concerto.
An hour later, she stretched and stood up. Walking around the small church, she worked her shoulders. The angle of the sun had changed, and the red and gold in the windows burned like dying embers in the growing dusk of the church. Ivy sat down again and played a medley of Philip?s favorite songs. It had been really hard to leave her little brother for the summer. She began to play a song that had become special to her and Philip, ?To Where You Are.? Philip was sure that it had been written about Tristan. The first time Ivy had heard Philip?s young voice singing over Josh Groban?s, she had cried.
Was Tristan, as the song said, just ?a breath away?? Was he still, somehow, watching over her?
Ivy had always prayed to angels, but those angels were not people whom she had actually known and loved. She glanced around at the stained?glass windows. Catholics prayed to saints as well as angels, and saints had been everyday people. When she called out for Tristan in her dreams, was she praying to him? Or was she simply missing him?
Last summer, when Tristan returned as an angel, he had heard Ivy. And Ivy, once she began to believe again, had heard him whenever he slipped inside her mind. But once she was safe from Gregory, Tristan had left. He had told her he would love her forever, but he could not stay with her. From that time on, she couldn?t see his glow or hear his voice in her head. Could he still hear her? Was he even aware of her existence?
?If you can hear me, Tristan, this is for you.? She began to play Beethoven?s ?Moonlight Sonata,? the movement she had played for him when they were first together. At the end, she sat still for several minutes, tears running down her face.
?I?m here, Ivy.? She turned. ?Will!?
He was sitting in the last pew of the church. She hadn?t heard him come in. In the deep twilight of the building, she couldn?t see his face. He stood up slowly and walked toward her. She quickly wiped away her tears.
When he reached her, he gazed down at her with such sadness in his eyes, she had to look away. He brushed her cheek gently with his hand. ?That was the song you played at the arts festival,? he said quietly. ?It was Tristan?s song.?
?Yes.?
?I?m sorry that you?re still hurting.?
She nodded silently, afraid that if she spoke, her voice would shake.
?What would you like me to do?? he asked, his voice breaking with emotion.
?Leave? Stay? I can wait outside the church until you are ready, if that would help.?
?Stay. Stay, Will. I?m ready to go. Come with me while I return the key to the rectory, then let?s take our walk? Will stayed close to her, walking by her side to the car, but didn?t take her hand the way he usually did, didn?t touch her at all.
He drove silently to the parking lot at Chatham Light.
It?s just the anniversary, she wanted to tell him. If?s just the time of year stirring up these memories. Everything will be all right. But she couldn?t say that, because she wasn?t sure it was true.
The sky over the ocean was dark blue, the first stars emerging in the east. In the western sky, the last splash of orange was fading fast, leaving the long spit of beach that ran south from the lighthouse painted in mauve. They walked the beach close to the water, carrying their sandals.
?We got an e?mail from Philip,? Will said at last. ?You, Beth, and me. He wants us to look up his blog.?
?His blog!? Ivy replied. ?Hey! Some respect, please! I read it — it?s an insightful commentary on summer camp. I just hope the counselor he calls ?Tarantula Arms? doesn?t hear about it.?
Ivy laughed. ?I guess the counselor?s kind of hairy.?
?And very mean, at least to a ten?year?old. He assigned the boys their buddies.
Philip?s buddy threw up on him.? ?Oh!? ?That was after the other kids bet the buddy that he couldn?t eat four hot dogs in four minutes.?
?I see. I guess summer camp is where boys train to be frat brothers.?
Will grinned at her, and she slipped her hand in his. ?Philip?s group is called the Badgers. He?s the best pitcher and hitter of the Badgers.?
?Of course he?s the best. He?s my brother.? Will laughed. ?He likes rowing. I can?t wait till he comes for vacation — I want to take him kayaking on Pleasant Bay.?
Ivy turned to look at Will. His dark hair whipped in the breeze. He had the longest lashes, which softened his intense brown eyes. ?If I remember right,? she said, ?you promised him that you two would dress up as pirates.?
?Right, well, maybe he?ll forget about that part.? Ivy shook her head, grinning.
?Philip doesn?t forget that kind of promise. I hope you two don?t terrorize girls sunbathing on the beach.? Will laughed and put his arm around her shoulder.
They walked on, talking about Philip, then shifting their conversation to some of the week?end’s quirky guests. ?The people in the starfish room,? Will said, re-ferring to the suite decorated in a scallop and starfish motif. ?Was that woman his wife or mother??
?The only thing I?m sure about is that she wasn?t his younger lover.?
?Maybe he is her younger lover,? Will suggested. Ivy laughed out loud. ?Bern?s going to be filling up her notebooks with characters.?
They found the easy rhythm they had known for nearly eight months, walking and talking together.
Strolling back to Will?s car, Ivy gazed up at the lighthouse, its double beacon turning against the starlit sky. ?If s beautiful,? she said. ?So are you,? Will replied softly, pulling her toward him.
Her arms slipped around him. He lowered his head. She would have known Will?s kiss blindfolded — gentle, loving, asking, giving. She knew the curve of his upper lip, the place between his neck and shoulder where she often rested her head, the space between his knuckles that she liked to trace, and the way her hand fit into his. Ivy knew and loved these things, as much as she loved Will?s kiss.
But she could not stop thinking of Tristan.
AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, IVY STOOD ON THE cottage doorstep, watching Will as he whistled his way back to his; room in the renovated barn, where he hoped to get in some painting. Needing time and space to think, Ivy walked around to the ocean side of the inn. With just two couples staying on until Monday, the Adirondack chairs on the porch and lawn were empty. Shrubs edged the lawn, then gave way to scrub trees and brush that covered the steep side of the bluff down to sea level. At the end of the yard a vine?covered arbor led to wooden steps, fifty?two of them — Ivy had counted — running down to a narrow boardwalk that connected to a path through grassy dunes.
Halfway down the steps was a landing, a small platform with facing benches built into it. Ivy sat down, facing north. During the day, the view was spectacular, the ocean sweeping in behind a sandy point, making a sparkling inlet where lobs term en and pleasure boaters moored. On a moonless night like tonight, the boundaries of land, water, and sky were nearly indistinguishable; the dunes and beach were so deep, Ivy couldn?t hear the waves break. But the ocean was present in the salty tang and damp breeze. It was like that when Ivy thought of Tristan — she couldn?t see or hear him, but still, she sensed his closeness.
Ivy swallowed hard. What was wrong with her? She had dated Will much longer than she had known Tristan, so why couldn?t she stop thinking of Tristan?
She remembered what Tristan?s mother had once said to her: ?When you love someone, it?s never over. You move on because you have to, but you bring him with you in your heart.?
Ivy had thought she?d succeeded in moving on. What pained her even more was that Will thought so too.
Ivy loved Will. But did she love him enough if she didn?t love him the way she loved Tristan?
Maybe her idea of love was too lofty; maybe she expected too much of herself and Will.
Ivy descended to the sand, then walked to the edge of the water, finding release in the ceaseless rush and draw of the sea.
She had no idea how much time had elapsed, but when she finally returned to the cottage, she saw Beth
