"Will, he can't remember who he is or where he lives," Ivy added, pleading for understanding.
"That's convenient," Will remarked.
"Not when it rains," Guy replied.
"I heard about you," Will said, "from Kelsey and Dhanya. Funny thing, Ivy didn't mention you at all." Guy looked from Will to Ivy, then back again. "And nobody seems to be missing you," Will went on. "I wonder why a nice guy like you hasn't been reported missing by friends or family."
Guy nodded calmly. "It would make you think they're glad to be rid of me."
"It hasn't been that long," Ivy said quickly. "Just since Sunday—a week. Maybe your friends and family think you're away on a trip and they haven't been expecting to see or hear from you."
Will turned to Ivy with a look that said, You're crazy to buy this story.
Guy gave her a sardonic smile. "How did you get to the hospital?" Will asked Guy.
"Some people walking a dog found me unconscious and called an ambulance."
"Found you where?"
"Lighthouse Beach," Guy replied.
"In Chatham? Last Sunday, in Chatham?"
"Monday, really," Guy corrected him. "Just after midnight."
"Must have been one helluva busy night for the EMS!"
Guy frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I sure hope you didn't meet up with another car on Morris Island."
"Will!" Ivy said, recognizing the accusation behind his statement. "That's ridiculous! They never found the car that hit us."
"And they never found out who this guy is," Will responded, "or why he can't remember anything, and why he was lying unconscious a short distance from where your car was totaled." Will paced the room, then stopped and turned toward Guy. "I'm sure you have a good reason for leaving the hospital wearing Ivy's shirt. I'd think it would be a little small for you."
"It was," Guy said. Ivy recounted the situation seeing that with each detail she gave. Will was growing angrier.
"Let me get this straight," Will said incredulously. "You helped him sneak out of the hospital before he was released by his doctor—probably still needing medical attention, and before, of course, he paid any bills."
"I followed my instinct," Ivy replied, feeling defensive. "I took a chance on another person. Maybe you should try it sometime!" She saw the hurt on Will's face.
Guy leaned forward slightly, catching her attention. "You said the laundry room was off the kitchen?"
"Yes." He nodded and headed out the door. "Will—Will, I'm sorry," Ivy said. "I see how upset you are. I just... felt so bad for him." Will swallowed hard.
"You remember how terrible it was for me last summer, when I couldn't remember things—when everyone else thought I'd tried to kill myself, when I couldn't explain how I'd gotten to the train station. You were so good to me. You believed in me when nobody else did. You took care of me. Guy has no one to believe in or care for him."
"The difference is," Will said quietly, "I already knew you. I knew the kind of person you were."
Ivy nodded. "Yes, yes, you've got a point. I admit ... I acted irrationally." She didn't add that, given the chance, she'd do it again.
Will walked over and sat on the sofa next to Ivy. He put his arms around her, pulling her close to him. "Sometimes, Ivy, you scare the hell out of me."
Twelve
"DO YOU THINK GUY WILL COME BACK?" BETH ASKED, a half hour later as she and Ivy walked through the fruit trees along the path to the inn's parking lot.
"I don't know." Ivy looked over her shoulder at the cottage swing, where she had left Guy's backpack. After exchanging apologies with Will, she had checked the laundry room. Guy, his money, the angel coin, and all his wet clothes had disappeared. The red towel had been left on the washer, and the backpack in the cottage.
"He's staying at Nickerson State Park, which is a long walk from here," Ivy told Beth.
"We could take his pack and bedroll to the visitors' center. Maybe they have a lost and found."
Ivy shook her head. "Guy's not the kind to check it out He pretty much stays out of sight." Beth looked at Ivy sharply. "Why?"
"Just does." Beth frowned, but she didn't say anything more. Ivy was sure that Will had told Beth about his meeting with Guy. Beth had relayed to Ivy Will's excuse for not joining them in Provincetown, claiming he was anxious to work with his new watercolor paper. But Ivy knew how much Will had wanted to see the town, an artists' haven. Despite the apologies, he was still upset.
The hour long ride to the end of the Cape was uncomfortably quiet. Ivy changed CDs several times, as if she could find the right music to regain the easy connection she usually felt with Beth, and was glad when they finally pulled into a parking space.
Provincetown was as colorful and quirky as advertised. Ivy and Beth strolled in and out of the small shops and galleries that crowded its narrow streets. On the surface it seemed as if things were returning to normal between them, as they pointed out to each other the paintings they liked, the odd pieces of sculpture, and handcrafted jewelry made of mystical sea glass. At about five thirty Ivy and Beth bought two raspberry iced teas and carried them to the breakwater at the end of town. Its black boulders, flat on top, stretched a mile across Provincetown Harbor, making a rocky footpath to Long Point beach on the curling fingertip of Cape Cod. Just beyond halfway, the point at which most walkers turned back, they sat down on a smooth rock. Behind them were the crescent of Provincetown's low buildings and the tall needle of Pilgrim Monument. Ahead were the lighthouses of Wood End and Long Point.
Ivy played with her straw, then dove into the conversation she felt they couldn't avoid any longer. "I guess Will told you about the fight." Beth glanced sideways at her.
"Yeah."
"I was surprised at Will, the way he acted toward Guy."
"How did you expect him to act?" Beth asked. Ivy heard the prickliness in her friend's voice.
"Understanding. Guy's in a really bad situation." Beth didn't reply.
"He doesn't know who he is or where he belongs. He tries not to show it but he's scared. You can understand that, can't you?" After a moment, Beth nodded.
"Guy has no idea what happened to him. Beth, I need a favor. Would you use your psychic gift like you did last year for me, and touch the clothes Guy was wearing when he was found, to see if you could access clues about what happened? Would you help him?"
"Help him?" She sounded angry—disdainful— not like Beth.
"Yes, him. Beth, you can't automatically adopt Will's view of others."
"I don't," she snapped.
"I'm sorry," Ivy replied, "but in this case, you are blindly accepting what Will says. How can you judge Guy? You haven't even met him."
"How can you trust Guy?" Beth countered. "You don't even know his name."
"But I know his . . . heart," Ivy said. "I'm not psychic like you, but I can sense the goodness in him."
"Will told me that you helped Guy sneak out of the hospital—skip out without paying bills, and worse, leave without understanding why he was there. Ivy, he was in a violent fight—Will saw his bruises and the cut along his throat." Ivy looked away.
"For all you know," Beth continued, "Guy could have killed somebody."
"What?!"
"Ivy, this isn't like you," Beth said, "to turn your back on Will—"
"I'm not turning my back on him!"
"—and take up with some guy who is obviously using you. I don't know what is going on, but you haven't been yourself since the accident"
Ivy turned to her friend. "I could say the same thing about you." Beth ran her hand along her gold chain with the amethyst and fingered the stone. Letting out a long breath, Ivy gazed at the sea lapping against the breakwater.
"Ivy, listen to me," Beth said, her voice pleading rather than angry now. "Something is very wrong. I can't shake the feeling that something terrible is about to happen."
"Like what?"
"I don't know." Beth's voice quivered. "But you must be careful.
This is no time to trust strangers."
Ivy laid her hands gently on her friend's. "I know what I'm doing. It's time for you to trust me."
WHEN THEY ARRIVED HOME, IVY SAW THAT GUY'S backpack and bedroll were gone. Beth regarded the empty swing with a look of apprehension and peered through the screen door before entering the cottage, as if Guy might be waiting inside.
Following her in, Ivy was surprised to find Will there, sitting on the sofa, working—the puzzle. "Hey, Will."
"Hey. Have a good time?" he asked. "Yeah! The art is awesome," Ivy replied, hoping to sound upbeat and easy with him. "You'd love it there."
Will studied her, as if trying to tell whether things were "right" between them, then said, "There's no way you can see it all in one trip, so maybe you'll want to go a second time with me. How about it?"
"Of course!" Ivy sat in a chair facing the coffee table. "And this time, with plenty of cash. I saw about ten sets of earrings and an armful of bracelets I liked. I could do all my Christmas shopping there." She leaned forward and pushed a puzzle piece into place.
"Beth, come sit down," Will invited. "I have an idea I wanted to talk over with both of you."
Beth had reached the kitchen and turned back reluctantly. "I've been thinking about next Sunday," Will said as Beth perched on the edge of the sofa.
"Tristan's anniversary and how to honor him. They allow bonfires at the National Seashore. And there's a beach called Race Point, which seems right for him. What do you think?"
Ivy knowing how hard Will was trying, felt tears rising in her. "It's a great idea."
"I was thinking of picking up the permit Tuesday afternoon at the visitors' center." Will looked hopefully at Ivy. "How about that and dinner in Provincetown?"
She smiled at him. "Perfect." Beth rose silently and returned to the kitchen. Will turned and gazed after her. "Beth, are you okay?"
"Fine," she called back. Ivy leaned close to Will. "Something's really bothering her."
"I think it's the anniversary," Will said, reaching for Ivy's hand. "She went through a lot with us. You can't just erase memories like that. Things will be easier for all of us after the twenty fifth."
Ivy looked down at her hand resting in Will's and nodded silently, wishing she could believe that the way he did.
Thirteen
LATE MONDAY MORNING, SPLASHING THROUGH A puddle in the inn's lot, wondering whether Guy had found shelter during a late night storm. Ivy threw a bag with a beach towel and music books into the backseat of the Beetle. "Hey, just in time!"
Ivy jumped at the sound of Guy's voice. "You sure are easy to sneak up on," Guy observed, emerging from the shrubs surrounding the inn's parking lot. "What were you thinking about?"
"Music," she lied—no point in feeding his ego. "I'm headed to practice."
"What direction is that?" Guy asked. His clothes were damp and wrinkled, his backpack slung over his shoulder.
"Chatham. I use the piano at a village church."
"Can I get a ride that far?"
She double clicked her key. "Door's open. Where're you going?" she asked, as he stowed his backpack in the rear seat.
"Lighthouse Beach."
"Have you remembered something?"
"No," he replied. "I was hoping I might if I saw the place." 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 he's ready. Guy was wearing his old shoes again.
As Ivy pulled out of the lot, she glanced through her rearview mirror at the new shoes, still tied to his pack. "Did I get the wrong size?"
He followed her eyes. "Yup. But they make a nice souvenir."
"We can exchange them for a pair that fit," she said. "We could, but that's a lot of trouble. And if you'd like to have them back," he added with a sly smile," I have a hunch they'll fit Will."
"If you'd come into the store with me," she replied brusquely, "I wouldn't have had to guess your size." They didn't speak again till she reached Route 28.
"So ... if you practice music during the summer, you must be pretty serious about it," he said.
"I 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 didn't see her biting her lip, trying to focus on the road.
"So, what kind of music do you like?" she asked. "I mean, other than an off key version of 'If I Loved You."
He laughed. "I don't remember, but my favorite band is Providence. No, wait—that's the next town over from the hospital."
She laughed with him. "Will you play for me?" he asked.
The request surprised her. "I play mostly classical."
"Don't worry," he said with a wry smile. "I can't remember what I like."
A few minutes later she parked the car in the church lot. "I need to get the key from the rectory." 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 John's voice called from behind another building. "In the back!"
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. "My day off," he explained.
"You're working awfully hard for that," Ivy observed.
He smiled. "A labor of love."
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.
"I'm putting in roses," he said, gesturing. "Of course, we have the Rugosa—beach roses—here on the Cape. It's very foolish of me to be digging holes in the sand and bringing in black soil to grow tea roses." He shrugged and smiled. Ivy saw Guy relax a little. "You're here to play," the priest guessed, reaching for the set of keys that hung on his belt. "Would you bring these back as soon as you've opened up?"
Guy went with Ivy as far as the church door, then offered to return the keys.
Fifteen minutes later, when he hadn't come back to the church. Ivy sighed—sudden departures seemed to be Guy's 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. "I've got a job."
"You do?"
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. "I was helping him out—just for something to do. And he asked if I liked that kind of work. He's going to set me up with one of his parishioners who's looking for summer help."
"Great! He didn't care if you had references?"
"I made up a name and cell phone number," Guy replied.
"What?"
"With a little luck, the man won't bother to check."
"It's just that—" Ivy didn't finish her statement. The bruise on Guy's 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 hadn't removed his sweatshirt or rolled up his sleeves to work.
"You don't trust me," he said. "Will has been filling your head with doubts—"
Ivy felt defensive of Will. "Don't blame him. I'm quite capable of doubting on my own."
Guy's eyes met hers, then he threw back his head and laughed. "You're so honest!" He sat down
in a pew, draping his arms across the back of the bench.
"Play something for me. I have a strong feeling I'm not a classy guy and will be easy to impress."
"The song you were humming was from a musical. I have a pile of Broadway songs home in Connecticut." She flipped through the books she had brought, looking for something light and melodic. "A guy I loved once liked musicals."
"You don't love him anymore?" Ivy met Guy's eyes. "No, I still do. I always will."
"He dumped you," Guy guessed.
"He died."
Guy dropped his arms from the back of the church bench. "I'm sorry—I didn't realize. . . . How?" he asked gently.
"He was murdered."
Guy rose to his feet. "Jesus Christ!" Ivy took a deep breath.
"Is that a prayer? You're in the right place." Guy continued to stare at her, and she made herself busy looking for music. "This'll work— Brahms." 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 Beethoven's Piano Sonata, Number 14. By the final measures Guy was standing behind her.
"You're playing from memory," he said as the last note faded. Ivy nodded.
"I can't remember my own name," he observed, "but you can play an entire song from memory."
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. "It's a song you love, or maybe one he loved." Guy guessed.
Ivy closed the piano and gathered up her pieces of music. "Yes."
'"Moonlight Sonata." Guy said. "The first part of Beethoven's Sonata Fourteen."