On the third try, the angel shattered. Another waterfall of glass. She didn't bother to pick it up.
After dinner that evening, Ivy found the glass cleaned up and the picture of Tristan sitting on her bureau. She didn't ask who had done it. She didn't want to speak to any of them. When Gregory tried to come into her bedroom, she slammed the door in his face. She slammed it in his face again the next morning.
That day, she was barely civil to the customers at 'Tis the Season. When she arrived home, she went straight to her room. Opening the door, she found Philip there, spreading out his baseball cards. She had noticed that he no longer called out the play-by-play for his games, just moved the players silently from base to base. But when he looked up at Ivy, he smiled at her for the first time in days. He pointed to her bed.
"Ella!" Ivy exclaimed. "Ella!"
She hurried in and dropped to her knees beside the bed. Immediately the cat began to purr. Ivy buried her face in the cat's soft fur and started to cry.
Then she felt a light hand on her shoulder. Drying her cheeks on Ella, she turned to Philip. "Does Mom know she's here?"
He nodded. "She knows. It's okay. Gregory said it was. Gregory brought her back to us."
When Tristan awakened, he tried to remember which day of the week it was and what lessons he would be giving at the swim camp. Judging by the dim light in his room, it was too early to rise and dress for work. Lying back, he dreamed of Ivy-Ivy with her hair tumbling down.
Slowly he became aware of footsteps outside the door and a sound like something being wheeled by. He leaped up. What was he doing there-lying on the hospital floor in the room of a man he had never seen before? The man yawned and glanced around the room. He did not appear at all surprised by Tristan's presence; he acted as if he didn't even see him.
Then it came back to Tristan: the accident, the ambulance ride, the paramedic's words. He was dead. But he could think. He could watch other people. Was he a ghost?
Tristan remembered the old lady. She had said she saw his light, which was why, he thought, she had mistaken him for an-"No, no." He said it aloud, but the man didn't hear him. "I can't be that."
Well, whatever he was, he was something that could laugh. He laughed and laughed, almost hysterically. He cried too.
The door behind him swung open suddenly. Tristan quieted himself, but it didn't matter. The nurse who entered was not aware of him, though she stood so close her elbow passed through his as she filled out the man's chart. July 9, 3:45 A.M., Tristan read.
July 9? It couldn't be! It had been June when he'd last been with Ivy. Had he been unconscious for two weeks? Would he black out again? Why was he conscious and there at all?
He thought about the old woman who had reached out to him. Why had she noticed him, but the nurse and others had seen nothing? Would Ivy see him?
Hope surged through Tristan. If he could find Ivy before he fell into the darkness again, he'd have another chance to convince her that he loved her. He would always love her.
The nurse left, shutting the door behind her.
Tristan reached to open it, but his fingers slipped through the handle. He tried again, and again.
His hands had no more strength than shadows. Now he'd have to wait for the nurse to come back.
He didn't know how long he would stay conscious or whether, like ghosts in old tales, he'd melt away at dawn.
He tried to remember how he had gotten this far and pictured the halls he had traveled down from the emergency room. He could see very clearly the corner where the orderly had gone through him. Suddenly he was traveling the halls to that spot. That was the trick. He had to project a route in his head and focus on where he wanted to go.
Soon he was out on the street. He had forgotten he was at County Hospital and had to get himself all the way home to Stonehill. But he had driven the route a thousand times to pick up his parents. At the thought of them, Tristan slowed down. He remembered his father in the emergency room, leaning over him and weeping. Tristan longed to assure him that everything was all right, but he didn't know how much time would be given to him. His parents had each other; Ivy was alone.
The night sky was just starting to fade into dawn when he arrived at her house. Two rectangles of light glimmered softly in the west wing. Andrew must have been working in his office. Tristan went around back and found the office's French doors thrown open to the cool night air. Andrew was at his desk, deep in thought. Tristan slipped in unseen.
He saw that Andrew's briefcase was open and papers with the college insignia were scattered about. But the document he had been reading was a police report. Tristan realized with a jolt that it was the official report on his and Ivy's accident. Next to it was a newspaper article about them.
The printed words should have made his death more real to him, but they didn't. Instead, they made things that had once counted-his appearance, his swimming record, his school achievements-seem meaningless and small. Only Ivy was important to him now.
She had to know he loved her and that he always would.
He left Andrew to pore over the report, though he didn't understand why he would be so interested in it, and took the back stairs. Slipping past Gregory's room, which was above the office, he crossed the gallery to the hall that led to Ivy's room. He could hardly wait to see her, hardly wait for her to see him. He trembled as he had done before their first swimming lesson. Would they be able to speak to each other?
If anyone could see him and hear him, Ivy could-her faith was strong! Tristan focused on her room and passed through the wall.
Ella sat up immediately. She had been sleeping on Ivy's bed, her thick black fur balled close to Ivy's golden head. Now the cat blinked and stared at him, or at the empty air-after all, cats did that, he thought. But when he moved toward the other side of Ivy's bed, Ella's green eyes followed him.
"Ella, what do you see, Ella?" he asked quietly.
The cat began to purr, and he laughed.
He stood by Ivy's side now. Her hair was tumbled over her face. He tried to brush it back. More than anything he longed to see her face, but his hands were useless.
"I wish you could help me, Ella," he said.
The cat walked over the pillows toward him. He kept very still, wondering what exactly she perceived. Ella leaned as if she would rub against his arm. She fell over sideways and yelped.
Ivy stirred then, and he called her name softly.
Ivy rolled onto her back and he thought she was going to answer him. Her face was a lost moon, beautiful, but pale. All of her light lay in the golden lashes and her long hair spread out like rays from her face.
Ivy frowned. He wanted to smooth the frown away but couldn't. She began to toss and turn.
"Who's there?" she asked. "Who's there?"
He leaned over her. "It's me. Tristan."
"Who's there?" she asked again.
"Tristan!"
Her frown deepened. "I can't see."
He laid his hand on her shoulder, wishing she would awaken, certain that she would see him and hear him. "Ivy, look at me. I'm here!"
Her eyes fluttered open for a moment. Then he saw the change come over her face. He saw the terror take over her. She began to scream.
"Ivy!"
She screamed and screamed.
"Ivy, don't be afraid."
He tried to hold her. He wrapped his arms around her, but their bodies slipped through each other. He could not comfort her.
Then the bedroom door flew open. Philip rushed in. Gregory was close behind him.
"Wake up, Ivy, wake up!" Philip shook her. "Come on, Ivy, please."