"Wow!" Beth said. "These are fabulous! Number thirty-three, whoever you are, you're my winner."
"Mine, too," Ivy agreed. The artist's colors were almost transparent and infused with a light of their own.
Ivy pointed to a painting of a garden. "I wish I could sit there, for hours and hours. It makes me feel so peaceful."
"I like the snake," Philip observed.
Only a little boy would have found that snake, Ivy thought, painted in so slyly.
"I want to talk to the woman in the last picture," Beth said.
The woman sat under a tree with her face turned away from the painter. Blossoms were streaming down on her, luminous apple blossoms, but they made Ivy think of snow. She looked at the title: Too Soon.
"There's a story behind that one," Beth said softly.
Ivy nodded. She knew the story, or one like it, about losing someone before you had a chance toFor a moment her eyes stung. Then she blinked and said, "Well, we've seen everything in the show. Let's go spend money."
"Yeah!" Philip shouted. "Where're the rides?"
"There aren't any rides, not at a festival like this."
Philip stopped short. "No rides?" He couldn't believe it. "No rides!"
"I think we're in for a long afternoon," Ivy told Beth.
"We'll just keep feeding him," Beth replied.
"I want to go home."
"Let's walk back to Main Street," Ivy suggested, "and see what everyone is selling."
"That's boring." Her brother was getting that stiff-jawed look that meant trouble. "I'm going to find Gregory."
"No!" She said it so sharply that Beth glanced over at her.
"He's on a date, Philip," Ivy reminded him quietly, "and we can't bother him."
Philip started dragging his feet as though he had been walking for miles. Beth was walking slowly, too, studying Ivy.
"It's just that it's really not fair to Gregory," Ivy told Beth, as if she had asked for an explanation. "He's not used to a nine-year-old tagging along everywhere."
"Oh." The way Beth glanced away told Ivy that her friend knew this wasn't the whole truth. "And of course, Suzanne's not used to it at all." "I guess not," Beth replied mildly. "This is boring, boring, boring," Philip complained. "I want to go home." "Then walk!" Ivy snapped. Beth glanced around. "How about getting our picture taken?" she suggested. "Every year there's a stand called Old West Photos. They have different costumes you can dress up in. It's fun."
"Great idea!" Ivy replied. "We'll take enough for an album," she added under her breath, "if it keeps him occupied."
The canopied stand was set up in front of the photo shop and looked like a small stage set.
There were several backdrops to choose from, trunks of clothes that kids and adults were sorting through, and props scattered about — pistols, wooden mugs, a fake-fur buffalo head. Tinkly piano music gave the tent a saloon atmosphere.
The photographer himself was dressed up in a cowboy hat, vest, and tight cowhide pants. Beth eyed him from behind. "Cute," she observed. "Very cute."
Ivy smiled.
"I like anything in boots," Beth said, a little too loudly.
The cowboy turned around.
"Will!"
Will laughed at Beth, who flushed with embarrassment. He put a reassuring hand on her arm, then nodded at Ivy. Philip had already strayed toward the costume trunks.
"How are you?" Will asked.
Beth banged herself on the head. "I completely forgot that with your job, you'd be doing this."
He smiled at her — a big and easy smile. It was impossible to see Will's eyes under the shadow of his hat, but Ivy could tell when he glanced from Beth to her, because the smile became not so big, and not so easy.
"Thinking about having your picture done?" he asked.
Philip was already elbow-deep in clothes. "Looks like our date wants to," Beth said to Ivy. "Your date?"
"My brother, Philip," Ivy explained. He had wedged himself in between two guys big enough to play pro football. "The short one."
Will nodded. "Maybe I should steer him toward another trunk. Ladies' costumes are over there," Will added over his shoulder, pointing toward trunks where a flock of girls were gathered.
A few of the girls were older than Ivy and Beth. Others looked two or three years younger. All of them kept turning around, looking at Will and giggling.
"Hey, cowboy," Beth called softly after him. "I bet they´d like your help, even more than Philip." "They're doing fine," he said, and continued on. "Love those buns." Will stopped.
Ivy looked at Beth, and Beth looked at Ivy. Ivy knew she hadn't said it, but Beth acted as if she hadn't, either. Her blue eyes were brimming with laughter and surprise. "I didn't say it." "Neither did I" Will just shook his head and walked on. "But you were thinking it," someone said. Ivy glanced around.
"Well, maybe I was. Ivy," Beth admitted, "but—" Will turned around.
"I didn't say it!" Ivy insisted.
"Say what?" Will asked, cocking his head.
Ivy was sure he had heard. "That you have — That I thought— That—" Ivy looked sideways at Beth. "Oh, never mind."
"What is she talking about?" Will asked Beth.
"Something about your buns," said Beth.
Ivy threw up her hands. "I don't care about his buns!"
The buzz of voices beneath the canopy ceased. Everyone looked at Will, then Ivy.
"Would you like to see mine?" asked one of the football types.
"Oh, jeez," Ivy said.
Will laughed out loud.
"Your cheeks are pink," Beth told Ivy.
Ivy put her hands up to her face.
Beth pulled them away. "It's a much better color for you than purple and yellow."
Fifteen minutes later. Ivy grimaced as Beth zipped her up in front of the dressing room mirror.
"If I lean over. Will's going to get a fine shot."
"He's going to get a fine shot even with you straightened up," Beth observed.
They had decided to dress as saloon girls in identical red-and-black dresses, "floozy frocks," as Beth called them. She smoothed her hands over her ample hips. "I don't care if my man's law-abiding," she said with a Western twang, "so long as he abides by my laws."
Ivy laughed, then gave a backward glance at herself in the mirror. Beth had given her the smaller dress to wear, there wasn't a curve that didn't show. Ivy was reluctant to step through the dressing room curtains, though Beth informed her chat the two football types had left. Ivy could deal with the Brothers Macho; it was Will she felt shy around.
Maybe he sensed that. He stretched out his hand to Beth, as she and Ivy stepped out of the dressing room. "Oh, Miss Lizzie," he said, "you do look mighty fine today. You too. Miss Ivy," he added quietly.
"How about me?" Philip asked. He came out in fringed pants and a vest that almost fit him. But the tengallon hat was about nine gallons too big.
"Fearsome," Will said. "Fearsome and awesome, if only I could see your chin."
Ivy laughed, feeling more comfortable again.
"How about if we try a different size?"
"Make it black," said Philip.
"Right. Slim."
Will found a hat and got the three of them lined up in front of the camera, angling them just right. Then he pushed his hat back and went behind the camera. It was a new camera in the body of an old one, rigged up to give off a big puff of smoke — that was part of the show. But after the flash and die smoke, Will's head shot up from behind the equipment He looked almost comical, and at first Ivy thought that too was part of the show. But the way Will was staring made all three of them turn to look behind them.
"I — uh — I'm going to take another," he said. "Can you set yourselves just like before?"
They did, and a second puff of smoke was sent up.
"What went wrong the first time?" Beth asked. "I'm not sure." A look Ivy couldn't interpret passed between him and Beth. He shook his head. Then the hat was back over h
is eyes again. "These will take a few minutes to print. Do you want two or three copies?" Will asked them.
"Two's fine," Ivy replied. "One for Beth and one for us."
"I want my own copy," said Philip. "So do I," said another voice. Everyone turned.
"Howdy, pardner," Gregory said, holding his hand out to Philip. "Ladies." His eyes lingered on Ivy, traveling down her slowly.
Suzanne gave her a quicker look. "You sure squeezed yourself into that one," she remarked. "It's a wonder a crowd hasn't gathered."
Will pulled on his tight pants. "Are you talking about her or me?" he asked lightly.
Gregory laughed. Beth laughed after Gregory did, then glanced uncomfortably at Suzanne. Suzanne wasn't amused.
Will shoved two film cartridges in the developing machine and set up for his next group of customers.
"Suzanne, there were only two dresses alike," Ivy said quickly, "and Beth and I wanted to match, so she took that one and I took— Tell her, Beth."
But as Beth repeated the explanation. Ivy said to herself. Why bother? Until Gregory learns to keep his eyes from wandering to other girls, it's hopeless. I wish he'd wander them over to Beth, though.
She turned toward die dressing room. Gregory caught her by die arm. "We'll wait for you," he said.
"We're going to check out Will's paintings."
Ivy saw Suzanne out of the corner of her eye, drumming her fingers on the top of a trunk, her pinky ring flashing.
"We've already seen them," Ivy told him. "Though we didn't know which were his," Beth said. "The artists' names are still covered." "They're watercolors," Gregory told them. "Watercolors?" Ivy and Beth repeated at the same time.
"Will," Gregory called out. "What's your entry number?"
"Thirty-three," he replied.
Beth and Ivy exchanged glances.
"You painted the garden where Ivy wants to sit for hours," Beth said.
"And the snake," Philip said.
"And the woman with blossoms falling around her like snow," Ivy added.
"That's right." Will continued to work, arranging his customers before the camera.
"They were amazing!" Beth said.
"I like the snake." said Philip.
Ivy watched Will without saying anything. He was being the cool Will O'Leary again, acting as if his paintings and what they said about them didn't matter to him. Then she saw the quick turn of the head, as if he were checking to see whether she was still there. She realized then that he had wanted her to make a comment.
"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.
"1 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 I'm 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.
Wilt 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 that 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 chat 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.
Chapter 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 LA!"
"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—1 might need to do something like that sometime in the future. To complete my mission, of course."
"Of course. And projecting your voice, so that 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."
"No way."
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."
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