The Wishing Tree by Marybeth Whalen

she wanted to know.
    But the house looked empty. She stood silently for a moment, scanning the living/dining area, the bank of windows across the back displaying the view she’d been unable to see in the dark last night, the marsh and undeveloped beach land that served as the house’s backyard. Soon she would go for a walk down Bird Island, watch the seagulls play, try to find a whole sand dollar, breathe in and breathe out … She smiled at the
Sleepless in Seattle
reference.
    April would love Sunset Beach. Too bad she had to stay at the cabins and couldn’t join Ivy. Though April’s job was like being on vacation constantly, it also meant she couldn’tleave and go on a vacation of her own. Ivy used to tease her about her rough life. But standing there, looking out at the beach view, she thought about what April was missing.
    “Hey, Ivy,” she heard her sister’s voice behind her, thick with sleep. Shea yawned loudly and Ivy turned to face her, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were cold when the morning was actually quite warm.
    “Hi,” she said, taking in her sister’s appearance up close and personal, without the television between them. Her college pixie haircut was gone. She’d grown her hair out—probably in preparation for the wedding she’d known was coming sooner or later. Still a dirty blonde, her hair had a natural wave, cascading down her back. And her face had lost the baby fat, her cheekbones sharper, her lips more pronounced. She was … striking, even first thing in the morning. Once people had made a fuss over Ivy’s looks to the point that Margot had fretted over Shea getting a complex, but it was clear now that Shea had come into her own.
    Ivy had to laugh at the switch the two had performed without even consulting each other. Shea had slimmed down, grown her hair out, and looked a lot like Ivy had when she left. While Ivy had gained a few pounds—not a lot but enough to look healthier, as Elliott often said, had cut her hair into a short bob, and looked more like Shea had that last time the two of them had been in this room. The thought brought a smile to her face, which Shea returned, inadvertently breaking the ice.
    Ivy dropped her arms to her side and took a seat at the kitchen island. “Just waking up?” she asked. Shea noddedand crossed over to the kitchen, busying herself with heating up water in the same ancient kettle Ivy remembered from before, a burnt-orange color that no doubt came from the seventies.
    She watched as Shea pulled tea bags from the cupboard, and sugar, and milk.
We drink it like the British do, with milk
, she remembered her mother teaching them when they were little girls. She used to have tea parties with them, training them in the finer things of life because she expected her daughters to have just that. Ivy couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a cup of tea, always opting for coffee. But she did always dump a generous amount of cream in her coffee. She guessed that counted.
    “So when did you get in?” Shea asked. It was, they both knew, a lame attempt at conversation, dancing around the tension that hung in the air around them. No matter how much they convinced themselves they were fine, that this moment was no big deal, Ivy knew that they were both feeling anxious about seeing each other again. Both nervous about when they would finally say what had gone unsaid all this time. Because it would happen. In some ways, it had to. Because only after it had could they truly move on with their lives.
    But now wasn’t the time. “Last night. You were out with Owen,” she answered.
    “Yeah, we were out for dinner, listening to a potential band for the reception.” The whistle blew and Shea yanked the kettle from the burner.
    “Did you like them?”
    Shea shrugged as she hefted spoonfuls of sugar into hercup. Ivy smiled as she watched. Shea’s love of sugar hadn’t changed. It was comforting to know that in some ways they were still exactly