The Wishing Tree

by Marybeth Whalen

  “Hey, Ivy,” she heard her sister’s voice behind her, thick with sleep. Shea yawned loudly and Ivy turned to face her, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were cold when the morning was actually quite warm.

  “Hi,” she said, taking in her sister’s appearance up close and personal, without the television between them. Her college pixie haircut was gone. She’d grown her hair out—probably in preparation for the wedding she’d known was coming sooner or later. Still a dirty blonde, her hair had a natural wave, cascading down her back. And her face had lost the baby fat, her cheekbones sharper, her lips more pronounced. She was … striking, even first thing in the morning. Once people had made a fuss over Ivy’s looks to the point that Margot had fretted over Shea getting a complex, but it was clear now that Shea had come into her own.

  Ivy had to laugh at the switch the two had performed without even consulting each other. Shea had slimmed down, grown her hair out, and looked a lot like Ivy had when she left. While Ivy had gained a few pounds—not a lot but enough to look healthier, as Elliott often said, had cut her hair into a short bob, and looked more like Shea had that last time the two of them had been in this room. The thought brought a smile to her face, which Shea returned, inadvertently breaking the ice.

  Ivy dropped her arms to her side and took a seat at the kitchen island. “Just waking up?” she asked. Shea nodded and crossed over to the kitchen, busying herself with heating up water in the same ancient kettle Ivy remembered from before, a burnt-orange color that no doubt came from the seventies.

  She watched as Shea pulled tea bags from the cupboard, and sugar, and milk. We drink it like the British do, with milk, she remembered her mother teaching them when they were little girls. She used to have tea parties with them, training them in the finer things of life because she expected her daughters to have just that. Ivy couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a cup of tea, always opting for coffee. But she did always dump a generous amount of cream in her coffee. She guessed that counted.

  “So when did you get in?” Shea asked. It was, they both knew, a lame attempt at conversation, dancing around the tension that hung in the air around them. No matter how much they convinced themselves they were fine, that this moment was no big deal, Ivy knew that they were both feeling anxious about seeing each other again. Both nervous about when they would finally say what had gone unsaid all this time. Because it would happen. In some ways, it had to. Because only after it had could they truly move on with their lives.

  But now wasn’t the time. “Last night. You were out with Owen,” she answered.

  “Yeah, we were out for dinner, listening to a potential band for the reception.” The whistle blew and Shea yanked the kettle from the burner.

  “Did you like them?”

  Shea shrugged as she hefted spoonfuls of sugar into her cup. Ivy smiled as she watched. Shea’s love of sugar hadn’t changed. It was comforting to know that in some ways they were still exactly the same. “They were okay. Not ruling them out but not crazy about them either. Ya know?”

  Ivy nodded even though she didn’t know. Inside she was coaching herself: Not everything she says is intended to dredge up unhappy memories. This is what it’s going to be like, but it will get better. This is the gauntlet you must run through. “So are you going to go see other bands?”

  “I don’t know. We should but I’m not all that excited about any of our options. I said we should just have a DJ, but of course Margot wouldn’t hear of it.” In her teens Shea had started calling their mother by her first name just to drive her crazy. That had apparently stuck. “She said, ‘That is so uncouth, Shealee.’” Shea finished her imitation of their mother and turned to look pointedly at Ivy. “This from a woman who named her daughters Ivella and Shealee.”

  Ivy grinned back at Shea. This was one thing the two had always agreed on: what had their mother been thinking when choosing their names?

  “Whatever. I will not be using a single family name for my child. You can count on that.” Shea blew loudly on her tea before taking a big sip.

  Child. The word stuck in her heart as surely as if Shea had thrown it there like a javelin. Ivy feared at this rate she’d never have a child. She was so far from where she thought she’d be in life by now. She stood up. “I’m just going to go check my phone for messages. I left Dad with some loose ends, so he might’ve tried to call.” She was lying, of course. By the way Shea glanced at her, it seemed like she could tell. Even after an extended absence, her sister could read her in a way that other people could not. This thought both comforted and disturbed her.

  Shea set down her cup and put two slices of bread in the toaster oven. “How is the old man?” She asked.

  “Fine, I guess. You know, worried about the economy and his business.”

  “Yeah, I’m really sorry that the economy affected your job too.” Shea caught her eye and held her gaze steady so Ivy would know that she meant it. Just that one small act was enough to bring tears to her eyes, but she blinked them away and sat back down on the barstool instead of making her planned escape.

  “Yeah.” She shrugged, refusing to dig into how nervous she was about being jobless. “It’ll be fine. I’ll just figure something else out. It was a good time to come here.”

  “What does Elliott think about that?” There was that tone to Shea’s voice again, almost an invitation to confide in her. But it was too soon for that.

  Ivy rested her chin in her hand as she watched Shea butter her toast. “He’s good with it. I mean, he understood that it was the right thing for me to come here and help out.” She hoped her voice sounded as light and carefree as she was trying to make it sound. “And he’s really busy too.” She wasn’t lying. He was busy, just not with what Shea would think. She dangled her legs, swinging her feet back and forth, feeling childlike on the high barstool.

  “That’s good. I’m sure you’re going to miss him, though.” Shea studied her engagement ring and smiled. “I couldn’t imagine being away from Owen.”

  “Well, things change after you’re married.”

  Shea rolled her eyes. “Everyone keeps telling me that.”

  Ivy stood up again and was about to escape to the safety of her room when Margot came in, wearing a robe and looking surprisingly old. Ivy glanced at Shea to see if she noticed it, but Shea barely even looked at their mother. To Shea she just looked like Mom, Ivy guessed. The beach house, the family members, the view from the back window—it was all familiar to her, as usual as her own reflection. Part of Ivy wanted that again, wanted the sense of home and entitlement that used to come with crossing the bridge into Sunset Beach.

  “My girls in the same kitchen,” Margot said, squeezing Ivy’s shoulder as she passed by her. “Never thought I’d see this again.” Ivy focused on the joy in her mother’s voice instead of the breach she was referring to, coaching herself again about running through the gauntlet. She was a ways away from making it to the other side.

  “And we have my wedding to thank for it,” Shea said, grinning as she bit into her toast, piled high with blackberry jelly. A dab of jelly dotted her nose when she looked back up at them.

  Margot laughed and wiped it away with a dish cloth. Ivy looked down, avoiding the tenderness—the comfort level—that existed between her sister and her mother. Something she used to have but didn’t anymore. Something her heart longed for. Put it on the list, she thought.

  Margot looked at both girls. “And speaking of weddings …”

  Ivy and Shea both chuckled in unison at their mother’s segue. It was so typical of her to see an opening to talk about what she wanted to talk about and go for it. “I guess some things never change,” Margot said, voicing Ivy’s thoughts. “I still seem to amuse you girls without even trying.”

  “You just know how to steer a conversation, Mom, that’s all.” Shea winked at Ivy. “Even if the conversation steers about as easy as a cement truck.”

  “I don’t care what you two say. We’ve got a lot o
f work to do, and now that Ivy’s here to help, I think we should divvy up the jobs.” She looked from one girl to the other with one eyebrow arched as they both tried to compose themselves and act serious. Even though she looked angry, Ivy guessed that she was secretly thrilled to have them teasing her together. Just like old times.

  Her mother grabbed a bulging three-ring notebook from the kitchen counter and opened it, pulling the reading glasses that hung from a beaded chain around her neck onto the bridge of her nose in one fluid motion. She peered through the lenses at whatever was in the notebook.

  “What’s that?” Ivy asked Shea.

  “The Nuptial Notebook.”

  “The Nuptial Notebook?”

  Shea grinned at Ivy’s confusion. “Aka the Bridal Binder, the Matrimonial Memo, the Wedlock Workbook, the Girl Scout’s Guide to Getting Hitched. Owen and I have several names for it, none of which she likes.”

  Margot lowered the book and narrowed her eyes at Shea before turning her attention back to it.

  Shea yanked her thumb in Margot’s direction, smiling at her ability to aggravate their mother. “She made it. It’s got all our contracts, brochures, business cards, magazine clippings, stuff like that in it. All filed away within easy reach.” Shea grinned. “Even I have to admit it’s pretty clever. You know Margot, always properly prepared like a good Southern girl.” She laughed at her own joke.

  With a pang, Ivy thought about how long her mother had probably been waiting to make that notebook, how grateful she was to Shea for giving her the opportunity. “That’s … cool,” she managed.

  Margot looked up suddenly, the glasses slipping a bit on her nose with the sudden movement. “Leah said you’re going to be helping some down at the bakery?”

  As usual, news traveled fast. “Well, she asked.”

  Her mother waved her hand through the air. “That’s fine, I just need to know how much time you have to commit. There’s quite a bit still left to be done, and ever since Owen committed us to this TV thing, everything has to be done at warp speed.”

  Shea started to speak, probably to defend Owen, but her mother waved her hand again, turning her attention back to the notebook, her face serious as she flipped through pages sheathed in clear plastic protectors. The room was silent except for the sound of the wind blowing against the windowpanes. Ivy longed to get outside and go for that walk. She looked at her mother and sister. Maybe she’d even ask them to go with her.

  Her mother closed the notebook with a thump. “Okay.” She looked at Ivy. “Today Shea and I have to go see the florist and the photographer—though why we’re even paying a photographer, I have no idea. Surely the TV people are going to take enough photos without us adding to it.”

  Shea looked at Ivy. “Just to catch you up, you’ll be hearing a lot about ‘the TV people’ in the days to come.”

  “I just don’t know why you all felt that we needed to televise your wedding. I mean, the engagement being broadcast was sweet, but I think you should’ve left well enough alone.”

  Shea rolled her eyes. “Like we haven’t discussed this to death already.” She turned to address Ivy as if Margot wasn’t even in the room. “As you may already know, Owen agreed to it before I knew anything about it. And once the wheels were in motion, well …” Ivy saw a familiar look cross Shea’s face, one that she didn’t expect to see. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, a smile taking its place. “But it’ll be great! We’ll never forget it!”

  “It’s your wedding day. You won’t forget it even if it’s not televised for the rest of the world to see,” Margot argued, no doubt resurrecting an ongoing argument. She sounded so different from the woman who had called her that day to tell her that Shea was being proposed to on TV. She’d been excited then. But now she definitely wasn’t.

  Ivy couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved that Shea’s perfect wedding wasn’t so perfect. She didn’t wish an imperfect wedding on her sister. But then again, she did.

  “So what I was thinking,” Margot continued, laying the issue to rest by changing the subject back to the plans, “is that you would take over the wishing tree.”

  Ivy looked at her mother, blinking as she processed what she had said. A tradition in their family for generations back, the wishing tree was really nothing more than some branches shoved artfully into a pot to look like a small tree. Guests were mailed tags that could be hung on the tree, ideally tucked into the invitations. The ones who attended could bring their tags with a wish for the happy couple written on it to hang on the tree. The ones who couldn’t make it were invited to mail their tags in advance. Later the bride and groom could read all the wishes for the future they would, undoubtedly, have. Yeah, right. Ivy was more than a little cynical about wedding wishes coming true.

  Someone of course had to be in charge of assembling the tree and collecting the tags, making sure they made it onto the branches in time for the big event. The finished product was always a big draw at the reception, with guests taking turns reading the wishes. Some were funny, some poignant, all filled with goodwill toward the couple. If she was correct in her assumption, her wishing tree was still somewhere in this house. Unless her mother had thrown it out in a fit of anger, which was entirely possible.

  At least they’d never sent the tags out for her and Michael’s wedding.

  She swallowed, realizing that Shea and her mom were looking at her. “It won’t take that much time,” Margot said.

  “She doesn’t want to do it, Mom,” Shea said. “Look at her face. She looks like you just asked her to destroy a sea turtle’s nest.” Ivy smiled at Shea’s mention of sea turtles. Once upon a time the two sisters used to dream of seeing turtles hatch. No matter how many evenings they combed the beach, they never got to see one, though. Once they got there just as the last one slipped into the ocean, making his long swim back to where he came from. Ivy stopped remembering in time to hear Shea prattling on about how she didn’t even care about the wishing tree, but Margot was the one insisting. Shea hadn’t sent out the tags with the invitations, preferring to keep everything as simple as possible and not fool with one more thing. Margot argued back that the tree was a tradition and was about to launch into a historical lesson of marriages from higher up the branches of the family tree until Ivy spoke up and interrupted her.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said. “I can do it.” This is why you came, she coached herself. Don’t make this a bigger deal than it is. She gave them a brave smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “You’re going to have to send out the tags separately. You know that, right?” Shea asked, her tone expressing her disdain.

  “It’ll be fine,” Ivy responded.

  “Oh, good!” Margot beamed. “That was one thing I just couldn’t see us getting to unless we burned the midnight oil.” She wiped her hands on the front of her nightgown, a flannel one that definitely qualified as a granny gown. “And I’m not much good at that anymore.”

  A beat of silence passed before Margot announced that she was going to shower and get ready for their appointments. She looked at Shea, ever the mother. “You should get a move on, young lady, if you’re going to be ready.” She turned to Ivy. “You’re welcome to come with us.”

  I’d rather listen to nails on a chalkboard than hear you two go on and on with photographers and florists. “Oh no, I was thinking of going for a walk, getting reacquainted with the place,” she said. But Margot was already walking away, assuming the answer was no.

  She shrugged at Shea, who was looking at her with a strange expression. “What?” she asked, wondering if she had coffee spilled down her shirt or something.

  “Speaking of getting reacquainted, you know Michael’s here, right?”

  She knew her panicked expression would give her away if she tried to lie. She had a terrible poker face. “No, I didn’t know that.” She’d assumed that he’d settled in his hometown of Raleigh, like he’d always planned. Maybe even gotten married. She never dared ask and she
’d avoided looking him up on Facebook or googling his name, though lately it had been tempting, proof that two could play at Elliott’s game. But it wasn’t a game. And even if it was, how did you determine a winner? And what was the prize?

  “Yeah … Owen suckered him into coming here for moral support, and he got into this house renovation project. You’ll see.”

  Ivy pretended to be engrossed in the view of the marsh even though she could feel Shea’s eyes on her. When she didn’t respond, Shea continued. “I think it’s pretty amazing of him to come here, considering….” She let her voice trail off. Ivy didn’t need her to finish the sentence, didn’t need her to point out whose side she was, ultimately, still on.

  Ivy dropped her eyes to the floor. “Yeah.”

  The silence between them stretched out for a few uncomfortable seconds until, mercifully, Shea announced that she needed to get ready and left the room. Ivy watched her go, thinking about what her sister didn’t say long after she was gone and Ivy was left alone in the very place she once vowed she’d never return to.

  Seven

  Ivy walked along the water’s edge, hugging herself, shivering a bit as the wind picked up. It was May and warm, but with the breeze coming off the ocean, it could still be chilly at times. And the water was nowhere near ready to swim in. When they were kids they used to dare each other to dash into it over spring break, their lips blue when they emerged. But they always swore they weren’t cold at all. She could still see Owen and Michael, teeth chattering as they crossed their hearts, the sun glinting off their blond heads. She smiled.

  She wanted to see Michael again.

  The knowledge that he was nearby made her shiver all over, and this time not because she was cold. She carried the mental picture of him the last time they were together, a dismal final image to hang on to, but the only one she had. Thanks to choices she had made—choices she wasn’t so sure were right in hindsight—she had broken his heart. “Shattered it, then stepped on it” as Owen so eloquently put it. She wondered if he’d managed to put it back together again.