Kissed by an Angel

by Элизабет Чандлер

  But Ivy didn't seem to expect conversation. She unlatched the door of the cat carrier and pulled out Ella.

  The cat was funny-looking, mostly black, but with one white foot, a tip of white on her tail, and a splash of it on her face.

  "Okay, baby," Ivy said, holding Ella in her arms, stroking her softly around the ears.

  Ella blinked her huge green eyes at Tristan, happily soaking up Ivy's attention.

  I can't believe I'm jealous of a cat, Tristan thought.

  When Ivy finally set Ella on the floor, Tristan held out his hand. The cat gave him a snooty look and walked away.

  "You have to let her come to you," Ivy advised him. "Ignore her, for days, for weeks, if necessary. When she gets lonely enough, she'll come around on her own."

  Would Ivy ever?

  Tristan picked up a yellow pad. "How about giving me feeding instructions?"

  She had already typed them up for him. "And here are Ella's medical records, and here's the list of shots she gets regularly, and the vet's number."

  She seemed in a rush to get it over with.

  "And here are her toys." Ivy's voice faltered.

  "This is hard for you, isn't it?" he said gently.

  "And here's her brush; she loves to be brushed."

  "But not washed," Tristan said.

  Ivy bit her lip. "You don't know anything about cats, do you?"

  "I'll learn, I promise. She'll be good for me, and I'll be good for her. Of course, you can visit her as much as you like, Ivy. She'll still be your cat. She'll just be my cat too. You can come see her whenever you want."

  "No," Ivy said firmly. "No."

  "No?" His heart stopped. He was still sitting upright holding a pile of kitty stuff, but he was sure he'd just had a cardiac arrest.

  "It will only mix her up," Ivy explained. "And I don't think-I don't think I can stand to."

  He longed to reach out to touch her then, to take one of her slender hands in his, but he didn't dare. Instead he pretended to study the little pink brush and waited for Ivy to regain her composure.

  Ella came over to sniff her brush, then pushed her head against it. Tristan gently ran it along her flank.

  "She likes it best around her head," Ivy said. She took his hand and guided it. "Under her chin.

  And her cheeks-that's where her scent glands are, the ones she uses for marking things. I think she likes you, Tristan."

  She took her hand away. Tristan continued to brush Ella. The cat suddenly rolled over on her back.

  Ivy laughed. "Well, well! You little tramp!"

  With his hand Tristan rubbed her belly. The fur was luxuriously long and soft.

  "I wonder why cats don't like water," he mused. "If you threw one in a pool, would it swim?"

  "Don't you dare!" Ivy said. "Don't you dare do that!"

  The cat leaped to its feet and scooted under a chair.

  Tristan looked at Ivy with surprise. "Of course I wouldn't. I was just wondering."

  She dropped her eyes. Color crept into her cheeks.

  "Is that what happened to you, Ivy?"

  When she didn't answer, he tried again. "What made you afraid of water?" he asked quietly.

  "Something from when you were a little kid?"

  Ivy wouldn't look at him. "I owe you big time," she said, "for getting me down from that board."

  "You don't owe me anything. I was just asking because I was trying to understand. Swimming is my life. It's hard for me to imagine what it's like not to love water."

  "I don't see how you could understand," Ivy said. "Water to you is like wind to a bird. It lets you fly. At least that's how it looks. It's hard for me to imagine how that feels."

  "What made you afraid of it?" he persisted. "Who made you afraid of it?"

  She thought for a moment. "I don't even remember his name. One of my mother's boyfriends.

  She had a lot of them and some of them were nice. But he was mean. He took us to a friend's pool. I was four, I think. I didn't know how to swim and didn't want to go in the water. I guess I got annoying after a while, hanging on to Mom."

  She swallowed and glanced up at Tristan.

  "And?" he said softly.

  "Mom went inside for a few minutes, to help with sandwiches or something. He grabbed hold of me. I knew what he was going to do and started kicking and screaming, but Mom didn't hear me.

  He dragged me over to the pool's edge. 'Let's see if she'll swim!' he said, 'Let's see if the cat will swim!' He picked me up high and threw me in."

  Tristan flinched, as if he were there, actually watching it.

  "The water was way over my head," Ivy continued. "I floundered around, kicking and moving my arms, but I couldn't keep my face above water. I started choking on it, swallowing it. I couldn't get up for air."

  Tristan stared at her, incredulous. "And this guy, did he jump in after you?"

  "No." Ivy had risen to her feet and was moving around the room like a restless cat. Ella poked her head out to watch, a dust ball hanging from her whiskers.

  "I'm pretty sure he was drunk," Ivy said. "Everything started getting blurry to me. Then dark. My arms and legs seemed so heavy, and my chest felt like it would burst. I prayed. For the first time in my life, I prayed to my guardian angel. Then I felt myself being lifted up, held above the water. My lungs stopped hurting, my eyes grew clear. I don't remember much about the angel, except that she was shining, and many colors, and beautiful."

  Ivy glanced sideways at Tristan, then broke into a wide smile. She came back to him and sat on the floor again, facing him.

  "It's okay. I don't expect you to believe me. Nobody else did. Apparently my mother had come out to see what was going on and her friend had turned around to speak to her, so no one saw how I made it back to the pool's edge. They just figured that, thrown in, a kid would learn to swim." Her face was wistful. She was somewhere else again, still remembering.

  "I'd like to believe in your angel," Tristan said. Then he shrugged. "Sorry." He had heard stories like it before. His father occasionally brought such tales home from the hospital. But it was just the way the human mind worked, he thought; it was the way certain minds respond in a crisis.

  "You know, when I was up there on the board Monday," Ivy said, "I prayed to my water angel."

  "But all you got was me," Tristan pointed out.

  "Good enough," she replied, and laughed a little.

  "Ivy-" He tried to still the tremor in his voice, not wanting her to know how much he was hoping. "I could teach you how to swim."

  Her eyes opened wide.

  "After school. The coach would let us in the pool."

  Her hands, her eyes, everything about her was still and watching him.

  "It's a great feeling, Ivy. Do you know what it's like to float on a lake, a circle of trees around you, a big blue bowl of sky above you? You're just lying on top of the water, sun sparkling at the tips of your fingers and toes. Do you know how it feels to swim in the ocean? To be swimming hard and have a wave catch you and effortlessly lift you up-" Without realizing what he was doing, he put a hand on each arm and lifted her. Her skin was covered with goose bumps.

  "Sorry," he said, letting her down quickly. "I'm sorry. I got carried away."

  "It's okay," she said, but she wouldn't look at him again.

  He wondered which she was more afraid of, the water or him.

  Probably him, he thought, and he didn't know what to do about it. "I'd make it fun, just like when I teach the kids at summer camp," Tristan said encouragingly. "Think about it, okay?"

  She nodded.

  Clearly he made her uncomfortable. He wished he could apologize for plowing into her in the hall, for showing up at her mother's wedding, for calling her about her cat. He wanted to promise her that he wouldn't bother her anymore, hoping that would put her at ease. But she suddenly looked so confused and tired; it seemed best not to say anything else.

  "I'll be real good to Ella," he told her. "If something changes and
you want her back, give me a call. And if you decide that you do want to visit her, I don't have to be around. Okay?"

  Ivy looked up at him wonderingly.

  "So," he said, standing up. "I'm the cook Tuesdays and Fridays. I'd better start dinner."

  "What are you fixing?" Ivy asked.

  "Liver bits and gravy. Oh, no, sorry, that's Ella's can."

  It was a weak joke, but she smiled.

  "Stay and play with Ella as long as you like," he told her.

  "Thank you."

  Then he headed toward the kitchen to give her some time alone with the cat. But before he had gotten to the doorway he heard her say, "Good-bye, Ella." A moment later, the front door clicked shut behind her.

  When Ivy emerged from the locker room, Tristan was already in the water. Coach had let her into the locked pool area. She had expected the older man to stare at her in disbelief-"You mean you don't know how to swim?" But his face, which was long and lined like a raisin, was kind and unquestioning. He greeted her, then retreated to his office.

  It had taken Ivy a week to decide to do this. She had swum in her dreams, for miles some nights.

  When she told Tristan she wanted to learn, his eyes had lit up. Ivy was pretty sure she had successfully discouraged any romantic interest he had in her; according to Suzanne, he was dating two other girls. But she felt as if he was her friend. Getting her down from the board, taking in Ella, helping her face her greatest fear-he was there when she needed him, the way no other guy had been, the way a real friend would be.

  Now she watched him doing laps. The water flowed past his muscular body; it lifted him up as he moved swiftly and powerfully through it. When he swam the butterfly, his arms pulling up out of the water like wings, he was visual music-strong, rhythmic, graceful.

  Ivy watched for several minutes, then came back to the reason she was there. She walked to the pool's edge at the shallow end and stared down at it. Then she sat down and slipped in her legs. It was warm. Soothing. Still, she was cold all over. She gritted her teeth and slid off the side. The water rose to just below her shoulders. She imagined it inching up over her throat, her mouth.

  She closed her eyes and gripped the side of the pool, trying to stop the fear rising within her.

  Water angel, she prayed, don't let go of me. I'm trusting you, angel. I'm in your hands.

  Tristan stopped swimming. "You're here," he said. "You're in."

  He looked so pleased that for a moment, a very brief moment, she forgot her fear.

  "How are you doing?" he asked.

  "Fine. You don't mind if I just stand here and shake, do you?"

  "You'll warm up if you move around," he told her.

  She glanced down at the water.

  "Come on, let's take a walk." He took her hand and walked her along the edge of the pool, as if they were walking the mall, though in the resistant water each step was in slow motion.

  "Do you want me to tell you about Ella and the chaos she's creating at home?"

  "Sure," said Ivy. "Did she find that tub of chicken wedged into your television cabinet?"

  Tristan looked startled for a moment, then recovered. "Yes, right after she burrowed through all the stuff I'd crammed behind the sofa." He chattered on, telling her several Ella stories, walking her up and down the short end of the pool.

  When they stopped, he said, "I think we'd better get some water on your face."

  She had been dreading that.

  He scooped handfuls of it up over her forehead and cheeks as if he were washing a baby.

  "I do that in the shower," Ivy said tartly.

  "Well, excuse me, Miss Advanced. We'll go on to the next step." He grinned at her. "Take a big breath. I want to see you looking at me under there. The chlorine will sting a little, but I want to see those big green eyes and little bubbles coming out of your nose. Suck in above the water, blow out below it. Got it? One, two, three." He pulled her down with him. Up and down they bobbed, he holding her down there a little longer each time, making faces at her.

  Ivy came up to the surface, sputtering and choking.

  "Now, if you can't follow a few simple directions…" he began.

  "You're making me laugh!" said Ivy. "It's no fair when you make me laugh."

  "All right. Now we get serious. Sort of."

  He taught her how she would breathe when swimming, pretending the water was a pillow, turning her head to the side to breathe in. She practiced, gripping the side of the pool with her hands. Then he took her hands and pulled her through the water. She naturally started kicking her feet to keep them afloat behind her. It was tempting to pull her head up and look at him. Once Ivy did and found him smiling at her.

  They worked on kicking for a while. After she practiced on the side, they played train. He had her grab his ankles, following behind him in the water, he swimming with his arms and she kicking her feet. It amazed her that he could pull her so swiftly with just the strength of his arms.

  When they stopped, he asked her, "Are you getting tired? Do you want to sit up on the side for a few minutes?"

  Ivy shook her head no. "If I get out, I don't know if I'll get in again."

  "You've got guts," he said.

  She laughed. "I'm standing in water just up to my shoulders and you call that guts?"

  "Yup." He swam in a circle around her. "Ivy, everyone has something they're afraid of. You're one of the few people who face their fear. But then, I always knew you were the gutsy type. I knew from the first day, when I saw you striding across the cafeteria, that cheerleader, who was supposed to be leading you around, following."

  "I was hungry," Ivy said. "And that was a bit of a performance."

  "Well, you carried it off."

  She smiled and he reflected her smile, his hazel eyes alight and lashes spangled with water drops.

  "Okay," he said. "Want to float on your back?"

  "No. But I will."

  "It's easy." Tristan stretched back in the water and floated, looking entirely relaxed. "You see what I'm doing?"

  Looking awfully good, she thought, then thanked her angels that he couldn't read minds as well as Beth.

  "I keep my hips up, arch my back, then just let everything else go. You try it."

  Ivy did, and sank. The old panic returned for a moment.

  "You were sitting," he told her. "You let your seat drop down. Try again."

  As she lay back again he slid an arm under her. "Easy now, don't fight it. Back arched. That's the way." He slipped his arm out from under her.

  Ivy pulled her head up and started to sink again. She stood up angrily. Her wet hair was coming loose out of her ponytail holder and slapped against her neck.

  Tristan laughed. "That's how I imagine Ella would look if she ever got wet."

  "A little kid could do this," Ivy told him.

  "Kids can do a lot of things," he replied, "because kids trust. The trick in swimming is not to fight the water. Go with it. Play with it. Give yourself over to it." He splashed her lightly. "How about trying again?"

  She lay back. She felt his left arm under the arch in her back. With his right hand he gently eased her head back. The water lapped around her forehead and chin. Ivy closed her eyes and gave herself over to the water. She imagined being in the center of a lake, sunlight sparkling at her toes and fingertips.

  When she opened her eyes, he was looking down at her. His face was like the sun, warming her, brightening the air around it. "I'm floating," she whispered.

  "You're floating," he said softly, his face bending closer.

  "Floating…" They read it off each other's lips, their faces close, so close-"Tristan!"

  Tristan straightened up and Ivy sank.

  It was Coach, calling from the door of his office. "Sorry to toss you two out," he hollered, "but I got to head home in about ten minutes."

  "No problem, Coach," Tristan called back.

  "I'll be staying late tomorrow," the older man added, coming a few feet out of his offic
e. "Maybe then you can pick up where you left off?"

  Tristan looked at Ivy. She shrugged, then nodded, but kept her eyes down.

  "Maybe," he said.

  Chapter 8

  Ivy took a long route home that afternoon, driving a road that ran south from the center of Stonehill, following a tangle of shady streets lined with newer houses. She drove round and round, unwilling to make the final turn and head for the ridge. There was so much to think about.

  Why was Tristan doing this? Was he just feeling sorry for her? Did he want to be her friend? Did he want more than a friendship?

  But it wasn't these questions that kept her driving. It was the luxury of remembering: how he had looked rising out of the water, a shimmer of drops spilling off him; how he had touched her, gently, so gently.

  At home, she'd have to listen to her mother's story about the latest round of snobbery that Maggie was encountering; she'd talk about the ups and downs of Philip's life as a third grader; she'd find a new way to say thanks for the things Andrew kept giving her, and walk on eggshells around Gregory. With all that going on, the moments of the afternoon would fade and be lost forever.

  In her mind, Ivy saw Tristan in slow motion, swimming in a circle around her. She remembered the way his hands had felt when he helped her float, the way he had slowly tilted her head back in the water. She trembled with pleasure, and a little fear.

  Angels, don't let go of me! she prayed.

  This was something different from a crush. This was something that could flood out every other thought and feeling.

  Maybe I should back out now, Ivy thought, before I'm in over my head. I'll call him tonight.

  But then she remembered how he had pulled her through the water, his face full of light and laughter.

  Ivy didn't see the car coming. Lost in thought, responding only to what was directly in front of her, she didn't see the dark car run the stop sign until the very last second. She slammed on her brakes. Both cars squealed and spun around, and for a moment were side by side, lightly touching. Then they veered away from each other. Letting her breath out slowly, Ivy sat still in the middle of the intersection.

  The other driver threw open his door. A stream of four-letter words came rushing at her. Without even glancing in his direction, Ivy rolled up her window and checked her door locks. The shouting stopped suddenly. Ivy turned to look coolly at the driver.