Holly and Ivy Page 2

  “Okay, fine. But I can’t just leave. I’m not the type of boss who checks out.” Leave no man behind, as Dad always said. She swiped a Pink Power Ranger figure from her desk collection. “I’d feel useless away from the trenches. Like I’m failing everyone. Besides, I need structure to get everything done. Organization is one of the habits of highly effective people. Let me show you my spreadsheet.”

  “I know you want to think you’re that kind of person, but organization and spreadsheets aren’t where you really shine. Think of how your life was when you came up with Lovelace Connection.”

  “You said it yourself; I was a mess. Aimless. Lost. I don’t want to go back to that.” She tapped the plastic toy against her forehead. “And I sure as hell don’t want to sit in a lotus position for six weeks with a bunch of cucumber water swilling automatons just so I can churn out another useless app like Lovelace Connection.”

  “Why do you resent LC so much? It’s what you’re known for, and it’s made us both rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

  “For that very reason! It’s what I’m known for.” Holly sighed bitterly as she set the Power Ranger back in its place. “Some people cure cancer. Others bring clean drinking water to remote villages. Meanwhile, my name will forever be synonymous with a dating app that helps people hook up for sex.”

  “Not just sex. You’ve helped millions find their soul mates. What’s more noble than that?”

  “I wrote the program to find you a date, Nolan, so you’d get off my case and let me stay in our apartment after I got kicked out of school, instead of forcing me to call my parents. It wasn’t supposed to turn into…” Holly let her voice trail off, hating the very idea of creating something that, to her mind, was worse than Tinder. And, by worse, she meant it was wildly popular from teens to the elderly. Every age group used and loved LC. It was humiliating.

  “Thanks to you, I ended up married to a fabulous woman, and we have two beautiful kids with a third on the way.”

  “Bully for you. I just don’t want to be known for… that.”

  “For being the agent of my happiness?” Nolan’s wry smile elicited a growl from Holly that made him laugh.

  “I want to do something meaningful,” she said quietly. “Something that can transform the world.”

  “So, start a charity.”

  “Charity’s for suckers.” Holly narrowed her eyes, warming up to one of her favorite themes. “Swindlers and con artists bilking the weak-willed so they can buy private jets. Richies fall for them as a way to appease their consciences. Any way you look at it, charities smack of scam.”

  “Okay, okay.” Nolan let go of her hand and waved his own in surrender, having heard the spiel before. He straightened up from his crouched position, his knees crackling from the effort. “Do you have an idea yet for this groundbreaking, totally revolutionary work of genius that will save the world?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I need time to focus. It’s here.” She pressed her palm against her forehead. “I just need to dig it out of the recesses. I can feel it in my core. And don’t say I need to go do yoga for a month, because it’s not happening.”

  “But, Holly, the board has said—”

  Holly lifted her eyes pleadingly. “I understand, okay? They’re worried. You’re all worried. But there has to be an alternative to that crunchy-granola, craptastic hellscape you want to send me to.”

  “And if there is, you’ll stop fighting and go quietly?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to…” Holly’s words trailed away awkwardly as she remembered exactly why her friend was so concerned with her behavior. “Er, well, you know how the saying goes.”

  “Fine.” Before she could so much as blink, Nolan reached into his back pocket and whipped out a narrow blue folder. “Here.”

  Holly took it and frowned at the familiar airline logo. “What’s this?”

  “Your alternative. One first-class ticket to Portland, Maine, from which you will be transported in high style via luxury town car to the ferry for King Popham’s Island.”

  “King what’s island?” Holly felt her lips curl in revulsion.

  “King Popham. He was the fierce leader of a local tribe in the seventeenth century. It’s a summer resort island.”

  “Well, it sounds like a side character from some Soviet-era Mr. Roger’s neighborhood knockoff.”

  “It’s a nice island. Relaxing. You’ll be staying in the house I inherited from my grandmother, but I haven’t been back there since I was a kid.” There was nostalgia in his eyes. “I make a killing renting it out during the summer. Now that the summer crowd is gone, it’s the perfect place for you to think about… whatever you computer geniuses think about.” Nolan pointed to the rows of desks visible through the glass walls. “Everyone here will keep the company on track while you focus on this thing you feel compelled to do, that will make you feel complete. That’s all you should be concentrating on.” He spoke as if saying those words made them true. As if Holly could clear her mind and the new idea would magically appear.

  “I’m not the vacation-taking type.” She swatted the thought away. “I’m the worker bee. Not the queen.”

  “Everyone goes on vacation, even worker bees.”

  “Worker bees work! Do you know how much of the food supply around the world depends on pollination? If I stop, everything will come crashing down.” The last word was said barely above a whisper.

  “The world’s food supply is not counting on you, Holly Bear. But I am.” His expression was kind, but there was real worry in his eyes.

  “You want to ship me away.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “I literally have to get on a boat to go to this place. What’s your definition of shipping something?” Holly appraised him with a determined glare.

  “Touché.” The right side of Nolan’s mouth tugged upward. “Still, there’s no better way to tap into your brilliance than by going to Poppy’s Island. You’ll have the peace and quiet you need to focus.”

  “Oh, so now it’s Poopy Island? Even better.” Holly gave her best you’re dead to me glare. “An island of shit.”

  Nolan laughed it off. “Poppy’s Island. That’s what the locals call it. With one O and three Ps.”

  “Yeah, that makes it sound better. Really selling it now.” She reached for the pink Power Ranger again, pinching it precariously between her thumb and index finger. She was going, of course. She owed Nolan that much, and somewhere in the deepest recesses of her soul, his worry had gotten through. He was right. If she didn’t do something soon, she was going to break. She just wasn’t going to give Nolan the satisfaction of telling him that quite yet.

  “How many left to complete the set?”

  “One, but he’s a tricky bastard,” Holly mused, grateful for the change in subject.

  “Can’t find him?”

  “Nah, it’s not that he’s impossible to find, considering you can track down almost anything online these days. It’s finding him for under one G that’s the challenge.”

  “A thousand dollars for a toy that came out of a box with your burger and fries?”

  “I know! Can you believe my parents made me give them all away?” It still stung, all those moves and so many memories lost to the collection bin at Goodwill. The endless string of new schools, each with their own set of mean girls and bullies. Never staying anywhere long enough to call it home. Holly shook it off and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll move on to something else. There were these little Smurf toys I used to love.”

  “Holly, you’re a millionaire a hundred times over. Why won’t you just get it if you want it?”

  Nolan was giving her a look, and she knew what it meant. Maybe he was right about her, about her fear of seeing things through. She could buy the toy with the click of a button, prove him wrong, but what would be the point? She’d still be little Holly Loveless, who never fit in, who didn’t matter, who had no place to call home. No piece of plastic would change that, a
nd no island, either. Would she ever find that elusive something that made it all seem worthwhile?

  He had a weird way of deducing her thoughts and asked, “If you could have everything you wanted, what would it look like?”

  A primal groan rumbled through her core. “If anyone on King Popham’s asks me questions like that, I’m outta there. You know I don’t do introspection. It’s for whiners. As my father says, The only easy day was yesterday.”

  “Yes, we should all live our lives by military quotes. We’d all be better off not having squishy emotions that threaten to shut us down.” His shoulders softened. “Promise me you won’t do what you normally do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Over do it.”

  “We’ll see,” she said with a shrug.

  Chapter Two

  “Okay, now that we’ve done some basic stretches, let’s try downward dog.” Ivy’s signature enthusiasm flagged for a moment as she eyed her two students on their mats in her front yard. The lawn, which was mostly crabgrass to begin with, had started to yellow here and there in the dry end of summer heat. Stacks of lobster traps, still stinking of brine, leaned against the clapboard siding of her house, which was peeling from want of a new coat of paint she never had the time or money to give it. To top it off, her rooster, Stevie, was crowing his fool head off even though it was the middle of the afternoon. All and all, Ivy was forced to admit it wasn’t exactly the tranquil setting most folks would imagine when they heard the phrase island yoga.

  Then, there were her students. They were a motley crew, to say the least, and not exactly eager participants since she’d bribed them with beers for their services. But if she wanted to be qualified to teach yoga classes the following summer, Ivy had to start somewhere. It was the bane of island life that when everyone else was on vacation, islanders were busting their butts, working three or four jobs, just to hustle enough extra income to see them through the winter. Even for a full-time, licensed social worker like Ivy, it was nearly impossible to make ends meet in a place like Poppy’s .

  “Will this help us do it doggie style?” Scarlett tittered and turned as red as her name implied, though whether it was from her own lewd joke or the fact that she was by far the most out of shape of the group was hard to say. In her twenty or so years, Scarlett had never experienced a single twinge of embarrassment firsthand, but at close to three hundred pounds, Ivy’s curvy friend was prone to feeling winded even after the mild exertion of a warm-up routine. But Ivy, who was charitable to a fault, was always willing to extend the benefit of the doubt in cases like this, and besides which, she was proud of anyone willing to step outside their comfort zone and give something new a try.

  “Oh, girl, please.” Betty, the third of their three amigas, chimed in. “The only way you’re gonna do anything doggie style is if you stalk the beaches next season for a drunk frat boy and tie him up with a leash before he comes to.”

  Ivy stifled a sigh. For some women, attaining the advanced age of seventy meant being a fount of wisdom and experience for a younger generation, but Betty had other plans. Her words spewed forth with all the saltiness of the ocean, showing as much concern for the consequences as a tidal wave does for the seaside villages in its path. Tall and lanky, with a taut body from years of jazzercise, there was nothing wrong with the silver-haired woman’s physical health, but it sometimes occurred to Ivy to wonder whether Betty had ever suffered a stroke. If she’d once possessed a filter, it was long since gone.

  “Ladies, remember yoga’s supposed to be peaceful, not antagonistic,” Ivy chastised as she maneuvered into position to demonstrate the pose. “Let’s continue. We need to start off on all fours.”

  “This is answering my question, just so you know.” Scarlett’s snicker turned into a snort that sent her tumbling to her mat in a fit of uncontrolled hilarity, her raven tresses obscuring her face in a messy cloud.

  Ivy threw her some serious shade but maintained a patina of professionalism. “Pressing on, drop your elbows to the mat, palms flat, splaying your fingers. Make your neck long. Walk your knees back, so your forehead can press against the mat. Allow your pelvis to rock—”

  “Now you’re talking,” Betty cackled.

  Scarlett struggled back into position, maintaining it for a fraction of a second before dropping to the mat with a grunt. “Hey, Ivy? Do lesbians do it doggie style, too?”

  “Scarlett!” Betty’s outraged tone would have been admirable, except Ivy suspected it wasn’t from concern that Scarlett had caused offense. Betty was just hopping mad she hadn’t thought to ask first.

  “Zip it, you two.”

  “She was being rude,” Betty argued. “She basically implied you’re a lezzy.”

  “Betty, do you see this?” Ivy pointed to the unicorn on her T-shirt, surrounded by the words Majestic Lesbian in glittery silver font. She’d picked it up at the last Pride celebration she’d attended in Boston during the brief stint she’d spent there in college before being called home and finishing her degree online. “I think it says it all. There’s really nothing to imply.”

  “Well, back in my day,” Betty muttered, then lost the thought before she could complete it.

  Back in your day, dinosaurs roamed the earth, Ivy thought but curbed any nastier retorts in an effort to stay focused and suitably upbeat. “Let’s regroup. Take some deep breaths. Okay, ready for downward dog?”

  “What in the hell have we been doing?” Scarlett demanded, her face turning a four-alarm shade of red.

  “Getting ready for downward dog,” Ivy explained in a forced calm voice. Were they really this terrible at learning a new activity, or was it an act designed to drive her to the brink of insanity?

  “No wonder I’ve never done yoga. Too many steps. My muscles burn.” Scarlett listed to one side like a boat about to capsize.

  “Don’t give up now.” Ivy cheered. “This is going to rock your world.”

  “Let me die,” Scarlett moaned.

  “Look up gently, and slowly walk your knees forward, curling your toes. Lift one elbow. The other. Lift one knee. The other.” Ignoring Scarlett’s continued huffing and wailing, Ivy took a deep breath then continued. “Raise your buttocks as if being pulled up by your tail.”

  “Who doesn’t love a good piece of tail?” Betty chimed in, back in top form after her earlier lapse.

  “You’re impossible. Simply impossible,” Ivy scolded as sternly as she could while trying not to laugh.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” Scarlett said. “You’re doing a great job. Of killing me. I’m seeing your promotional material right now. Death by Yoga.”

  Ivy swallowed her first retort. Then the next, before saying, “Get back into position or you’ll be dead to me.”

  “Aye, aye!” Scarlett scrambled to follow orders, wheezing. “Are we done yet?”

  “Not even close.” Belatedly, Ivy wondered whether she’d chosen the wrong set of volunteers for testing her class. The island’s elementary school kids were way more compliant than these two, and the beleaguered teachers were always looking for new after school programs to offer.

  “Well, what do we do now?” Scarlett wheezed.

  “Start with pedaling your feet. Spread your fingers nice and wide. Rotate your shoulders away from your ears.”

  “What in the hell does that mean? My shoulders are nowhere near my ears,” Scarlett said.

  Ivy checked Scarlett’s pose. “You’re doing fine. Relax your head and neck. That’s good. Betty, you’re doing great. Now, it’s best to keep moving in this posture. Pedal your feet. If you stay put, you’ll probably quit, and I don’t want that. Find ways to keep moving, or you won’t fall in love with this position.”

  “Fall in love?” Scarlett groaned. “Now that the tourists have gone home, this is the only type of love any of us will have on this godforsaken hunk of rock for the foreseeable future.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Betty said, pedaling her feet with ease and not even breaking a s
weat.

  “Summer’s over. No new blood until spring.” Scarlett’s breathing was becoming even more labored, so much so that the very mention of blood immediately brought to Ivy’s mind the need to invest in a blood pressure cuff if she planned to offer future exercise classes to these two.

  Ivy shook her head. “Ready to come out?”

  “If you’re not out, Ivy, you shouldn’t wear that shirt!” Scarlett laughed at her silly joke.

  Still crouched on her mat, Ivy allowed her head to bang against the ground once, twice, and a third time. “This is why you won’t be allowed to participate next year in my actual classes with the summer folk.”

  “That’s not very friendly considering I volunteered to be your guinea pig.” Scarlett whined.

  “You got half of that right,” Betty said in a stage whisper specifically intended to be heard by Ivy and Scarlett.

  Scarlett went bug-eyed. “Did you just call me a pig?”

  “Not at all, dear.” As sweet, grandmotherly voices went, Betty’s was not very convincing. “Just commenting that Ivy had to bribe you to be her guinea pig.”

  “I don’t like working out,” Scarlett said with disgust, as if any form of exercise was tantamount to tossing a human sacrifice into an active volcano.

  “Really?” Betty quipped. “We never would’ve guessed.”

  “All right,” Ivy said through gritted teeth, wanting nothing more than to get things back on track. “Inhale. And exhale, easing slowly onto all fours. Walk your palms back, and kiss your forehead to the mat.”

  “I’m starting to figure out why you don’t date,” Scarlett muttered. “If that’s your definition of kissing.”

  Ivy glared at her, biting back the keen observation that, with the exception of Janice and Alice, who were both in their nineties and didn’t fool anyone by claiming they were just best friends who had been living together since they’d met in a munitions factory in World War II, she was the only lesbian on the whole goddamn island. Sure, the occasional summer visitor offered a fun fling, but as had already been pointed out, summer was over. Kissing a foam yoga mat was as good as it was gonna get.