“Philip,” she said softly, “the night at the train station, after you saved me, was there some kind of shimmering light?”
Philip turned to her, his eyes wide. “You’re remembering!”
“Shhh.” Ivy glanced in the direction of the kitchen, listening to Gregory’s movements. Then she sat back against the stool and tried to sort out the images in her mind. She saw the light from her dream as if it were in the train station, on the platform, not far from Philip and her. Had she made that up, or was she finally remembering?
“What did the light do?” she asked her brother. “Did it move?”
Philip thought for a moment. “He was walking around us, like in a circle.”
“That’s how it was in my dream,” Ivy said. Then she turned her head and quickly put her finger to her lips.
When Gregory entered a minute later, Philip and she were sitting side by side, watching the movie intently.
“I thought some tea might help you calm down,” Gregory said, crouching down next to her, handing her a warm mug. He handed Philip a Yoo-hoo.
“Hey, thanks,” Philip said happily.
Gregory nodded and glanced back at Ivy. “Don’t you want it?”
“Uh, sure. I-it’s fine—great,” she stammered, surprised by the double image that had just flashed before her eyes: Gregory as he was now and Gregory standing in her bedroom. When she took the drink from Gregory’s hands, she saw him handing her another cup of steaming tea. Then she saw him as if he were sitting close to her, sitting on her bed and holding the cup to her lips, urging her to drink.
“Would you rather have something else?” Gregory asked.
“No, this is fine.” Was she remembering that night? Could Gregory have given her drugged tea?
“You look pale,” he said, and touched her bare arm. “You’re ice cold, Ivy.”
Her arm was covered with goose bumps. He ran his hand up and down it. Ivy became aware of just how strong his fingers were. Gregory had held her many times since Tristan’s death, but for the first time Ivy noticed the power in his grip. He was staring beyond her now, at the television screen, at a person getting thrashed by a dinosaur.
“Gregory, you’re hurting my arm.”
He released her quickly and sat back on his heels to look at her. It was impossible to read the thoughts behind his light gray eyes.
“You still seem upset,” he observed.
“Just tired,” Ivy replied. “I’m tired of people watching me, waiting for … for I don’t know what.”
“Waiting for you to crack up?” he suggested softly.
“I guess so,” she said. But I won’t, she thought. And I haven’t yet, despite what you or anyone thinks.
“Thanks for the tea,” she said. “I’m feeling better. I think I’ll sit awhile with Philip and watch these guys become dinosaur munchies.”
One side of Gregory’s mouth drew up a little.
“Thanks,” Ivy repeated. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He rested his hand on top of hers for a moment, then left her and Philip to watch the video. As soon as Ivy heard him climb the steps, she poured her tea into a potted plant. Philip was too engrossed in the film to notice.
Ivy sat back on the sofa and closed her eyes, trying to remember what the light was like, trying to hold on to the glimmer of hope her dream had given her.
Could it be true? Had Philip been seeing him all along? Was an angel there for her? Her eyes tingled with tears. Was it Tristan?
“Tristan?” Ivy called softly, and shivered with excitement. She had hidden in the school locker room Thursday afternoon, waiting till the swimming pool was empty and the coach had left for a faculty meeting. Then, fully dressed, she had slipped off her shoes and climbed the thin silver ladder. Now she stood on the board high above the pool, just as she had the previous April.
Though Ivy could swim now, some of the old fear remained. She took three steps forward and felt the board flex beneath her. Gritting her teeth, Ivy stared down at the aqua water, streaked and spangled by the fluorescent lights. She would never love the water the way Tristan had, but this was where he had first reached out to her. This was where she had to try to reach back to him.
“Tristan?” she called softly.
The only sound was the steady buzzing of the fluorescent lights.
Angels, help me! Help me reach him.
Ivy didn’t say the words out loud. After Tristan’s death, she had stopped praying to her angels. After losing him, she couldn’t find the words; she couldn’t believe they would be heard. But this prayer felt as if it were burning its way out of her heart.
She took two more steps forward. “Tristan!” she cried out loud. “Are you there?”
She walked to the end of board and stood with her toes at the very edge. “Tristan, where are you?” Her voice echoed back from the concrete walls. “I love you!” she cried. “I love you!”
Ivy dropped her head. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t hear her. She should get down before someone caught her up there, acting crazy.
Ivy took a step back from the edge. Watching her feet, she slowly and carefully turned around on the board. When she looked up, she gasped.
At the other end of the board, the air shimmered. It was like liquid light—a gold stem burning in the rough shape of a person. The glowing shape was surrounded by a mist of sheer and trembling colors. This was what she had seen at the train station.
“Tristan,” she said softly. She reached out her hand and started walking toward him. She longed to be enveloped by his golden light, surrounded by the colors, embraced by all that Tristan was now.
“Tell me it’s you. Speak to me,” she begged. “Tristan!”
“Ivy!”
“Ivy!”
The two voices slammed off the walls—Gregory’s and Suzanne’s.
“Ivy, what are you doing up there?”
“She’s cracking up, Gregory! I was afraid this would happen.”
Ivy looked down and saw Gregory already two steps up the ladder and Suzanne looking about frantically. “I’ll get help,” Suzanne said. “I’ll go get Ms. Bryce.”
“Wait,” Gregory said.
“But, Gregory, she’s—”
“Wait.” It was a command. Suzanne fell silent.
“There are enough stories about Ivy going around already. We can handle her ourselves.”
Handle her? Ivy repeated silently. They were talking about her as if she were a mischievous child or maybe a crazy girl who couldn’t take care of herself.
“I’ll get her down,” Gregory said calmly.
“I’ll get myself down,” Ivy said. “If I need any help, Tristan is here.”
“I told you—she’s gone, Gregory! Totally nuts! Don’t you see—”
“Suzanne,” Ivy shouted down at her, “can’t you see his light?”
Now Gregory was scrambling up the ladder.
“There’s nothing there, Ivy. Nothing,” Suzanne moaned.
“Look,” Ivy said, and pointed. “Right there!” Then she stared across the board at Gregory, who had pulled himself up on it Suzanne was right. There was nothing there, no shimmering colors, no golden light.
“Tristan?”
“Gregory,” he said in a hoarse whisper, then he held out his hand.
Ivy looked to either side of her. Was she going crazy? Had she had imagined it all? “Tristan?”
“That’s enough, Ivy. Come down now.”
She didn’t want to go with him. She longed to go back to the golden light, to be surrounded by it again. She’d give anything to be held inside that moment with Tristan.
“Come here, Ivy. Don’t make this difficult.”
Ivy hated his patronizing tone.
“Come on!” Gregory ordered. “Do you want me to get Ms. Bryce?”
She glared at him, but she knew she couldn’t fight him. “No,” Ivy said at last. “I can get down by myself. Go ahead. Go ahead! I’ll follow you.”
&nbs
p; “Good girl,” Gregory said, then descended the ladder. Ivy walked to the end of the board and turned around. She was about to back down the first step when Suzanne called out. “Will! Over here! Hurry.”
“Be quiet, Suzanne,” Gregory said.
But Will, who had just come into the pool area, saw Ivy up on the board and ran toward Gregory and Suzanne. “Beth said you were looking for her,” he said to them breathlessly. “Is she okay? What was she trying to do?”
The resentment burning in Ivy now flared into anger.
She. Her. They were talking about her as if she couldn’t hear them, as if she couldn’t understand.
“She and her are right here!” Ivy shouted down at them. “You don’t have to talk about me as though my mind has gone.”
“She thinks Tristan’s up there and is going to help her,” Suzanne told Will. “She said something about Tristan’s light.”
With that, Will gazed up at Ivy. Ivy glared down at him. Her furious stare was met with a look of wonder. His eyes traveled along the board behind her, searching. He glanced quickly around the pool, then up at her again. She saw the word “Tristan” on his lips, though he did not speak it aloud. At last he asked her, “Can you get down all right?”
“Of course I can.”
Gregory and Suzanne stood on either side of the ladder as she climbed down, as if they might have to catch her. Will stood apart from them and continued to glance around the pool.
When Ivy reached the bottom, Suzanne hugged her, then held her at arm’s length. “Girl, I could just shake you, shake you.” She was laughing, but Ivy saw the tears in her friend’s eyes and the relief in her face.
Gregory stepped in then and put his arms around Ivy, pulling her close. “You scared me, Ivy,” he said. Ivy could barely breathe and tried to pull back, but he wouldn’t let go.
Suzanne laid a hand on Gregory’s arm. She was over her scare now and did not look happy about the long embrace. Will kept his distance, saying nothing.
“I’ll take you home,” Gregory said, freeing Ivy at last.
“No, I’m fine,” she protested.
“I want to.”
“Really, Gregory, I’d rather—”
“Am I supposed to walk?” Suzanne interrupted.
Gregory turned to her. “I’ll take you first, Suzanne, and then—”
“But I’m all right,” Ivy insisted.
“She’s all right,” Suzanne echoed. “She is, I can tell. And we had plans.”
“Suzanne, after what just happened, you can’t expect me to leave Ivy alone. If Maggie’s at home, then we can—”
“Could I give you a ride home, Ivy?” Will cut in.
“Yes. Thanks,” she replied.
Gregory looked irritated.
Suzanne smiled. “Well, then, big brother,” she said, putting her arm around Gregory, “it’s all worked out. You have nothing to worry about.”
“You’ll stay with her?” Gregory asked Will. “You’ll take care of her until Maggie gets home?”
“Sure.” Will glanced up at the diving board. “Either I will or Tristan will,” he added.
Ivy cocked her head at him. Suzanne giggled, then covered her mouth with her hand. Gregory didn’t crack a smile.
P3-4
“Oh, hi!” Beth said a few minutes later, looking up to see Ivy and Will. She was sitting against Ivy’s locker, pencil in hand, looking as if she had been busily writing a story. But when Ivy glanced down at Beth’s notebook, she knew better.
“If you write that way, you’re going to have the end of the story at the beginning,” Ivy said, leaning down and turning the notebook around.
Will laughed lightly, and Beth blushed.
“I guess I’m not much of an actress,” she said, standing up. “You okay?”
Ivy shrugged. “I don’t know how to answer that question anymore—and when I do, no one believes me anyway.”
“She’s okay,” Will said, laying his hand on Beth’s shoulder, reassuring her. Oddly enough, his confident tone reassured Ivy too.
She gathered her books, and the three of them headed out to the parking lot. Beth walked between Ivy and Will, keeping the conversation going. But a few minutes later, when Beth drove off, Ivy and Will fell into an uncomfortable silence. Ivy climbed into his silver Honda and kept her eyes straight ahead. As they headed toward her house the only thing he asked was whether she wanted the windows up.
Since the party Will had been avoiding Ivy at school. She figured he was probably embarrassed about their strange conversation on the dance floor. And she was grateful to him for swallowing his pride enough to get her out of a jam with Gregory and Suzanne.
“Thanks again,” Ivy said.
“No problem,” Will replied, adjusting the sun visor.
Ivy wondered why he didn’t ask for an explanation of what she had been doing up on the diving board. Maybe he just assumed it was what crazy people did. As he drove he kept his eyes on the traffic. When they stopped at an intersection, Will seemed unusually attentive to the people crossing in front of the car. Then he stole a sidelong glance at her.
“That was a joke, wasn’t it?” Ivy blurted out. “When you told Gregory that you’d take care of me—or Tristan would—you were just making a joke.”
The light changed, and Will drove a block before answering. “Gregory didn’t laugh,” he observed.
“Were you making a joke?” Ivy persisted, twisting around in her seat.
“What do you think?”
“What does it matter what I think?” Ivy exploded. “I’m the crazy girl who tried to kill herself.”
Will turned the wheel suddenly and pulled over to the side of the road. “I don’t believe that,” he said quietly.
“Well, everyone else does.”
He kept the motor running and rested his arms on the wheel. Ivy studied the flecks of paint on his hands. “Some people may have bought the rumors,” he said, “but I’m surprised you would.”
She didn’t say anything.
“It seems to me”—his voice was calm and reasonable—“that really crazy people don’t think they’re crazy. Why would you?”
“Well, there is that little story about my showing up at a train station,” Ivy replied, unable to stop the sarcasm in her voice, “just before the late-night express rushed through.”
He turned to her, his dark eyes challenging her. “Do you remember driving yourself there? Do you remember planning to jump in front of the train?”
Ivy shook her head. “No. None of that. I only remember the light afterward. The shimmering.”
“Which is what you saw up on the diving board.”
She nodded.
“I wonder why you see him and I hear him,” Will said.
“You hear him?” Ivy reached over and switched off the motor. “You hear him?”
“So does Beth.”
Ivy’s mouth dropped open.
“She writes stories with messages that aren’t hers. I draw angels I don’t mean to draw.” He drew an invisible image on the windshield. “We both thought we were losing it.”
Ivy remembered the day at the electronics store, when Beth had typed on a computer: “Be careful, Ivy. It’s dangerous, Ivy. Don’t stay alone. Love you. Tristan.” Ivy had run from the shop, furious at Beth for playing that trick. But she should have listened. Days later, she had been attacked at the house.
“He’s warning you,” Will continued. “Beth thinks it’s something bigger than any of us can handle on our own, and she’s scared to death.”
Ivy felt the skin prickle on the back of her neck. Since the evening before, all she had thought about was reaching out toward the light that she believed was Tristan. She’d avoided the frightening question about why an angelic Tristan might be trying to reach her.
“You have to remember what happened,” Will went on. “That’s what Tristan was trying to tell you the night of the party, when we were dancing.”
“He was with you then?” In
her mind Ivy began to run through all the strange events of the past summer. “So the angels you drew, and that picture of an angel who looked like Tristan—”
“I was as amazed as you,” Will said. “I tried to tell you, I’d never do something like that to hurt you. But I didn’t know how to explain what happened. He got inside me. It was as if all I could do was draw those angels. My hands hardly felt like my own.”
She reached over and laid her hand on his.
“I think he meant to comfort you,” Will added.
Ivy nodded and blinked back tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand then. I’m sorry I got so angry at you.” She took a deep breath. “I have to remember. I have to go back to that night. Will, would you take me to the train station?”
He started the car immediately. When they arrived, several people had just gotten off a commuter train from New York City. Will parked the car as the station emptied out. Then he walked with Ivy as far as the steps to the southbound platform. “I’m not going to say anything more,” he said. “It’s probably best if you poke around on your own and see what comes to you. But I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Ivy nodded, then climbed the steps. From the police report she knew which pillar Philip had found her leaning against—propped up against, she corrected herself: the one labeled D. But she had forgotten how close the metal pillars were to the edge of the platform and how close the platform was to the track. When she saw it, her stomach lurched.
She knew she should stand with her back against the pillar and try to remember how it had been that night, but she couldn’t do it, not yet. She hurried along the platform to the steps that led to the bridge over the tracks. Then she crossed the bridge to the other side. From the northbound platform, Ivy looked back at Will, who was sitting on a bench, waiting patiently for her.
She began to pace around. Who could have been there that night? If Philip’s story was true, someone had dressed up like Tristan. Almost anyone could have gotten their hands on a school jacket and baseball cap. And wearing them half in the shadows, anyone could have looked like Tristan—including Gregory.
She backed away quickly from that thought. She was getting paranoid, suspecting Gregory. But maybe it wasn’t so paranoid to imagine Eric doing it. She remembered the night he had drawn Will onto the railroad bridge just before a train came. Eric got his kicks out of dangerous games. And Eric definitely had access to drugs.
Kissed by an Angel/The Power of Love/Soulmates Page 32
