Kissed by an Angel

by Элизабет Чандлер

  "Why, Will," Gregory said, observing the way he was squeezed in next to him, "I didn't know you cared. Suzanne, get up here!"

  Ivy pulled Suzanne back.

  "I said, get up here. Let Will sit back there with the girl of his dreams."

  Ivy shook her head and sighed.

  "Anybody likely to throw up has to sit by a window," Will said.

  Ivy buckled Suzanne's seat belt.

  Gregory shrugged, then started the car. He drove fast, too fast. The tires squealed on turns, the rubber barely holding the road. Beth closed her eyes. Suzanne and Eric hung their heads out the window as the car lurched sickeningly from side to side. Ivy stared straight ahead, her muscles contracting each time Gregory had to brake or turn the car, as if she were driving the route for him. Will actually did help drive. Ivy realized then why he had placed himself in a dangerous spot without a seat belt.

  They were snaking south on the back roads, and when they finally crossed the river into town, Ivy let out a sigh of relief. But Gregory made a sharp turn north again, taking the road that ran along the river and beneath the ridge, past the train depot, beyond town limits.

  "Where are we going?" Ivy asked as they followed a narrow road, their headlights striping the trees.

  "You'll see."

  Eric lifted his head off the door. "Chick, chick, chick," he sang. "Who's a chick, chick, chick?"

  The ridge, looming high and dark on their right, crowded the road closer and closer to the train tracks on the left. Ivy knew they must be getting near to the point where the tracks crossed over the river.

  "The double bridges," Beth whispered to her, just as they ran out of road. Gregory cut the engine and lights. Ivy couldn't see a thing.

  "Who's a chick chick chick?" Eric said, swinging his head back and forth.

  Ivy felt ill from the fumes of the car and the alcohol. She and Beth climbed out of one side.

  Suzanne sat with the door open on the other. Gregory popped open the trunk. More beer.

  "Where did you get all this?" Ivy demanded.

  Gregory grinned and put a heavy arm around her. "Something else for you to thank Andrew for."

  "Andrew bought it?" she said incredulously.

  "No, his credit card did."

  Then he and Eric each reached for a six-pack.

  Though Ivy understood Gregory's need to blow off steam, though she knew how tough it had been for him since his mother's death, she had been growing angrier by the minute. Now her anger began to ebb, giving way to a slow tide of fear.

  The river wasn't far away; she could hear it rushing over rocks. As her eyes adjusted to the country dark she traced the high wires of the electric train line. She remembered why kids came here: to play chicken on the railroad bridge. Ivy didn't want to follow Gregory as he led them single file to the bridges. But she couldn't stay behind, not with Suzanne unable to take care of herself.

  Eric was pushing her from behind, singing in a high, weird voice, "Who's a chick, chick, chick?"

  Small round stones rolled under their feet. Eric and Suzanne kept tripping on the railroad ties.

  The six of them walked the avenue that sliced sharply through the trees, a path made by the trains rushing between New York City and towns north of it.

  The avenue opened out and Ivy saw the two bridges side by side, the new one built about seven feet from the old. Two gleaming steel rails penciled the path of the new one. There was no railing or restraining fence. The fretwork beneath it stretched like a dark and sinister web across the river. The older bridge had collapsed in the middle. Each side was like a hand extending from the river banks, fingers of metal and rotting wood reaching toward but unable to grip the others.

  Far below both bridges, the water rushed and hissed.

  "Follow the leader, follow the leader," Eric said, prancing ahead of them. He stumbled toward the newer bridge.

  Ivy looped two fingers through the waistband of Suzanne's skirt. "Not you."

  "Let go of me," Suzanne snapped.

  Suzanne tried to follow Eric onto the bridge, but Ivy pulled her back.

  "Let go!"

  They struggled for a moment, and Gregory laughed at the two of them. Then Suzanne slipped out of Ivy's grasp. Desperate, Ivy reached forward and caught Suzanne's bare leg, causing her to trip over the rail and tumble down the track's bed of stone into some brush. Suzanne tried to pull herself up but couldn't. She sank back, her eyes blazing at Ivy, her hands curled with anger.

  "Beth, you'd better see if she's all right," Ivy said, and turned her attention back to Eric. He was fifteen feet out now and over the water. His too-thin body skipped and turned along the track like a dancing skeleton.

  "Chick, chick, chicken," he taunted the others. "Look at all you chick, chick, chickens."

  Gregory leaned against a tree and laughed. Will watched, his expression guarded.

  Then everyone's head turned as the whistle sounded from across the river.

  It was the whistle of the late-night train that Ivy had heard so often from their house high on the ridge, a streamer of sound that wrapped around her heart every night as if it wanted to take her with it.

  "Eric!" she and Will shouted at the same time. Beth held Suzanne, who was leaning over the bushes and throwing up.

  "Eric!"

  Will started after him, but Eric took off, crazily bobbing over the tracks. Will pursued.

  They'll both be killed, thought Ivy. "Will, come back! Will! You can't!"

  The train made its swing onto the bridge, its bright eye throwing back the night, burning the two boys into paper-thin silhouettes. Ivy saw Eric tottering on the very edge of the bridge. Water and rocks lay far below him.

  He's going to jump to the old bridge, she thought. He'll never make it.

  Angels, help us! she prayed. Water angel, where are you? Tony? I'm calling you!

  Eric leaned down, then suddenly dropped over the side.

  Ivy screamed. She and Beth screamed and screamed.

  Will was running back now, stumbling and running. The train wasn't slowing down. It was huge and dark. It was as large as night itself, bearing down on him behind one bright, blind eye.

  Twenty feet, fifteen feet- Will wasn't going to make it! He looked like a moth being drawn into its light.

  "Will! Will!" Ivy shrieked. "Oh, angels-" He leaped.

  The train rushed by, the ground thundering beneath it, the air burning with metal smells. Ivy took off down the steep hill, crashing through the brush in the direction that Will had leaped.

  "Will? Will, answer me!"

  "I'm here. I'm okay."

  He stood up in front of her.

  By the hands of the angels, she thought.

  They held on to each other for a moment. Ivy didn't know if it was he or she who was shaking so violently.

  "Eric? Did he-" "I don't know," she answered quickly. "Can we get down to the river from here?"

  "Try the other side."

  They clawed their way up the bank together. When they got to the top, they both stopped and stared. Eric was walking toward them along the new bridge, a thick rope and a bungee cord slung casually over his shoulder.

  It took them a moment to figure out what had occurred. Ivy spun around to look at Gregory. Had he been in on the trick?

  He was smiling now. "Excellent," he said to Eric. "Excellent."

  Chapter 11

  "You know what I don't understand?" Gregory said, cocking his head, studying Ivy in her short silk skirt. A mischievous smile spread over his face. "I don't understand why you never wear that nice bridesmaid's dress."

  Maggie looked up from the plate of snacks she was carrying upstairs to Andrew. Everyone was going out that evening.

  "Oh, it's much too formal for the Durney Inn," Maggie said, "but you're right, Gregory, Ivy should find someplace to wear her dress again."

  Ivy smiled briefly at her mother, then shot Gregory a wicked look. He grinned at her.

  After Maggie had left the kitchen,
he said, "You look hot tonight." He said it in a matter-of-fact way, though his eyes lingered on her. Ivy no longer tried to figure out what Gregory meant by some of his comments- whether he was truly giving a compliment or subtly mocking her. She let a lot of what he said roll right on by. Maybe she had finally gotten used to him.

  "You're getting used to making excuses for him," Tristan had said after she told him what had happened on Saturday night.

  Ivy had been furious at Eric for his stupid trick. Gregory wouldn't admit to being in on the stunt.

  He had shrugged and said, "You never know what Eric's up to. That's what makes him fun."

  Of course, she had been angry at Gregory too. But living with him day after day, she saw how he struggled. Since his mother's death there were hours when he seemed completely lost in his own thoughts. She thought about the day he had asked her to go for a ride and they had driven through his mother's old neighborhood. She had told him that she had been there that stormy night. He had barely spoken after that and wouldn't meet her eyes the rest of the way home.

  "I'd have to be a stone not to feel for him," Ivy had told Tristan, and ended the discussion there.

  Both Gregory and Tristan were inclined to avoid each other. As usual, Gregory disappeared as soon as Tristan drove up that evening.

  Tristan always came early to play for a few minutes with Philip. Ivy saw, with some satisfaction, that this time Tristan couldn't concentrate, though the home team was down by two in the rubber match of the series with Don Mattingly coming to bat. Second base was stolen while the pitcher was sneaking peeks at Ivy.

  Philip grew frustrated the third time that Tristan couldn't remember how many outs there were, and stomped off to call Sammy. Ivy and Tristan seized the opportunity to slip out of the house.

  On the way to the car, Ivy noticed that Tristan seemed unusually quiet.

  "How's Ella?" she asked.

  "Good."

  Ivy waited. Usually he told her a funny Ella story. "Just good?"

  "Very good."

  "Did you get a new bell for her collar?"

  "Yes."

  "Is something wrong, Tristan?"

  He didn't answer right away. It's Gregory, she thought. He still has himself all wound up about Gregory and last weekend.

  "Tell me!"

  He faced her. With one finger he touched the back of her neck. Her hair was pinned up that night. Her shoulders were bare, except for two thin little straps. The top she wore was a simple camisole, with small buttons down the front.

  Tristan ran his hand down her neck, then across her bare shoulder. "Sometimes it's hard to believe you're real," he said.

  Ivy swallowed. Ever so gently he kissed her throat.

  "Maybe… maybe we should get in the car," she suggested, glancing up at the windows of the house.

  "Right."

  He opened the door. There were roses on the seat, more lavender roses. "Whoops, I forgot," said Tristan. "Do you want to run them back inside?"

  She picked them up and held them close to her face. "I want them with me."

  "They'll probably wilt," he told her.

  "We can stick them in a water glass at the restaurant."

  Tristan smiled. "That will show the maitre d' what kind of class we have."

  "They're beautiful!"

  "Yeah," he said softly. His eyes ran all over her, as if he were memorizing her. Then he kissed her on the forehead and held the roses while she got in the car.

  As they drove they talked about their plans for the summer. Ivy was glad Tristan took the old routes rather than the highway. The trees were cool and musky with June. Light dappled their branches like gold coins slipping through angels' fingers. Tristan drove the winding roads with one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching out for hers, as if she might slip away.

  "I want to go to Juniper Lake," Ivy said. "I'm going to float out there in the deepest part, float for an hour, with the sun shooting sparkles at my fingers and toes-" "Till along comes a big fish," Tristan teased.

  "I'll float in the moonlight too," she went on.

  "The moonlight? You'd swim in the dark?"

  "With you I would. We could skinny-dip."

  He glanced over at her and their eyes held for a moment.

  "Better not look at you and drive at the same time," he said.

  "Then stop driving," she replied quietly.

  He glanced quickly at her, and she put her hand over her mouth. The words had escaped, and she suddenly felt shy and embarrassed. Couples dressed up and on their way to expensive restaurants didn't pull over to make out.

  "We'll be late for our reservation," she said. "You should keep going."

  Tristan eased the car off the road.

  "There's the river," he said. "Do you want to walk down to it?"

  "Yes."

  She laid the roses in the back of the car. Tristan came around to open Ivy's door "Are you going to be able to walk in those shoes?" Tristan asked, glancing down at Ivy's high heels.

  She stood up. Both heels sank straight down in the mud.

  Ivy laughed, and Tristan picked her up. "I'll give you a lift," he said.

  "No, you'll drop me in the mud!"

  "Not till we get there," he said, and hoisted her up higher till he held her legs, letting the top half of her fall over his shoulder as if he were carrying a sack.

  Ivy laughed and pounded him on the back. Her hair was coming out of its pins. "My hair! My hair! Let me down!"

  He pulled her back, and she slid down the front of him, her skirt riding up, her hair tumbling down.

  "Ivy."

  He held her so tightly against him, she could feel the trembling up and down his body.

  "Ivy?" he whispered.

  She opened her mouth and pressed it against his neck.

  At the same time, they both reached for the handle and pulled open the car's back door.

  "I never knew how romantic a backseat could be," Ivy joked a while later. She rested against the seat, smiling at Tristan. Then she looked past him at the pile of junk on the car floor. "Maybe you should pull your tie out of that old Burger King cup."

  Tristan reached down and grimaced. He tossed the dripping thing into the front of the car, then sat back next to Ivy.

  "Ow!" The smell of crushed flowers filled the air.

  Ivy laughed out loud.

  "What's so funny?" Tristan asked, pulling from behind him the smashed roses, but he was laughing, too.

  "What if someone had come along and seen your father's Clergy sticker on the bumper?"

  Tristan tossed the flowers in the front seat and pulled her toward him again. He traced the silk strap of her dress, then tenderly kissed her shoulder. "I'd have told then I was with an angel."

  "Oh, what a line!"

  "Ivy, I love you!" Tristan said, his face suddenly serious.

  She stared back at him, then bit her lip.

  "This isn't some kind of game for me. I love you, Ivy, and one day you're going to believe me."

  She put her arms around him and held him tightly. "Love you" she whispered into his neck. Ivy did believe him, and she trusted him as she trusted no one else. One day she'd have the nerve to say it, all of the words out loud. I love you, Tristan. She'd shout it out the windows. She'd string a banner straight across the school pool.

  It took a few minutes to straighten themselves up. Ivy started laughing again. Tristan smiled and watched her try to tame her gold tumbleweed of hair-a useless effort. Then he started the car, urging it over the ruts and stones and onto the narrow road.

  "Last glimpse of the river," he said as the road made a sharp turn away from it.

  The June sun, dropping over the west ridge of the Connecticut countryside, shafted light on the very tops of the trees, flaking them with gold. The winding road slipped below, into a tunnel of maples, poplars, and oaks. Ivy felt as if she were sliding under the waves with Tristan, the setting sun glittering on top, the two of them moving together through a chasm of b
lue, purple, and deep green. Tristan flicked on his headlights.

  "You really don't have to hurry," said Ivy. "I'm not hungry anymore."

  "I ruined your appetite?"

  She shook her head. "I guess I'm all filled up with happiness," she said softly.

  The car sped along and took a curve sharply.

  "I said, we don't have to hurry."

  "That's funny," Tristan murmured. "I wonder what's-" He glanced down at his feet. "This doesn't feel…"

  "Slow down, okay? It doesn't matter if we're a little late- Oh!" Ivy pointed straight ahead.

  "Tristan!"

  Something had plunged through the bushes and into the roadway. She hadn't seen what it was, just the flicker of motion among the deep shadows. Then the deer stopped. It turned its head, its eyes drawn to the car's bright headlights.

  "Tristan!"

  They were rushing toward the shining eyes.

  "Tristan, don't you see it?"

  Rushing still.

  "Ivy, something's-" "A deer!" she exclaimed.

  The animal's eyes blazed. Then light came from behind it, a bright burst around its dark shape. A car was coming from the opposite direction. Trees walled them in. There was no room to veer left or right.

  "Stop!" she shouted. "1' m-" "Stop, why don't you stop?" she pleaded. "Tristan, stop!"

  Chapter 12

  It was dazzling: the eye of the deer like a dark tunnel, the center of it bursting with light. Tristan braked and braked, but nothing would stop the rushing, nothing could keep him from speeding through the long funnel of darkness into an explosion of light.

  For a moment he felt a tremendous weight, as if the trees and sky had collapsed on him. Then, with the explosion of light, the weight was lifted. Somehow he had gotten free.

  She needs you.

  "Ivy!" he called out.

  The darkness swirled in again, the road around him like a Twirl-a-paint, black spinning with red, night swirling with the pulsing light of an ambulance.

  She needs you.

  He did not hear it, but he understood it. Did the others? "Ivy! Where's Ivy? You have to help Ivy!"

  She was lying still. Bathed in red.