Steve was sitting outside, not moving. Mathew stopped and stood in front of him. Steve slowly looked up.
"Enough." Mathew said, striving to remain calm. "Ivy will come back. You have to realize that."
Steve went back to staring at the ground and shook his head.
Mathew could feel his temper rising. "Damn it. This is about believing. Remember believing?"
"She is gone. I did this to her. Me. I brought the danger into her life."
"Ivy needs time. Get that in your stubborn head. She loves you. She became overwhelmed. She was scared."
"She doesn't call. She said not to call her. I email every day, but only every few days, when she changes cities, do I receive a short email that she left the last one."
"Get over it. She loves you."
Steve gazed off into the distance, still shaking his head.
"For the more immediate issue -- remember our partnership?"
Steve gazed at him without interest.
"Damn it. We are in this vineyard together. You have a house to build for Ivy for when she returns. What the hell is wrong with you? You told me that I am like a son to you. I matter, Steve. I am trying to get this vineyard going and keep your house on track. I can't do it all. Maybe you don't need me, but I sure as hell need you."
Mathew threw down his shirt and stomped back up the hill. Having no reaction from Steve was far worse that having him become angry. He was mad and unhappy that he failed to get through to Steve and worse, he was unsure what to do next.
***
Ivy stood at the rail on the Bar Harbor ferry crossing Frenchman Bay to Winter Harbor, Maine. Even though she cared little about where she went, she hoped that new experiences would refresh her senses. The day was cloudy with a stiff breeze coming off the steely gray of the Atlantic Ocean. As the white boat intrepidly moved towards the distant shore, small waves hit its bow, giving off a stiff spray. She barely noticed the movement, lost as she was thinking over the weeks since leaving Steve.
She had plotted her initial course that first day by getting on a plane to Salt Lake City. From there, she bought a ticket to San Francisco and stayed at a Kimpton hotel she had used years before when traveling on business. For two days she hid in her room, ordering from room service and either staring mindlessly or crying. On the third day she left her room and walked out of the hotel to buy a second pair of walking shoes. After three nights she checked out, rented a car and drove up to Sonoma, choosing lodging at random. From there she drove to Sacramento, stayed a couple of days in a modest hotel downtown and flew in two hops to Phoenix, using different airlines, and then drove up to Sedona where she stayed at a resort, taking the smallest of their rooms.
Every day for that first week, she cried for hours until she was drained of emotion. She spent a week in the Sedona area, going out occasionally to sit and stare at the rock formations. That second week she was so tired that she slept more than she was awake. She napped for a few hours during the day and slept 8, 10, 12 hours at night. At the end of the week in Sedona, she flew to Boston and drove up the coast of Maine, stopping at two different inns as she went, winding up in Bar Harbor at the end of the week, which was where she was now, still sleeping long hours. She only ventured out to walk the short sand beach near her inn or to sit on the rocks above the coast. One day she drove up Cadillac Mountain, blending in with the other tourists. She wandered around, bought a coke and drove back to the inn where she was staying.
She sent a short secure email to Steve after she left each town. She was too drained to do more. While she felt rotten to be so uncommunicative, she had to rebuild herself in her own way. Every day Steve sent her a secure email, full of tender thoughts.
She saw a man she thought was Brian a couple of times. Having a highly skilled FBI agent trailing her gave her comfort. He would be reporting to Steve every day about where she was and what she did. Steve needed that lifeline to her, in the same way she needed one to him. However, only she could rebuild her inner strength. If she failed, then Steve would be better off without her. She could not tie him to a shattered shell. If she could not come back to herself, then she had to find the strength to end their engagement.
***
Steve watched Mathew go off up the hill. He had never lost patience with him like that before. Mathew was working double shifts between the vineyard and the house, keeping the vineyard workers and the builder's crew organized. One of the workers was a young Hispanic fellow named Fred, short for Federico, who followed Mathew around like a lost kid eager to find his place in the world. Even he had noticed how badly off Steve was. He overheard a comment Fred made to Mathew that "Big boss, he no happy. Better he drive tractor. Wreck things."
Steve wanted to believe that Mathew was right. He must not give up hope about Ivy coming back to him. Maybe the time for that would be when she did not come back. Brian reported in daily with details about her so
litary wanderings, although at the beginning she disappeared inside her hotel rooms for days at a time. Only trays of food appearing at the door or left outside mostly uneaten indicated she was there. Now she had flown to Maine and was staying in Bar Harbor. Brian was seeing her more, sitting on the cliffs, staring at the ocean or walking the beach in town. Steve wanted to fly to be with her even though he knew if she needed him, she would call. Did she detest him for the danger he had put her in? Was she afraid of him as well as the perps? What else could explain her long silences?
Again Steve told himself that Mathew was right. He must not despair. He must put his head into building their house for when Ivy returned. He would put in every security gadget available -- cameras, alarms, motion detectors, sound surveillance inside and out -- anything to help her feel protected. Above all Steve wanted to make it an "Ivy home". What was it Mathew had said once about her Portland house? Ah yes, the expression he used was "Utile Dolci" -- combining the useful with the agreeable. Steve decided to decorate the little balcony off the master with metal railings designed like twining ivy and think up other embellishments that would delight her.
He stood, picked up Mathew's shirt, shook it out, folded it neatly and turned to walk up to the house construction site. He would take Mathew into Dundee that night so they could talk over dinner and update their plans. He would have him order a great bottle of wine and they would have steak. Mathew always enjoyed a perfectly cooked steak. He smiled a little remembering the steak dinner the day they left the Bureau. That steak was so full of flavor and tender. When Ivy returns, he would take the three of them to the same place again.
As Steve recalled what Mathew said about needing him as a partner and as a friend, some warmth seeped back into him. They had been a team for some time now. Mathew had never let him down. He had believe that long term, Ivy would never let him down either.
Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) Page 17
