“I think it’s the Charlie Brown version of a wishing tree,” Ivy quipped.
Margot raised her eyebrows, no doubt recalling all the Christmases she’d sat with her daughters as they watched the Charlie Brown Christmas show. “Remember what Charlie Brown did with that tree.”
Ivy smiled and shook her head. “That was the magic of television.”
“That’s what you need to learn, Ivy, my darling. That was the magic of love. You show that tree a little love and you’ll see what it can be.”
“Mom, it’d be better to just scrap the thing. I was just online last night, and you can actually buy a ready-made wishing tree. They even color coordinate the tags and everything.”
Her mother laughed and sashayed out of the room. “Now, Ivy, surely you know me well enough to know what my answer to that will be.” She stopped and turned to look at Ivy. “Don’t you give up.” She winked and disappeared into her bedroom, no doubt to get ready for another day of running wedding errands with Shea.
Ivy grabbed a sheet of notepaper from the pad her mother kept by the phone and the fuzzy, color-coordinated pen that apparently came with the notepad, shaking her head at how her mom still loved anything with some bling to it. Gripping the pen, she started writing a list of what she would need to fix that tree: rocks, a new pot, tags, ribbons to hang the tags. Shea’s wedding colors were blue and white, so she would get white tags with a pretty blue toile ribbon if she could find it. Even though it might involve driving all the way to Myrtle Beach to do so. She remembered her aunt sometimes used ribbon in her cake decorating and resolved to make the bakery her first stop. She would love it if Aunt Leah could save her from running around on a wild-goose chase.
“Hey, Mom!” she called in the direction of her mother’s room. She waited but there was no response.
As she walked closer to the room, she could hear her mom talking on the phone. Suddenly she was thirteen years old, reduced to spying on her mom just to get a glimpse into her interior life. She stood outside the door, out of sight, and listened to her mom, trying to figure out who she was talking to by what she was saying.
“I’d like that too,” Margot said. Then she giggled.
Her mother? Giggling? She leaned forward.
“Of course I remember that.” Another giggle.
She sounded like a teenage girl.
“Are you still planning on arriving when you said? I’ve got that date circled on my calendar.” A pause. “Yes. Circled. In red.” The giggle had changed to this seductive purr that made Ivy cringe. Ewww. That was her mother talking.
“I guess I will see you then. Can’t wait.” Realizing Margot was hanging up with her mysterious beau, Ivy backtracked to the kitchen, her heart racing at the idea of Margot catching her listening. That was most certainly not a conversation she would want Ivy to overhear. And just who was she talking to?
Later, if she could find the right moment, she would ask Shea if mom had been seeing anyone. It was so odd considering the two of them had just talked about how nice it would be for her dad and mom to not be at the wedding with other people. But maybe Simon deserved to have to watch Margot with someone else and eat his heart out while he did. Margot was turning out to be a strong woman, which meant perhaps Ivy could as well.
She glanced down at the list she had made and saw Leah’s name where she had written it across the top. First Leah and her new employee, Lester. Now her mom and some mystery man. She could remember when her mom and Leah swore off men forever, saying they’d had love and could never expect to have it again. What was going on around here?
She ran upstairs to shower and dress and get her errands taken care of. No sense worrying about her mother’s love life—strange as that sounded. She had her own issues to deal with without dwelling on someone else’s. And from the sound of things, Margot was holding her own.
There was a yellow Jeep Wrangler parked outside the bakery when she got there. Her heart started pounding inside her chest just at the sight of it. The image that had filled her mind the night before returned: driving down Main Street with Michael, the radio blaring Dave Matthews as they sang at the top of their lungs, her turning around to smile at Shea in the backseat with Owen, feeling like the world was indeed their oyster. That life would always stay just this good. She’d been fifteen years old, and her boyfriend owned a car. And not just any car—a very cool Jeep Wrangler. If only the girls back at her high school could see this. That next fall she’d papered her locker with snapshots from that magical summer when everything changed.
And then everything changed again. And nothing was the same. And here she was. She looked over at the Jeep. As much as it looked like his, there was no way it was. He would’ve sold that thing years ago, gotten a much more sensible, grown-up car. For all she knew, it was Lester’s car. She smiled at a new image that filled her mind: Leah and Lester driving down Main Street, her hair blowing in the wind, singing Beatles songs at the top of their lungs. Maybe her mother and whoever her secret love was would be in the backseat. Ivy sighed and got out of the car.
This time Lester wasn’t manning the counter. Her aunt was there, packaging up a gorgeous birthday cake. This one was a daring black and white, for a fortieth birthday, no doubt. “Looks good,” Ivy said.
“Yeah, don’t know that I would’ve chosen it, but it’s not my birthday.”
“Looks like it’s for an office.”
“Yes, I have to get it delivered today. Lester’s out already doing some deliveries.”
Ivy’s gaze lit on the binder displaying photos of wedding cakes. “I take it the wedding rush has started?”
“When has it ever stopped? Our wedding business—phew! You wouldn’t believe how much it’s grown.”
“Still making the bride and groom come in and bake it together?”
Leah gave her a look. “What do you think?”
Leah had this crazy idea years ago that she would only make a wedding cake for a couple if they came in and baked the actual cake with her. And so, all throughout the wedding season, you found Leah walking nervous brides and clumsy grooms through baking what was usually just the base of the cake. But it was enough to give them a good idea of the work that went into the cake. She had a saying, “You don’t get to taste the sweetness if you don’t put in the work.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was talking about a whole lot more than just cake. Leah believed that brides put too much focus on the wedding and not enough on what came after. This was her way of getting a few minutes with them, to help them remember what they were doing—and why. It was a bold move, but it had worked for her. If anything, the practice only made her services more desirable, her cakes more meaningful. When a bride or groom fed their other half that first bite of cake, they knew what it was they held in their hands.
Needless to say, Elliott and Ivy had never baked a wedding cake with Aunt Leah. “Ya know, Leah, they should do a study of all the couples who bake cakes with you. I bet they have a lower divorce rate than the national average.”
Leah put her hands on her hips. “That’s a good idea. I’ll put Lester right on it.” She cackled, slapping her hands together.
“So what’s the deal with Lester?”
Leah turned back to securing the cake for its journey. “What do you mean, ‘deal’?”
“You’ve never mentioned him when we talk. Just seems like someone you woulda mentioned.”
“Why? He’s an employee. That’s all. I hired him to do deliveries initially. But it’s gotten to where he does all kinda stuff. Helps clean up. Waits on customers. I’ve even been known to have him help me with some of the baking. He’s right good at making those cheese biscuits you love so much.”
Ivy raised one eyebrow, something she once practiced for weeks to master. “And you’re sure that’s all he is? Just an employee?”
Leah stopped messing with the cake. “You girls and your fascination with love. It doesn’t always have to be about love.” She looked back at the cake, but
not before Ivy saw two distinct circles of color spreading across her cheeks.
“It sure seemed like more than your typical employer-employee relationship when I was in here last time. If you ask me, he likes you. And you like him, Le Le.” Ivy raised her eyebrows at Leah, who ignored the reference to Lester’s nickname for her.
Finished with her packing, Leah pushed the cake farther down the counter and rested her elbows. “Of course he likes me. I gave him a job. A purpose. That’s all.” She quickly changed the subject. “Now, what about you? When’s that husband of yours getting here?”
Great. She’d walked right into that one. “Oh, he’s real busy with work. He can’t just come at the drop of a hat. It’s a six-hour drive, you know.”
“But he is coming to the wedding, isn’t he? I want to dance with that handsome man.” She rubbed her hands together with a devilish glint in her eyes.
Ivy felt panic rise in her chest. She had no idea where she and Elliott would be in a few weeks’ time. As it stood now, she really didn’t think it would ever be any better between them. And what about Michael? How would it look if she and Michael were the ones dancing at her sister’s wedding while her husband was nowhere around? She would eventually have to come clean about the situation. But not now.
“Sure, sure. He’ll come a little closer to time.”
“That’s a relief. I haven’t gotten to dance with him since that great party y’all had in Asheville. Now that was some night.” Leah did a little pivot and twirl, being silly. Ivy winced a little at the memory of that night—of all the promise it held in spite of everything, of how grateful she’d been to Leah for showing up, the sole representative of her family.
“What was some night?” Michael.
Ivy and Leah turned to see the owner of the yellow Jeep Wrangler standing in the kitchen doorway, a goofy grin on his face, looking much more at ease than he had Saturday night. Leah and Michael were both smiling at her expectantly.
“Speaking of nights,” Leah jumped in to save her, “this one said the four of you had a little reunion the other night.” She nodded in Michael’s direction and waited for Ivy to affirm her comment. But Ivy’s mind was spinning. It was all too close, too real, too much. She was back at the bakery she’d helped to start, standing near the boy who used to pick her up after work, with wedding cakes all around her, symbolizing her greatest failure—and possibly her greatest regret.
“Yeah,” she managed. “It was … fun. All of us together again.”
A big smile filled her aunt’s face. “It does this heart good to think of you four back together again. Just like old times!”
Ivy thought she saw a hurt look cross Michael’s face. Like her, he knew they were nowhere near old times. The old times between them weren’t strained or awkward or forced. And the hurt she saw on his face now? Well, there was no denying she’d put it there. She’d ruined all of that.
She wanted to blurt out “I’m sorry!” right there in the middle of the bakery. Instead she just said, “Yeah, old times,” and tried to smile in a way that looked convincing. From the look on his face, Michael was doing the same. It warmed her heart to know that, to see him trying. She was learning to take what she could. And today this moment of recognition was it.
Ten
She returned from Leah’s shop with a lovely ribbon that was close enough to what she’d had in mind and didn’t require a long drive. She’d also run by Walmart in Shallotte and picked up some tags, a rubber stamp that said “Wish” on it, and a large bag of blue glass marbles. She hoped they’d be strong enough to hold the tree in place in the pot. The one thing she hadn’t been able to find was a pot to replace the cracked one. She was sitting on the floor, letting the blue marbles run through her fingers, thinking that a white or silver pot would look best, when Shea plopped down beside her.
“I take it this is going to be my wishing tree?”
Ivy looked over at her. “I’m not so sure you’re supposed to see it till it’s finished. Isn’t that like the groom seeing the bride in her dress before the big day?”
Shea studied the assortment of items Ivy had spread out in front of her on the floor, then gave the Charlie Brown tree a once-over. “No offense, but I don’t feel like I’ve seen anything.”
Ivy smirked at her. “Touché.”
Shea lay her hand on Ivy’s forearm. “I’m sure it’ll be just beautiful when you’re done, though.”
Ivy froze, welcoming the unfamiliar sensation of her sister’s hand on her arm, as if the ice was breaking between them just by the warmth of her touch. She held her breath for just a moment before answering, knowing that when she did, Shea would move her hand away. She wanted to say something touching, something sweet, in response. Instead she went to her default and gave her a snarky answer. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
Shea stood up and stretched out her legs. “I’m going to go for a walk. Wanna come with me?”
Ivy gestured to the mess on the floor. “And leave all this?”
Shea waved her hand, dismissing the mess. “It’ll be here when you get back. Come on. Let’s get some exercise.” She hooked her hand under Ivy’s armpit and started pulling.
“Ow! You’re hurting me!” Ivy said, but she was laughing as she said it. Even getting manhandled by Shea felt good after years of polite distance and awkward conversations. You had to love someone to fight with them.
She shuffled off to find her flip-flops. Shea preoccupied herself with pulling her hair into a high ponytail that was so tight it tugged at the corners of her eyes. “You just gave yourself a face-lift,” Ivy said. Shea glanced in the mirror hanging in the entry way, laughed, and pulled the elastic back down a bit. A loosened strand fell onto her forehead, and Ivy resisted the urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear like she once would have. She looked at her little sister. “Ready to go?”
“Yep! Follow me!” Shea led the way out the door, down the steps, across the yard, and onto 40th Street, walking faster than Ivy would’ve thought. She had to hustle to match Shea’s pace.
“Should I have put on my running shoes?” she asked. “You said a walk. This might qualify as a run.”
“I said we were getting our exercise.” Shea had an intent look on her face and was moving her arms in time with her fast steps. She gave Ivy a sideways glance. “You’re not the one who has to fit into your wedding dress in a couple of weeks.”
The two were halfway down the street when Shea slowed and stared at a house with scaffolding covering the front of it. It was the McCoys’ place. Shea made a visor with her hand and scanned the front of the house, then peered around the edge. She shrugged her shoulders and kept going. “What happened to Mrs. McCoy?” Ivy asked. It hardly looked like the same place.
Shea resumed her fast pace, and Ivy kicked herself into gear to keep up. “She died a few years back.” Shea said it like Ivy should know. Mrs. McCoy used to make them cookies and have them over for tea parties. She and her husband were empty nesters so they loved entertaining the children on the street each summer. She and Shea and Michael and Owen figured that out pretty quickly and, consequently, found any excuse to go over there. Ivy felt a little pang at the thought of being so removed from things around here that she missed the death of someone who had once been a big part of her life.
“Wow, sorry to hear that” was all she said in response.
“Michael bought the house, and he’s the one fixing it up. Sometimes Owen helps him. I was checking to see if they were here.”
“So how did Michael manage to get the house?”
“Not really sure how it all happened. I expect he made an offer to the McCoy children. You’d have to ask him. I mean, if you’re willing to talk to him.”
“I’m willing to talk to him. In fact, I saw him at the bakery, and we talked just fine. I’d like to be … friends with Michael.” She used the word friend for lack of a better one, but the truth was she couldn’t imagine being friends with Michael, not with everything that had pass
ed between them. But she couldn’t go into that with Shea, not yet. She couldn’t share her feelings about Michael without sharing her feelings about Elliott. And she just didn’t think she could say that out loud. Not without a lot of tears and incoherent blubbering. She and her sister were making strides, but they weren’t at a bare-your-soul point.
Shea slowed down and looked at Ivy. “You and Michael cannot be friends.” She started walking again.
Ivy, huffing and puffing, tried to get back in lockstep with Shea. “What does that mean? We’re adults. Surely we can work at being friends. Especially since we’ve got to be around each other for the next few weeks. What would you have us be? Enemies?”
“I just think that you should think about it. That’s all. I mean, what about from Elliott’s perspective? Would you want him being all buddy-buddy with some girl he almost married? Wouldn’t that weird you out?”
If you only knew, Ivy wanted to say. “Let me worry about Elliott. This isn’t about Elliott. It’s about trying to salvage something I lost.” She didn’t just mean what she lost with Michael. She meant what she lost with all of them. “I–I made a hard choice five years ago. I followed my heart and it hurt a lot of people. I see now how things maybe could’ve been different.” Like I could’ve not done what I did at all, she didn’t say either. “So now I’m back here and I’m trying to put things right. If that can even be done.”
Shea kept walking in silence. Ivy knew her sister was mulling over what she had just said. Finally she spoke. “Just don’t expect too much. Michael’s in a good place. A really good place. I’m not sure he wants what you’re talking about. Friendship.”
The way Shea said it, it sounded like a dirty word.
“So you don’t think it’s possible for me to put things right?”
“I think it’s always possible to put things right. As long as you don’t expect them to be the way they were.”
The two women walked on in silence. Ivy wondered what Shea was thinking—if she was angry with Ivy still or had already resolved to move forward with this new—different—relationship. Perhaps that was why Shea could so easily touch her, ask her to go on a walk, talk to her about things that didn’t lie on the surface within easy reach. Somehow her younger sister had gotten wiser in the time they’d spent apart. She snuck a look at the set of her jaw, the intensity of her gaze, the rhythm of her blonde ponytail swaying back and forth with each step. Her little sister had grown up. It seemed she could take some lessons from her.
The Wishing Tree Page 10
