ʺCan I get a ride that far?ʺ
She double clicked her key. ʺDoorʹs open. Whereʹre you going?ʺ she asked, as he stowed his backpack in the rear seat.
“Lighthouse Beach.ʺ
ʺHave you remembered something?ʺ
ʺNo,ʺ he replied. ʺI was hoping I might if I saw the place.ʺ Ivy thought about offering to go with him, but she had come to think of Guy as a cat, a creature who comes to others only when heʹs ready. Guy was wearing his old shoes again.
As Ivy pulled out of thr lot, she glanced through her rearview mirror at the new shoes, still tied to his pack. ʺDid I get the wrong size?ʺ
He followed her eyes. ʺYup. But they make a nice souvenir.ʺ
ʺWe can exchange them for a pair that fit,ʺ she said. ʺWe could, but thatʹs a lot of trouble. And if youʹd like to have them back,ʺ he added with a sly smile,ʺ I have a hunch theyʹll fit Will.ʺ
ʺIf youʹd come into the store with me,ʺ she replied brusquely, ʺI wouldnʹt have had to guess your size.ʺ They didnʹt speak again till she reached Route 28.
ʺSo… if you practice music during the summer, you must be pretty serious about it,ʺ he said. 1 am.
He twisted himself around in his seat to reach the books. His arm brushed hers, his body hovering close in the small car. For a moment Ivy felt dizzy, overwhelmed by a powerful sense of his presence.
He grabbed a music book and turned forward again in his seat. She was glad he was thumbing through it and didnʹt see her biting her lip, trying to focus on the road.
ʺSo, what kind of music do you like?ʺ she asked. ʺI mean, other than an off‐key version of ʹIf I Loved You.ʺ He laughed. ʺI donʹt remember, but my favorite band is Providence. No, wait — thatʹs the next town over from the hospital.ʺ
She laughed with him. ʺWill you play for me?ʺ he asked. The request surprised her. ʺI play mostly classical.ʺ
ʺDonʹt worry,ʺ he said with a wry smile. ʺI canʹt remember what I like.ʺ
A few minutes later she parked the car in the church lot ʺI need to get the key from the rectory.ʺ Guy followed her to a small, shingled building that was attached by a covered passageway to the church. Its windows were open and Ivy could hear the doorbell ringing inside. Then Father Johnʹs voice called from behind another building. ʺIn the back!ʺ
Guy, who was wearing jeans, quickly pulled the cuffs of his sweatshirt down to his wrists. They found the priest in the garden, wearing denim overalls, his hands caked with sandy dirt, his high cheekbones shining with sweat and sun.
Ivy introduced him to Guy. Father John held up both hands apologetically and gave a slight bow. ʺMy day off,ʺ he explained. ʺYouʹre working awfully hard for that,ʺ Ivy observed. He smiled. ʺA labor of love.ʺ
Inside a white picket fence was a large vegetable garden. A trench, partially dug along the outside of the fence, had bags of peat and humus piled next to it.
ʺIʹm putting in roses,ʺ he said, gesturing. ʺOf course, we have the Rugosabeach roses — here on the Cape. Itʹs very foolish of me to be digging holes in the sand and bringing in black soil to grow tea roses.ʺ He shrugged and smiled. Ivy saw Guy relax a little. ʺYouʹre here to play,ʺ the priest guessed, reaching for the set of keys that hung on his belt. ʺWould you bring these back as soon as youʹve opened up?ʺ
Guy went with Ivy as far as the church door, then offered to return the keys.
Fifteen minutes later, when he hadnʹt come back to the church. Ivy sighedsudden departures seemed to be Guyʹs favorite way of saying good‐bye. Having finished her exercises, she pushed Guy out of her mind and focused on the new music assigned by her teacher. She worked hard, and her tentative fingering became more certain. Ivy never got over the wonder of feeling a song grow under her hands.
An hour later, gathering up her music, she heard the church door open. Guy walked toward her, looking pleased with himself. ʺIʹve got a job.ʺ ʺYou do?ʺ
His face gleamed with perspiration and there was a smear of dirt down the front of his sweat‐shirt He pointed in the direction of the garden, his hand coated with sandy soil. ʺI was helping him out — just for something to do. And he asked if I liked that kind of work. Heʹs going to set me up with one of his parishioners whoʹs looking for summer help.ʺ
ʺGreat! He didnʹt care if you had references?ʺ
ʺI made up a name and cell phone number/ʹ Guy replied.
ʺWhat?ʺ
ʺWith a little luck, the man wonʹt bother to check.ʺ
ʺIt’s just that—ʺ Ivy didnʹt finish her statement. The bruise on Guyʹs face had faded beneath his tan and was barely noticeable. It was a breezy morning, and it may not have seemed odd to the priest that Guy hadnʹt removed his sweatshirt or rolled up his sleeves to work.
ʺYou donʹt trust me/ʹ he said. ʺWill has been filling your head with doubts—ʺ
Ivy felt defensive of Will. ʺDonʹt blame him. Iʹm quite capable of doubting on my own.ʺ Guyʹs eyes met hers, then he threw back his head and laughed. ʺYouʹre so honest!ʺ He sat down in a pew, draping his arms across the back of the bench.
ʺPlay something for me. I have a strong feeling Iʹm not a classy guy and will be easy to impress.ʺ
ʺThe song you were humming was from a musical. 1 have a pile of Broadway songs home in Connecticut.ʺ She flipped through the books she had brought, looking for something light and melodic. ʺA guy I loved once liked musicals.ʺ
ʺYou donʹt love him anymore?ʺ Ivy met Guyʹs eyes. ʺNo, I still do. I always will.ʺ
ʺHe dumped you,ʺ Guy guessed. ʺHe died.ʺ Guy dropped his arms from the back of the church bench. ʺIʹm sorry — I didnʹt realize. . How?ʺ he asked gently.
ʺHe was murdered.ʺ Guy rose to his feet. ʺJesus Christ!ʺ Ivy took a deep breath.
ʺIs that a prayer? Youʹre in the right place.ʺ Guy continued to stare at her, and she made herself busy looking for music. ʺThisʹll work— Brahms.ʺ She began to play.
Guy circled the piano, still staring at her, his hands in his pockets, then he strolled down the side aisle. He stopped at each stained glass window and seemed to study it.
Was he reading the images or peering through them. Ivy wondered; was he seeing the present or catching glimpses of the past? More than ever, her past with Tristan seemed to intrude into her everyday life.
Focus on the present, she told herself, and glanced toward Guy. Focus on someone who needs your help now. Maybe the music would relax his mind and allow him to recall bits of what he was repressing.
She finished Brahms, and continued with music she knew by heart: the first movement of Beethovenʹs Piano Sonata, Number 14. By the final measures Guy was standing behind her.
ʺYouʹre playing from memory,ʺ he said as the last note faded. Ivy nodded.
ʺI canʹt remember my own name,ʺ he observed, ʺbut you can play an entire song from memory.ʺ
Ivy swallowed hard. Better to have the pain in her heart forever than to lose her memory of Tristan — Guy had taught her that much. ʺIt’ s a song you love, or maybe one he loved.” Guy guessed.
Ivy closed the piano and gathered up her pieces of music. ʺYes.ʺ
ʹʺMoonlight Sonata.ʺ Guy said. ʺThe first part of Beethovenʹs Sonata Fourteen.ʺ
Ivyʹs turned to him, surprised. Guy took a step back. “Whoa! Howʹd I know that?ʺ
They gazed at each other, mirroring amazement, then Ivy smiled. ʺAnd you thought you werenʹt a classy guy!ʺ
IVY AND GUY STOOD AT THE TOP OF THE STEPS BY Chatham Light, the same place Ivy and Will had stood eight days earlier. In the afternoon sun, the wide stretch of sand, more than a quarter mile deep, burned hot and white. The ocean swept past, curving to the south as far as the eye could see, its color like the blue sea glass that Ivy loved.