The Power of Love (9 page)

“Your paintings are really … uh …” All the words she could think of sounded flat.

“That’s okay,” he said, cutting her short before she could come up with the right description.

“Are you coming along for a second look?” Gregory asked impatiently.

“Be out in a minute,” Beth replied, hurrying toward the dressing room.

Philip was walking to the dressing room and undressing at the same time.

“I can’t,” Ivy said to Gregory. “I play at five o’clock and I need to—”

“Practice?” His eyes flashed.

“I need time to collect myself, to think through what Pm playing, that’s all. I can’t do that with everyone around.”

“I’m sorry you can’t come,” Suzanne said, and Ivy knew she was making progress. Still, it hurt her to see Gregory turn away.

She dawdled in the dressing room long enough for the others to go. When she came out, there were only two customers left, trying on hats and laughing.

Will was relaxing in a canvas chair with one leg propped up on a trunk, studying a photograph in his hands. He turned it facedown when he saw her. “Thanks for stopping by,” he said.

“Will, you didn’t give me a chance to tell you what I liked about your paintings. I couldn’t find the right words at first—”

“I wasn’t fishing for compliments, Ivy.”

“I don’t care whether you were or weren’t,” she said, and plopped down in the chair across from him. “I have something to say.”

“All right.” His mouth curved up slightly. “Shoot.”

“It’s about the one called
Too Soon.
”

Will took off his hat. She wished he had kept it on. Somehow—more and more, it seemed—looking into his eyes made it difficult for her to speak. She told herself they were just deep brown eyes, but whenever she looked into them she felt as if she were going into free fall.

The eyes are windows to the soul, she’d read once. And his were wide open.

She focused on her hands. “Sometimes, when something touches you, it’s hard to find the words. You can say things like ‘beautiful,’ ‘fabulous,’ ‘awesome,’ but the words don’t really describe how you feel, especially if you were feeling all that, but the picture made you—made you hurt some, too. And your picture did.” She flexed her fingers. “That’s all.”

“Thanks,” Will said.

She looked up at him then, which was a mistake.

“Ivy—”

She tried to look away, but couldn’t.

“—how are you?”

“I’m fine. Really, I am.” Why did she have to keep telling people that? And why, when she said it to Will, did it feel as if he could see straight through the lie?

“I have something to say, too,” he told her. “Take care of yourself.”

She could feel him looking at her cheek, the one chat had been bruised during the assault. There was still a pale wash of color there, though she had done her best to disguise it with makeup.

“Please take care of yourself.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she snapped.

“Sometimes people don’t.”

Ivy wanted to say, You don’t know what you’re talking about, you’ve never lost anyone you loved. But then she remembered Gregory’s words about Will having gone through a tough time. Maybe Will did understand.

“Who’s the person in your painting?” Ivy asked. “Is it someone you knew?”

“My mother. My father still won’t look at the picture.” Then he waved that thought away and leaned forward. “Be careful, Ivy. Don’t forget that there are other people who will feel that they have lost everything if they lose you.”

Ivy looked away.

He reached for her face. She pulled back instinctively when he touched the bruised side. But he didn’t hurt her, and he didn’t let go. He cupped one hand around the back of her head. There was no escaping him.

Maybe she didn’t want to escape him.

“Be careful, Ivy. Be careful!” His eyes shone with a strange intensity. “I’m telling you—
be careful!
”

Ivy blinked. Then she broke away from Will and ran.

9

Tristan lay back in the grass, exhausted. The park at the end of Main Street was filling up with people. Their picnic blankets looked like bright-colored rafts on a green sea. Kids rolled around and punched each other. Dogs pulled against their leashes and touched noses. Two teenagers kissed. An older couple flipped down their sunshades and watched, the woman smiling.

Lacey returned from her exploration of the park’s stage, which was set up for the five o’clock performance. She dropped down next to Tristan. “It was a silly thing to do,” she chided.

He had expected her to say something like that.

“Which part?” he asked. After all, the afternoon had been long and eventful.

“Trying to get inside Gregory’s head.” She snorted. “It’s a wonder he didn’t knock you as far as Manhattan. Or L.A.!”

“I was desperate, Lacey! I’ve got to know what kind of game he’s playing with Ivy and Suzanne.”

“And you thought you needed a trip inside his head to find that out?” she asked incredulously. “You should have asked me. His game’s no different than the kind I’ve seen a lot of guys play with girls. He’s taking the easy one for a ride and chasing Miss Hard-to-Get.” She moved her face close to Tristan’s. “Am I right?”

Tristan didn’t reply. It wasn’t just a romantic game that was worrying him. Ever since he had made the connection between Caroline’s death and Ivy’s delivery to the house next door, he had wondered about the hidden purpose behind Gregory’s new closeness to Ivy.

“Well, I hope you learned your lesson today,” Lacey said.

“I have a pounding headache,” he replied. “Are you satisfied?”

She laid her hand lightly on his forehead and said in a quieter voice, “If it makes you feel any better, Gregory probably has one, too.”

Tristan squinted up at her, surprised by this small bit of gentleness.

She removed her hand and squinted back. “And why were you chasing Philip around, getting inside
his
mind?” she demanded. “Seems to me like another waste of energy. He already sees us glow—and gets in trouble every time he mentions it. That little conversation put Gregory in a
real
good mood this afternoon.”

“I had to tell Philip who I was. Beth signed my name on the computer message. If Philip tells her he sees me, or my light, sooner or later she is going to have to believe.”

Lacey shook her head doubtfully.

“And speaking of Philip,” Tristan said, pulling himself up on one elbow, “I noticed how Gregory’s mood got even better when Philip stopped talking about angels and pulled out an actual photograph of one. What mission were you working on today when you jumped into that picture?”

Lacey didn’t answer him right away. She gazed up at three women in leotards who had just been introduced onstage. “What do you suppose they’re going to do?”

“Dance or aerobics. Answer my question.”

“If I were them, I’d wear veils.”

“Try again,” Tristan said.

“I was working on my semimaterializing process,” she told him, “solidifying myself enough to show a general shape but not become an actual body. You never know—I might need to do something like that sometime in the future. To complete my mission, of course.”

“Of course. And projecting your voice, so chat everyone at Old West Photos could hear you—I guess you needed to practice that some more, too.”

“Oh, well, that,” she said with a flick of her hand. “I was working on
your
mission then.”

“My mission?”

“In my own way,” she replied. “You and I have very different styles.”

“True. I’d never have thought of telling Will he has nice buns.”

“Terrific buns,” Lacey corrected him. “The best I’ve seen in a long time …” She looked at Tristan thoughtfully. “Roll over.”

“Noway.”

She laughed, then said, “That chick of yours, she wears her skin like a suit of armor. I thought that if I got a little joke going, I could get her to loosen up some, to open up to Will. I thought I had a chance, since she couldn’t see his eyes beneath his hat. I think it’s his eyes that get to her, that make her shut down like that.”

“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 of her 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 late-afternoon 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 the 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?”