The Wishing Tree (17 page)

Ivy arrived at the bakery ready to help set things up for Owen
and Shea, who were coming in to bake their wedding cake, Leah’s custom for her brides and grooms. It took a bit of maneuvering to honor health codes and match up Leah’s schedule with the busy couples, but in most cases, she found a way to make it work. What they didn’t know was that they rarely ate the cake they made. Leah was such a perfectionist, she almost never served what the novices created. But they felt more invested in what they fed each other on their special day, and that was what mattered. As Leah always said, they knew the hard work that had to happen to taste the sweetness. More than once, Ivy thought that perhaps she should’ve pushed harder for her and Elliott to participate in this tradition. Of course at that point they weren’t up for coming anywhere near Sunset.

She shook her head and continued setting up the ingredients like Leah had instructed. Since a camera crew was going to be filming a portion of their baking session, Leah wanted everything more streamlined. Leah was always efficient about her bakery. Even the timing of today’s baking affair was calculated so that the cakes could be frozen in advance of the wedding. Cakes that had been frozen first were easier to ice and transport, a trick Leah had learned through practice.

“I don’t know how I get myself into these things,” Leah grumbled good-naturedly as she bustled around the store, making sure everything was ready for the cameras.

“Your store is going to be famous, Aunt Leah,” Ivy said, attempting to sound normal and not at all flustered by her conversation with Elliott and the direct message from the reporter, not to mention her mother’s admission that she knew there was more going on than she was saying. She’d been so convinced she could fool everyone.

Leah, dressed in a chef’s hat and apron, looked like she’d stepped right out of a French cooking school. But when she opened her mouth, her Southern accent gave her away. “You hush your mouth. I can hardly keep up with wedding cake orders as it is. I don’t need to be famous unless you’re volunteering to leave that husband of yours and come down here and help me full-time.”

Her heart pounding, Ivy managed to match Leah’s light-hearted response with one of her own. “You just never know, Aunt Leah,” she said, turning her attention to measuring the flour while she waited for her heart to slow down. “I might have to swoop in and save you in your hour of need.”

“Well, if there was anyone I’d trust to help me with this bakery, it’s you. You always did have a knack for cakes.”

She thought of the last cake she’d taken to the office, the one for Delores’s birthday. Her employees had always adored her cakes, going on and on about how much they loved being the benefactors of her weekend baking projects. She’d loved baking as a hobby but never considered it as a real job. Yet just look at how successful the bakery had become. Built on reputation and word of mouth, Aunt Leah’s wedding cakes were known for destination weddings all over the area and recommended by several different popular wedding venues. Leah was right, she didn’t need the publicity they were about to get. Maybe Ivy would have to stay. Maybe that could be her excuse.

She looked up to see Shea and Owen entering the bakery, cameras already rolling as Shea clapped her hands together and announced she was ready to bake a cake, looking every bit like she was made for the spotlight. Ivy remembered the strained look she’d given her when she’d first asked her about the wedding being televised. From the looks of things, she’d gotten past all of that. Shea looked at Ivy and winked, her happiness filling the bakery along with the camera crew. Ivy gave the cameraman her best smile too, acting for all the world like this moment was the only thing that mattered in her life.

Ivy ducked out when it became clear that Leah had everything under control at the bakery, escaping the lights and
cameramen that had taken over every available space. The bakery was a good size but certainly not spacious enough to hold all those people comfortably. The heat of the lights, the overly enthusiastic producer, and Shea’s bubbly exclamations just became too much after a while. When Leah gave her the nod that told her it was fine to make her exit, she gratefully took the opening and slipped away.

Back home, she made herself some lunch, then curled up and read one of the paperback novels her mom kept stashed all over the house. She was relieved to find that she could still escape into a good story, forgetting what was happening in hers.

Later she took her customary walk on the beach. During the time she’d been here, the weather had grown steadily warmer. Today she found herself stepping frequently into the water to cool off, wishing she had worn her swimsuit so she could take a quick dip.

Her phone rang in her pocket, and she fished it out. She saw Michael’s number on the display of her cheap phone and smiled as she answered. Maybe he wanted to see her again.

“Hey, where are you?” he asked. He sounded impatient, and worried.

“Um, walking on the beach?” she answered, wondering why his voice sounded funny.

“I don’t guess Shea’s with you?”

“No, she’s at the bakery. Today was the day she and Owen were supposed to make their cake together. You shoulda seen the entourage they showed up—”

“I know all about that.” Michael cut her off. “Shea
freaked out at the bakery today. She took off and no one can find her.”

Ivy couldn’t help but ask, “Did she freak out on camera?” That would make for good ratings.

Michael sighed. “I don’t really know. I don’t think so. I just know she freaked and took off, and everyone is trying to find her.”

“Except me. I was out here oblivious.” She couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that no one had thought to call her until now. After several years of not being part of their daily lives, she had become an afterthought.

“You might want to go home and help your parents look for her.”

“My parents? My dad’s here?”

“Yeah, apparently. Owen said he talked to your dad, and I got the feeling he was at your house.”

The last time she’d seen her dad in that house had been that last summer they’d spent there as a family. Leave it to Shea to create a drama that would draw him back in. “Then I guess I’ll head that direction,” she said. Before she hung up, she thanked him for calling, pushing aside the hurt over the fact that it wasn’t her family that reached out, taking comfort that Michael had.

She turned and headed back toward home, the now familiar landmarks telling her how close she was: the cluster of three sea-oat bushes, the mound of rocks that resembled an altar, and the sign for the 40th Street public access. She climbed the steps and made her way down the boardwalk, through the wide jungle of sea oats and sand dunes that separated the houses from the ocean, the boards weathered
to the color of the sand, creating a nearly monochromatic landscape. She felt the boards beneath her bare feet, tan from her many long walks, the toenails painted with a nail polish she’d swiped from Shea, just like when they were kids. The color was Petal Pink, a bright attention-getting shade she’d never have chosen for herself. But her pink toes had grown on her.

As she approached the house, she saw cars and news vans gathered. Some were parked on the narrow street, nearly blocking the road. Some had pulled onto the grass, something that would surely send her mother into orbit. She could feel her frustration mounting at the thought of these strangers crowding into her personal space. She wondered again why Owen had okayed this, remembering the strain on Shea’s face when his decision came up. She wondered if the stress had finally gotten to her. Ivy had seen indicators of it when she had a meltdown in the dressing room. But she had blamed herself for that, reasoning that Shea had been upset about their mother’s wedding dress.

She entered the house to find the living room and kitchen filled with assorted people, most notably her dad and mom, standing together, so close their shoulders were touching. They looked at her like they’d forgotten she was there. “Shea’s missing,” Margot said.

Ivy crossed the room and took her mother’s shaky hands in her own, squeezing gently. “Mom, she’s not kidnapped. She just needed a sanity break.” She surveyed the room. “Anyone would.”

“I know, I know. I told her and Owen not to agree to this nonsense, but they didn’t listen. A wedding is stressful
enough without adding this.” She made a sweep of her arm to indicate the people all milling around, waiting no doubt for Shea to show back up so they could film part two of her breakdown. Somehow her family had become stars of a reality TV show. One she had no desire to star in.

An attractive woman bustled toward them, sipping coffee from a mug that was from their kitchen. Leave it to Margot to provide Southern hospitality even to unwelcome guests. The woman had long dark hair caught back in a clip, her face radiating a kind of light that was obviously meant for the camera.
A commanding presence
were the words that came to mind as the woman turned her smile on Ivy. Juggling the coffee cup, she extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Vivienne White. And you must be Shea’s sister.”

“Oh yes. Vivienne, this is my other daughter, Ivy.”

Vivienne’s brow furrowed slightly as she looked from Margot to Ivy and back again. “Ivy. What an interesting name. So strange that I just heard it earlier, when I was doing some background on a smaller story I’m following.”

At about the same time that the lightbulb went on in Vivienne’s head, it went on in Ivy’s as she placed Vivienne’s name: @VivReports. The reporter who was trying to interview her was standing in her beach house, drinking her mother’s coffee.

The front door opened, providing a welcome distraction. Michael entered the room and walked quickly over to Margot. “No sign of her in the usual spots. Owen and I’ve been all over.”

Ivy watched Vivienne watching all of them, her eyes dancing at the unfolding drama. If possible, she seemed to
have perked up even more when Michael arrived. Obviously she wasn’t blind. Ivy felt jealousy rise up inside her. She moved a step closer to Michael. “Want me to go look with you?” she asked, doing her best to pretend that the reporter wasn’t standing there.

Michael’s gaze flickered over Vivienne as he noticed they weren’t alone. Vivienne took the opportunity to extend her hand and introduce herself. She sure was pushy. The two exchanged brief introductions, and Ivy noted gleefully, Michael showed no interest as he shook Vivienne’s hand quickly.

He turned back to Ivy. “Maybe you can think of somewhere she could be that we haven’t thought of. You might be Ivy Marshall now, but you still think like a Copeland, whether you admit it or not. Come on.” He waved Ivy along.

She started to follow him when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned back to see Vivienne’s red nails gripping her T-shirt.

“Marshall?” she asked. “Are you Ivy Marshall?”

With her heart pounding she looked at her parents, then over at Michael, who had stopped at the front door and was looking back to see where she was. Then she glanced briefly at the woman who could blow the lid off everything she’d kept from her family. She gave a brief nod and, seeing how Vivienne’s fingers had relaxed their grip, took the opportunity to dash away before she had to say anything else.

She’d deal with Vivienne later.

“What was that all about?” Michael asked as they jumped into the yellow Jeep and drove down 40th to Main. Michael took the left-hand turn a little too sharply and Ivy fell into him. She had to force herself to sit back up. She wanted to stay where she was, bury her head in his shirt, and hide there awhile, in the safety that was Michael. She thought about the way Vivienne’s face had looked when he entered the room. To her he had always been “just Michael”—someone as familiar to her as her own reflection. But to other women—strangers—he was a handsome man with broad shoulders and strong arms. How could she have forgotten that?

As they approached the pier, she signaled for him to pull over. The sun was setting and the warm air was turning slightly cooler as it did. She wished she’d grabbed a light jacket on their way out, but of course there hadn’t been time in her rush to get away from Vivienne. Michael parked the car in the pier parking lot and turned to face her. “You not gonna tell me?” he asked.

She shivered slightly and Michael reached behind him in the Jeep, pulling out a blanket he kept back there and tossing it over her. “You okay?”

The concerned look on his face brought the tears she’d been holding back to her eyes. She buried her face in the blanket that smelled like him. “I will be.” She breathed him in, thinking of summer nights on this very beach when she was his and he was hers and life was much less complicated. How she wanted to go back.

She raised her eyes to see that he was looking at her, studying her. “That reporter you just met?” she asked.

He nodded. “The pretty one?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t have to point that out.”

“You’d kinda have to be blind not to notice,” he said.

“Whatever. She’s covering this story
and
another one.” She paused, exhaled. “And they both concern me. And I’m pretty sure she just figured that out back there.”

“What?” His laugh was incredulous, as if no one would be covering one story that involved her, much less two.

“Remember how I told you that Elliott was tweeting his apology to me when I wouldn’t respond to him?”

Michael nodded. “Have you responded?”

“No, but a lot of other people have. He’s got quite a following that grows exponentially every day. Women clamoring to hear what he’s going to say next. All these rejected women who never got to hear their husbands or boyfriends apologize, so they’re, like, living vicariously through Elliott or something. It’s weird.”

“And this reporter is wanting to do a story on that?”

Ivy shrugged. “I guess. She contacted me just this morning via Twitter, not knowing she’d meet me in person later today. Weird, huh?”

“Weird,” Michael agreed.

“You can say that again.”

He couldn’t let that one go. “Weird,” he said and gave her a smile that nearly melted away all the anxiety she was feeling. He put his hand on her knee, squeezing it slightly, like a brother might.