The Wishing Tree (23 page)

“Hi, everyone, I’m Shea’s sister, Ivy, and the matron of honor. I was also in charge of preparing the wishing tree, which is a tradition in our family that goes back for generations. You’ll see it tomorrow at the reception, but tonight I just wanted to share what I’ve learned from it.” She took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

“Over the past few weeks as I’ve read many of the wishes for Shea and Owen, I’ve come to appreciate just how special it is to have people who care enough not only to send you wishes but to be there for you when those wishes don’t come true.” Without meaning to, her eyes flickered over to Michael and quickly away. She wondered if anyone noticed. “Someone told me today that wishes don’t always come true, but joy is always possible.” Her eyes found Leah’s.
“These past few weeks, I’ve watched my sister and Owen pull together when things got hard, and I’ve seen them find joy. I have no doubt that with our wishes, but more especially our prayers, behind them, they’ll be able to keep doing so and have a wonderful life together.” She raised her glass. “To wishes,” she finished, grateful to be done.

Everyone around her raised their glasses too, repeating the phrase, “To wishes!”

She sat down with a big smile and found the one face she most wanted to see at that moment. “Good job,” Elliott mouthed from his seat beside April. He gave her the thumbs-up sign, and she ducked her head, embarrassed. But also pleased and proud. She thought of what Leah had said about finding joy and knew what wish she would hang on Shea’s wishing tree: a wish for joy to win out even when wishes didn’t. She was living proof that was possible.

The music was loud, the guests happy, the food plentiful, the bride
glowing. And Ivy had heard more than once that she looked especially pretty herself. She looked down at the beautiful blue dress she was wearing, silently thanking her sister for not making her bridesmaids look hideous just so she could look better, as some brides were apt to do. She looked up to see a cameraman zeroing in on her. She gave him a little smile and wave, looking, she was sure, completely goofy as she did. Oh, well, it didn’t matter. They were happy, the wedding was done, and all that was left to do was have a good time.

She spotted April just then, talking to a handsome groomsman, a rapt smile on her face. She caught Ivy’s eye and motioned that she was coming over. “I didn’t mean to interrupt what looked like a promising conversation,” Ivy said, giving April a hug when she reached her.

Ivy glanced back over at the groomsman, who was staring after her. With a coy grin she said, “He’ll wait.”

The two of them laughed, the tension that had existed between them slowly dissipating. “Guess I owe you another apology,” Ivy said. This dance of forgiving and being forgiven was one with many complicated steps, but she was learning.

“It’s okay. I knew I was taking a risk bringing Elliott here, but I had to try it.” April gave Ivy a deliberate grin and stuck her tongue out playfully. “Besides, I knew you’d forgive me.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Ivy grinned back.

“What do you think?” April gestured toward the groomsman, a friend of Owen’s from college, who reminded Ivy of a pest from her elementary school days—but she didn’t dare say that.

“Cute,” she said. And then with a smile, she added, “But he’s nothing like my Rick.” The reference to
Sleepless in Seattle
made them both burst into laughter.

Elliott approached, looking shy and uncertain. “What’s so funny?” he asked, looking from Ivy to April.

“Inside joke,” April said. She looked at them both with raised eyebrows. “I’ll just get back to my prospect over there and leave you two alone.” She glided back over to the groomsman before another single girl could get her hooks into him. Ivy watched her go, giving her the thumbs-up sign when she glanced back at them.

“Do you wish we had had this?” Elliott asked, gesturing at the commotion all around them, the flickering candles on the tables, the guests, beautifully dressed, dancing and
laughing. His tone was wistful, as if he understood for the first time what she’d given up for him.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “In a way, yes. I made a mistake not having a wedding, not letting my family get to know you. But you have to admit, what we did was wildly romantic.”

They shared a smile, and she allowed herself to savor it. They too had a history now. And if they worked hard enough, maybe a future as well.

Seemingly emboldened by her warmth, he said, “Have I told you how beautiful you look?”

A pang crossed her heart as she remembered who else he may have said that to. But she resolutely pushed it aside. “You haven’t, but you may certainly say so.”

“Then by all means let me say it: you look stunning. It’s really not fair to the bride.” He grinned at her, his grin flickering a bit when he looked over and saw Michael. “He keeps looking over here. I think he feels uncomfortable coming over.”

“He might,” she observed. Her eyes found Michael across the room, on the edge of the dance floor, talking to Vivienne, who caught her looking and turned away. Vivienne was still mad that Elliott had cancelled his Twitter account and retracted his interview, refusing to give her the story she so badly wanted. “I only started it to get to you, not to anyone else,” Elliott had told Ivy two nights ago on the screened-in balcony of his room at the Sunset Inn. “Now that I’ve got your attention, I don’t need it. I’d rather have one woman in particular than a bunch of women following me.” They’d watched the boats passing by on the Intracoastal Waterway
as they’d talked into the wee hours. “I don’t deserve a second chance,” he’d said.

It wasn’t just true of him. No one deserved grace. It was a free gift. And it was her turn to give it in the same way it had been given to her. She couldn’t get caught up in the what-ifs. That was where faith came in: trusting that no matter what became of her and Elliott, she would be okay. She could stand alone.

She looked over at her mom and dad, dancing and laughing right next to Lester and Leah.

As the song ended, her father looked over to see her watching them and whispered something in Margot’s ear. The two of them left the dance floor hand in hand as they made their way over to her and Elliott. “Don’t look now, but here come my parents,” she said to Elliott.

“Good, I like your parents,” he said, finishing off the drink he was holding. “Can I get you one?” he gestured.

She smirked at him. “Coward.”

“Not at all, I’ll be right back.” He winked. “Promise.”

“So, that cake is quite a creation,” her dad said, nodding his head in the direction of the cake on display. Margot had never made it all the way to them because she had stopped to talk to one of her many friends in attendance. “I hear you were the one who saved it.”

She looked over at it again, pride swelling in her heart. “I guess.” The cake did look beautiful.

“You know, now that I’ve closed up your branch, I might be talked into venturing into something else. A second location of the bakery, maybe? In the mountains of North Carolina? Call that one Mountainside Bakery?”

She could see her father’s wheels turning, ever the businessman. She had to admit she’d had the same thought. But she wouldn’t let herself take her dad’s help to do it. If she did open a bakery in Asheville, it would be on her own.

She put her arm around her dad and squeezed. “I love you, Daddy” was all she said as she planted a kiss on his cheek, her lipstick leaving a dark-pink imprint on his skin. She was wiping it away when the DJ announced it was time for Shea to have her dance with her father. Ivy nudged him toward Shea, who was beckoning him back to the dance floor, the first strains of “The Way You Look Tonight” beginning to play. Their dad always did love Frank Sinatra.

Owen sidled up to her with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his face. It was his big day, so Ivy refrained from making a smart comment like she usually would’ve. They stood and watched the bride dance with her father, Ivy regretting that she never got that moment. She saw Owen glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at him.

“Sorry I called you a bored housewife,” he said.

“I knew you didn’t mean it,” she teased.

Never one to get too mushy, he replied like a sullen adolescent. “I mean, I kinda did, at the time.”

She looped her arm through his and pulled him close enough to kiss his cheek. “Congratulations, you got a good one.”

Owen’s mom was waving him over to the dance floor and he started to join her, but not before turning back to grin at Ivy. “I did, didn’t I?” He reached over to give her a high five, then dashed away.

Elliott returned with two drinks in his hand, presenting
hers with a flourish. He looked handsome in his suit and tie. She’d managed to forget how handsome he was. It was coming back to her now. They traded smiles and fumbled with conversation almost as if they had just met. The fumbling awkwardness was kind of nice, a far cry from the mundane state their relationship was in before.

“So, the wishing tree is quite the hit,” he said. “I heard some women talking about it. They were discussing their wishes.” He nudged her. “Good job.”

“Thanks.” She took a sip of her drink, staring down into it.

“Did you write something yet? A wish for them?”

“No, not yet. I … haven’t had time to get over there.”

“Do you know what you’re going to wish for them?” His tone had gone from playful to serious, and she looked up to meet his gaze.

“What I said last night—that even though wishes don’t come true, there’s always joy to be found. I’ve learned that in the past few weeks.” She looked at the celebration going on around them, so much joy to be had.

“I know what I’d wish,” he said. “I’d wish for Owen to always feel about Shea the way I feel about you at this very moment.”

She gave him a coy look, trying to keep things light, not move too fast into this new marriage they were trying for. “And what is that?”

“That he has something precious, something that should always be treasured and never overlooked.”

She was fumbling for how to respond to his perfect answer when Margot appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Elliott’s arm. “Come on, Elliott, I need a dance partner!”
She giggled, giving Ivy a little wave as she pulled him toward the dance floor. This dance, Ivy knew, was her mother’s version of a peace offering, her way of bridging the gap between the family and Elliott. She was grateful for the way everyone was making an effort.

With nothing better to do, she followed her mom and Elliott until she came to the edge of the dance floor. She stood and watched as Michael danced with Vivienne, her dad danced with Shea, Owen danced with his mom, April danced with the groomsman, and Leah continued to cling to Lester like a lovesick teenager. Any other time she would’ve felt left out to not be paired off, but this time it didn’t bother her. She stepped out onto the dance floor, watching the other couples glide around her. Later she would give Michael that dance she promised him and take a spin around the floor with Elliott too. But for now, she was fine to sway back and forth without a partner. She wrapped her arms around herself and smiled, completely content to dance alone.

1. Ivy doesn’t want to be alone. Do you think her interest in Michael is fueled by that fear or real feelings?

2. Can you draw a parallel between the wishing tree and Ivy’s marriage to Elliott?

3. Have you ever had to face someone you hurt in the past? Did you address the situation head-on or avoid it like Ivy?

4. Was Ivy right to give Elliott another chance? Why or why not?

5. Was Michael right to keep his distance from Ivy? What do you think would’ve happened if he hadn’t?

6. The reader never sees the conversation that took place between Elliott and Ivy when they finally talked. Why do you think the author chose not to include that particular scene in the book?

7.
The Wishing Tree
is a story about forgiveness. Name the people Ivy had to offer forgiveness to through the course of the story and, if you’re comfortable, share a forgiveness story from your own life.

8. How does the last sentence of the book parallel to Ivy’s prayer on the beach when she first arrives at Sunset? What does that last sentence mean to you?

A big thank you goes out to:

My mom, who remains my biggest supporter.

My family: six kids and one husband who pull together when I need to write and tell me often they are proud of me.

Ariel, who amazingly still claims me as her best friend.

Ariel and Kim, who make She Reads possible.

John Pierce, who helped me understand my characters better.

Michael Hauge, who challenged me to determine what Ivy wanted.

Becky Philpott and the team at HarperCollins Christian Publishing who brought this book to you, dear reader.

Carolyn Wright, who opened the real Seaside Bakery in Sunset Beach, NC, to me and my family and let us taste her delicious, beautiful wedding cakes.

The gracious staff of Daphne’s Bakery in Mint Hill, NC, who let me ask a lot of questions—and even gave me samples—the best kind of research!

April Adams Mangum, who inspired the character of April with her good heart and irrepressible spirit.

Erika Marks and Kim Wright Wiley, who are my faithful writing friends.

Lisa Whittle, Shari Braendel, Rachel Olsen, Lisa Shea, and Paige McKinney, who are still my friends even when I’m MIA because I’m on deadline.

My readers, who inspire me to keep telling my stories. Especially those who write to tell me “the rest of the story.”

The One I hang my wishes on. Thank You for fulfilling this one.

The first thing Macy Dillon noticed when she entered her
mother’s house on her dead father’s birthday was the missing pictures. The front room—a place she and her brother Max had dubbed “the shrine”—was usually filled with photos and mementos from her father’s short life. It was a place Macy had a habit of breezing through, if for no other reason than to avoid the memories the room evoked. But this time she paused, noticing space where there had once been pictures, gaping holes like missing teeth. Macy looked down and saw some boxes on the floor, the framed photos resting in them. Perhaps her mother was just cleaning. That had to
be it. Macy couldn’t imagine her mother ever taking down the shrine. She glanced up, her eyes falling on one of the photos still standing. In it, her father, Darren Dillon, stood beside Macy on the pier at Sunset Beach the summer she was five years old, the sun setting behind them, matching smiles filling their faces.

“Mommy? Is that you? We’re back here making Grandpa’s birthday cake!”

Macy followed the sound of her daughter’s voice coming from the kitchen, feeling the pang she always felt when she heard her daughter refer to Darren as Grandpa. He died years before Emma was born, so she had never known him as a grandpa who doled out candy and did magic tricks. Instead, Emma Lewis knew her grandpa only through an abundance of pictures and stories. Her grandma had made sure of that since the day she was born.

Macy made her way to the back of the house where the sunny kitchen faced the backyard. The large bay window gave a perfect view of the tree house and tire swing she had loved as a child. Earlier this spring, Macy’s brother had refurbished both so Emma could enjoy them. Macy smiled at the thought of Max’s kindness toward the little girl who had come along unexpectedly and who had, just as unexpectedly, stolen all their hearts, as though they had been waiting to breathe again until the day she was born and injected fresh life into what had become a lifeless family.

Macy leaned down and kissed the top of her daughter’s head, then touched her mother’s back lightly, noticing the slight stoop to her shoulders that had come with the weight of both grief and age. “You guys sure look busy in here,” she said.

Emma stared intently into a bowl where a creamy off-white substance was being turned blue by the food coloring her mother slowly dripped into the bowl. “Grandma’s letting me stir,” she told her mother without looking up. “We’re making blue icing for Grandpa’s cake ‘cause it was his favorite color. Right, Mommy?”

Macy’s eyes filled with tears, surprising her, as she nodded. She could still see her dad pointing to the sky. “I think blue is God’s favorite color too,” he’d once told her. “It’s the color of the sky, the ocean, and your eyes.” He had tweaked her nose and tickled her until she giggled.

Looking away, Macy willed herself the emotional control she would need to get through the meal. She wished her mom, Brenda Dillon, wouldn’t carry on this ridiculous tradition of marking the day with a cake and Dad’s favorite meal, wouldn’t continue insisting that Macy and Max join her in the morbidness. Macy had heard that other families moved forward after loss. But her family seemed determined to stay in the same place, trapped in grief. She hated involving her impressionable daughter in the grim annual tradition and wondered if she would have the courage to tell Brenda that she and Emma and her husband, if she had one, would no longer participate.

Emma smiled at her and looked up at her grandmother. “Mommy, did you tell Grandma what we’re doing tonight?”

Macy tried to paste on a smile instead of grimacing at her daughter’s mention of their plans for after the depressing dinner. She had hoped that Emma would forget and that Chase, Emma’s long-time missing father, would back out, as Macy knew he was likely to do. When she agreed to the
plans, she hadn’t thought about them falling on this very night. She hadn’t thought about anything besides making her daughter happy, keeping the radiant smile on her face by giving her whatever her heart desired. It was, Macy reasoned, the least she could do for bringing such a beautiful little person into her wreck of a life. If that meant sleeping in a tent in the cold of their tiny backyard at home, then that’s what they would do. If it meant she had to invite the man who seemed to know best how to slip into the cracks of her heart, then she would go along with it.

Macy’s mom looked at her. “What are you doing tonight?” Her eyebrows were already raised as though she sensed the answer would not be one of which she would approve. Brenda, a willing and hapless participant, had accompanied Macy through the drama that was her relationship with Chase. She had whispered cautionary advice to her daughter when Chase first pursued Macy. She had found a way to rejoice over Emma despite the lack of a wedding ring on Macy’s finger. She had let Emma and Macy move in when Chase had suddenly left, just like everyone expected. She had encouraged Macy to find work and a place of her own. She had championed her daughter’s single-mother status, telling people how proud she was of her daughter as Macy scraped her life together, renounced Chase completely, and moved forward.

When Macy didn’t say anything, Emma rolled her eyes, a habit she had picked up, far too young, from the evil Hannah Montana. Emma knew every word to “Best of Both Worlds” and often forced Macy to put the song on repeat play.

“Since Mommy won’t tell you, I will,” she announced. “We are sleeping under the stars tonight …” she paused dramatically, “in a tent!”

Macy thought she had dodged the bullet of giving any more information than that. Her mother relaxed visibly.

“That sounds like fun!” her mother said, taking the spatula out of Emma’s hands to give the thick icing a forceful stir, the lines of blue spreading and melding as she did. Macy watched, wondering if she had ever really stood and paid attention as her mother made the traditional blue icing for Dad’s birthday cake. Had she always looked away in an effort to protect herself from the reality of what they were marking?

“It’s going to be fun!” Emma said, sticking a small finger into the icing and scooping out a dollop she popped into her mouth with a giggle. “We’re going to be like cowgirls. And we don’t have to be scared, because Daddy’s going to be there to protect us because he’s a real cowboy.”

Macy raised her eyes skyward, her hopes of dodging the taboo subject vanished. She could imagine Chase telling Emma he was a real cowboy, explaining his absence over the last five years in a made-up story. He was good at making up stories.

She looked at her mother, who was staring at her over the top of Emma’s head, her frown knitting her brows together.

“Your daddy’s going to come?” her mother asked Emma, still staring at Macy. “Really now.”

Macy stared right back at her mother. “Emma invited us both,” she said, feigning a stalwartness she didn’t possess. “It was what she wanted.”

“Oh, well then,” her mother said, “if Emma invited you both then all’s well.” She shook her head slowly at Macy over the top of Emma’s head. “Hey, Emma, why don’t you go get our special Grandpa candles out of the buffet in the dining room? You know where I’m talking about?”

Emma nodded vigorously and scampered out of the room, eager to help. Sometimes Macy wondered if Emma ever shared the bizarre aspects of her life with her teacher or friends at school or day care. Disappearing fathers and dinners for dead grandfathers were sure to make people wonder about the environment the child was being raised in.

Macy just looked at her mother. “Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?” her mother asked, hefting the bowl of icing onto the counter beside the freshly baked cake. She slapped a scoop of icing onto the center of the cake and began to spread it around a little too forcefully. Looking down at the cake, she added, “Don’t tell you what a horrible idea it is for you to spend the night under the stars with Chase Lewis?”

A memory flashed across the canvas of Macy’s mind. Chase leaning close to her, his breath on her face, igniting her insides as he always did whenever he stood so close. She could feel the heat of his body, the beat of his heart. She could hear his Texas drawl as, lips centimeters from her ear, he said, “We make a good couple, I think. Mace and Chase. We rhyme.”

She pushed the thought of him from her mind and focused on trying to catch her mother’s eye. “Emma will be there,” she pointed out.

“A five-year-old is going to serve as your chaperone? You’re really going to stand there and offer that up?” Her mother spun around, waving the blue-tinted spatula at Macy
to emphasize her point. “You’re smarter than that, Macy. Do I need to remind you where you were when he left?”

“At least I’m not in the
same
place I was then,” Macy said, turning things back on her mother. “You’re doing the
exact
same thing now that you were doing ten years ago. Nothing about your life’s changed, Mom. At least things change in my life.”

It was a weak argument, but it worked to deflect the heat she was feeling under Brenda’s disappointed gaze.

Her mother sighed, lowering the spatula in defeat. She turned back to the cake and stood for a few seconds, not moving. Macy was about to launch into how awful it was that her mother kept special candles for a man who’d been dead for ten years when she heard a door slam and then, from the dining room, Emma’s voice calling, “Uncle Max is here!”

Macy couldn’t decide whether to thank her brother for his impeccable timing or curse him for interrupting. Something told her she wanted to hear what Brenda would’ve said if she’d been able to confront her.

Yet there was part of Macy that wanted to be saved from having to hear the truth. For just one night, she wanted to enjoy sleeping under the stars with her precious gift of a daughter and the man who had given Emma to her. Like a real family. There was nothing wrong with that.

Max pushed back from the table and laid his hands across his stomach with a groan. “Mom, you outdid yourself, as always,” he said.

Brenda smiled at her son and avoided looking at Macy, a holdover from their angry words in the kitchen. Dinner would’ve been a quiet affair if not for Emma and Max bantering back and forth.

Max was the quintessential uncle—silly, fun, a big kid himself—and Emma loved him.

Without saying a word, Brenda stood and began to clear the dishes from the table. Normally Macy would jump up to assist, but this time she let Brenda leave the room without offering to help.

Max turned to her. “Okay. What’s up between you two?”

Macy shook her head. “Nothing I care to discuss with you, Uncle Max,” she responded as she nodded her head toward Emma, who was making Goldfish crackers swim through the remaining gravy on her plate.

Max grinned and raised his eyebrows. “Hey, Emma. Why don’t you go help Grandma in the kitchen?”

Emma left the Goldfish to drown in the gravy and ran to the kitchen, calling, “Let me help, Grandma!”

Macy stuck her tongue out at Max and rolled her eyes as he grinned in victory. “Okay, spill it, Sis,” he said.

“She’s mad at me. That’s all.” She gestured toward the clattering of dishes and running water coming from the kitchen. She guessed Brenda was taking her frustration toward Macy out on the dishes. “Why don’t you go help her and be the good child in this family?”

He waved her suggestion away. “I’ll go help in a minute. First I want to know why she’s mad at you.”

“Well, she doesn’t approve of a decision I made. And, in my defense, I might have criticized her decision to have
this dinner year after year.” She pointed toward the shrine that was housed in the room adjoining the dining room. She almost commented on the missing photos but decided not to bring that up. “It doesn’t bring him back.”

Max shook his head, not bothering to look in the direction she was pointing. She lowered her finger, feeling somewhat ashamed. “It makes her happy to remember him in this way. It makes him seem close. What’s wrong with that?” Max asked.

“I guess I’m just tired of living with Dad’s ghost, of living in the same place. I want her to move on.” She faced her brother, unblinking. “I want to move on.”

He shrugged. “So move on, Mace. No one’s stopping you.” He paused, looking past her, out the window behind her. “Except maybe you?” He smiled at her. “You don’t get to stick Mom with that. I have a feeling that whatever Mom’s mad about has something to do with Chase. Am I right?”

It wasn’t difficult to guess. Their usually unflappable mother got her feathers ruffled in a hurry whenever the subject of Chase came up.

Macy couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah.” She held her hands up. “You got me.”

“And?” Max asked, showing his dimples even as he pushed her for the truth she didn’t want to divulge. She loved her brother and often wondered why he wasn’t married, rarely dated, and always seemed to mess up anything good that came into his life. Not unlike her.

She shook her head, knowing the absurdity of what she was about to reveal and bracing herself for Max’s reaction. She told herself it was really no big deal—that Max and her
mother were making more of it than it really was. She had spent the last few years getting stronger, creating a healthy distance between her and Chase. One night wasn’t going to undo all of that.

“Well,” she began, looking away from Max, down at the empty space where her plate had sat, at the round indentation still visible on the tablecloth, “Chase is back.”

Max chuckled. “So I guess this is your version of ‘cutting to the chase.’”

She looked up at him. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

She looked back down at the circle on the tablecloth, tracing it with her finger. “He’s been coming to see Emma. That’s all. He wants to be in her life. And he should. I mean, it makes her happy.”

Max laughed loudly, and she looked up at him with a glare.

“Seriously, Mace, do you buy this? You obviously expect me to.”

“Buy what?” She looked at him, willing herself to look like an innocent bystander instead of the initiator her family was painting her out to be.