White Ivy(26)

PART THREE





7


AT THREE FORTY, TWENTY MINUTES past the pickup time, six-year-old Arabella Whitaker still stood underneath the ivy-covered awning, shredding her crayon drawing of Santa’s reindeers.

“Arabella, I’m going to call Leonine.”

“Sib’s picking me up.”

“Who?”

“My cousin.”

Ivy checked her phone. There it was—Ellen Whitaker’s email that her niece would be picking Arabella up from school today instead of the au pair. She didn’t give a reason why but based on Ellen’s track record, Ivy was sure that mousy little Leonine had abandoned ship and fled back to France after sticking around long enough to receive her Christmas “gift.”

She waited with Arabella for almost twenty minutes before a white sports car pulled up to the curb and a thin blond woman stepped out, the metal tips of her boots gleaming in the snow.

“You’re Arabella’s cousin?” asked Ivy, straightening up. She’d imagined “Sib” looking like the plump Irishwoman on the package of butter from her favorite co-op.

“That’s right,” said the woman. “Sylvia Speyer. Ellen said she’d email you?”

The name jolted Ivy’s mind, like dust being blown off an old library book. She pretended to scan her phone, all the while taking in the woman’s camel coat, the black scarf dangling to her thighs, her molded profile with its pursed mouth and eyes elusively hidden behind aviators. It could be, Ivy thought, heart racing.

“Here it is,” she said, looking up. “All good.”

“Great.” The woman motioned to Arabella to get into the passenger’s seat.

“I was just wondering,” Ivy called out, “If we’ve met before?”

An abstract congenial smile slid onto Sylvia’s face, a politician’s smile, perfected by those used to being recognized. “Were we at Yale together?”

“No,” said Ivy. “… Are you, by any chance, Gideon Speyer’s sister?”

“I am.”

“I went to Grove with Gideon!”

“You’re Giddy’s friend,” said Sylvia generously, one foot inside the car. “Turn up the heat, Bella.” She turned to Ivy. “I’ll let him know I ran into you, Miss…”

“Lin. Ivy Lin. But I moved away after eighth grade and lost touch.”

“Eighth grade?” Sylvia drummed her fingers against her purse. “Amazing.”

Ivy hastily explained she only remembered that far back because she’d had a horribly silly crush on Gideon back then. “I actually met you the time I came over for Gideon’s birthday party. There were all those wonderful vacation photos on the wall… and your dad! He was so funny. Is he still in office?”

Arabella yelled that she was late to her ballet class.

“Your mommy says you can skip today,” Sylvia replied over her shoulder. “We’re going to take some pictures together for my friend’s magazine. You love modeling, don’t you, kitten?” She had placed her foot back onto the curb.

“If you’re in a rush…” Ivy murmured.

“Not at all.” Sylvia removed her aviators. Her eyes were amber colored and beautifully honeycombed in the cold December light. With one hand resting lightly on the roof of the car, she said no, her father was retired now, her parents had moved to Beacon Hill. Gideon had just finished graduate school and was back in Boston working with a health-care company. “Something with thermometers… but anyway, you should ask him yourself.” She paused smoothly. “Would you like his number?”

“Oh no,” Ivy protested, “he probably doesn’t remember me.”

“He remembers everyone.”

Ivy didn’t respond.

Sylvia went on absently, as if recalling another memory “It’s such a coincidence to run into someone from Grove… Did you like it when you were there?”

“Well… no.”

“I hated it, too,” said Sylvia. “It was such a claustrophobic place—like that Radiohead song about the plastic trees. I couldn’t wait to leave. I told myself I’d never come back. But here we are, less than an hour away.” She emitted a small sigh. “We couldn’t escape.”

“It’s not quite the same thing,” said Ivy.

Sylvia looked startled. “No, I guess it’s not.” The ensuing silence was the first real moment between them, Ivy felt, seeing the little crease between Sylvia’s eyes, the bemused frown, knowing that she wore the same expression.

Arabella honked the horn.

“I’d love to—” Ivy began just as Sylvia said, “If you’re—” They laughed.

Sylvia rummaged around an overflowing tote and pulled out her cell. “Here, give me your number… If you don’t have plans yet on the thirty-first, I’m throwing a small New Year’s party at my house. I’d love for you to come. Gideon will be there, you two can catch up.” Her eyes flicked up. “You’re welcome to bring a boyfriend or partner along.”

Ivy recited her phone number. In a rueful tone, she said she’d just be a party of one.

“I just texted you my address. Eight thirty. I really hope you can make it.” Sylvia leaned forward. Ivy thought Gideon’s sister was going for a hug but Sylvia only squeezed her arm in a friendly way. The car door slammed. A fragrance lingered where Sylvia’s cashmere-clad figure had lingered moments before: lemons, the ocean.