Night Tide

by Anna Burke

  “Have you seen Paul and Claire yet? I thought they were in Portland. Or Brunswick.”

  She’d forgotten all about Paul and Claire, friends from Rabbit, and Madison seemed to guess this, because she asked, “So who have you been hanging out with?”

  “People from work.”

  Madison stood and steered her out of the bathroom and toward the couch, grabbing their drinks and the bottle on the way. The woodstove radiated heat, and the latest storm had left a sheet of glittering snow on the ground outside. Sunlight glinted off the water. The river hadn’t frozen yet, and waves caught the evening and reflected it back at the sky.

  “Have you talked to Kara?”

  She shook her head.

  “I still think you should have told her why you left.”

  “Would you, if you were me?”

  Madison considered the question for a moment. They’d been raised in the same environment, and they both knew showing weakness wasn’t an option. “That isn’t the point. You never gave her a chance.”

  “A chance to what?”

  She pictured Kara, blond and blue-eyed and dressed for the mountains, whether it was hiking or skiing or biking or trail riding, her body a beautiful machine. Ivy had loved that about her—Kara’s energy, her enthusiasm, her optimism that there was something exciting just around the next bend or over the next ridge. She couldn’t ask her to slow down. Kara deserved someone who could keep up.

  “A chance to decide if she wanted to stay with you.”

  “It wouldn’t have worked.”

  Madison took a sip and studied Ivy over the flute rim but didn’t pursue the interrogation. “Tell me about your coworkers then.”

  “They’re nice.”

  Her hand strayed automatically to her phone, but still nothing from Lillian since their exchange the other day. She’d started and deleted at least twenty messages since then. All had sounded hollow, and the situation hadn’t been helped by a surge in late-night veterinary calls. It seemed like each time she opened a chat to invite Lillian over for a drink, her phone rang with another emergency, and on the nights she had off, she slept, exhausted and aching and panicked that Lillian was slipping away. She couldn’t lose her again; nor could she stand the thought of Lillian’s pity.

  She steered the conversation away from Seal Cove and back to Madison’s promotion. The excitement she felt for her sister wasn’t feigned. Madison was driven, and she deserved the recognition. She couldn’t help hearing Lillian’s voice in the back of her mind, however, pointing out it was always people like Madison who got ahead: rich women with family connections. Familiar resentment flared. This was why Lillian was a bad idea. They were too different, and while this no longer frightened her, she recognized differences that wide were hard to bridge. The class barrier was more like a cement wall. Scaling it required grit and being prepared to tear your skin on the barbed wire up top.

  “Are you coming to Florida for Christmas?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You could use some sun. You look like a vampire.”

  They settled in for an evening of bingeing old shows on Netflix and laughing at inside jokes. Ivy relaxed in her sister’s presence, grateful for the visit and the company of someone who didn’t care about who she’d been in vet school.

  Did I make a mistake, coming here? She asked herself as she let Madison pour her more champagne. Should I have gone to Boston instead? Or Portland? Someplace no one knows me?

  Instead, she’d latched on to Seal Cove like a limpet, and she didn’t want to know what she’d discover if she examined that decision too closely.

  “Mads,” she said, seizing on an idea. “Are you still friends with that guy who went to Berklee?”

  “Damien? Yeah, why?”

  “I have a question about pianos.”

  • • •

  December’s early snowstorms melted with a warm front that turned the backyard at 16 Bay Road into a dog-churned soup and splattered cars with salt and slush. Lillian glared at the gray sky, hot in her coat, and tried to shake her foul mood. Today had not been a good day.

  It had started with a series of unpleasant appointments, where she’d plastered a smile on her face and listened to clients reciting information they’d gleaned from the underbelly of the internet, and had ended with the discovery that Brian had posted a photo of his new girlfriend—sorry, fiancée—on Instagram. Which served her right for hiding in the bathroom for a few minutes in between appointments, scrolling through social media in search of cute animal content.

  Four years. Four years of back and forth, each devoted to their careers as well as each other, or so she’d thought. Four years of giving him space to finish his PhD. Four years of long-distance calls, drives to Rhode Island while he was at Brown, and spending most nights alone. She’d given him the freedom they’d both claimed they needed, asking virtually nothing, waiting for the time when they could be together in a more concrete sense, and within months of leaving her he’d decided to commit the rest of his life to someone else?

  He’d found true love, and all she’d found was Ivy.

  She dug in her pocket for her car keys, the lights of the clinic bright behind her in the dark, and swore under her breath. Ivy. Ivy, who had also run from her because she wasn’t enough. The memory still hurt with the same ferocity. Six years had elapsed since then. Six years since she’d realized the animosity she’d felt toward Ivy masked something else, only to have Ivy throw it back in her face.

  The hatred she’d felt afterward was real enough.

  “Lil, wait up.”

  Her fingers closed around her keys just as Ivy’s voice pierced her thoughts. She turned in time to see Ivy slow from a jog to a walk, jacket open in the unseasonable warmth, her blond hair whipped by the damp wind. The lurch of her heart against her breastbone didn’t ease the sick twist in her gut.

  “Hi,” Ivy said as she halted before her.

  “Hi.”

  Ivy’s face fell at her tone, but Lillian made no move to soften it. When had Ivy ever shown consideration for her feelings? The rational part of her brain recognized the unfairness of the thought. She shut it down. She didn’t want to be fair. Life wasn’t fair, so why should she be? Brian was her proof. She’d made the safe decision, choosing stability and dependability over the tumult of emotion Ivy promised, and when she’d been with Brian, she, too, had felt stable and dependable. The person Ivy turned her into boasted neither of those qualities.

  Which terrifies you, doesn’t it?

  “It’s been a crazy week.” Ivy’s excuse was as pathetic as her own fears.

  “Sure.”

  Ivy searched her face with those terribly green eyes. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you if you’d like to have dinner with me.”

  Her anger melted fractionally, but not enough to relent. “I’m pretty busy.”

  “Oh.” Ivy dropped her eyes and studied the slush at their feet. “Well, let me know when you’re free?”

  The car keys bit into her palm. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, which, considering the darkness of the parking lot and the weather, seemed unlikely, she sagged against her car. Her peacoat would have salt stains on it, but she didn’t care. Ivy’s vulnerability stole the heat from her anger.

  “I’m sorry. I had a really shitty day. I’d like to have dinner with you.”

  Ivy’s smile should have bathed the entire lot with light. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “I was planning on drinking a bottle of wine by myself,” she admitted. And burning Brian’s things.

  “What about splitting a bottle?”

  “After today, I might need my own.”

  “I have a few lying around.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “So?” Ivy held out a tentative hand.

  She stared at it, wanting to stay angry, but unable to resist the memory of Ivy sleeping in her arms. Their fingers interlocked in the space between them.

  “Your hands are freezin
g,” she told Ivy.

  “I’ve been on the road all day.”

  She abandoned her keys and put her other hand over their clasped ones, chafing Ivy’s cold skin to warm it up. Ivy edged closer, almost shyly, and Lillian wanted to laugh at herself for how easily her resolve broke around this woman. It didn’t matter whether that resolve was to remain professional or calm or aloof—all Ivy had to do was shift the position of her shoulders, and Lillian lost it.

  “How’s your kitten?”

  “Come see for yourself.”

  She pulled into Ivy’s driveway an hour later, dressed in her softest pair of leggings and a long sweater. Hardly elegant, as Angie had kindly pointed out when Lillian asked her to watch the dogs, but she didn’t owe Ivy anything. The strength of the bitterness still welling up from the fiancée-shaped-wound in her chest surprised her. Had she wanted to marry Brian? Had she thought that was where they were headed? Her hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly.

  It doesn’t matter. You’re here on a date. You have options, too.

  Ivy Holden wasn’t an option, though. Not really. Lillian still didn’t know what Ivy was to her, and that uncertainty, she admitted, probably had just as much to do with her unstable mood as Brian. Ivy met her at the door. Like Lillian, she’d clearly gravitated toward comfort, though she didn’t want to hazard a guess at the price tag on the black jeggings encasing her legs, or the dark green-and-red plaid button-up.

  “Come in.”

  A fire blazed in the living room despite the warm front, though she supposed fifty degrees wasn’t exactly toasty, and her nose picked up the smell of warm bread. She followed it into the kitchen. Ivy put on a pair of oven mitts and pulled a rustic loaf out of the oven.

  “Did you bake that?”

  “I wish. Picked it up from a local bakery, though, if that counts?”

  It smelled incredible. An array of soft cheeses perched on a cheeseboard, and she was grateful she hadn’t yet cut cheese out of her diet.

  “Something to drink?”

  “Sure. Let me help?”

  “Wine is on the counter. I figured I’d pick up a few bottles in case one wasn’t enough for you. There’s a—shit.”

  Lillian turned from the wine in time to see Ivy, who had started slicing the bread, clutching her hand.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Ivy said, blood oozing from between her fingers and giving evidence to the lie.

  “Come to the sink.” She guided Ivy toward the faucet and turned on a stream of water. Ivy released her injured hand, and Lillian hissed in sympathy at the deep cut on her forefinger.

  “I’m such an idiot.”

  Lillian glanced at her face, alarmed by the viciousness in her voice.

  “You cut yourself. Not a big deal. Serves you right for having expensive knives.”

  Ivy shook her head with her lips pressed into a thin white line.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not yet.”

  Water washed away the worst of the bleeding, but she needed something to wrap it with.

  “Where can I find gauze?”

  “I’ve got some in the downstairs bathroom.”

  “Keep that under the water.”

  She found the medicine cabinet easily enough and pulled out the supplies she needed. Ivy still looked livid with herself when she returned.

  “May I?”

  Ivy removed her hand from the water, and Lillian dried and bandaged it as gently as possible.

  “At least it’s your left,” she said, trying to bring some color back into Ivy’s blanched face. “Work isn’t going to be fun, though.”

  She didn’t mention the other activities it would impair.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey.” She cupped Ivy’s cheek and sought her eyes. Ivy met hers reluctantly. “It’s not a big deal. Last summer, Morgan put her hand flat on a grill. Burned the hell out of it because she was too busy drooling over Emilia.”

  “Are you implying I was drooling?” A small twitch at the corner of Ivy’s mouth might have been the beginnings of a smile.

  “No.” Not that she would have minded. “But I think I’ll cut the rest of the bread.”

  Something pounced on her foot as she reached for the knife. She looked down, expecting Darwin, and instead saw a dilute tortoiseshell kitten scampering away.

  “Was that . . .?”

  “She’ll be back. This is her favorite game. Having three legs doesn’t slow her down at all.”

  Sure enough, fur rocketed around the corner of a cabinet for another drive-by assault on Lillian’s socked foot.

  “She’s doing well then?”

  Ivy did smile this time. “She’s a hellion.”

  “How did you end up with her?”

  She finished slicing up the bread while Ivy explained about the cow and the shattered humerus, and helped her carry the food and wine into the living room. Ivy didn’t seem to have any qualms about eating on her couch. She can probably afford to have it professionally cleaned.

  “You must think I’m an absolute mess,” Ivy said when she finished relating the kitten’s misadventures. “First . . . the other night . . . and now I almost chop off my finger.”

  The attempt at self-deprecating humor didn’t fool her. Ivy stared at her wounded hand as if she wanted to hack the whole thing off.

  “Remember when you sliced through the body cavity in anatomy lab?”

  Ivy straightened in outrage. “That was totally you.”

  “Was it, though?”

  “You’re lucky I’m injured, or I’d—”

  “You’d what?”

  “Throw bread at you.”

  “Don’t waste it. This bread is delicious. I’d be fine eating just this for the rest of my life.”

  “Wish I’d known that before I picked up a squash soup and a salad,” said Ivy.

  “No, I’ll take those, too.”

  Ivy grinned. “I like your appetite.”

  “So,” Lillian said a little while later as she sat back, stomach full and lips sweet with wine, “you and Stormy seem to be getting along.”

  “She’s been kind to me.”

  She studied Ivy. She’d expected her to make an offhand comment about the café or Stormy’s personality—not that Stormy had been kind to Ivy, as if she were a stray cat Stormy had left milk out for by the back door.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “She’s your friend.”

  Right. And Lillian’s friends had been operating up until recently under the assumption she and Ivy hated one another.

  “Well, she likes meddling.”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. She invited me to your winter holiday party, but if you’d rather I not—”

  She held up her hand to stop Ivy. “Of course you’re invited. They all know now anyway.”

  Pink flushed Ivy’s pale cheeks. “Even Morgan?”

  “She saw my car parked here the other day.”

  Ivy’s mouth rounded in an O of amused horror. “She didn’t.”

  “She absolutely did. Cornered me as soon as she got off work.”

  “Unsurprising.” Ivy laughed hollowly. “She told me not to fuck with you when I first got here.”

  “What?”

  “In a nice way.”

  “That wasn’t her place.”

  “She cares about you. Also, I don’t remember her being that ripped at school. The woman is jacked. I was a little intimidated, which you are not allowed to tell her.”

  “You? Intimidated?” Lillian couldn’t picture it.

  “I said a little, not a lot.”

  “Still.”

  They fell quiet, and she sensed the inevitable questions rising in them both.

  “Everyone knows?”

  “Yeah. Well, just Morgan and Stevie at work.”

  Another pause.

  “What are we doing, Ivy?”

  Ivy gave her a half smile and pulled her knees to her chest, empty wineg
lass dangling in one hand. “I don’t know.”

  “Me either.” She finished her own wine and watched the last drops run down the side to pool at the base of the bowl. “Is this a mistake?”

  “I don’t want it to be.”

  Again, that aching vulnerability in Ivy’s voice. She wished Darwin weren’t between them. At the same time, she was grateful for the neutral zone his small body provided. History had shown she did not make sound decisions where Ivy was concerned.

  “What do you want?” she asked Ivy.

  It had to be Ivy who took the first step. She would not put herself out there again until she knew where Ivy stood.

  “I want—” Ivy’s voice broke. “I want you.”

  Such simple words, but she reeled, the whole room spinning, as things that had rattled around for years fell into place. Brian didn’t matter. His new fiancée didn’t matter. Those things couldn’t matter in a world where Ivy saying I want you soothed a wound so deep she’d mistaken it for a part of herself.

  Ivy waited for her to respond.

  “How?”

  Inadequate. Hardly a response. But she needed to know. How could Ivy want her, after throwing her away? How did Ivy want her now, in what capacity, to what degree, and how the hell was she supposed to deal with any of this? How could they move forward? What would that even look like?

  “I want to be with you.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat. She looked away from Ivy, away from the words she’d wanted to hear six years ago and had convinced herself she’d left behind. Wanting to be with Ivy was impossible. It would never work. It would—fuck. She wanted it. Oh, how she wanted it.

  “Really?” She sounded so stupid. So weak.

  “Yes.”

  Ivy reached across the couch, bridging the gap where Darwin lay sleeping, his small paws twitching, and took her hand.

  She squeezed it with the force of all the things she did not know how to say and smiled like the fool she knew herself to be. Ivy’s answering smile finished what the wine had started: she fell, drowning in green.

  Chapter Eleven

  She led Lillian into the stable by the hand. The warm front persisted, but she still wore thin gloves to keep her hands from stiffening in the damp and chilly air. Lillian’s bare fingers warmed hers through the fabric.