She turned away.
"And those points might help you finish yours. Isn't that what you want?"
Lacey shrugged, keeping her back turned to him.
Tristan looked at her, puzzled. "Is there something I don't get?"
"A lot, Tristan." She sighed. "What do you want me to do with this flower?"
"Leave it, I guess. It was nice of you to bring it, but I'll use up too much strength trying to carry it. Listen, I've got to get going."
She nodded.
"Thanks, Lacey."
She still didn't turn around.
"You're an angel!" he said.
"Mmm."
Tristan hurried off and arrived in Ivy's bedroom just as die sky was beginning to lighten. It was so tempting to materialize one finger and run it along her cheek.
I love you. Ivy. I've never stopped loving you.
Just one soft touch, that's all he wanted. What would it cost, one soft touch?
He left her before he gave in to the temptation and used up energy that he needed for Gregory.
Gregory was sleeping restlessly. Tristan looked quickly through his music collection and found a CD he was familiar with. Materializing two fingers, he slipped the disk into the player and turned the volume on tow. He nudged Gregory, then he began to follow the music himself, saying the words, concentrating on the song's images.
But for some reason, Tristan kept getting mixed up. He'd thought he knew the lyrics by heart. He refocused, then realized his images were intermixing with other images — Gregory's.
I'm in! Lacey, I'm in!
Suddenly he could feel Gregory searching for him, reaching out blindly, desperately, the way a sleeper gropes for a clock when an alarm goes off. Tristan held himself still, absolutely still, and the music floated Gregory away from him.
Tristan sagged with relief. How far could Gregory blast him from his mind? he wondered.
But every thought like that was a thought different from Gregory's and would only alert him again.
Tristan couldn't think about what he was doing but simply had to do it.
He had chosen to focus on the floor lamp in Caroline's living room. The day he and Lacey searched the house, he had noticed it standing next to the chair where the police had found Caroline's body. The halogen lamp, with its long pole and metal disk at the top, was so common it wouldn't create suspicion, but it might trigger a visual memory of Caroline sitting in the chair on that late-May afternoon.
Tristan focused on it. He circled it with his mind. He reached out for it as if he would switch it on.
And he found himself standing in Caroline's living room. She was sitting in the chair, looking back at him, slightly amused. Then she suddenly got up. The color was high in her cheeks, long red fingers of it, rising as it did in Gregory's cheeks when he was angry. But there was also a victorious gleam in her eyes.
She walked toward a desk. Tristan, inside Gregory's memory, stayed where he was, close to the lamp.
Caroline picked up a piece of paper and waved it at him, as if she was taunting him. He felt Gregory's hands draw up into fists.
Then she walked toward him. He thought she was telling him to look at die paper, but he couldn't hear die words dearly. His anger had grown so quickly, die fury in him was so great, that his heart pounded, his blood rushed through him, singing in his ears.
Then his hand rose up. He slammed it into the lamp, slammed the lamp toward her. He saw her go reeling back, flying backward like a cartoon figure into the bright blue square of the picture window.
He shouted out. Tristan, himself, shouted out when he saw Caroline pitching backward, a long stripe of blood on her face.
Gregory suddenly jerked, and Tristan knew that Gregory had heard him. He was the one who'd get slammed next. He scrambled to get out. But images were swirling around him now like pieces of sharp, colored glass in a kaleidoscope. He felt dizzy and sick. He couldn't separate his own mind from Gregory's. He ran a maze through endless, circling, insane thoughts. He knew he was trapped.
Then suddenly there was a voice calling to Gregory, pleading with him to wake up. Ivy.
He saw her through Gregory's eyes, wrapped in her robe, leaning over him. Her hair tumbled down and touched his face. Her arms went around him, comforting him. Then Gregory stilled his whirling thoughts, and Tristan slipped out.
"That's it, Philip!" Gregory said, lifting up his shirt, wiping the sweat from his face. "I'm not giving you any more tennis lessons. You're going to beat me every time."
"Then I'll have to give you lessons," Philip replied, extremely pleased with himself.
Gregory finished caking off his damp shirt and swatted Philip lightly. "Brat."
Ivy and Maggie, who had been watching Thursday morning's lesson, laughed.
"This is how I'd always hoped it would be," Maggie said.
It was a perfect summer day, the sky postcard blue, the pine trees stirring with a light breeze. They were sitting together by the tennis court, Ivy sunbathing, her mother occupying the shady half of the blanket.
Maggie sighed contentedly. "We're a family at last! And I can go away knowing my chickens are happy and safe at home."
"Don't spend one moment thinking about us, Mom," Ivy said. "You and Andrew deserve some time alone at the lake."
Maggie nodded. "Andrew needs the time away, that's for sure. Something's been on his mind lately.
Usually, before bed, he tells me everything that's happened that day — every detail of everything. That's how I get to sleep." Ivy laughed.
"But I can tell," Maggie continued, "something's worrying him, and he's keeping it to himself."
Ivy laid her hand over her mother's. "You guys really need to get away from us and from the college, coo. I hope you have a great time. Mom."
Her mother kissed her, then rose to say goodbye to Philip.
She put her arm around his shoulder. "You be good, pumpkin." Philip made a face. "Okay," Gregory answered cheerfully. Maggie laughed. She planted a big, pink kiss on Philip, hesitated, then shyly kissed Gregory, too.
"Take care of my baby," Ivy heard her mother say quietly. "Take care of my big baby and my little one."
Gregory smiled. "You can count on me, Maggie." Ivy's mother walked off happily, her huge pocketbook swinging behind her. The car was already packed; she was picking up Andrew after his morning meeting.
Gregory smiled down at Ivy, then stretched out on the blanket next to her. "For the next three days," he said, "we can eat whatever we want, whenever we want."
"I'm going to make a sandwich now," Philip told them. "Want one?"
Ivy shook her head. "I have to go to work soon. I'll pick up something at the mall."
"What kind are you making?" Gregory asked.
"Cream cheese, cinnamon, and sugar."
"Think I'll pass on that."
Philip started for the house, but not before wiping his face on his shirt, then pulling it off and swatting a tree with it.
When her brother had disappeared behind the grove of pines separating the house from the tennis court. Ivy said, "You know, he's imitating you. How do you like being a role model?"
"I don't know." Gregory smiled a lopsided smile. "I guess I'm going to have to clean up my act."
Ivy laughed and settled back on the blanket. "Thanks for being nice to my mom," she said. "Promising to take care of her baby? That won't be a hard one to keep." Gregory lay back close to Ivy. He glanced at her, then ran a light hand over her bare midriff. "Your skin's so warm."
Ivy felt warm all over. She laid her hand on top of Gregory's.
"How come you didn't wear that bikini to Eric's party?" he asked.
Ivy laughed. "I only wear it where I feel comfortable."
"And you're comfortable with me?" He pulled himself up on one elbow and looked into her eyes, then let his gaze pass slowly down her.