The Power of Love (12 page)

She pulled herself free of him. “No!” Her hands went up to her face, covering her eyes.

Gregory tried to pull her hands away from her face. She turned to the wall, cowering in the corner, but she couldn’t get away from the reflection of the girl who had been kissing Gregory.

“This isn’t right,” she said.

“Isn’t
right?”

“It isn’t a good thing. For you, or me, or Suzanne.”

“Forget Suzanne! What matters is you and me.”

“Don’t forget Suzanne,” Ivy pleaded softly. “She’s wanted you for a long time. And I, I want to be near you, I want to talk to you, I want to touch you. And kiss you. How could I help it, when you’ve been so wonderful to me? But, Gregory, I know—” She took a deep breath. “I know I’m still in love with Tristan.”

“And you think I
don’t
know that?” He laughed. “You’ve made it kind of obvious, Ivy.”

He took a step closer to her and reached out for her hand. “I know you’re still in love with him and still hurting for him. Let me help ease the pain.”

He held her hand softly in both of his.

“Think about it, Ivy. Just think about it,” he said.

She nodded silently, her free hand toying with the tassel on her skirt.

“I’ll change my clothes now,” he told her, “and we’ll go home in our own cars. I’ll take a long route so we don’t arrive at the same time. We won’t even see each other going up to our rooms. So—” He lifted her hand to his mouth. “This is my good-night kiss,” he said, gently touching his lips to her fingertips.

When Tristan awoke, only his soft glow lit the dressing room, shining back at him from each of the mirrors. But the darkness that he felt surrounding him in the empty room was more than the absence of light. The darkness felt like something real in itself, a soft and ominous shape, a presence that angered and frightened Tristan.

“Gregory,” he said aloud, and the scenes he had witnessed hours earlier flashed through his mind. For a moment he thought the room was lit. Had Gregory really fallen in love with Ivy? Tristan wondered. And was he telling the truth about Eric and the dealer? Tristan had to know, had to get inside his head. “You’re next, Gregory,” he said. “You’re next.”

“Would you stop talking to yourself? How’s a girl supposed to get her beauty sleep?”

Tristan pushed through the dressing room door into the shop, which was lit by two dim night-lights and an exit sign. Lacey was stretched out at the feet of King Kong.

“I waited for you at your Riverstone Rise condo,” she said, then held up a dead flower. “Brought you this. There were others, just as dead, forming a
T
on your grave. Figured you hadn’t been there for a while.”

“I haven’t.”

“I checked out Eric,” she continued, “just in case you’d gotten lost in that fun house otherwise known as his mind. Then I checked out Ivy, who’s not having a good night—so what else is new?”

“Is she okay?” Tristan asked. He had wanted to follow her home and get the rest he needed there. Then he could have made sure that Ella was close by; he could have summoned Philip if she needed him. But he knew if he had gone with her, he’d have stayed up all night watching. “Is she okay?”

“She’s Ivy,” Lacey replied, fluffing up her hair. “So tell me, what did I miss in this soap opera? Gregory’s just as restless as she is. What’s eating him?”

Tristan told Lacey what had happened earlier that evening, as well as what he had experienced inside Eric’s head—the memory of the scene at Caroline’s house, with its overwhelming feelings of frustration and fear. Lacey listened for a bit, then paced around the shop. She materialized her fingers, and tried on a mask, turning to face Tristan for a moment, then trying on another.

“Maybe this isn’t the first time Eric’s gotten himself in deep,” Lacey said. “What if Eric used to hit on Caroline for drug money—the way he now hits on Gregory? And what if that night, when he needed a payment, Caroline didn’t come through?”

“No, it’s not that simple,” Tristan replied, a little too quickly. “I know it’s not that simple.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You
know
that, or you just want to
believe
that?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Seems to me you’d find it just a tiny bit satisfying to prove Gregory guilty. Poor, innocent, handsome Gregory,” she said, baiting Tristan. “Maybe the only things he’s guilty of are playing games with girls and falling for
your
girl—and your girl falling for him,” she added slyly.

“You can’t really believe that!” Tristan said.

She shrugged. “I’m not saying Gregory isn’t a jerk sometimes, but other times, at least one time, he had a good enough heart to save the neck of his messed-up friend.” She ran her tongue over her teeth and smiled. “I think he’s rich, good-looking, and innocent.”

“If he’s innocent, his memory will prove it,” Tristan said.

Lacey shook her head, suddenly serious. “This time he may throw you as far as the moon.”

“I’ll take my chances, and I’ll succeed, Lacey. After all, I’ve had such an excellent teacher.”

She squinted at him.

“You were right. Eric was easier to slip into when he was sleeping lightly. I’m going to try the same thing with Gregory.”

“That will teach me not to teach you!”

Tristan cocked his head. “It ought to get you some points, Lacey—angel points for helping me complete my mission.”

She turned away.

“And those points might help you finish yours. Isn’t that what you want?”

Lacey shrugged, keeping her back turned to him.

Tristan looked at her, puzzled. “Is there something I don’t get?”

“A lot, Tristan.” She sighed. “What do you want me to do with this flower?”

“Leave it, 1 guess. It was nice of you to bring it, but I’ll use up too much strength trying to carry it. Listen, I’ve got to get going.”

She nodded.

“Thanks, Lacey.”

She still didn’t turn around.

“You’re an angel!” he said.

“Mmm.”

Tristan hurried off and arrived in Ivy’s bedroom just as the sky was beginning to lighten. It was so tempting to materialize one finger and run it along her cheek.

I love you, Ivy. I’ve never stopped loving you.

Just one soft touch, that’s all he wanted. What would it cost, one soft touch?

He left her before he gave in to the temptation and used up energy that he needed for Gregory.

Gregory was sleeping restlessly. Tristan looked quickly through his music collection and found a CD he was familiar with. Materializing two fingers, he slipped the disk into the player and turned the volume on low. He nudged Gregory, then he began to follow the music himself, saying the words, concentrating on the song’s images.

But for some reason, Tristan kept getting mixed up. He’d thought he knew the lyrics by heart. He refocused, then realized his images were intermixing with other images—Gregory’s.

I’m in! Lacey, I’m in!

Suddenly he could feel Gregory searching for him, reaching out blindly, desperately, the way a sleeper gropes for a clock when an alarm goes off. Tristan held himself still, absolutely still, and the music floated Gregory away from him.

Tristan sagged with relief. How far could Gregory blast him from his mind? he wondered.

But every thought like that was a thought different from Gregory’s and would only alert him again. Tristan couldn’t think about what he was doing but simply had to do it.

He had chosen to focus on the floor lamp in Caroline’s living room. The day he and Lacey searched the house, he had noticed it standing next to the chair where the police had found Caroline’s body. The halogen lamp, with its long pole and metal disk at the top, was so common it wouldn’t create suspicion, but it might trigger a visual memory of Caroline sitting in the chair on that late-May afternoon.

Tristan focused on it. He circled it with his mind. He reached out for it as if he would switch it on.

And he found himself standing in Caroline’s living room. She was sitting in the chair, looking back at him, slightly amused. Then she suddenly got up. The color was high in her cheeks, long red fingers of it, rising as it did in Gregory’s cheeks when he was angry. But there was also a victorious gleam in her eyes.

She walked toward a desk. Tristan, inside Gregory’s memory, stayed where he was, close to the lamp. Caroline picked up a piece of paper and waved it at him, as if she was taunting him. He felt Gregory’s hands draw up into fists.

Then she walked toward him. He thought she was telling him to look at the paper, but he couldn’t hear the words clearly. His anger had grown so quickly, the fury in him was so great, that his heart pounded, his blood rushed through him, singing in his ears.

Then his hand rose up. He slammed it into the lamp, slammed the lamp toward her. He saw her go reeling back, flying backward like a cartoon figure into the bright blue square of the picture window.

He shouted out. Tristan, himself, shouted out when he saw Caroline pitching backward, a long stripe of blood on her face.

Gregory suddenly jerked, and Tristan knew that Gregory had heard him. He was the one who’d get slammed next. He scrambled to get out. But images were swirling around him now like pieces of sharp, colored glass in a kaleidoscope. He felt dizzy and sick. He couldn’t separate his own mind from Gregory’s. He ran a maze through endless, circling, insane thoughts. He knew he was trapped.

Then suddenly there was a voice calling to Gregory, pleading with him to wake up. Ivy.

He saw her through Gregory’s eyes, wrapped in her robe, leaning over him. Her hair tumbled down and touched his face. Her arms went around him, comforting him. Then Gregory stilled his whirling thoughts, and Tristan slipped out.

12

“That’s it, Philip!” Gregory said, lifting up his shirt, wiping the sweat from his face. “I’m not giving you any more tennis lessons. You’re going to beat me every time.”

“Then I’ll have to give
you
lessons,” Philip replied, extremely pleased with himself.

Gregory finished taking off his damp shirt and swatted Philip lightly. “Brat.”

Ivy and Maggie, who had been watching Thursday morning’s lesson, laughed.

“This is how I’d always hoped it would be,” Maggie said.

It was a perfect summer day, the sky postcard blue, the pine trees stirring with a light breeze. They were sitting together by the tennis court, Ivy sunbathing, her mother occupying the shady half of the blanket.

Maggie sighed contentedly. “We’re a family at last! And I can go away knowing my chickens are happy and safe at home.”

“Don’t spend one moment thinking about us, Mom,” Ivy said. “You and Andrew deserve some time alone at the lake.”

Maggie nodded. “Andrew needs the time away, that’s for sure. Something’s been on his mind lately. Usually, before bed, he tells me everything that’s happened that day—every detail of everything. That’s how I get to sleep.”

Ivy laughed.

“But I can tell,” Maggie continued, “something’s worrying him, and he’s keeping it to himself.”

Ivy laid her hand over her mother’s. “You guys really need to get away from us and from the college, too. I hope you have a great time, Mom.”

Her mother kissed her, then rose to say goodbye to Philip.

She put her arm around his shoulder. “You be good, pumpkin.”

Philip made a face.

“Okay,” Gregory answered cheerfully.

Maggie laughed. She planted a big, pink kiss on Philip, hesitated, then shyly kissed Gregory, too.

“Take care of my baby,” Ivy heard her mother say quietly. “Take care of my big baby and my little one.”

Gregory smiled. “You can count on me, Maggie.”

Ivy’s mother walked off happily, her huge pocketbook swinging behind her. The car was already packed; she was picking up Andrew after his morning meeting.

Gregory smiled down at Ivy, then stretched out on the blanket next to her. “For the next three days,” he said, “we can eat whatever we want, whenever we want.”

“I’m going to make a sandwich now,” Philip told them. “Want one?”

Ivy shook her head. “I have to go to work soon. I’ll pick up something at the mall.”

“What kind are you making?” Gregory asked.

“Cream cheese, cinnamon, and sugar.”

“Think I’ll pass on that.”

Philip started for the house, but not before wiping his face on his shirt, then pulling it off and swatting a tree with it.

When her brother had disappeared behind the grove of pines separating the house from the tennis court, Ivy said, “You know, he’s imitating you. How do you like being a role model?”

“I don’t know.” Gregory smiled a lopsided smile. “I guess I’m going to have to clean up my act.”

Ivy laughed and settled back on the blanket. “Thanks for being nice to my mom,” she said.

“Promising to take care of her baby? That won’t be a hard one to keep.” Gregory lay back close to Ivy. He glanced at her, then ran a light hand over her bare midriff. “Your skin’s so warm.”

Ivy felt warm all over. She laid her hand on top of Gregory’s.

“How come you didn’t wear that bikini to Eric’s party?” he asked.

Ivy laughed. “I only wear it where I feel comfortable.”

“And you’re comfortable with me?” He pulled himself up on one elbow and looked into her eyes, then let his gaze pass slowly down her.

“Yes and no,” she replied.

“You’re always so honest,” he said, bending over her, smiling.

Without touching her, he lowered his mouth to hers. She kissed him. He pulled up for a moment, then lowered his mouth again, still not touching her except with his lips.

They kissed a third time. Then Ivy reached up and slipped her hands around his neck, pulling him down to her.

She didn’t hear the soft footsteps in the grass.

“I was waiting for you at the park since ten.”

Gregory’s head jerked up, and Ivy grabbed the edge of the blanket.

“Looks like you found something better to do,” Eric said, and nodded at Ivy.

Gregory lifted himself off her. Ivy pulled the blanket around her, as if Eric had caught her without any clothes. The way he looked at her, she felt naked. She felt exposed.

Eric laughed.

“I saw a movie about a sister who couldn’t keep her hands off her brother.”

“It’s
step
brother,” Gregory told him.

Ivy huddled inside the blanket.

“Whatever. I guess you’re over Tristan, huh?” Eric said. “Gregory’s cured you?”

“Lay off, Eric,” Gregory warned.

“Is he better at it than Tristan?” Eric asked, his voice low and soft. “He’s sure got all the moves.” His words were like snakes working their way into Ivy’s mind.

“Shut up!” Gregory shouted, jumping to his feet.

“But you knew that, didn’t you?” Eric continued in a silky voice. “You knew about Gregory because girls talk.”

“Get out of here!”

“Suzanne would have told you,” Eric went on.

“I’m warning you—”

“Suzanne would have told her best friend just how hot Gregory is,” Eric said, wriggling his hips.

“Get off my property!”

Eric turned to Gregory and laughed.
“Your
property?” He stretched his lips into an exaggerated smile. “Yours? Maybe one day,
if
you’re lucky.”

Gregory was silent for a moment, then spoke with a voice that was cool but threatening. “You’d better hope I am, Eric Because if I’m out of luck, you’re out, too.” He took several steps closer to his friend.

Eric took off. He looked over his shoulder and laughed, like a kid skipping away and daring others to catch him, but there was a maniacal edge to his laughter that made Ivy’s blood run cold.

Philip, who had come out of the house when he heard the shouting, now raced across the lawn to them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He looked from Gregory to Ivy, who was standing next to him, still wrapped in the blanket. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Gregory said. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

Philip looked at him doubtfully, then turned to Ivy. “Are you okay?”

She nodded silently.

Gregory put his arm around Ivy. “Eric said some mean things to her.”

“Mean things like what?”

“Just mean things,” Gregory replied.

“Like what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Ivy said.

Philip bit his lip. Then he turned and started to walk away from them.

Ivy knew that he felt left out. She slipped out from under Gregory’s protective arm. “Can I have a hug, Philip? I know you’re getting big now, but I’m feeling kind of bad. Can I have a hug?”

Her brother turned back and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight.

“We’ll take care of you,” he whispered.

“Will you?” she whispered back.

“Gregory and me,” he assured her, “and angel Tristan.”

Ivy quickly let go of him. She tried hard to keep her mouth from quivering. “Thanks,” she said, then ran into the house.

When Tristan heard the shouting, he rushed to the window to see what was going on. Gregory and Eric were hidden behind the trees. The sound of their voices carried, but he couldn’t catch the words. The angry exchange was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

Tristan debated what to do. He wanted to make sure Ivy was all right, but he couldn’t leave Gregory’s bedroom as it looked now. He had spent the morning searching it, and drawers were still open, papers spread around, the pockets of pants and jackets pulled inside out. If Gregory discovered that someone had been looking through his things, he would become much more cautious, and that would make it harder to figure out what was going on.

The last time Ivy had needed help, she had called out to Tristan—silently—but he had heard her. He kept very still for a few moments now, listening. When he didn’t sense that she was in danger, he decided to stay where he was and began to straighten up.

A few minutes later he heard Ivy running upstairs, then Philip and Gregory talking as they approached the house. Tristan began to work more quickly, but he was rapidly losing his strength. His fingers, having materialized repeatedly for short periods of time, were growing tired and clumsy. He could barely open and close Gregory’s desk.

There was an old school magazine on top of the desk, anchoring newspaper articles Gregory had saved. Earlier, Tristan had skimmed the news stories, trying to figure out why they interested Gregory. Now they were blowing around. He snatched at one of them and knocked over a stack of boxes containing tapes for the VCR.

Several of the tapes slid out of their boxes, and Tristan hurried to pick them up. He could hear Gregory talking to Philip at the bottom of the back stairway, but the more he hurried, the more he bungled. One of the tapes wouldn’t slip back into its box—something was sticking.

Tristan focused all his energy and yanked it out again. That’s when he saw it, cellophane taped along one side of the black casing, with three bright red capsules inside.

He heard the steps creak. Gregory was coming up. Tristan ripped off the plastic, slid the tape back in its box, and set it on top of the stack. He knew that Gregory would not be able to see him, but he’d spot the red capsules. With his last bit of energy, Tristan threw them behind the bureau. A half second later Gregory entered the room.

Tristan sank back, exhausted. He saw that everything was in place except a train schedule that lay on the floor where the boxes had fallen.

No problem, he told himself. Gregory would think it had blown off the desk, since it wasn’t anchored by anything.

In fact, Gregory didn’t notice the schedule, though he went directly to his desk and sat down. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, and his skin had turned a strange color, paling beneath his tan. He dropped his head in his hands. For several minutes, he rubbed his temples, then he sat back in the chair.

Suddenly his head jerked around. Gregory scared at the train schedule on the floor, then glanced slowly, suspiciously around the room. He reached for the videotape and pulled it out of the box. His jaw dropped.

He checked the label, then yanked out one tape after another. He ripped cellophane off a second cassette—it contained three more capsules—and again glanced around the room.

“Philip!” He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back on the floor. He started for the door, then stopped and slammed his palm against the wall. He stood there, motionless, staring at the door to the hall, one hand still clutching the drugs.

“Damn you, brat!”

He shoved the capsules deep in his pocket, then slipped his wallet in after them. Returning to his desk, he picked up the chair, then sat down to read the train schedule.

Tristan read over his shoulder and watched as Gregory circled the time of the last train running after midnight. It left Tusset at 1:45
A.M.,
but didn’t make a stop at Stonehill’s little station. Gregory did some quick calculations, wrote down 2:04, circled it twice, then slipped the schedule under a book. He sat for fifteen minutes more, his chin resting on his hands.

Tristan wondered what was going through Gregory’s mind, but he was much too weak to attempt an entrance. Gregory seemed much calmer now—so calm it was eerie. He sat back slowly and nodded to himself as if he had made some big decision. Then he reached for his car keys and started toward the door. Halfway down the steps, Gregory began to whistle.