The Power of Love (8 page)

“That’s why I need your help,” Suzanne said quickly. “I’m never sure with Gregory. I have to know, Ivy—did he go out with any girls this weekend? I mean, with me being away and him having to come home because of you, I wondered whether he got out his little date book and …”

Ivy chased noodles around with her soup spoon. “I don’t know,” she said.

“How can you not know? You live with him!”

“He was home Saturday morning. In the afternoon we played tennis and went shopping. At night he went to a movie with Philip and me. He was out for a while on Sunday afternoon, but the rest of the time he was with Philip and me.”

“And you.
It’s a good thing you’re my best friend and Gregory’s stepsister,” Suzanne remarked, “or else I’d be insanely jealous and suspicious. Lucky for both of us, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Ivy replied without enthusiasm.

“How about Monday? Did he go out then?”

“For a while in the morning, then late last night. Suzanne, I don’t feel right reporting on him to you.”

“Well, whose side are you on?” her friend asked.

Ivy crumbled a cracker in her soup. “I didn’t know there were sides.”

“Who do you feel most loyal to, me or Gregory?” Suzanne persisted. “You know, in the beginning I thought you didn’t like him. In fact, I thought you couldn’t stand him but didn’t say anything because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

Ivy nodded. “I didn’t know him very well then. But I do now, and since I care about him and I care about you, and since you’re chasing him—”

“I’ve caught him, Ivy.”

“Since you’ve caught him, and you hooked me years ago, how can there be sides?”

“Don’t be so naive,” Suzanne replied. “There are always sides in love.” She chopped away at the brownies in the pan. “Love is war.”

“Don’t, Suzanne.”

She stopped chopping. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t do what you’re doing to him.”

Suzanne sat back in her chair. “Just what are you saying?” There was a noticeable chill in her voice.

“I’m saying don’t play games with him. Don’t push him around the way you’ve pushed around the other guys. He deserves better treatment, much better.”

Suzanne was silent for a moment. “You know what you need, Ivy? A boyfriend of your own.”

Ivy stared down at her soup.

“And Gregory agrees with me on that.”

Ivy glanced up sharply.

“He thinks Will is perfect for you.”

“Tristan was perfect for me.”

“
Was,
” said Suzanne. “
Was.
Life goes on, and you’ve got to go on with it!”

“I will when I’m ready,” Ivy replied.

“You’ve got to let go of the past.” Suzanne laid her hand on Ivy’s wrist. “You’ve got to stop acting like a little girl, holding on to the hand of big brother Gregory.”

Ivy looked away.

“You’ve got to start getting out and seeing other guys. Will’s a start.”

“Butt out, Suzanne.”

“Gregory and I can set you up.”

“I said, butt out!”

“All right!”

Suzanne sliced an ultrathin piece of brownie, then pointed the knife at Ivy. “But you butt out, too, and don’t tell me what to do. I’m warning you now, don’t interfere with me and Gregory.”

What did she mean by interfere? Ivy wondered. Don’t give her advice—or stop holding on to Gregory’s hand?

They both stared down at their food in silence. Peppermint sat between their chairs, looking from one to the other. Then somehow, after what seemed an interminable silence, they found their way onto safer ground, talking about the wedding Suzanne had been to. But as Suzanne talked on and Ivy nodded, all Ivy could think of was that one way or the other, she was going to lose someone who meant a lot to her.

8

“Give us a few more minutes, Philip,” Ivy said. “We want to look at the rest of these paintings.”

“I think I’ll go find Gregory.”

Ivy reached out quickly and caught her brother by the back of his T-shirt. “Not today. You’re stuck with Beth and me.”

For the last four days Ivy had spent little time with Gregory, seeing him only at occasional family meals and in chance passings in the hall. Whenever their paths did cross, she’d been careful not to start a long conversation with him. When he’d sought her out—and the more she’d avoided him the more he had sought her out—she’d claimed she was on her way up to the music room to practice.

Gregory looked puzzled and a little angry about the distance she was putting between them. But what else could she do? They had grown too close. Without meaning to, Ivy had come to depend on him. If she didn’t back off now, she might lose Suzanne as a friend.

Suzanne and Beth had met Gregory, Philip, and Ivy in town that afternoon, at the bottom of Main Street, where the festival began. Suzanne had immediately draped her arm across Gregory’s back and slipped her hand into his back pocket, walking him away from Ivy and Philip. Ivy had responded by steering Philip in another direction. Beth was left standing on the street corner.

“Come with us,” Ivy had called to her. “We’re going to see the art.”

The display was set up along a narrow lane of old shops that ran back from Main Street. An assortment of townspeople—women pushing baby strollers, old ladies in straw hats, kids with their faces painted, and two guys dressed as clowns-walked along looking at the pictures, trying to guess who the artists were. Each picture was titled and numbered, but the artists’ names were masked for the judging that would take place later that day.

Ivy, Beth, and Philip were almost at the end of the display when Philip had started fussing about finding Gregory.

Now Ivy pointed to a strange painting, trying to distract him. “What do you think that is?” she asked.

“
Things.
” He read the title with a scowl.

“Looks to me like a row of lipsticks,” Beth said, “or trees in the fall or Christmas candles or catsup bottles or missiles at sunset—”

Philip screwed up his face. “It looks to me like it’s stupid,” he said loudly.

“Shh! Philip, keep your voice down,” Ivy warned. “For all we know, the artist is right behind us.”

Philip turned around to look. Suddenly the scowl was gone. His face lit up. “No,” he said, “but there’s an—” He hesitated.

“What?” Beth asked.

Ivy glanced quickly behind her. No one was there.

Philip gave a little shrug. “Never mind.” He sighed.

They moved on to the last entry, a panel with four watercolors.

“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 to—

For 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 that 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 ten-gallon 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 the 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 his 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 the dressing room.

Gregory caught her by the 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.