The Wishing Tree (14 page)

After what seemed like an hour, he came back to the car. While she waited, she’d composed herself, dried her tears, and put on some lip gloss, which always made things seem better, something Margot had taught her. She greeted him with her most serene smile. “Sorry about that earlier,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”

He shuffled nervously, looking at her like she had a
loaded gun pointed at him. But to a male confronted with a female’s wild emotional ramblings, it might’ve seemed like the same thing. “No problem, ma’am.” He fiddled with his clipboard and handed her a piece of paper. “Seeing as how you had some … external circumstances going on, I’ve just written you a warning. You have a good driving record, so I’m sure this is just a one-time occurrence.”

“Oh, yes, sir, you can count on that.” Her heart lifted. The last thing she wanted was for Elliott to find out from their insurance agent that she’d gotten a speeding ticket and think that it was because she was upset about him—even if that were true. “I don’t speed. I’m a law-abiding citizen.”
Law-abiding citizen? What was this
,
the Old West
?

“Well, just make sure you keep it that way,” the officer said. He reached up and adjusted his hat, shifting uncomfortably again as they looked at each other for a moment. He had on sunglasses, and she found herself wishing she could see his eyes. “And, ma’am?” he asked. “I’d just like to say that these things usually work themselves out.”

She chuckled at his feeble attempt to reassure her. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Well, best of luck to you,” the officer said. He turned to go and she called out after him. “Thank you!” She waved as she pulled away from the side of the road, merging into the traffic and keeping her eye on the speedometer as she made her way home, whatever that word meant anymore.

When she got home, she found the house empty. Wandering
into the kitchen, she discovered a note from her mother saying she was feeling better and had gone out for dinner with friends. Ivy sighed, relieved she wouldn’t have to face her mother yet. She dreaded her questions about how the day had gone with Shea.

Her eyes fell on the stack of mail on the counter. From the looks of things, more tags had arrived. She was surprised by people’s prompt responses, the heartfelt notes from those who couldn’t make it, glad for the chance to send their wishes ahead for the happy couple.

She thought of Shea, crying in the dressing room, forcing her out, turning away from the progress they’d made in the past few days. What did Ivy wish for her sister? A happy wedding? A life that turned out differently from
her own? She tore into the first envelope, unsure of the answer.

The tag bore a wish for Shea and Owen to never have to be apart, and to long for each other when they did. She rolled her eyes and shoved it back in the envelope, gathering the stack and dumping them unceremoniously on Shea’s bed upstairs. Shea could go through them on her own. Ivy wasn’t interested in reading anymore—she was upset with Shea for earlier, and she didn’t like the reminders the wishes triggered. She’d once thought that she and Elliott would never be apart, would long for each other when they had to be. What couple who enters marriage doesn’t believe that? If you didn’t, you wouldn’t go through with it.

She turned and walked out of the room. The wishes people were sending were nothing more than a collection of pipe dreams.

And yet, as she went into her room and closed the door, she couldn’t escape the memory of what had happened after that first date with Elliott, after their nighttime ride high above the snow-covered landscape, the hills glowing blue in the moonlight. She couldn’t forget, no matter how hard she tried, what it felt like to have someone she couldn’t bear to be away from for even an hour, someone she longed for when she was apart from him. Someone who incited feelings within her that she’d never felt before. Alone in her hotel room that night, she’d taken off her engagement ring, stared down at her naked finger, and wondered what it all meant.

When they’d said good-bye at the end of her trip, Elliott had taken her into his arms and held her for a very long time. “Follow your heart,” he’d whispered. “Whatever it
tells you when you get home, listen to that.” She’d scoffed internally at this. She wasn’t the type to live life that way. And yet she wanted to.

But back home she could feel her heart closing up again, slipping into the robotic mode that was her typical MO. She kept busy, did what was expected, and—except for when she snuck in a call to Elliott—barely listened to her heart. She didn’t trust her heart, remembering that fall when her mother lay crying in bed. Listening to your heart led you down a dead-end road, and left you there alone. Better to be smart and cautious. Michael, she’d told herself more than once after she got home, was the safer bet. She didn’t know Elliott at all. The time she’d spent with him was entirely other from real life and best forgotten.

And yet, deep inside, her heart kept speaking, beating out daily reminders of this man who’d captured her in a way she couldn’t deny. She would look at Michael across the table as they planned their wedding and exchange a smile, all the while thinking of Elliott, remembering something he’d said, the way he’d finish her sentences, the feel of his hand on her cheek.

After a while she could no longer deny that this was more than a passing thing. Elliott had stayed with her. The question was whether he would stay with her forever. And then he’d called her and asked her to come back, said he couldn’t stop thinking about her either. And she’d known that, eventually, she’d have a choice to make. Ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away.

Five years after she made her choice, she looked at the clock and checked the mirror. She looked like she felt—the
stresses of the day visible on her face. If she hurried, she could get a shower before Michael picked her up for their dinner. Even though she knew he was only coming under duress, she hoped that he’d come around as they spent time together. Somehow, some way, she had to show him that she’d made a mistake all those years ago. Following her heart had gotten her nowhere, just as she’d feared it would. “I was wrong,” she said aloud in the silent room, watching her mouth form the words. She hoped she got the chance to tell Michael that.

It seemed no time had passed as she grabbed the roll bar of the Jeep and pulled herself into the passenger seat, a move that she’d performed countless times in her life. It was like riding a bike—you never forgot. As the Jeep rumbled to life and headed away from her house, her hair blowing in the warm evening air, she felt even more déjà vu. A smile filled her face and she did her best to forget what had happened that day—Shea, the cop, the weird dream that began her day, and the wishing tree tag bringing back memories of a time best forgotten. She liked this image, this moment, sitting beside Michael, moving forward, as it should be. She said a little prayer that the evening would go well, that her words would come out right and he would understand just how sorry she was.

They were quiet as they drove to Calabash, her stomach rumbling as she realized how long it had been since she’d eaten. She thought of the angel hair pasta with shrimp dish
she used to always order at Fireside. She hoped they hadn’t changed the menu.

She glanced over at Michael’s profile, the same intense expression he’d always had on his face as he drove. And yet, she couldn’t reach out and lace her fingers with his as he rested his hand on the gearshift, the act as natural as breathing.

Michael found a parking place beside the restaurant, got out, and headed for the door without getting her door for her like he used to. She opened her door and hopped out resolutely, understanding that this was the way things had to be. She’d hurt him. She’d rejected him. She’d given him back that engagement ring in the worst possible way. And she deserved even more anger than he was showing.

As the hostess showed them to their table, she knew she didn’t even deserve this much. What Michael was showing her was grace. She remembered learning in church that grace was always undeserved. As she looked into his eyes once they were seated, grace was what she saw looking back at her.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

He blinked at her. “I haven’t done anything.”

She knew him well enough to know he was doing his best to remain casual, to act as if this were just another dinner, that she was just another woman. She looked around the restaurant, finding it unchanged. She hoped he’d never brought other women there—but what right did she have to hope that? This had been “their place” and yet there was no “their” anymore.

“I just want you to know, I never brought Elliott here,” she said.

He shrugged. “Okay.” The look he gave her was hard to gauge.

“I mean, I’ve just always thought of this as … our place. It seemed … wrong. To bring him here.”

He chuckled and shook his head, looking down at his menu. “You really beat all, you know that?”

“Why? What did I say?”

“You offer that up like it’s some sort of equalizer. ‘I know I ended things between us, but hey, at least I never brought the guy I dumped you for to our place.’” He held out his index finger in front of her face. “Here’s the gold star you’re obviously gunning for.”

She studied him for a moment, took in the blankness of his face, the anger behind his eyes. This was going to be harder than she’d thought. She pushed his hand away. “I don’t want a gold star. I want to … talk over things.”

“You mean since you didn’t five years ago?”

She did her best to meet his gaze instead of look away in embarrassment. “Yes.”

He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head as he stared at her. The waiter placed waters in front of them, said he’d bring back some bread while they looked over the menu, and disappeared. They were quiet as they scanned the familiar menu. Her favorite was still there. She smiled as if she’d run into an old friend.

“Lemme guess,” he said. “The angel hair with shrimp.”

She nodded, a flicker of what once was passing between them, the acknowledgment of what they’d shared before Elliott came along.

He blinked, and the moment disappeared as he leaned forward on his elbows. “So, are you going to make good on your promise to tell me why you’re really here, back in Sunset?”

She paused. She’d sort of forgotten that desperate promise. And yet, telling him why she was there was part of her explanation, part of admitting she’d been wrong. She exhaled loudly and held his gaze. “Sure.”

The waiter slid the rolls in front of them, and she watched as Michael reached for one and dipped it into the olive oil and herbs in a dish beside the bread basket. She thought for a moment about how to put the situation into words. She thought about Elliott that day as she pulled out of the garage, how sad he’d looked as he watched her go, the moment when she lost sight of him as her car got farther away—and closer to Sunset, to Michael, to this moment. Inexplicably, she felt a little sad. It was five years ago all over: choosing one meant losing the other. She would make the right choice this time.

“Elliott cheated on me,” she blurted out. She took a sip of water as if the admission made her thirsty when really she just wanted something to do under his gaze. She rested her head on her hand and forced herself to look back at him. “I left him,” she finished, watching his reaction, willing him to say the right thing.

He pressed his palms on the table and stared at his hands for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. This time he was the one to take a long drink of water.

“Are you?”

He shrugged. “Sure. That’s terrible. I’m sure that was tough.”

“It just happened. I mean, I just found out. I’m not sure when it happened. Or who it was. I … didn’t really give him a chance to fill in the details.”

“And what does he think of your reaction?”

“He doesn’t really get a vote. He put me in a pretty impossible situation.” She slid the menu out of the way, her eyes flickering over to where the waiter was watching them for a signal they were ready to order.

“Does he know you’re here?”

“Yeah.”

A smile flickered across his face. “I bet he hates that.” He had the look of a man who was enjoying the taste of revenge. He licked a bit of olive oil from the corner of his mouth and she thought of kissing him after other dates to this restaurant, how he’d tasted like Italy itself to her. She didn’t bother to hide her smile.

“I hope he does.” For some reason, she felt comfortable reaching across the table, resting her hand on his forearm, smoothing down the hair like she used to do. “But that’s not what I came to say.”

Under her hand she could feel the muscles in his arm tense. She took the hint and put her hand back on her side of the table, pretending to need to unroll her silverware at that moment. She looked up and caught the waiter’s eye, imploring him to rescue her from this awkward moment. To her relief, he crossed the restaurant to take their orders.

When the waiter was gone, Michael fixed his gaze on her. “So what did you come here to say, if not to tell me that your husband is cheating on you?”

“I came to say that I was sorry. And that I was wrong.”

“Wrong?” She could tell her admission was not what he’d expected. Maybe he would see that she had changed, or was changing. Maybe if he saw that, he’d want to see more.

“To do what I did. To you.” She paused, her eyes filling with tears. “To us.” Her hand went to her fork, pressing the tines into the red-and-white-vinyl tablecloth, leaving four little hole prints behind. She blinked the tears away and looked back at him. “Sorry. I’m … just really confused right now.”

“Confused?”

“About what happened five years ago. About why I did what I did.” She swallowed and put the fork down. “Why I broke your heart to be with some guy I barely knew.”

Michael reached for another roll and tore it in two. “He was your soul mate. That’s what you said.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he dropped the torn roll back into the basket. “You said in your letter that you couldn’t bear to be away from him. That’s why you left here—to be with him.” He pushed the basket away and looked up, his gaze piercing her. “And now you leave him to come back to me? Is that what this is all about?”

“I didn’t come back here to see you,” she answered, a hint of anger cropping up. He was enjoying his smug position a bit too much. “I didn’t even know you were here. I thought you’d be with your family in Raleigh. And then once I found out you were here, I thought maybe … we could …” She fumbled for the right words to describe the many thoughts that had been racing through her head about him—words that didn’t make her sound crazy.

“Pick up where we left off?” He sat up straighter in his
chair, the expression on his face as he looked at her so confident and assured that she wanted to hit him.

“No. I know that’s not possible,” she lied. Did she really know that? “I do realize a lot has happened.” She paused to think. “I just hoped we could … be friends again.” She ignored the way her heart stuttered over the use of the word
friend
.

“We stopped being friends when we were fifteen years old.” His words penetrated her heart, reminding her of that summer when everything changed, when he got out of the car that bright June day and she saw a different Michael, one that captured her imagination that whole summer as she’d schemed how to get him to notice her the way she’d noticed him. He’d been a bit slow on the uptake, but eventually he’d come around.

“I hope you don’t mean that,” she said.

The waiter materialized again, setting plates of steaming food in front of them. Her stomach rumbled in response to the scent of garlic and tomatoes and olive oil and pasta. She eyed the perfectly curled shrimp dotting the top of the dish and reached for her knife and fork. Maybe she could manage a few bites after all.

Michael bowed his head and silently prayed, but she found herself wishing she could hear what he said to God, what he would thank Him for. Instead she did the same, her silent prayer filled with thanks for reuniting her with this dish—and with him. When he finished praying he attacked his food, scooping large bites into his mouth. At least that hadn’t changed.