Kissed by an Angel/The Power of Love/Soulmates

by Elizabeth Chandler

  “Wow!” said Beth. “Wow—if I do say so myself! How’s this for the first line of a story: ‘He had no place in her life now, and perhaps that was better for her, but it was life in death for him.’”

  Triscan saw the words on the page as if he were holding the notebook in his own hands. And when Beth turned to gaze at the picture of him on Ivy’s bureau, he turned, too.

  If only you knew, he thought

  “‘If only,’” she wrote. “If only, if only, if only …” She seemed to be stuck.

  “That is a good beginning,” Ivy said, setting aside the typed story. “What comes after it?”

  “‘If only.’”

  “If only what?” Suzanne asked.

  “I don’t know,” Beth said.

  Tristan saw the room through her eyes, how pretty it was, how Ella was staring at her, how Suzanne and Ivy exchanged glances, then shrugged.

  If only Ivy knew how I love her. He thought the words as clearly as possible.

  “‘If only I freed—’” She stopped writing and frowned. He could feel the puzzlement like a crease in his own mind.

  “Ivy, Ivy, Ivy,” he said. “If only Ivy.”

  “Beth, you look so pale,” Ivy observed. “Are you okay?”

  Beth blinked several times. “It’s as if someone else is making up words for me.”

  Suzanne made little whistling sounds.

  “I am not cuckoo!” said Beth.

  Ivy walked over to Beth and looked into her eyes; she gazed straight in at him. But he knew she didn’t see.

  “‘But she didn’t see,’” Beth wrote. Then she scratched out and rewrote, reading aloud as she went: “‘He had no place in her life, and perhaps that was best for her, but it was a miserable life in death for him. If only she’d free … him from his prison of love. But she didn’t know, didn’t see the key that was in her hands only—’ Beth lifted her pencil for a moment. “I’m on a roll now!” she exclaimed.

  She started writing again. “‘In her gentle, loving, caring, caressing, hands, in. hands that held, that healed, that hoped—’”

  Oh, come on, thought Tristan.

  “Shut up,” Beth answered him.

  “What?” said Ivy, her eyes opening wide.

  “You’re glowing.”

  Everyone turned to look at Philip, who was standing outside Ivy’s door.

  “You’re glowing, Beth,” Philip said.

  Ivy turned away. “Philip, I told you I don’t want to hear any more about that.”

  “About me glowing?” Beth asked.

  “He’s into this angel stuff,” Ivy explained. “He claims he sees colors and things, and thinks they’re angels. I can’t stand it anymore! I don’t want to hear it anymore! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  Hearing her words, Tristan lost heart. His effort had taken him well past exhaustion; hope was all that had been sustaining him. Now that was gone.

  Beth jerked her head, and he was outside of her once more. Philip kept his eyes on Tristan, following him as he joined Lacey.

  “Gee,” said Suzanne, winking at Beth, “I wonder where Philip learned about angels.”

  “They’ve helped you in the past, Ivy,” Beth said gently. “Why can’t they help him now?”

  “They didn’t help me!” Ivy exclaimed. “If angels were real, if angels were our guardians, Tristan would be alive! But he’s gone. How can I still believe in angels?”

  Her hands were curled into two tight fists. The stormy look in her eyes had become an intense green, burning with certainty, the certainty that there were no angels.

  Tristan felt as if he were dying all over again.

  Suzanne looked at Beth and shrugged. Philip said nothing. Tristan saw that familiar set in his jaw.

  “He’s a stubborn little bugger,” Lacey remarked.

  Tristan nodded. Philip was still believing. Tristan let himself hope just a little.

  Then Ivy pulled a plastic bag out of her trash can. She started clearing off her shelves of angels.

  “Ivy, no!”

  But his words wouldn’t stop her.

  Philip tugged on her arm. “Can I have them?”

  She ignored him.

  “Can I have them, Ivy?”

  Tristan heard the glass breaking inside the bag. Her hand moved steadily, relentlessly down the line, but she hadn’t touched Tony or the water angel yet.

  “Please, Ivy.”

  At last she stopped. “All right. You can have them,” she said, “but you have to promise me, Philip, that you will never speak to me about angels again.”

  Philip looked up thoughtfully at the last two angels. “Okay. But what if—”

  “No,” she said firmly. “That’s the deal.’

  He carefully took down Tony and the water angel. “I promise.”

  Tristan’s heart sank.

  When Philip had left, Ivy said, “It’s getting late. The others will be here soon. I’d better change.”

  “I’ll help you pick out something,” Suzanne said.

  “No. Go on down. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

  “But you know how I like to pick out clothes for you—”

  “We’re going,” Beth said, pushing Suzanne toward the door. “Take all the time you want, Ivy. If the guys get here, we’ll stall.” She pulled the door closed behind Suzanne.

  Ivy looked across her room at the photograph of Tristan. She stood as still as a statue, tears running down her cheeks.

  Lacey said softly, “Tristan, you need to rest now. There’s nothing you can do until you rest.”

  But he could not leave Ivy. He put his arms around her. She slipped through him and moved toward the bureau, taking the picture in her hands. He wrapped her in his arms again, but she only cried harder.

  Then Ella was set lightly on the bureau top. Lacey’s hands had done it. The cat rubbed up against Ivy’s head.

  “Oh, Ella. I don’t know how to let go of him.”

  “Don’t let go,” Tristan begged.

  “In the end, she must,” Lacey warned.

  “I’ve lost him, Ella, I know it. Tristan is dead. He can’t hold me ever again. He can’t think of me. He can’t want me now. Love ends with death.”

  “It doesn’t!” Tristan said. “I’ll hold you again, I swear it, and you’ll see that my love will never end.”

  “You’re exhausted, Tristan,” Lacey told him.

  “I’ll hold you, I’ll love you forever!”

  “If you don’t rest now,” Lacey said, “you’ll become even more confused. It’ll be hard to tell real from unreal, or to rouse yourself out of the darkness. Tristan, listen to me….”

  But before she finished speaking, the darkness overtook him.

  P1-16

  “Well,” said Suzanne as the group of them filed out of the movie theater, “in the last few weeks, I think we’ve seen at least as many films as Siskel and Ebert.”

  “I’m not sure they went to see that one,” Will observed.

  “It’s the only flick I’ve liked so far,” Eric said. “Can’t wait till they do Bloodbath IV.”

  Gregory glanced over at Ivy. She turned her head.

  Ivy was the one who suggested a movie whenever someone told her she needed to get out, which was often lately. If it had been up to her, she’d sit through a triple feature. Occasionally she lost herself in the story, but even if she didn’t, it was a way of looking sociable without having to talk. Unfortunately, the easiest part of the evening was over now. Ivy winced when they came out of the cinema’s cool, dark otherworld and into the hot, neon-lit night.

  “Pizza?” Gregory asked.

  “I could use a drink,” said Suzanne.

  “Well, Gregory’s buying, since he wouldn’t let me stock the trunk,” Eric told her.

  “Gregory’s buying pizza,” Gregory said.

  More and more, Ivy thought, Gregory was coming to resemble a camp counselor, shepherding around this odd flock of people, acting responsible. I
t was a wonder that Eric put up with it—but she knew that Gregory, Will, and Eric still had their own nights out, nights with wilder girls and guys.

  On these group dates Ivy played a game with herself, seeing how long she could go without thinking about Tristan, or at least without missing him terribly. She worked at paying attention to those around her. Life went on for them, even if it didn’t for her.

  That night they headed for Celentano’s, a popular pizza parlor. Their chairs wobbled and the tablecloths were squares of torn-off paper—Crayons and Pencils Provided, a sign said—but the owners, Pat and Dennis, were gourmet all the way. Beth, who loved anything with chocolate, adored their famous dessert pizzas.

  “What’s it going to be tonight?” Gregory teased her. “Brownies and cheese?”

  Beth smiled, two pink streaks showing high in her cheeks. Part of Beth’s prettiness was her openness, Ivy thought, her way of smiling at you without holding back.

  “I’m getting something different. Something healthy. I’ve got it! Brie with apricots and shavings of bitter chocolate!”

  Gregory laughed and laid his hand lightly on Beth’s shoulder. Ivy thought back to the time when she had been mystified by some of Gregory’s comments and convinced that he could only mock her and her friends.

  But now she found him pretty easy to figure out. Like his father, he had a temper and he needed to be appreciated. At the moment, both Beth and Suzanne were appreciating him, Suzanne watching him more shrewdly, glancing over the top of her menu.

  “All I want is pepperoni,” Eric complained. “Just pepperoni.” He was running his finger up and down and across the list of pizzas, up and down and across, like a frustrated mouse that couldn’t find its way out of a maze.

  Will had apparently made up his mind. His menu was closed and he had begun drawing on the paper tablecloth in front of him.

  “Well, Rembrandt returns,” said Pat, passing by their table, nodding toward Will. “Here for lunch three times this week,” she explained to the others. “I’d like to think it’s our cooking, but I know it’s the free art materials.”

  Will gave her a smile, but it was more with his eyes, which were deep brown, than with his mouth. His lips turned up slightly at just one corner of his mouth.

  He was not easy to figure out, thought Ivy.

  “O’Leary,” said Eric when the owner had passed by, “have you got the hots for Pat, or what?”

  “Likes those older women,” Gregory teased. “One at UCLA, one doing Europe instead of college …”

  “You’re kidding,” said Suzanne, obviously impressed.

  Will glanced up. “We’re friends,” he said, and continued sketching. “And I work next door, at the photo lab.”

  That was news to Ivy. None of Gregory’s friends had real jobs.

  “Will did that portrait of Pat,” Gregory told the girls.

  It was tacked up on the wall, a piece of cheap paper worked over with wax crayons. But it was Pat all right, with her straight, soft hair and hazel eyes and generous mouth—he had found her beauty.

  “You’re really good,” said Ivy.

  Will’s eyes flicked up and held hers for a second, then he continued his drawing. For the life of her she didn’t know if he was trying to be cool or if he was just shy.

  “You know, Will,” said Beth, “Ivy keeps wondering if you’re really cool or just shy.”

  Will blinked.

  “Beth!” said Ivy. “Where did that come from?”

  “Well, haven’t you wondered it? Oh, well, maybe it was Suzanne. Maybe it was me. I don’t know, Ivy, my mind’s a muddle. I’ve had a kind of headache since I left your house. I think I need caffeine.”

  Gregory laughed. “That chocolate pizza should do the job.”

  “For the record,” Will said to Beth, “I’m not really cool.”

  “Give me a break,” Gregory said.

  Ivy sat back in her chair and glanced at her watch. Well, it had been eight whole minutes that she had thought about other people. Eight whole minutes without imagining what it would have been like if Tristan had been sitting beside her. That was progress.

  Pat took their order. Then she dug in her pocket and handed some forms to Will. “I’m doing this in front of your friends, so you can’t back out, Will. I’ve been saving your tablecloths—I’m planning to sell them once your paintings are hanging in the Metropolitan Museum. But if you don’t enter some of your work in the festival, I’m entering the tablecloths.”

  “Thanks for letting me choose, Pat,” he said dryly.

  “Do you have any more of those forms?” asked Suzanne. “Ivy needs one.”

  “You’ve been saving my tablecloths, too?” Ivy asked.

  “Your music, girl. The Stonehill Festival is for all kinds of artists. They set up a stage for live performances. This will be good for you.”

  Ivy bit her tongue. She was so tired of people telling her what would be good for her. Every time somebody said that, all she could think was, Tristan is good for me.

  Two minutes this time, two minutes without thinking of him.

  Pat brought more festival forms along with their pizzas. The others reminisced about the summer arts festivals of the past.

  “I liked watching the dancers,” Gregory said.

  “I was once a young dancer,” Beth told him.

  “Till an untimely accident ended her car reer,” Suzanne remarked.

  “I was six,” Beth said, “and it was all quite magical—flitting around in my sequined costume, a thousand stars sparkling above me. Unfortunately, I danced right off the stage.” Will laughed out loud. It was the first time Ivy had heard him laugh like that.

  “Do you remember when Richmond played the accordion?”

  “Mr. Richmond, our principal?”

  Gregory nodded. “The mayor moved a stool out of his way.”

  “Then Richmond sat down,” said Eric.

  “Yow!”

  Ivy laughed with everyone else, though mostly she was acting. Whenever something did interest her or make her laugh, the first second it held her attention, and the next second she thought, I’ll have to tell Tristan.

  Four minutes this time.

  Will was drawing funny little scenes on the tablecloth: Beth twirling on her toes, Richmond’s legs flying upward. He put the scenes together like a comic strip. His hands were quick, his strokes strong and sure. For a few moments, Ivy watched with interest.

  Then Suzanne breathed out with a hiss. Ivy glanced sideways, but Suzanne’s face was a mask of friendliness. “Here comes a friend of yours,” she said to Gregory.

  Everyone turned around. Ivy swallowed hard. It was Twinkie Hammonds, the “little, petite” brunette, as Suzanne called her—the girl that Ivy had talked to the day she first saw Tristan swim. And with her was Gary.

  Gary was staring at Ivy. Then he checked out Will, who was seated next to her, then Eric and Gregory. Ivy prickled. It wasn’t as if she were on a date; still, she felt Gary’s eyes accusing her.

  “Hi, Ivy.”

  “Hi.”

  “Having a good time?” he asked.

  She toyed with a crayon, then nodded her head. “Yes.”

  “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

  “I know,” she said, though she had seen him—at the mall once, and another time in town. She had quickly ducked inside the nearest doorway.

  “Getting out a lot now?” he asked.

  “Pretty much, I guess.”

  Each time she saw him, she expected Tristan to be nearby.

  Each time she had to go through the pain all over again.

  “Thought you were. Twinkie told me.”

  “You got a problem with that?” asked Gregory.

  “I was talking to her, not you,” Gary replied coolly, “and I was just wondering how she was doing.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Tristan’s parents were asking about you the other day.”

  Ivy lowered her head.

  “I visit them someti
mes.”

  “Good,” she said. She had promised herself a hundred times that she would go see them.

  “They get lonely,” Gary said.

  “I guess they do.” She made dark little X’s with her crayon.

  “They like to talk about Tristan.”

  She nodded silently. She couldn’t go to that house again, she couldn’t! She laid the crayon down.

  “They still have your picture in his room.”

  Her eyes were dry. But her breath was ragged. She tried to suck it in and let it out evenly, so no one would notice.

  “Your picture has a note tucked under it.” Gary’s voice wavered with a kind of tremulous laughter. “You know the kind of parents they are—were. Always respecting Tristan and his privacy. Even now they won’t read it, but they know it’s your handwriting and that he saved it. They figure it’s some kind of love note and should stay with your picture.”

  What had she written? Nothing valuable enough to save. Just notes confirming the time they would meet for their next lesson. And he had saved such a scrap.

  Ivy fought back the tears. She should never have gone out with the others that night. She couldn’t keep her act together long enough.

  “You jerk!” It was Gregory’s voice.

  “It’s okay,” said Ivy.

  “Get out of here, jerk, before I make you!” Gregory ordered.

  “It’s okay!” She meant it. Gary couldn’t help how he felt, any more than she could.

  “I told you, Gary,” Twinkie said, “she’s not the kind to wear black for a year.”

  Gregory’s chair fell back as he rose, and he kicked it away.

  Dennis Celentano collared him just before he got to the other side of the table. “What’s the trouble here, guys?”

  Ivy sat still with her head down. At one time she would have prayed to her angels for strength, but she couldn’t anymore. She held herself still, wrapping her arms around herself. She shut down all thoughts, all feelings; she blocked out all the angry words that whirled around her. Numb, she would stay numb; if only she could stay numb forever.

  Why hadn’t she died instead of him? Why had it happened the way it did? Tristan had been all his parents had. He had been all she wanted. No one could take his place. She should have died, not him!

  The room was suddenly quiet, deathly quiet around her. Had she said that out loud? Gary was gone now. She couldn’t hear anything but the scratching of a pencil. Will’s hand moved quickly, with strokes strong and even more certain than before.