The Power of Love kbaa-2 Page 9

  "She sees me in them," Tristan said.

  "Some guys will do that to you," Lacey went on. "They've got eyes a girl can drown in."

  "She doesn't know it, but she sees me in them."

  When Lacey did not confirm this, he sat all the way up. "Does Ivy see me looking out at her through Will's eyes?"

  "No," Lacey said. "She sees another guy who's fallen in love with her, and it scares her to death."

  "I don't believe it!" Tristan said. "You've got it wrong, Lacey."

  "I've got it right."

  "Will may have a crush, and she may find him sort of attractive, but—" Lacey lay back in the grass. "Okay, okay. You're going to believe only what you want to believe, no matter what." She stuck one arm behind her head, propping it up a little. "Which isn't a whole lot different than the way Ivy believes — in spite of what's right in front other nose."

  "Ivy could never love anyone else," Tristan insisted. "I didn't know that before the accident, but I know it now. Ivy loves only me. I'm sure of that now."

  Lacey tapped him on the arm with a long nail. "Excuse me for pointing out that you're dead now."

  Tristan pulled his knees up and rested an arm on each one. He concentrated enough to materialize his fingertips, then dropped one of his hands and ripped up pieces of grass.

  "You're getting good," Lacey observed. "That didn't take much effort."

  He was too angry to acknowledge the compliment.

  "Tristan, you're right. Ivy loves you» more than she loves anyone else. But the world goes on, and if you want her to stay alive, she can't stay in love with death. Life needs life. That's how the world goes."

  Tristan didn't reply. He watched the three leotard ladies bounce around, then plod off the stage, shining with sweat. He listened to a little girl dressed like Annie half-sing, half-scream "Tomorrow," over and over.

  "It really doesn't matter who's right," he said at last. "I need Will. I can't help Ivy without him."

  Lacey nodded. "He's just arrived. I guess he's taking a break from work — he's sitting by himself, not far from the park gate."

  "The others are over there," Tristan said, pointing in the opposite direction.

  Beth and Philip were lying on their stomachs on a big blanket, watching the performances and picking clover, weaving it into a long chain. Suzanne sat with Gregory on the same blanket, her arms wrapped around him from behind. She rested against his back, laying her chin on his shoulder. Eric had joined them, but was sitting on the grass just beyond the corner of the blanket, fidgeting with the end of it. He continually looked over the crowd, his body twitching at odd moments, his head turning to look quickly behind him.

  They watched several more performances, then Ivy was introduced. Philip immediately stood up and clapped. Everyone started to laugh, including Ivy, who glanced over in his direction.

  "That will help her," Lacey said. "It breaks the ice. I like that kid."

  Ivy began to play, not the song she was scheduled to play» but "Moonlight Sonata," the music she had played for Tristan one night, a night that seemed as if it had been summers and summers ago.

  This is for me, Tristan thought. This is what she played for me, he wanted to tell them all, the night she turned darkness into light, the night she danced with me. Ivy's playing for me, he wanted to tell Gregory and Will.

  Gregory was sitting absolutely still, unaware of Suzanne's small movements, his eyes focused on Ivy as if he were spellbound.

  Will also sat still in the grass, one knee up, his arm resting casually on it. But there was nothing casual about the way he listened and the way he watched her. He was drinking up every shimmering drop.

  Tristan rose to his feet and moved toward Will.

  From Will's perspective Tristan watched Ivy, her strong hands, her tangle of gold hair in the lateafternoon sun, the expression on her face.

  She was in a different world than he was, and he longed with his whole soul to be part of it. But she didn't know; he feared she would never know.

  In the blink of an eye, Tristan matched thoughts with Will and slipped inside him. He heard Ivy's music through Will's ears now. When she had finished playing, he rose up with Will. He clapped and clapped, hands high above his head, high above Will's head. Ivy bowed and nodded, and glanced over at him.

  Then she turned to the others. Suzanne, Beth, and Eric cheered. Philip jumped up and down, trying to see over the heads of the standing audience. Gregory stood still. Gregory and Ivy were the only two people in that noisy park standing motionless, silent, gazing at each other as if they had forgotten everyone else.

  Will turned abruptly and walked back toward the street. Tristan slipped out of him and sank down on the grass. A few moments later he felt Lacey next to him. She didn't say anything, just sat with him, shoulder touching shoulder, like an old team member on the swim bench.

  "I was wrong, Lacey," Tristan said. "And so were you. Ivy doesn't see me. Ivy doesn't see Will, either."

  "She sees Gregory," Lacey said.

  "Gregory," he repeated bitterly. "I don't know how I can save her now!"

  In a way, dealing with Suzanne after the performance had been easier than Ivy expected. As planned earlier. Ivy met Philip and her friends by die park gate. Before she got a chance to greet them, Suzanne turned away.

  Ivy reached out and touched her friend on the arm. "How did you like Will's paintings?" she asked.

  Suzanne acted as if she hadn't heard.

  "Suzanne, Ivy was wondering what you thought of Will's paintings," Beth said softly.

  The response came slowly. "I'm sorry, Beth, what did you just say?"

  Beth glanced uneasily from Suzanne to Ivy. Eric laughed, enjoying the strain between the girls. Gregory seemed preoccupied and distant from both Suzanne and Ivy.

  "We were talking about Will's paintings," Beth prompted.

  "They're great," Suzanne said. She had her shoulder and head turned at an angle that cut Ivy out of her view.

  Ivy waited for some kids with balloons to pass, then shifted her position and made another attempt to talk to Suzanne. This time she got Suzanne's back in her face. Beth stood between the two girls and began to chatter, as if words could fill up the silence and distance between them.

  As soon as Beth paused for breath. Ivy said she had to go, so that she could get Philip to his friend's house on time. Perhaps Philip saw and understood more than Ivy had realized. He waited until they were a block away from the others before he said, "Sammy just got back from camp and said not to come till after seven o'clock."

  Ivy laid her hand on his shoulder. "I know. Thanks for not mentioning it."

  On their way to the car. Ivy stopped at a small stand and purchased two bouquets of poppies. Philip didn't ask her why she bought them or where they were going. Maybe he had figured that out, too.

  As Ivy drove away from the festival she felt surprisingly lighter. She had tried hard to reassure Suzanne, to please her friend by keeping her distance from Gregory. She had reached out to Suzanne several times, but each time her hand had been slapped back. There was no reason to keep trying now, to keep tiptoeing around Suzanne and Gregory. Her anger turned to relief; she felt suddenly free of a burden she hadn't wanted to carry.

  "Why do we have two bouquets?" Philip asked as Ivy drove along, humming. "Is one of them going to be from me?"

  He had guessed.

  "Actually, they're both from us. I thought it would be nice to leave some flowers on Caroline's grave."

  "Why?"

  Ivy shrugged. "Because she was Gregory's mother, and Gregory has been good to both of us."

  "But she was a nasty lady."

  Ivy glanced over at him. Nasty wasn't one of the words in Philip's vocabulary. "What?"

  "Sammy's mother said she was nasty."

  "Well, Sammy's mother doesn't know everything," Ivy replied, driving through the large iron gates.

  "She knew Caroline," Philip said stubbornly.

  Ivy was aware that a lot of
people hadn't liked Caroline. Gregory himself had never spoken well of his mother.

  "All right, here's what we'll do," she said as she parked the car. "We'll make one bouquet, the orange one, from me to Caroline, and the other, the purple one, from me and you to Tristan."

  They walked silently to the wealthy area of Riverstone Rise.

  When Ivy went to lay the flowers on Caroline's grave, she noticed that Philip hung back.

  "Is it cold?" he called to her.

  "Cold?"

  "Sammy's sister says that mean people have cold graves."

  "It's very warm. And look, someone has left Caroline a long-stemmed red rose, someone who must have loved her very much."

  Philip wasn't convinced and looked anxious to get away. Ivy wondered if he was going to act funny around Tristan's grave, too. But as they walked toward it he started hopping over the stones and turned back into his old cheerful chatterbox self.

  "Remember how Tristan put the salad in his hair at Mom's wedding," Philip asked, "and it was all runny?

  And remember the celery he stuck in his ears?"

  "And the shrimp tails in his nose," Ivy said.

  "And those black things on his teeth."

  "Olives. I remember."

  It was the first time since the funeral that Philip had spoken to her about Tristan, the Tristan he had once played with. She wondered why her brother was suddenly able to do so.

  "And remember how I beat him at checkers?"

  "Two out of three games," she said.

  "Yeah." Philip grinned to himself, then took off.

  He ran up to the last mausoleum in a row of the elegant burial houses and knocked on the door. "Open up in there!" he shouted, then flapped his arms and flew ahead of Ivy, waiting for her at the next turn.

  "Tristan was good at Sega Genesis," Philip said.

  "He taught you some cool tricks, didn't he?"

  "Yep. I miss him."

  "Me, too," Ivy said, biting her lip. She was glad that Philip had rushed ahead again. She didn't want to ruin his happy memories with tears.

  At Tristan's grave Ivy knelt down and ran her fingers over the letters on the stone — Tristan's name and dates. She could not say the small prayer that had been carved on the stone, a prayer that put him in the hands of the angels, so her fingers read it silently. Philip also touched the stone, then he arranged the flowers. He wanted to shape them into a T.

  He's healing. Ivy thought as she watched him. If he can, maybe I can, too.

  "Tristan will like these when he comes back," Philip said, standing up to admire his own work.

  Ivy thought she had misunderstood her brother, "I hope he gets back before the flowers die," he continued.

  "What?"

  "Maybe he'll come back when it's dark."

  Ivy put her hand over her mouth. She didn't want to deal with this, but somebody had to, and she knew that she couldn't count on her mother.

  "Where do you think Tristan is now?" Ivy asked cautiously.

  "I know where he is. At the festival."

  "And how do you know that?"

  "He told me. He's my angel. Ivy. I know you said never to say angel again" — Philip was talking very fast, as if he could avoid her anger by saying the word quickly—"but that's what he is. I didn't know it was him till he told me today."

  Ivy rubbed her hands over her bare arms.

  "He must still be there with that other one," Philip said.

  "That other one?" she repeated.

  "The other angel," he said softly. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a creased photograph. It was a picture of them that had been taken at Old West Photos, but not the same one she had been given. Something had gone wrong with the developer, or perhaps the film itself. There was a cloudiness behind him.

  Philip pointed to it. "That's her. The other angel."

  Its shape vaguely resembled a girl, so Ivy could see why he might say that.

  "Where did you get this?"

  "Will gave it to me. I asked him for it because she didn't get into the picture he gave you. I think she's a friend of Tristan's."

  Ivy could only imagine what Philip's active mind would create next — an entire community of angel friends and relatives. "Tristan is dead," she said. "Dead. Do you understand?"

  "Yes." His face was somber and knowing as an adult's, but his skin looked baby smooth and golden in the evening sun. At that moment he reminded Ivy of a painting of an angel.

  "I miss Tristan the way he used to be," Philip told her. "I wish he could still play with me. Sometimes I still feel like crying. But I'm glad he's my angel now. Ivy. He'll help you too."

  She didn't argue. She couldn't reason with a kid who believed as strongly as Philip did.

  "We need to go," she said at last.

  He nodded, then threw his head back and shouted, "I hope you like it, Tristan."

  Ivy hurried ahead of him. She was glad she was dropping him off at Sammy's for a sleepover. With Sammy back, maybe Philip would spend more time in the real world.

  When Ivy arrived home she found a note from her mother reminding her that she and Andrew had gone to the dinner gala that was part of the arts festival.

  "Good," Ivy said aloud. She'd had enough strained conversations for one day. An evening with just Ella and a good book was exactly what she needed. She ran upstairs, kicked off her shoes, and changed into her favorite T-shirt, which was full of holes and so big she could wear it like a short dress.

  "It's just you and me, cat," Ivy said to Ella, who had chased her up the steps and down again to the kitchen. "Is mademoiselle ready to dine?" Ivy set two cans out on the counter. "For you, seafood nuggets. For me, tuna. I hope I don't get them mixed up."

  Ella rubbed back and forth against Ivy's legs as Ivy prepared the food. Then the cat mewed softly.

  "Why the fancy dishes, you ask?" Ivy got down a matched set of cut-glass plates, along with a crystal drinking glass and a crystal bowl. "We're celebrating. I played the piece, Ella, I played the movement all the way through!"

  Ella mewed again.

  "No, not the one I've been practicing — and not the one you've been practicing, either. The 'Moonlight.' That's right." Ivy sighed. "I guess I had to play it for him one last time before I could play for myself again. I think I could play anything now! Come on, cat."

  Ella followed her into the family room and watched curiously as Ivy lit a candle and put it on the floor between them. "Is this classy, or what?"

  The cat let out another soft meow.

  Ivy opened the large French doors that led out to the patio at the back of the house, then put on a CD of some soft jazz.

  "Some cats don't have Saturday nights like this, you know."

  Ella purred through dinner. Ivy felt just as content as she watched Ella dean herself, then settle down by the tall screen doors» her nose and ears positioned to catch all the smells and tiny sounds of twilight.

  After a few minutes of keeping vigil with Ella, Ivy dug a book out from underneath the chair cushion, a collection of stories Gregory had been reading. Moving die candle out of the draft, she rolled over on her stomach next to it and began to read.

  It wasn't till then that she realized how tired she was. The words kept blurring before her eyes and the candle cast a hypnotic flicker across the page. The story was some kind of mystery, and she tried со concentrate, not wanting to miss any of the dues. But before the killer struck a second time, her eyes closed.

  Ivy didn't know how long she had been sleeping. It had been a dreamless sleep. Her mind had jerked awake suddenly, alerted by some sound.

  Before she opened her eyes, she knew that it was late. The CD had ended and she could hear the crickets outside, a full choir of them. From the dining room came the soft bonging of the mantel dock.

  She lost count of the hours-eleven? Twelve?

  Without lifting her head, she opened her eyes in the dark room and saw that the candle, though still burning, was a stub. Ella had left, and one sc
reen door gaped open, silvery in the moonlight.

  A cool breeze blew in. The fine hairs along Ivy's arms stirred, and her skin felt suddenly chill. It was Ella who had slipped through the door, she told herself. Probably the screen had been unlatched, and Ella pushed it open to let herself out-But the draft was strong, drawn across the room to the door behind Ivy. That door, which led to the gallery, had been closed when Ivy fell asleep.

  It was open now — without turning around, she knew it. And she knew that someone was there watching her. A board creaked in the doorway, then another, much closer to her. She could feel his dark presence hovering above her.

  Ivy quietly sucked in her breath, then opened her mouth and screamed.

  Chapter 10

  Ivy screamed and fought him, kicking behind her with all her strength. He held her down on the floor, his hand pressed over her nose and mouth. She screamed into his hand, then she tried to bite it, but he was too quick for her. She started rolling her body back and forth. She'd roll him into the candle flame if she had to.

  "Ivy! Ivy! It's me! Be quiet. Ivy! You'll scare Philip. It's just me."

  She went limp beneath him. "Gregory."

  He slowly lifted himself off her. They stared at each other, sweating and out of breath.

  "I thought you were asleep," he said. "I was trying to see if you were all right without waking you."

  "I–I just — I didn't know who you were. Philip is out. He's staying over at Sammy's tonight, and Mom and Andrew are at the gala."

  "Everybody's out?" Gregory asked sharply.

  "Yes, and I thought—" Gregory rammed his fist into his palm several times, then stopped when he saw the way she was looking at him.

  "What's wrong with you?" he demanded. "What's wrong with you, Ivy?" He held her by both arms.

  "How can you be so stupid?"