The Wishing Tree Page 3

  She closed the laptop and stood up. “Yeah, was just goofing off.” She tucked the computer under her arm and took it over to the kitchen counter to charge for the night.

  Elliott continued. “I just don’t get the whole Twitter thing. I mean, who wants to listen to a bunch of people yammering on about nothing?”

  She shrugged, refusing to engage in whatever he was trying to stir up—a debate? A spat? An odd attempt to start a conversation? When had they stopped knowing how to talk to each other? They hadn’t said more than ten words about her dad closing the office. And she hadn’t even told him about her sister’s televised proposal the next morning. Instead all she could think of was driving past his car that afternoon, seeing his profile, his hands on the wheel—hands that had just touched someone else. She was sure of it.

  “I mean, why do you like that Twitter so much?” he pressed. He always called it “that Twitter,” like he was so above it, when who knew what all he did, what sites he was visiting during all that time he spent online. He crossed his arms in front of himself, and she avoided looking at those hands she always used to want touching her. She chose not to answer his question and knew that he wasn’t really interested in the answer anyway. Somehow he’d stopped being concerned with what she liked, or why she liked it.

  “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Lots to settle tomorrow.”

  “Think I’ll stay up for a while,” he called after her. “Got some stuff I need to finish before I call it a night.”

  She didn’t even respond, just trudged up the stairs to their bed and climbed in alone.

  The next morning she rolled over and peered at Elliott’s side of the bed. It hadn’t been slept in. Lately he’d been falling asleep on the couch, making excuses about not wanting to wake her when he came to bed late. She didn’t press but she knew that wasn’t the real reason. He didn’t come to bed because he didn’t want to, plain and simple. His absence was just another indicator of the bigger problem in their marriage, the widening gap that, more and more, they couldn’t cross.

  She rolled onto her back again and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about tackling the task of telling their remaining clients that they were closing up shop, selling off properties, and leaving town. She wasn’t looking forward to the day at work any more than she was looking forward to going downstairs, turning on the TV, and watching her sister get proposed to on national television.

  But duty called, so she slipped out of bed, wrapped the fluffy robe that Elliott hated around herself, and padded down the stairs to the kitchen, her feet encased in bunny slippers that April had bought her for Christmas as a joke. “In case the rabbit dies,” she had said as Ivy opened them, her face barely containing her mischievous smile. April had seen the look that passed between Ivy and Elliott, apologizing later for joking about something so private.

  She made coffee. After stirring in a generous amount of hazelnut-flavored creamer, she settled onto the couch and turned on the massive television that Elliott had bought himself for Christmas. She propped her feet up on the coffee table, wiggling the rabbits back and forth. “Don’t feel bad, guys,” she said to her feet. “It’s not your fault.”

  The host of Have a Nice Day USA’s face filled the screen, holding a mic and bantering with the weather person. Ivy took a sip of coffee, then blew on it and sipped again. The screen flashed to Owen holding a ring box and grinning for the camera, then flashed to Shea inside her school surrounded by smiling children, also grinning. How strange to see her sister on national TV. She was probably scared out of her gourd.

  Ivy turned off the mute feature just in time to hear “When we get back!” Then Owen and Shea’s faces disappeared, and the screen went to a commercial about antacids. She scurried into the kitchen to refill her coffee, which Elliott had made and left for her that morning, just as he always did. There were still parts of her marriage—little glimmers—that reminded her that it wasn’t all bad. In her heart she could make excuses for why he was over on that side of town yesterday afternoon. She could tell herself that she was jumping to conclusions without even asking.

  She looked around, wishing that she’d told him to stay home this morning and watch this ridiculous display of Copeland family drama with her. Once upon a time he would’ve. They’d have laughed together over it, sipped coffee side by side, then kissed lovingly before they headed off to work, teasing each other over who had the worst coffee breath. They might even have planned to meet for lunch.

  Valentine’s hearts rained down from the sky in the Have a Nice Day USA studios as they returned from commercial break, reminding her. It was Valentine’s Day, after all. Lunch together should be on their agenda. But there had been no card, no plans, no single rose waiting by her coffee mug … nothing to signal that a day devoted to celebrating love was a priority for him. Ivy blinked away the tears and focused on the television, her sister’s face swimming in front of her. The announcer was talking.

  “We’ve got something so exciting for you today, folks! A live proposal to get your Valentine’s Day started off with a big dose of romance.”

  Pictures began scrolling by as the announcer kept talking, describing how Owen and Shea had known each other all their lives, their families spending summers together at Sunset Beach, North Carolina. There was Shea on the beach as a little girl, posing proudly by a sandcastle. Owen and Shea as teens, posing on the roof deck of the beach house wearing matching braces; Owen’s dad and mom with Shea and Owen at their college graduation; Owen and Shea posing outside some European landmark. And then, the picture she’d sensed was coming, she and Michael with Owen and Shea on the night Michael proposed, Ivy proudly displaying the diamond ring he’d given her, the facets catching the light from the flash and throwing it back. She studied the photo for a second before it faded into a shot of the studio and the smiling host, Dick Byrnes. She could remember that night with such clarity, the scene playing out in her mind as crisp and large as the televised image in front of her.

  Dick Byrnes turned to Owen with an artificial laugh. “Seems like you’ve known Shea forever!” His smile was plastic and insincere. But Owen’s smile was sincere as he agreed that, yes, he had known Shea for most of his life. He looked … excited. There was no denying it. And Ivy knew it wasn’t just because he was on TV. He was finally going to ask Shea—the great love of his life—to marry him. After the ups and downs of a teenage romance, they were going to head to the altar as adults, ready to face the future together. They were going to do what she and Michael had not.

  Dick Byrnes turned to his virtual audience. “Folks, this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Shea Copeland is a teacher in North Carolina who thinks she’s being interviewed about the importance of parental support in schools. She has no idea that waiting just outside her classroom is her childhood sweetheart, Owen Bradshaw, with a ring in his hand!” The camera flashed to Owen, who gave the thumbs-up sign with a big, goofy grin. Oh, Owen.

  “Here we go!” There was a moment of silence as another camera focused on Shea, blinking and smiling, an earpiece in her ear. “Shea? Dick Byrnes here. Can you hear me?”

  Shea glanced over at what Ivy guessed was a monitor, nodding. “Yes, Dick, yes, I can.”

  “Good. So are you ready to talk about the importance of parental involvement in the schools?”

  Shea started to say yes, but Dick cut her off. “Or, would you rather talk about love on this special Valentine’s Day?”

  Ivy saw her sister’s cheeks color slightly and could feel her own heart begin to pound in time with Shea’s.

  “Umm?” Shea looked around, probably searching for some indication of what she was supposed to do next. “Sure?” she finally answered.

  Ivy hoped for her sister’s sake that this didn’t turn into a nationally televised train wreck. She felt herself feeling less and less jealous and more and more sympathetic.

  “Well, that’s good news!” Dick Byrnes said. “Because we’ve got the ultimate romantic surprise p
lanned for you!”

  Right on cue, the children around Shea started singing “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.” The children’s voices added a sweetness and innocence to the song that brought tears to Ivy’s eyes and, she could bet, everyone else watching. The camera kept panning from the faces of the children to Shea’s face as she covered her mouth, her eyes widening and filling with tears as the children made room for Owen to enter the room, carrying red roses and a black velvet box. He wasted no time getting down on one knee as the camera angle widened to show the children’s smiling faces and Owen’s parents and Margot fanning out behind them, the picture of solidarity and support. Perhaps, Ivy thought, if things had been different, she’d have been there too.

  Owen opened the ring box, the diamond glinting in the light, like it was winking at the viewing audience. “I can’t help falling in love with you, Shea,” he said. “I never could.” Ivy leaned forward to watch as Owen told her sister how much he loved her, how he wanted to make her happy, and how he’d spend the rest of his life doing so. The sincerity in his eyes as he spoke was real and so intense that Ivy found herself wanting to look away. It hurt to see that much love in someone, especially when she didn’t have it. Not anymore.

  As Shea nodded vigorously in answer to his proposal, Owen slipped the ring onto her finger. The camera panned the tear-streaked faces of her mom, Owen’s parents, then Owen and Shea as they kissed and embraced. Ivy raised her now-cold coffee in a toast to her sister and Owen, the ones who had made it this far. “You did it,” she said aloud in her empty house. “Good for you.”

  Three

  On the way to the office, Ivy turned off her cell, knowing her mother, and probably April, would call. She also turned off the radio after she heard a few too many references to Valentine’s Day by overly enthusiastic announcers. As she drove she wondered about Michael, if he’d watched Owen propose and if he felt saddened by what he saw. Or if his life was happy, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, whoever he was with. Her heart clinched at the thought of him with someone else, and she had to laugh at herself. This whole proposal nonsense had clearly messed with her head.

  She pulled into the parking lot and steered her car into the parking space with the sign marked “Ivy Copeland.” The day the sign had gone up, Delores had come into her office with a confused look on her face. “Ivy? I think the sign people made a mistake.” Her voice had sounded almost apologetic.

  “Yeah?” She got to her feet and followed in the direction that Delores waved her. She stood beside Delores and peered out the window at the sign bearing her former name.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” She turned on her heel and marched back to her office. Picking up the phone, she punched the phone buttons with unnecessary force as she dialed her father’s number. When his secretary answered for him, she had said, “It’s Ivy. Put me through, please” with none of her usual pleasantries.

  “Ivy?” Her father sounded concerned, tipped off by his secretary, no doubt.

  “Would you please explain why you had the sign people put Ivy Copeland on my parking-space sign?”

  Her father sounded genuinely puzzled. “Because that’s your name?”

  She growled, “Dad, my name is not Ivy Copeland. My name is Ivy Marshall. It’s time you respected my marriage. I won’t have my family continue to treat me with this kind of disrespect.” Her face was flushed, her heart beating. This confrontation had been long in coming and she was ready for it. This was the sand she’d plant her flag in.

  Now her father was getting a little angrier. “Ivy, I simply forgot. You’ve been a Copeland to me all your life. You need to give me a chance to get used to this … this change. I wasn’t trying to make some sort of statement. If you’d like, I’ll call and have a different sign made. But let me remind you that I started this branch of the company for you, so that you could stay involved in the family business even though you insisted on joining him in Asheville.”

  She interrupted him. “He has a name, Dad. It’s Elliott. I know you’d rather it be Michael but it’s not. I suggest you learn his name because he’s going to be around for a long, long time.”

  Her father was silent on the other end. “Well,” he finally said, “if his name was Michael, you’d still be with us.”

  She’d hung up on him, but for some reason, she’d never followed up on changing the sign. Maybe because some part of her—however small—wanted to hang on to Ivy Copeland as much as her father did.

  Now as she got out of the car and walked into the building, she felt a little surge of pride in the sign, a little “take that” to Elliott. I’m Ivy Copeland, after all. How ya like me now? She dropped her keys in her purse and entered the office, her face immediately assuming the penitent expression that she had been wearing around her colleagues since her father’s call.

  Delores was not at her desk, but her desk calendar was turned to the new day and new Bible verse. Today’s, Ivy noticed, was Psalm 84:5, same as the verse she’d seen on Twitter, the one about finding strength in God and going on a pilgrimage. It seemed God didn’t want her to miss the message. God often spoke in stereo so she wouldn’t miss what He had to say.

  She was pondering what the verse meant as she passed by the conference room to find Delores waiting with Pete and Beck and the temp, all smiling. They moved out of the way to reveal a table full of breakfast goodies—fresh-squeezed orange juice, a dish of cheese grits, a plateful of bacon, and an egg casserole. “Surprise!” they all sang out in unison. Delores reached for her, and Ivy let her wrap her in a hug. “We knew you wouldn’t have eaten this morning, so we fixed up this nice little Valentine’s Day celebration to share.”

  Tears filled her eyes, threatening to engulf her as the emotions of the morning rose to the surface, ushered there by this unexpected small kindness. “Thanks, everyone,” she managed to say. She caught Beck’s eye and he winked. “Let me just put my things down.” She hurried out of the room and into her office, where she put her purse on her desk, sat down, hung her head, and let the tears flow, knowing it was useless to try to blink back the torrent waiting to be released.

  After a good cry and a good breakfast, Ivy was ready to face the day—even the unpleasant parts. She talked to clients and contractors, explaining the demise of the business, spouting like a seasoned pro the platitudes that had escaped her the day before. It was amazing what you could accomplish when you put your heart aside and ran on autopilot.

  She mostly forgot it was Valentine’s Day, mostly forgot that she hadn’t heard from her husband, mostly tried to forget the proposal altogether. She also ignored the second call from her mother, a desperate message from April, who was worried about her, and she tried to ignore her aunt Leah’s call too. But her aunt was smarter than everyone else and bypassed her altogether, choosing to sic Delores on her.

  “Your aunt called again,” Delores said. She stepped into Ivy’s office waving a piece of paper in the air before plunking it down on Ivy’s desk. On it was written Aunt Leah’s name and number, as if Ivy didn’t know it by heart.

  “Okay, thanks, Delores,” she said, not looking up, a nonverbal cue that she didn’t feel like talking at that moment. A cue that Delores chose to ignore.

  “I saw your sister on TV this morning,” she said. “That was exciting.”

  Ivy refrained from groaning out loud. “Yeah, it was great.” She hoped she somehow sounded convincing.

  “So you know that young man she got engaged to?”

  “Yeah,” Ivy replied. She looked up from her computer screen to find Delores’s filmy hazel eyes fixed on her intently. “We all grew up together. His family had the beach house next to ours for as long as I can remember.” In her mind’s eye she could see Owen in blue swim trunks running along the sand to catch a Frisbee, his blond hair flopping over one eye.

  “That sounds nice,” Delores replied. “I love the beach. What beach did you all go to?”

  Ivy sighed. “Sunset Beach. On the coast, kind of nea
r Myrtle. If you’ve ever been to Calabash—”

  Delores interjected, “Yes, I’ve been there. We ate seafood there once, I believe.”

  Calabash, North Carolina, was the self-proclaimed Seafood Capital of the World. She forced herself to make a joke. “I’m sure the seafood was fried.” Her laugh was fake but Delores seemed not to notice.

  “No, no, I can’t have fried. Not good for my cholesterol. I got broiled. It’s just as good.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’m going to call my aunt now.” Ivy didn’t want to get into a discussion on the benefits of broiled fish—not when she had so much else on her mind—so she picked up the phone message and waved it like a ticket out of the conversation.

  Delores smiled. “She seems to really want to talk to you. So much excitement over that proposal this morning. I guess there’s lots to do now that you all have a wedding to plan.”

  “I’m sure there is.” Planning a wedding was the last thing Ivy wanted to think about, but Delores didn’t need to know that. In another few weeks they wouldn’t even be seeing each other anymore. The thought made her sad.

  Delores paused before she left the room. “I wanted you to know I’m not going to look for another job.” She clasped her hands together. “I’m going to retire.”

  “That sounds nice,” Ivy said. Part of her wanted to retire too. Forget her MBA, her years of experience. Just retreat from the world of commercial real estate and corporate success and do something mindless. She thought of dancing in the kitchen as she frosted Delores’s cake the other night.

  “Well, it’s time. Now I’ll let you get to your phone call.” Delores gave her a little wave and ducked back out of the room, leaving Ivy alone to stare at the phone message bearing her aunt’s name and number.