Kissed by an Angel/The Power of Love/Soulmates

by Elizabeth Chandler

  “What kind are you making?” Gregory asked.

  “Cream cheese, cinnamon, and sugar.”

  “Think I’ll pass on that.”

  Philip started for the house, but not before wiping his face on his shirt, then pulling it off and swatting a tree with it.

  When her brother had disappeared behind the grove of pines separating the house from the tennis court, Ivy said, “You know, he’s imitating you. How do you like being a role model?”

  “I don’t know.” Gregory smiled a lopsided smile. “I guess I’m going to have to clean up my act.”

  Ivy laughed and settled back on the blanket. “Thanks for being nice to my mom,” she said.

  “Promising to take care of her baby? That won’t be a hard one to keep.” Gregory lay back close to Ivy. He glanced at her, then ran a light hand over her bare midriff. “Your skin’s so warm.”

  Ivy felt warm all over. She laid her hand on top of Gregory’s.

  “How come you didn’t wear that bikini to Eric’s party?” he asked.

  Ivy laughed. “I only wear it where I feel comfortable.”

  “And you’re comfortable with me?” He pulled himself up on one elbow and looked into her eyes, then let his gaze pass slowly down her.

  “Yes and no,” she replied.

  “You’re always so honest,” he said, bending over her, smiling.

  Without touching her, he lowered his mouth to hers. She kissed him. He pulled up for a moment, then lowered his mouth again, still not touching her except with his lips.

  They kissed a third time. Then Ivy reached up and slipped her hands around his neck, pulling him down to her.

  She didn’t hear the soft footsteps in the grass.

  “I was waiting for you at the park since ten.”

  Gregory’s head jerked up, and Ivy grabbed the edge of the blanket.

  “Looks like you found something better to do,” Eric said, and nodded at Ivy.

  Gregory lifted himself off her. Ivy pulled the blanket around her, as if Eric had caught her without any clothes. The way he looked at her, she felt naked. She felt exposed.

  Eric laughed.

  “I saw a movie about a sister who couldn’t keep her hands off her brother.”

  “It’s stepbrother,” Gregory told him.

  Ivy huddled inside the blanket.

  “Whatever. I guess you’re over Tristan, huh?” Eric said. “Gregory’s cured you?”

  “Lay off, Eric,” Gregory warned.

  “Is he better at it than Tristan?” Eric asked, his voice low and soft. “He’s sure got all the moves.” His words were like snakes working their way into Ivy’s mind.

  “Shut up!” Gregory shouted, jumping to his feet.

  “But you knew that, didn’t you?” Eric continued in a silky voice. “You knew about Gregory because girls talk.”

  “Get out of here!”

  “Suzanne would have told you,” Eric went on.

  “I’m warning you—”

  “Suzanne would have told her best friend just how hot Gregory is,” Eric said, wriggling his hips.

  “Get off my property!”

  Eric turned to Gregory and laughed. “Your property?” He stretched his lips into an exaggerated smile. “Yours? Maybe one day, if you’re lucky.”

  Gregory was silent for a moment, then spoke with a voice that was cool but threatening. “You’d better hope I am, Eric Because if I’m out of luck, you’re out, too.” He took several steps closer to his friend.

  Eric took off. He looked over his shoulder and laughed, like a kid skipping away and daring others to catch him, but there was a maniacal edge to his laughter that made Ivy’s blood run cold.

  Philip, who had come out of the house when he heard the shouting, now raced across the lawn to them.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. He looked from Gregory to Ivy, who was standing next to him, still wrapped in the blanket. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Gregory said. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  Philip looked at him doubtfully, then turned to Ivy. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded silently.

  Gregory put his arm around Ivy. “Eric said some mean things to her.”

  “Mean things like what?”

  “Just mean things,” Gregory replied.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Ivy said.

  Philip bit his lip. Then he turned and started to walk away from them.

  Ivy knew that he felt left out. She slipped out from under Gregory’s protective arm. “Can I have a hug, Philip? I know you’re getting big now, but I’m feeling kind of bad. Can I have a hug?”

  Her brother turned back and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight.

  “We’ll take care of you,” he whispered.

  “Will you?” she whispered back.

  “Gregory and me,” he assured her, “and angel Tristan.”

  Ivy quickly let go of him. She tried hard to keep her mouth from quivering. “Thanks,” she said, then ran into the house.

  When Tristan heard the shouting, he rushed to the window to see what was going on. Gregory and Eric were hidden behind the trees. The sound of their voices carried, but he couldn’t catch the words. The angry exchange was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

  Tristan debated what to do. He wanted to make sure Ivy was all right, but he couldn’t leave Gregory’s bedroom as it looked now. He had spent the morning searching it, and drawers were still open, papers spread around, the pockets of pants and jackets pulled inside out. If Gregory discovered that someone had been looking through his things, he would become much more cautious, and that would make it harder to figure out what was going on.

  The last time Ivy had needed help, she had called out to Tristan—silently—but he had heard her. He kept very still for a few moments now, listening. When he didn’t sense that she was in danger, he decided to stay where he was and began to straighten up.

  A few minutes later he heard Ivy running upstairs, then Philip and Gregory talking as they approached the house. Tristan began to work more quickly, but he was rapidly losing his strength. His fingers, having materialized repeatedly for short periods of time, were growing tired and clumsy. He could barely open and close Gregory’s desk.

  There was an old school magazine on top of the desk, anchoring newspaper articles Gregory had saved. Earlier, Tristan had skimmed the news stories, trying to figure out why they interested Gregory. Now they were blowing around. He snatched at one of them and knocked over a stack of boxes containing tapes for the VCR.

  Several of the tapes slid out of their boxes, and Tristan hurried to pick them up. He could hear Gregory talking to Philip at the bottom of the back stairway, but the more he hurried, the more he bungled. One of the tapes wouldn’t slip back into its box—something was sticking.

  Tristan focused all his energy and yanked it out again. That’s when he saw it, cellophane taped along one side of the black casing, with three bright red capsules inside.

  He heard the steps creak. Gregory was coming up. Tristan ripped off the plastic, slid the tape back in its box, and set it on top of the stack. He knew that Gregory would not be able to see him, but he’d spot the red capsules. With his last bit of energy, Tristan threw them behind the bureau. A half second later Gregory entered the room.

  Tristan sank back, exhausted. He saw that everything was in place except a train schedule that lay on the floor where the boxes had fallen.

  No problem, he told himself. Gregory would think it had blown off the desk, since it wasn’t anchored by anything.

  In fact, Gregory didn’t notice the schedule, though he went directly to his desk and sat down. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, and his skin had turned a strange color, paling beneath his tan. He dropped his head in his hands. For several minutes, he rubbed his temples, then he sat back in the chair.

  Suddenly his head jerked around. Gregory scared at the train s
chedule on the floor, then glanced slowly, suspiciously around the room. He reached for the videotape and pulled it out of the box. His jaw dropped.

  He checked the label, then yanked out one tape after another. He ripped cellophane off a second cassette—it contained three more capsules—and again glanced around the room.

  “Philip!” He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back on the floor. He started for the door, then stopped and slammed his palm against the wall. He stood there, motionless, staring at the door to the hall, one hand still clutching the drugs.

  “Damn you, brat!”

  He shoved the capsules deep in his pocket, then slipped his wallet in after them. Returning to his desk, he picked up the chair, then sat down to read the train schedule.

  Tristan read over his shoulder and watched as Gregory circled the time of the last train running after midnight. It left Tusset at 1:45 A.M., but didn’t make a stop at Stonehill’s little station. Gregory did some quick calculations, wrote down 2:04, circled it twice, then slipped the schedule under a book. He sat for fifteen minutes more, his chin resting on his hands.

  Tristan wondered what was going through Gregory’s mind, but he was much too weak to attempt an entrance. Gregory seemed much calmer now—so calm it was eerie. He sat back slowly and nodded to himself as if he had made some big decision. Then he reached for his car keys and started toward the door. Halfway down the steps, Gregory began to whistle.

  P2-13

  “I think its blooming days are over,” Beth said, eyeing the dead poppy that Ivy had placed in the water glass on the table between them.

  When Lillian and Betty opened the shop Thursday morning, they had found the purple flower in King Kong’s mouth, poking out like a rose between a dancer’s teeth. Later that day Ivy had repeatedly denied being the joker who had placed it there.

  “Why are we trying to revive it?” Beth asked. She swirled her tongue around her ice cream cone. “Can’t we buy King Kong another one?”

  “They were selling poppies at the festival Saturday,” Ivy replied. “I bought some purple ones for Tristan. Philip and I took them to the cemetery.”

  “I’m glad Philip went with you,” Beth said. “He misses Tristan, too.”

  “He made a T with them on the grave,” Ivy told her, smiling a little.

  Beth nodded, as if it were perfectly clear now why Ivy would bother with a wilted poppy left in the shop.

  “I’m going crazy, aren’t I?” Ivy said suddenly. “I’m supposed to be getting better! I’m supposed to be getting over Tristan! And here I am, saving this stupid flower like a souvenir because it looks like one that I—”

  She plucked the poppy out of the glass and tossed it on a tray of dirty dishes that a waitress was carrying by.

  Beth slipped out of the booth, chased down the waitress, and returned with the poppy.

  “Maybe it will seed,” she said, sticking it back in the water glass.

  Ivy shook her head and sipped her tea in silence. Beth munched her cone for a few minutes.

  “You know,” Beth said at last, “I’m always prepared to listen.”

  Ivy nodded. “I’m sorry, Beth. I call you in a panic at nine o’clock at night, drag you away from your writing to get a snack with the over-fifty-but-still-swinging bowling league at Howard Johnson’s”—she glanced around the crowded green and orange room—“and now I can’t seem to talk.”

  “That’s okay,” Beth said, waving her cone at Ivy. “I’m having a triple dip of double fudge—for that, you could have called me at three in the morning. But how’d you know I was writing?”

  Ivy smiled. Beth had met her in the parking lot wearing cutoff sweatpants, no makeup, and an old pair of glasses, which she wore only when she was glued to a computer screen. A scribbled note on a yellow Post-it was still stuck to her T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back in a binder clip.

  “Just a hunch,” Ivy said. “What’s Suzanne up to tonight?”

  Ivy and Suzanne had not spoken since the festival.

  “She’s out with somebody.”

  “Gregory?” Ivy asked, frowning. He had promised to stay with Philip till she got home that night.

  “No, some guy who’s supposed to make Gregory unbelievably jealous.”

  “Oh.”

  “She didn’t tell you?” Beth asked with surprise. “That’s all Suzanne could talk about.” Seeing the look on Ivy’s face, she added quickly, “I’m sure Suzanne thought she did. You know how it is—you say something to one person, and you think you’ve said it to the other.”

  Ivy nodded, but both of them knew that wasn’t the case.

  “Gregory hasn’t spent much time with Suzanne lately,” Beth said, pausing to chase drips of chocolate around her cone, “but you know that.”

  Ivy shrugged. “He goes out, but I don’t ask him where.”

  “Well, Suzanne is sure he’s seeing someone else.”

  Ivy began to trace the pictures on her place mat.

  “At first Suzanne thought he was just playing around. She wasn’t worried because it wasn’t anyone special. But now she thinks he’s seeing just one person. She thinks he’s really hooked on somebody.”

  Ivy glanced up and saw Beth studying her. Can Beth actually read minds, she wondered, or is it my face that always gives me away?

  “Suzanne keeps asking me what I think is going on,” Beth continued, her brow slightly puckered.

  “And what did you tell her?” Ivy asked.

  Beth blinked several times, then looked away. She watched a silver-haired waitress flirt with two bald men in burgundy satin bowling shirts.

  “I’m not a good person to ask,” she said at last. “You know me, Ivy, I’m always watching people and adding stuff to what I see to make stories out of them. Sometimes I forget what part I’ve made up and what part is really true.”

  “What do you think is really true about Gregory?” Ivy persisted.

  Beth waved her cone around. “I think he gets around. I think that, uh, lots of different girls like him. But I can’t guess who he’s really interested in and what he’s actually thinking. I just can’t read him very well.”

  Beth took a crunching bite out of her cone and chewed thoughtfully. “Gregory’s like a mirror,” she said. “He reflects whoever he’s with. When he’s with Eric, he seems to act like Eric. When he’s with you, he’s thoughtful and funny like you. The problem for me is that I can’t ever really see who Gregory is, any more than I can see what a mirror by itself looks like, because he reflects whoever’s around him. Know what I mean?”

  “I think I do.”

  “What should I say, Ivy?” Beth asked, the tone of her voice changing. She was pleading for an answer. “You’re both my friends. When Suzanne asks me what’s going on, what should I say?”

  “I don’t know.” Ivy started examining her place mat again, reading all the descriptions of Hojo’s desserts. “I’ll tell you when I do know, okay? So, how’s your writing going?”

  “My writing?” Beth repeated, struggling to shift gears with Ivy. “Well, I’ve got good news.”

  “Yeah? Tell me.”

  “I’m going to be published. I mean, in a real magazine.” Beth’s blue eyes sparkled. “True-Heart Confessions.”

  “Beth, that’s great! Which story?”

  “The one I did for drama club. You know, it was in the lit mag at school last spring.”

  Ivy tried to recall it. “I’ve read so many now.”

  “‘She clutched the gun to her breast,’” Beth began. “‘Hard and blue, cold and unyielding. Photos of him. Frail and faded photos of him—of him with her—torn up, tear-soaked, salt-crusted photos,’ et cetera, et cetera.”

  Two waitresses, carrying full trays, had stopped to listen.

  “What is it?” Beth asked Ivy. “You’ve got a really funny look on your face.”

  “Nothing … nothing, I was just thinking,” Ivy replied.

  “You’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”

 
; Ivy laughed. “Maybe I can keep it up next month when school starts.”

  Their check was dropped on the table. Ivy reached for her purse.

  “Listen,” Beth said, “why don’t you sleep over at my house tonight? We don’t have to talk. We’ll watch videos, polish our nails, bake cookies …” She popped the tip of her sugar cone into her mouth. “Low-cal cookies,” she added.

  Ivy smiled, then began digging in her purse for money. “I should get home, Beth.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.”

  Ivy stopped digging. Beth had spoken with such certainty.

  “I don’t know why,” Beth said, twisting a piece of her hair self-consciously. “You just shouldn’t.”

  “I have to be home,” Ivy told her. “If Philip wakes up in the middle of the night and finds I’m not there, he’ll think something’s wrong.”

  “Call him,” her friend replied. “If he’s asleep, Gregory can leave a note by his bed. You shouldn’t go home tonight. It’s … a feeling, a really strong feeling I have.”

  “Beth, I know you get these feelings, and one time before you were right, but this time it’s different. The doors will be locked. Gregory is home. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

  Beth was looking past Ivy’s shoulder, her eyes narrowing as if she was trying to focus on something.

  Ivy turned around quickly and saw a curly-haired man in a shiny yellow bowling shirt. He winked at her, and Ivy turned back.

  “Can I stay over with you?” Beth asked.

  “What? No. Not tonight,” Ivy said. “I need some sleep, and you need to finish that story I interrupted. This was my treat,” she added, scooping up the check.

  In the parking lot Ivy said good-bye several times, and Beth left her reluctantly.

  As Ivy drove home she thought about Beth’s story. The details of Caroline’s suicide had not been made public, so Beth didn’t know about the photos that Caroline had torn up the day she shot herself. It was funny the way Beth came up with things in her writing that seemed farfetched and kind of melodramatic, until some version of them came true.

  When Ivy arrived home, she saw that all the lights in the house were out except one, a lamp in Gregory’s room. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her car coming up the drive. She left it outside the garage. That way, if he got worried, he could see that she had arrived home safely. Ivy planned to go up the center stairs so she wouldn’t have to pass his room. In the afternoon Gregory had called the shop twice. She knew he wanted to talk, and she wasn’t ready.