Everlasting

  “And the person who tried it the first time,” Andy said, “might try it again. Be careful.”

  Tristan heard the soft beep of Andy’s pager.

  The nurse ignored it. “Do you have a safe place to go?”

  “Yes,” Tristan lied.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  The beeper sounded a second time, and Andy glanced at it. “Sorry. I’ve got to get upstairs.”

  “Are you going to tell the police you’ve seen me?”

  “What do you think?”

  Tristan stood up, picked up his coffee, and swirled it around in the paper cup. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t report being contacted by a murderer.”

  Andy nodded. “And I don’t understand why, on one morning, I was given two patients with strange medical histories, a guy who still can’t remember anything about the killer he is supposed to be, and a girl who should have been dead on arrival but left the hospital with barely a scratch. I truly don’t understand it. But twenty-three years of nursing have taught me to respect miracles and simply do what I’m trained to do—heal.”

  “Thank you.”

  “However,” Andy added as they parted, “I might report the stolen robe.”

  Seven

  “GO AHEAD! REALLY, I MEAN IT. I CAN FINISH THE BEDS,” Ivy told Dhanya and Kelsey at two o’clock that afternoon, shooing them down the inn’s second floor hall. After serving breakfast, she, Kelsey, and Dhanya had vacuumed rooms, wiped out sinks, and changed towels, while Will took care of the suites in the barn. Now Will was outside with Beth, finishing up the yard work. Ivy wondered if Aunt Cindy had noticed Beth’s strangeness and purposely assigned her niece a job that kept her away from the guests.

  “I’m not in a hurry. I can handle what’s left,” Ivy said.

  “But I thought you were going with us to Chatham,” Dhanya protested.

  “Another day,” Ivy replied. “Promise.”

  Kelsey dumped a load of folded sheets in Ivy’s arms. “C’mon, Dhanya, we’re wasting time. Gather ye daisies while ye may.”

  “It’s rosebuds, Kelsey. Gather ye rosebuds,” Dhanya told her friend. With one last glance at Ivy, she followed Kelsey down the back steps.

  It had been nine days since Tristan had escaped arrest. Ivy felt as if it was getting harder rather than easier: the not knowing, the creeping fears that something had happened to him and she would never know. She preferred work to lying in the sun—she preferred any activity to sitting still and thinking.

  Ivy had just begun to separate the clean sheets for today’s check-ins when Aunt Cindy called to her from the stairway landing.

  “Ivy, would you come downstairs? Ms. Donovan’s here.”

  Aunt Cindy never called Rosemary Donovan “Officer.” Perhaps, Ivy thought, to keep guests from worrying about a maid continually being checked on by the police. And the young police woman often came before she began her shift, dressed in casual clothes. Ivy suspected Officer Donovan was attempting to develop a trusting relationship with her in the hope of catching “Luke.”

  “I’m finishing the beds,” Ivy said, emerging into the hall. “Okay if she comes upstairs?” Ivy disliked sitting across a table from Donovan, as if they were in an interrogation room.

  “No problem,” Donovan replied from below. “I’ve always wanted a peek in the rooms.” She climbed the steps quickly, looking as she always did, dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail and curved sunglasses up on her head. “Oh! Homey!” she said, entering the room called Apple Time. “Homey and pretty.”

  “This is one of my favorites,” Ivy replied as the policewoman took in the stenciled borders, apple-red quilt, and bedside tables made of old apple bins. Donovan chose to sit in a rocking chair with a needlepoint cushion. “One day I’m going to have a house with rooms like this.”

  Ivy nodded and spread a clean bed pad over the mattress, anchoring it at the corners.

  “So, I have some news,” Donovan said. “Luke’s moved on.”

  Ivy was shaking out the bottom sheet and stopped, letting the cotton float slowly down to the bed. For a moment, her heart had stopped. “Moved on—where?”

  “Off the Cape. He may be out of Massachusetts by now.”

  Ivy wanted him to be safe, but . . . “How do you know?”

  “He dropped his cell phone at a service plaza stop. It was found by the cleaning staff about 5 a.m.”

  “Where?” Ivy knew she’d asked the question too fast, with too much interest, but she couldn’t help it.

  “On the Massachusetts Turnpike. Ludlow. The bad news is he could have hitched a ride going anywhere from there, north or south on Route 84, or west to the New York Thruway.” Donovan paused, studying Ivy. “The good news is that he’s probably far away from you by now.”

  Ivy turned her back, pretending to be focused on making the bed.

  “Ivy.”

  She yanked on the final, tight corner of the sheet. “Yes?”

  “Criminals who are lone wolves often run out of money and helpful strangers. It’s not unusual for them to return to the last person who assisted them. I want you to be cautious in the next several weeks.”

  “All right.” Ivy positioned the top sheet so it hung evenly on each side.

  “He’s dangerous.”

  “Right,” Ivy said, tossing a summer blanket over the top sheet.

  “Very dangerous.”

  “I know.”

  Donovan stood up and took hold of the blanket edge, facing Ivy across the bed, not letting go till Ivy looked up. “Listen to me, Ivy. Even if you don’t yet believe that Luke is a murderer, you can’t ignore the viciousness of the fight he was in. You saw his condition in the hospital. One way or the other, Luke is part of a violent world. Don’t get caught in the crossfire.”

  “That’s good advice.”

  “Yeah,” Donovan muttered. “If only you would take it.”

  They finished the bed and Donovan left.

  Half an hour later, passing through the garden that lay between the inn and the cottage, Ivy saw Beth and Will sitting on the yard swing. Beth held an open sketchpad in her lap, but she didn’t seem interested in it. Will sketched on another spiral pad. Ivy longed for the way it used to be, so easy between the three of them. She had loved watching them, their heads bent together, laughing and creating, totally lost in the world of their graphic novel. Couldn’t Will see it—the distance Beth was keeping from everything that used to matter to her?

  “Hi,” Ivy said.

  Although Beth refused to acknowledge her, Will looked up. Having been the one to go to the police about the stranger they called “Guy,” he would have recognized Rosemary Donovan. Ivy fought her leftover anger and said what Will already knew: “Officer Donovan came by to see me.”

  “Did she?”

  “She thinks Luke’s left the Cape. They found his cell phone at a rest stop on the Mass Pike.”

  Will nodded without speaking, without showing any emotion. Ivy would have preferred anger to Will’s coolness and apparent indifference. She felt entirely alone. Turning away, she headed toward the cottage, where she scooped up her music books.

  She had put off practicing piano for more than a week. It had been too much to face Father John, the priest who had allowed her to use the piano in his church and then helped her friend “Guy” find a job with one of his parishioners. Recommending the services of a murderer to one of his parishioners: That couldn’t look good on a priest’s résumé. She wouldn’t blame him if he decided not to unlock his church for a girl with friends like that.

  Fifteen minutes later, while Ivy was speaking to the rectory’s housekeeper, Father John emerged from his office. “Ivy. I’ve missed you. Are you here to practice?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll walk you to the church. I want to show off my latest rose, Glamis Castle.”

  The priest led Ivy to a garden plot enclosed by a picket fence. Stopping inside the gate, he turned to face her.


  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Okay.”

  “A hard week, I think.”

  “Yes.”

  “Kip was asking about you.”

  Ivy nodded. “He was so nice, giving Luke a job and a place to live, lending him the phone and motorbike.”

  “Kip and his wife were very fond of him and as stunned as I was to hear—”

  “I apologize for not telling you about the hospital situation and all. I—I should have, but I trusted him.”

  “And you don’t anymore?”

  Ivy bit her lip.

  “I saw no evil in him,” the priest said. “Nor did Kip. We saw only a hard and honest worker. Kip said Luke left everything behind, including his pay. We were both hoping that the police had gotten it wrong, and he would be back.”

  “Me too,” Ivy said, relieved that someone else saw what she saw, the person beneath the surface. It was less lonely knowing that the goodness in Tristan was apparent to someone who didn’t know the true story. It was a relief not to have to pretend to be horrified by her connection with Luke.

  “Thank you,” Ivy said gratefully.

  Father John pointed out a bush that shimmered with white, cabbagelike roses, then walked Ivy to the church door and unlocked it. Inside the church, Ivy sat down at the piano and began to play, losing herself in the music. She didn’t want to think about what it had been like to be here with Tristan.

  An hour later she stretched, and all the thoughts she had blocked out came rushing in. She gazed at the large stained glass window above the altar: Dark blues and greens showed a boat tossing in a storm, with Jesus extending his hand toward Peter, inviting him to cross the roiling waters. A test of faith, Ivy thought.

  She heard voices outside the church. Father John entered, followed by a man with a huge arrangement of summer flowers.

  “We have a wedding in an hour and a half,” the priest told Ivy. “But keep playing. It makes my work light.”

  As more flowers were brought in and Father John set the altar and side tables for the celebration, Ivy played music she knew well, steering clear of any piece she associated with Tristan. The florist left, and a minute later, when Ivy paused to select another piece, she heard Father John exclaim with surprise.

  He stood at the back of the church, his hands resting on the edge of a large marble bowl on a pedestal. A baptismal font, Ivy realized, and she watched the priest reach in and retrieve something small enough to be held in the palm of his hand.

  He walked down the aisle toward her, looking both delighted and puzzled, his wet hand outstretched. “It’s a penny. A very shiny penny.”

  Ivy studied it. “I guess a child dropped it in. My brother Philip was always asking for pennies to toss in the mall fountain.”

  “Perhaps,” the priest replied, sounding unconvinced.

  That’s when Ivy noticed his glasses: Water had splashed on one lens. She quickly rose from the piano bench and walked back to the baptismal font. Reaching into the water, she retrieved a second copper penny. “Were there two in here?”

  “Two?” Father John repeated, puzzled.

  A penny under water—a sign from Tristan? Had he gotten inside the church and left it for her? But the splashed water—this had just happened. . . . Ivy’s throat tightened. Tristan couldn’t come himself, she realized, so he had sent Lacey with his good-bye.

  She glanced around the church. Its small side windows shone with stained-glass angels, white dresses and wings against jewel-colored backgrounds. One of the dresses shimmered purple. Lacey? Ivy called silently.

  The violet hue disappeared, then shimmered in a window behind Father John. Knowing that a believer would see Lacey’s glow, Ivy guessed that the angel wanted to stay hidden from the priest. Ivy joined him at the front of the church. When he held out his hand, she gave him the second penny, smiled, and shrugged. Believer or not, she couldn’t imagine him buying her explanation.

  “I’ll put them in the poor box,” he said.

  Ivy wanted to stop him. She’d trade a billion pennies for these two. Tristan was thinking of her; he loved her. That made these two pennies priceless. But all she could say was “Good idea.”

  “The doors are unlocked for early wedding guests,” he told her. “Leave when you like—and come back soon,” he added.

  After the heavy wood door closed behind the priest, Ivy glanced around. “Lacey, you still here?” There was no response. She couldn’t see the angel’s glow, but knew it would be easy for her to hide.

  “If you’re here, please talk to me. I need to know where Tristan’s gone. Is he all right? Please tell me he’s safe. Please talk, just for a minute.”

  Still there was no answer.

  “Bad-tempered angel,” Ivy muttered, gathering her books together and sliding the piano cover over the keys. Thirty feet away, a heavy book slammed to the ground. Ivy whirled around.

  “Okay, okay, I get it. You left the pennies because Tristan begged you to. You’re not here for me.”

  Ivy crossed the altar and crouched down to pick up the large Bible. Her eyes fell upon words printed in black and red, initial letters laced with gold:

  BUT RUTH REPLIED, DO NOT URGE ME TO LEAVE YOU OR TO TURN BACK FROM YOU.

  WHERE YOU GO I WILL GO, AND WHERE YOU STAY I WILL STAY.

  Ivy began to cry. The fear and pain that had been building inside her for nine days spilled over. She would have gone where he’d gone, stayed wherever he stayed, if only Tristan had let her, if only he had asked her to go with him.

  At last she stood up. Setting the Bible back on the side table, she saw that its gold-edged pages weren’t lying flat. Afraid that a page was curled up and damaged, she quickly opened the book. Wedged into the beginning of the Book of Ruth was a coin. Although it was stamped with the shape of an angel, like the one Philip had given to “Guy” weeks ago, this coin appeared to be real gold.

  Ivy dropped it in the poor box as she left.

  “You’re a piece of work, Lacey,” she said, laughing through her tears.

  Eight

  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?”

  Tristan ignored Lacey’s question and wearily dropped to the ground behind a barricade of broken pine branches. The need to be constantly vigilant had been more exhausting than the actual trek, and he had walked for miles.

  “Around,” he finally replied, lying back on the soft bed of needles and closing his eyes.

  “This is no time to rest,” the angel said.

  “It’s dark—seems like a real good time to me.”

  “Okay, grumpy, just thought you’d want to be on the lookout for your hot date.”

  Tristan sat up. “Ivy? You saw her?”

  “Sure. I dropped off some change, just like you asked. Now we’ll see how smart she is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The purple mist twirled in front of him. “I left Ivy a clue. We’ll see if she figures it out.”

  “Lacey, this isn’t a game—”

  “It is to me,” the angel shot back. “It has to be,” she added with a touch of wistfulness. “Anyway, I’ve got to get going—I have other clients, ones who appreciate me. You know, I used up an awful lot of energy, changing a chunk of a candlestick into a gold coin.”

  “What candlestick?”

  “The big fat one near the baptismal font at St. Peter’s.”

  “You took a piece of their candlestick?” Tristan asked, struggling to make sense of what Lacey was saying.

  “Just a little doodad on it.” She moved closer for a moment. “You don’t think I can create a gold coin out of nothing, do you? Creating is the job of Number One Director. Unlike you, I don’t go around trying to take over His productions.”

  Tristan, still puzzled but understanding at least that message, shook his head and let his breath out slowly.

  “Stay awake, Tristan. And keep an eye on the pond,” Lacey advised him. “The chick might be smarter than she looks.”

  IVY TOSSED AND TU
RNED. AFTER THE PREVIOUS night’s party, Kelsey and Dhanya had gone to bed early. Beth had followed, and Ivy had hoped to catch up on sleep but couldn’t stop wondering where Tristan was. Without Lacey’s help, she’d never find him.

  A soft mew at the living room window was followed by a fierce shaking of the screen. Ivy rose from the sofa to let in Dusty. Since realizing that Gregory’s power was growing stronger, Ivy hadn’t been able to sleep in her bed, just two feet away from Beth, without waking up at every stirring in the night. After everyone upstairs was asleep, she crept down to the living room sofa. The huge Maine coon had discovered this and was dropping by every night now, looking for some attention.

  Ivy sat down, petting Dusty and thinking. Something wasn’t right in what she’d heard today from Donovan. If Tristan still had a phone, why hadn’t he called her to say he was okay? If he was being cautious, worrying that his call might be tracked by the police, he probably wouldn’t have been careless and dropped it at a rest stop. And how would they know it was his? The phone had been purchased in Kip’s name.

  So maybe the phone in police custody had belonged to the real Luke. The real Luke had died four weeks ago, but Ivy supposed it was possible that the phone had been kicked under something at the rest stop accidentally. In any case, its discovery appeared to convince the police that their fugitive was off the Cape.

  What if he wasn’t? Ivy wondered. Why had Lacey visited her? A flame of hope flickered in Ivy’s heart. She rose and quietly slid open a drawer in the living room desk, where tourist information was kept. Turning on a small lamp, she studied a brochure with a map of Nickerson State Park. If Tristan had returned there, what part of the large, wooded area would he choose as his safe haven?

  Her breath caught. She had heard of Flax and Cliff Ponds, where the beaches and boats were, but had never noticed the small dab of blue that lay west of Cliff: Ruth Pond. “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.”

  Ivy reached for her car keys. A few minutes later she left the inn, just as she had the night she drove back to Race Point Beach after Tristan’s memorial, feeling drawn to a place; only this time, she had reason to hope Tristan would be waiting for her.