When she opened her eyes Gregory was staring at her. "Out?" he said.
"Were you talking to me?"
"Talking to you?" Ivy echoed. Terrific. She had spoken aloud. "No," she told Gregory, "I don't remember saying anything to you."
He frowned at her.
"But you know me," she said cheerfully, "I'm just a little crazy."
He continued to stare at her. "Maybe," he said.
Ivy smiled and moved past him. For the next fifteen minutes she paid attention to Eric, helping him find parts of costumes, while keeping one eye on the shop door, waiting for security to pass by. When the guard did and pointed to his watch, signaling that it was well past nine-thirty, she called out to him. Since the mall was officially closed, she asked him if he'd show Eric and Gregory a door where they could exit.
Then she locked the shop door behind them and leaned back against it, limp with relief. "I'm sorry, Tristan," she said, but she was pretty sure he didn't hear her.
Tristan watched Ivy, her head bent over the store receipts, her curly hair a web of gold under the one light that now shone over the desk at the cash register. The rest of the shop was dimly lit, its corners receding into darkness.
He wanted to touch her hair, to materialize his fingers and feel the softness of her skin. He wanted to talk to her, just talk to her. But he remained hidden, still angry, hurt by the way she had thrust him out of her mind.
Ivy raised her head suddenly and glanced around as if she sensed his presence. "Tristan?"
If he stayed outside of her, she wouldn't hear him. But what did he have to say to her? That he loved her?
That she had hurt him. That he was terrified for her.
She saw him now. "Tristan." The way she said his name could still make him tremble. "I didn't think you'd come back. After putting you out like that, I didn't think you'd come to me."
Tristan stayed where he was.
"And you're not coming to me, are you?" she asked.
He heard the tremor in her voice and couldn't decide what to do. Leave her? Let her wonder for a while.
He didn't want to fight, and he had work to do that night.
If only you knew how much I love you, he thought.
"Tristan," she said silently.
He was in her mind now and knew the thought they had shared: If only you knew how much I love you.
Ivy was crying.
"Don't. Please don't," he said.
"Try to understand," she begged him silently. "I gave my heart to you, but it's still mine. You can't just come in and take over. I have my own thoughts, Tristan, and my own way of doing things."
"You've always had your own thoughts and your own way of doing things," he said. Then he laughed in spite of himself. "I remember how you were leading your guide around your very first day in our school-that's when I fell in love with you," he told her. "But you've got to understand, too. I'm afraid for you.
What were you doing, Ivy, playing like that with Gregory?"
Ivy slid off the desk stool and walked toward a dark corner of the shop.
Eric had left a pile of costumes on the floor. Tristan could feel their silky softness through Ivy's hands as she picked them up. "I'm playing Gregory's game," she said. "I'm playing the role he's given me-keeping him wondering and keeping him close."
"It's too dangerous, Ivy."
"No," she replied firmly. "Living in the same house with him and trying to avoid him-that would be dangerous. I can't hide from him, so the trick is never, ever to take my eyes off him." She picked up a glittering black mask and held it in front of her face.
"I have to know what he's doing and what he's saying," she continued. "I have to wait for him to slip up.
As long as I'm here-and I told you, Tristan, I'm staying here-it's the only way."
"There's another way to keep track of him," Tristan said, "and to keep a person between you at the same time. Will is his friend. You could date Will."
There was a long silence, and Tristan could feel Ivy cloaking her thoughts from him. "No, that's not a good idea," she said at last.
"Why not?" His voice came out too sharply. He could feel her searching carefully for the right words.
"I don't want to get Will involved."
"But he already is," Tristan argued. "He knows about me. He took you to the train station to help you remember what happened."
"That's as far as it goes," Ivy said. "I don't want you to tell him anything else." She started sorting through the costumes, shaking them out, then folding them.
"You're protecting him," Tristan said.
"That's right."
"Why?" he asked.
"Why put someone else in danger?" she replied.
"Will would put himself in any kind of danger for you. He's in love with you." As soon as Tristan said it he wished that he hadn't.
But certainly Ivy had already figured that out. Maybe not, he thought suddenly. He felt her struggling. He was caught in a swirl of emotions that he couldn't understand. He knew she was confused.
"I don't think so," Ivy said. "Will's a friend, that's all."
Tristan didn't say anything.
"But if it is true, Tristan, then it's not fair to use him like that.
It'd be leading him on."
°Would it really? Tristan wondered. Maybe Ivy was afraid to admit her attraction to Will.
"What are you thinking? What are you cloaking?" Ivy asked.
"I'm wondering if you're being honest with yourself."
Ivy walked briskly across the shop, as if she could walk away from him, hanging up the costumes, tossing misplaced objects into their bins. "I don't know why you think the way you do. It's almost as if you're jealous," she said.
"I am," he replied.
"You're what?" Her voice sounded frustrated.
"Jealous." There was no point in trying to hide it, Tristan thought.
"Who said that?" Ivy demanded.
"Who said what?" Tristan asked.
"Who said what?" a female voice echoed, the same voice that had sounded frustrated a moment ago.
"Lacey!" Tristan exclaimed. He hadn't seen her come in.
"Yes, sweetie?" Lacey was projecting her voice so Ivy could hear it, too.
Ivy glanced around the room.
"This is a private conversation," Tristan said.
"Well, her half was private," Lacey replied, still projecting her voice.
"When your chick speaks inwardly, I can hear only your part. Talk about frustrating! This year's romantic smash, and I'm missing half the dialogue. Ask your chick to speak out loud, okay?"
"Your chick?" Ivy repeated aloud.
"That's better," said Lacey.
"Is she that purplish blob?" Ivy asked.
"Ex-cuuuse" me?" Lacey said.
Tristan could feel a headache coming on. "Yes, that's her," he told Ivy.
"A blob?" Lacey spit out the word.
"That's how you look to Ivy," Tristan said. "You know that."
"How does she look to you?" Ivy asked Tristan.
He hesitated.
"Yes, tell us both, how do I look to you?" Lacey asked.
Tristan tried to think of an objective description. "Like… five foot something… with brown eyes, I think… and a roundish nose, and sort of thick hair."
"Good job, Tristan," Lacey remarked. "You've just described a bear." To Ivy she said, "I'm Lacey Lovitt.
Now I'm sure you can picture me."
Tristan could feel Ivy's mind searching, trying to remember who Lacey Lovitt was.
"The country-western star?"
A plastic turkey was hurled across the room. "And to think I bothered to come back to warn the chick."
"Why does she keep calling me the chick?"
"I guess it's movie star talk," Tristan said wearily.
"You were a movie star?" Ivy bent down to pick up the thrown turkey. "So you're pretty," Ivy said quietly.