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."
"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."