Evercrossed (6 page)

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Give me a second..."

Lacey materialized herself, then strutted up and down the shore in her ripped leggings and long tank top.

"Like my new hair?" she asked, shaking her head. It was tinged purple, long and straight, with blunt cut bangs. "I picked up a few more skills since we last had the pleasure of working together."

"Wow!" Philip exclaimed, reaching out to touch the angel. "The whole you! You're awesome, Lacey!"

"Thanks, kid." She turned to Ivy. "For three years I've successfully put off my mission by breaking the rules. If I'm not the expert on forbidden acts, who is? I'm telling you—Number One Director does not like his cast members changing the script. There will be repercussions."

"Because Tristan saved me?" Ivy argued.

"I guess you weren't listening in Sunday school. Don't you remember the fallen angels story? They wanted to be like God, just like God. It's God's privilege, not ours, to give and take life."

Ivy didn't reply. Would Tristan do something forbidden for her sake?

Lacey's mouth curved in disgust. "Only you could get a guy killed, and one year later, put his soul in jeopardy!"

Ivy and Philip watched as the angel's body faded into sand, ocean, and sky.

Philip laid his hand on Ivy's arm. "Maybe you just dreamed it."

"Maybe," she replied, but the words rang hollow, even to her.

Eight

ON THE WALK BACK FROM THE COVE, IVY ASKED Philip not to mention to anyone that Tristan had helped her.

"Not even Will?"

It had upset Will just to hear her playing Tristan's song. No, I'll tell him myself in a little while. It's best not to mention Lacey either," she added Ivy was relieved when Philip and her mother left on Wednesday morning. Taking off the fitted silk blouse her mother had picked out for her, she pulled on a tie dyed T-shirt, an X Large that was leftover from a school fund raiser.

For the first time in her life, Ivy was uneasy around Will. Every time he looked at her, she feared he could read her thoughts—and see Tristan there. She trod carefully around Beth and sensed that Beth was being careful around her too.

Kelsey and Dhanya, wrapped up in the guys from Chatham, spent most of their time there, which was fine with Ivy. Her most comfortable companion was Dusty the cat.

On Friday, Will drove Ivy to Hyannis to pick up a rental car, which she would use until the insurance for her totaled car was processed. "You're so quiet?' he said when they stopped at a traffic light. "Are you worried about something?"

"No." Her response sounded short and stiff, but Ivy couldn't think of a single word to add to it. "No," she repeated.

Will turned in his seat to study her. ('Light's green," she told him. He nodded and drove on. "You know, Ivy, it's natural to be a little nervous about driving again."

"I'm not nervous." She saw the tightening in his jaw and realized Will felt as if his thoughtfulness had been rebuffed. "Because . . . it's daytime," she added lamely. "So, I guess it doesn't bother me— the way it might if it were dark, as it was when the accident happened."

They were silent the rest of the way. Standing together in the hot parking lot, waiting for the rental car, Will rattled his car keys and said, "I'll go with you to your appointment at the hospital, and then maybe we can stop for—"

"Thanks, that's not necessary.' He squinted at her. "You haven't driven since the accident. Suppose a car coming from the opposite direction gets too close to the center line. You don't know how you're going to react."

"I'll be okay, Will."

"What if I follow you as far as the hospital, but not all the way home," he suggested.

Ivy shielded her eyes from the sun and the metallic glare of the cars. "I can handle it."

"Ivy, you were in a really serious accident. There's a reason the specialist wants to check you one more time, and I would like to be there. Okay?" He placed his hands on her shoulders. Ivy pulled back, then saw the surprise in Will's eyes.

Since the night they had come together to fight Gregory, she had never pulled away from his touch. "I'm fine," she insisted.

He shook his head. "You haven't been yourself since the accident. Beth has noticed it too." Ivy prickled. "What do you and Beth do, spend your time talking about me?" Excuse us for caring!"

"I need some space, Will!'' His face paled beneath his suntan. "Space . . . from me?" She hesitated. "From everyone. We're living in awfully close quarters." She could almost convince herself that this was the problem.

"Fine." He took two steps back from her and held out his arms, as if giving her spacer "Fine." Then he turned and strode to his car. He turned to her one last time, but Ivy didn't call him back as he may have expected, and he drove off quickly.

"Ready, Ms. Lyons?" the rental agent asked, arriving with a key. "Got you a new Beetle." She picked up the shopping bag that she had filled with homemade bread, jam, and cookies— gifts for Andy—then followed the agent across the lot.

An hour later, the doctor told Ivy she would send the test results when they came back, but that everything was looking good. "The folks from EMS are still shaking their heads in amazement," the doctor said. "It's nice to give someone such good news."

Afterward, Ivy took the elevator up to the sixth floor and waited for Andy at the nurses' station. He emerged from the room next to the one she had occupied, looking perplexed. "Has anyone seen Guy? That boy sure keeps me on my toes."

"Not for a half hour or so," a dark haired nurse answered. "Hey, look who it is!"

Andy's face broke into a smile. "Back for a follow up?"

"And to give you this thank you," Ivy said. Andy peeked into the shopping bag, then pulled out the bread. Even in its wrapping, they could smell the tangy sweetness of the apple cranberry loaf. Then he took out the tin of cookies and lifted the lid. "Yum."

"It's all homemade. Aunt Cindy does her own cooking for the Seabright."

"You're going to share, aren't you?" the dark haired nurse asked Andy.

"Maybe," he replied with a grin. He and Ivy talked for a few minutes, then she walked to the elevator, contemplating the afternoon ahead of her. She wanted to drive for miles, perhaps to the tip of Cape Cod, and get out on the beach and run.

She pressed the elevator's down button three times, then spotted an exit sign and headed for the stairway door. Raring down the steps. Ivy enjoyed the loud smack of her feet against the concrete surface. Holding on to the metal railing, she swung around the corners of each landing, as Philip would have. She didn't see the person crouched on the steps, not until she slammed into him. She tumbled forward and he flung out his arms.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, pulling her back toward him. It was the guy who had been so unfriendly in the solarium.

Ivy regained her balance, but the guy held on, his eyes as powerful as his hands.

"Let go,' she said.

They stood side by side on the step, and after a moment, she took a step higher to even out their height.

"Feeling better, I see," he said dryly.

"And you," she answered lightly, "feeling as antisocial as ever."

His eyes traveled down her, and she became acutely aware of her tight jeans and oversize shirt Determined not to appear self conscious, she gazed back at him steadily. He was clean shaven today and wore a pair of tattered jeans, old shoes, and a terry cloth robe that was about a foot and a half too short for him, "Nice seeing you—and not talking—again," Ivy said, starting down the steps.

"Do you have a car?"

She turned around, surprised by the question. "Yes. Why?"

"I need a ride."

"A ride now? Where?"

"Not far," he replied casually. "The next town over." Ivy cocked her head.

"Providence," he said.

"Providence is the next state over," Ivy told him.

"Wherever," he replied gruffly. "Just get me out of here." In the fluorescent light, his bruised skin looked grayish green.

"Sorry," Ivy said. "I don't know what kind of medical problems you have—other than amnesia and—"

"I've never been better." He started down the steps toward her.

"Andy's looking for you."

"To hell with Andy. To hell with all of them!" he exploded. Ivy stayed calm but moved quickly down the stairs, trying to stay ahead of him without triggering a chase that she was sure to lose.

"They'll let you out when you are well."

"I can't wait that long!" She reached the door marked Level 2 and pushed against it. It didn't budge. She pushed again.

He smirked. "Already tried that. I've tried them all." He walked steadily down the steps toward her. "The only one that opens onto a floor is Level G."

Ivy hurried down the steps, hesitating at the door to Level 1, then continuing past it. The guy quickly closed the gap between them, catching her from behind, turning her toward him and backing her against the wall. "Get out your keys."

"Why do you want to leave?" she asked.

"Hand them over," he demanded.

"You don't even know why!" she guessed. "You have no idea
what
you're doing or
where
you're going!" Releasing her, he took a step back. This was her chance to get away, but something she'd glimpsed in his eyes held her there.

He sat down slowly on the concrete steps, then dropped his head in his hands.

"What's going on?" Ivy asked in a gentler voice. He shook his head.

"I don't know. I just know I have to get away. Somebody's after me, and I've got to get away."

Ivy moved several steps below him and sat down. She saw that his forearms were badly bruised, as was the side of his head, close to his left ear. A long cut scored his neck, just beneath his jaw. There was more to his story than being found unconscious on a beach or saved from drowning; he'd been beaten up—badly.

If he was in serious trouble, she'd be crazy to get involved. For all she knew, he remembered what had happened to him but didn't want to admit it because he was to blame.

Ivy began to rise, men stopped. What if he
did
have to get away—what if someone
was
hunting him down? All he was asking was for a way to leave the hospital. Ivy's instinct was to help. Then again, when first dealing with Gregory, she had trusted her instincts, and she'd been dead wrong.

"What have they told you about your condition?" she asked.

He shrugged her off. "It doesn't matter."

"Answer my question."

Sighing, he complied. "There was water in my lungs. Obviously I've been beaten up. I have a head injury. The brain scans indicate that the memory loss isn't physical." He glanced away. "They had me talk with a psychiatrist—if it's not physical, it must be mental, right?"

"Possibly," Ivy said, feeling for him, remembering how she blocked out Tristan's death and how the "accident" had come back to her bit by bit in horrifying nightmares. His eyes met hers.

"It's happened to you. That's what you meant the other day, when you said that remembering was as painful as not."

She nodded, wishing she could assure him that things would get better, but her situation was different from his. She'd had Will, Beth, her mom, and Philip's care, and the enduring love of Tristan to get her through. What did he have?

"What's your name?" she asked.

"My memory problem must be contagious," he replied. "How would I know?"

"You said you didn't remember how you ended up hurt. You didn't tell me what you
do
remember."

His smile was more of a smirk. "The hospital staff calls me 'Guy.' 'Guy Unknown' is what they've entered in the computer, which, I guess, is one step better than John Doe."

"What should I call you?"

"What would you normally call someone who pushes you against the wall and demands your keys? Something stronger than
jerk,
I think." Then he stood up and descended the steps, stopping one step lower than hers, as if he had remembered that she had wanted to look him straight in the eye. "I have to get out of here. It's the one thing I know, the only thing I'm sure of."

His dark blue eyes pleaded with her, and Ivy had to pull her eyes away to think clearly. "You're going to have a hard time getting past a security guard in that bathrobe."

He tugged at the hem. "Andy lent it to me so I wouldn't walk the halls and moon people."

Ivy laughed. "Okay," she said, making up her mind. "Take it off."

"What?"

"Take off the robe," she told him, then tried not to stare at the power in his upper body or the bruises that colored it. "Now turn around. Face away from me."

"Why?"

"We're trading." When he had turned, she removed her oversize shirt and draped it over his shoulder. "Ready," she said, after putting on the robe.

He turned back, wearing her shirt, grinning at her. She had been right: lit with a smile, his face was the kind to break a girl's heart.

"It'll do," she said. The words
Stonehill High
stretched across his chest and the shoulder seams were pulled tight, but he was less conspicuous in that than in the short robe.

"If there's no security guard, we'll just walk across the lobby like we're doing nothing wrong," Ivy instructed him. "If we get stopped, I'm the patient and you're the person who has come to pick me up. We tell them that we got tired of waiting for Transportation to bring us a wheelchair—they make you leave in one."

"Right."

Ivy reached in her purse for the rental key. She wondered what Beth and Will would say if she told them about this. Then she wondered if her auto insurance covered carjacking.

"So if someone asks, am I your boyfriend?"

"Brother," Ivy answered quickly. Guy smiled, as if amused by her answer, then started down the steps. He pushed open the door on the ground level and strode confidently into the lobby. He seemed so at ease. Ivy wondered how much experience he'd had at faking it.

They were halfway across the lobby when someone stopped them.

"Miss, do you need assistance?" As friendly as the voice had sounded, when Ivy turned around, she saw that the security guard was carefully assessing her and Guy. "No, not at all."

"Are you a patient?"

"I was." Ivy answered truthfully.

"Do you have discharge papers?"

"Of course." She opened her purse and pulled them out, glad that she had written the hospital directions and her appointment time on her discharge papers. She hoped the guard wouldn't notice the date.

Recognizing the forms, the guard waved aside the papers. To Guy he said, "She should have a wheelchair, and you need to bring the car to the curb to pick her up. Hospital policy."

"Okay," Guy replied. "Stay here, Isabel." Isabel? She tried not to laugh. He fetched a wheelchair that had been left by the elevator. As Ivy sat down, the guard received a call on his radio. "What's the patient's description?" the guard asked. "Tall, sandy colored hair—"

"Hang on, Izzy!"

Guy pushed the chair toward the front door so fast Ivy thought they were going to crash into the plate glass. "Whoa!" she cried as the glass slid back just in time and they shot through the opening. They flew past another occupied chair, across the concrete plaza, and onto the asphalt. "Wait, wait!" Ivy cried.

"Can't wait. Which way?" Guy shouted back. She pointed. He ran and pushed like a madman, dodging between two cars, then hanging a left, making her shut her eyes and cling to the chair arms.

"Slow down, you crazy thing!" But she was laughing now and he was, too, as they flew past a long row of cars to the end of the lot.