"You talked pretty long," Will observed. "Is that all she said?"
"Yes," Ivy lied.
Will's eyes dropped down to the pocket where she had shoved the envelope.
He must have seen the exchange, and certainly he could see the edge of the envelope now, but he didn't question her further.
They had been excused from school that day, and the three of them drove quietly to Celentano's for a late lunch. As they pored over their menus Ivy wondered what Will was thinking and if he was suspicious of Gregory.
At the police station on Monday, Will had let her do the talking, then echoed her story, neither of them mentioning Eric's request for a secret meeting. Now Ivy wanted to tell Will everything. If she looked too long into his eyes, she would.
"So how are you all doing?" Pat Celentano said, coming to take their order. Most of the lunchtime customers had left the the pizza shop, and the owner was speaking in a quieter voice than usual. "Rough morning for you."
She took their order, then set an extra basket of pencils and crayons on the paper tablecloth.
Will, who already had several tablecloth drawings hanging on Celentano's walls, began sketching immediately. Ivy doodled. Beth made long chains of rhyming words, murmuring to herself as the lists grew. "Sorry," she said when one of her chains ran into Will's drawing.
He was writing and illustrating knock-knock jokes. Beth and Ivy leaned over to read them, and started laughing together softly. Will sketched them in their Old West photo costumes. "Virginia City Sweethearts," he titled it.
Beth pointed to the drawing. "I think you missed a few curves," she said.
"Ivy's dress was a lot tighter than that. Of course, not as tight as your cowboy pants."
Ivy smiled, remembering the voice that had confused them all that day, a voice coming out of nowhere-Lacey having a little fun.
"Love those buns!" Ivy and Beth said at the same time, and this time they laughed out loud.
With the sudden laughter came tears. Ivy covered her face with one hand.
Will and Beth sat silently and let her cry it out, then Will gently placed her hand on the table and began to trace it. Over and over the pencil ran along the sides of her fingers, the smooth touch of it soothing her.
Then Will positioned his hand on the paper at an angle against hers and traced it too.
When he lifted their hands, Ivy gazed down at the design. "Wings," she said, smiling a little. "A butterfly, or an angel."
He let go of her hand. Ivy longed to move close to Will and rest against him. She wanted to tell him everything she knew and ask his help. But she knew she couldn't put him in danger. Because of her, one guy she had loved with all her heart had already been murdered. She wasn't going to let it happen to the-Ivy caught herself. To the other guy she… loved?
When Ivy was dropped off later that afternoon, she never went into the house. With Eric's envelope still in her pocket, she climbed into her own car and started driving. After an hour of going nowhere, taking back roads that followed the river north, then crossing over, winding her way south, and crossing again into town, she stopped at the park at the end of Main Street.
The rain had finally ended, and the empty park was drenched with late-afternoon color, the sun slanting through blue-black clouds and turning the grass a brilliant green. Ivy sat alone in the wooden pavilion, remembering the day of the arts festival. Gregory had watched her from one side of the lawn, Will from the other. But it was Tristan's presence she had felt when she played. Was he there? When she played the Moonlight Sonata," did he know it was for him?
"I was there. I knew it."
Ivy gazed down at her shimmering hands and smiled. "Tristan," she said softly.
"Ivy." His voice was like light inside her. "Ivy, what were you running from?"
The question caught her off guard. "What?"
"What were you driving away from?" Tristan asked.
"I was just driving."
"You were upset," he said.
"I was trying to think, that's all. But I couldn't," she confessed.
"What couldn't you think about?"
"You." Ivy ran her hand up and down the smooth, damp wood of the railing she sat on. "You died because of me. I knew it, but I didn't face it, not until now, when I realized that Eric might have died because of me. Not until I thought about what could happen to Will if he learns what's going on."
"Will's going to find out one way or the other," Tristan told her.
"We can't let him!" Ivy said. "We can't endanger him."
"If you feel that way," Tristan observed dryly, "you shouldn't have left your coat with him at the table."
Ivy reached quickly into her pocket. The envelope was still there, folded in half, but when she pulled it out she saw that the flap was no longer tucked in.
"He looked as soon as you and Beth left him alone."
Ivy closed her eyes for a moment, feeling betrayed. "I guess-I guess I would have been curious, too," she said lamely.
"What do you think the key goes to?" Tristan asked.
Ivy flipped the envelope over in her hands. "Some kind of small box or cupboard. At Caroline's house," she added, looking at the address. "Can you get inside?"
"Easily, and I can materialize my fingers to undo the latch to let you in," he told her. "Bring the key, and we'll find what Eric wanted you to find. But not today, okay?"
Ivy heard the strain in his voice. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm tired. Real tired."
"The darkness," she whispered in a frightened voice. Tristan had said there would be a time when he wouldn't return from the darkness.
"It's okay," he assured her. "I just need rest. You're keeping me busy, you know." He laughed.
It's because of me, Ivy thought. He died because of me, and now-"Ivy, no. You can't think that way," he said.
"But I do think that way," she argued. "I was the one who was supposed to die. If it weren't for me-" "If it weren't for you, I would never have known how it is to love someone," he told her. "If it weren't for you, I would never have kissed a mouth so sweet."
Ivy longed to kiss him now. "Tristan," she said, trembling with the sudden idea, "if I died, I could be with you."
He was silent. She could feel the confusion of thoughts, all the emotions tossing within him, within her.
"I could be with you forever," she told him.
"No."
"Yes!"
"That's not how it's supposed to be," he said. "We both know that."
"Ivy got up and walked around the pavilion. His presence within her was stronger than the autumn day outside of her. When he was with her, the smell of soaked earth, the ribbons of emerald grass, and the first scarlet leaves all paled like objects on the edge of her vision.
"I wouldn't have been sent back to help you," Tristan continued. "I wouldn't have been made an angel if it weren't important that you live. Ivy, I want you to be mine"-she could hear the pain in his voice-"but you're not."
"I am!" she cried out loud.
"We're on different sides of a river," he said, "and it's a river that neither of us can cross. You were meant for somebody else."
"I was meant for you,"_ she insisted.
"Hush."
"I don't want to lose you, Tristan!"
"Shhh. Shhh," he soothed. "Listen, Ivy, I'm going to be in the darkness soon, and it may be a while before I reach you again."
"Ivy paced around.
"Stay still. I'm going outside of you, so you won't be able to hear me," he told her. "Stay still."
Then all was silent. Ivy stood motionless, wondering. The air around her began to shimmer with gold. She felt hands touching her, gentle hands cradling her face, lifting her chin. He kissed her. His lips touched hers, actually touched hers with a kiss long and unbearably tender.