"Yes and no," she replied.
"You're always so honest," he said, bending over her, smiling.
Without touching her, he lowered his mouth to hers. She kissed him. He pulled up for a moment, then lowered his mouth again, still not touching her except with his lips.
They kissed a third time. Then Ivy reached up and slipped her hands around his neck, pulling him down to her.
She didn't hear the soft footsteps in the grass.
"I was waiting for you at the park since ten."
Gregory's head jerked up, and Ivy grabbed the edge of the blanket.
"Looks like you found something better to do," Eric said, and nodded at Ivy.
Gregory lifted himself off her. Ivy pulled the blanket around her, as if Eric had caught her without any clothes. The way he looked at her, she felt naked. She felt exposed.
Eric laughed.
"I saw a movie about a sister who couldn't keep her hands off her brother."
"It's stepbrother," Gregory told him.
Ivy huddled inside the blanket.
"Whatever. I guess you're over Tristan, huh?" Eric said. "Gregory's cured you?"
"Lay off, Eric," Gregory warned.
"Is he better at it than Tristan?" Eric asked, his voice low and soft. "He's sure got all the moves." His words were like snakes working their way into Ivy's mind.
"Shut upl" Gregory shouted, jumping to his feet.
"But you knew that, didn't you?" Eric continued in a silky voice. "You knew about Gregory because girls talk."
"Get out of here!"
"Suzanne would have told you," Eric went on.
"I'm warning you—" "Suzanne would have told her best friend just how hot Gregory is," Eric said, wriggling his hips.
"Get off my property!"
Eric turned to Gregory and laughed. "Your property?" He stretched his lips into an exaggerated smile.
"Yours? Maybe one day, if you're lucky."
Gregory was silent for a moment, then spoke with a voice that was cool but threatening. "You'd better hope I am, Eric. Because if I'm out of luck, you're out, too." He took several steps closer to his friend.
Eric took off. He looked over his shoulder and laughed, like a kid skipping away and daring others to catch him, but there was a maniacal edge to his laughter that made Ivy's blood run cold.
Philip, who had come out of the house when he heard the shouting, now raced across the lawn to them.
"What's wrong?" he asked. He looked from Gregory to Ivy, who was standing next to him, still wrapped in the blanket. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Gregory said. "Nothing for you to worry about."
Philip looked at him doubtfully, then turned to Ivy. "Are you okay?"
She nodded silently.
Gregory put his arm around Ivy. "Eric said some mean things to her."
"Mean things like what?"
"Just mean things," Gregory replied.
"Like what?"
"I don't want to talk about it right now," Ivy said.
Philip bit his lip. Then he turned and started to walk away from them.
Ivy knew that he felt left out She slipped out from under Gregory's protective arm. "Can I have a hug, Philip? I know you're getting big now, but I'm feeling kind of bad. Can I have a hug?" Her brother turned back and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight. "Well take care of you," he whispered. "Will you?" she whispered back. "Gregory and me," he assured her, "and angel Tristan." Ivy quickly let go of him. She tried hard to keep her mouth from quivering. "Thanks," she said, then ran into the house.
When Tristan heard the shouting, he rushed to the window to see what was going on. Gregory and Eric were hidden behind the trees. The sound of their voices carried, but he couldn't catch the words. The angry exchange was over almost as quickly as it had begun.
Tristan debated what to do. He wanted to make sure Ivy was all right, but he couldn't leave Gregory´s bedroom as it looked now. He had spent the morning searching it, and drawers were «till open, papers spread around, the pockets of pants and jackets pulled inside out. If Gregory discovered that someone had been looking through his things, he would become much more cautious, and that would make it harder to figure out what was going on.
The last time Ivy had needed help, she had called out to Tristan — silently — but he had heard her. He kept very still for a few moments now, listening. When he didn't sense that she was in danger, he decided to stay where he was and began to straighten up.
A few minutes later he heard Ivy running upstairs, then Philip and Gregory talking as they approached the house. Tristan began to work more quickly, but he was rapidly losing his strength. His fingers, having materialized repeatedly for short periods of time, were growing tired and clumsy. He could barely open and dose Gregory's desk.
There was an old school magazine on top of the desk, anchoring newspaper articles Gregory had saved.
Earlier, Tristan had skimmed the news stories, trying to figure out why they interested Gregory. Now they were blowing around. He snatched at one of them and knocked over a stack of boxes containing tapes for the VCR.
Several of the tapes slid out of their boxes, and Tristan hurried to pick them up. He could hear Gregory calking to Philip at the bottom of the back stairway, but the more he hurried, the more he bungled. One of the tapes wouldn't slip back into its box — something was sticking.
Tristan focused all his energy and yanked it out again. That's when he saw it, cellophane taped along one side of the black casing, with three bright red capsules inside.
He heard the steps creak. Gregory was coming up. Tristan ripped off the plastic, slid the taре back in its box, and set it on top of the stack. He knew that Gregory would not be able to see him, but he'd spot the red capsules. With his last bit of energy, Tristan threw them behind the bureau. A halfsecond later Gregory entered the room.
Tristan sank back, exhausted. He saw that everything was in place except a train schedule that lay on the floor where the boxes had fallen.
No problem, he told himself. Gregory would think it had blown off the desk, since it wasn't anchored by anything.
In fact, Gregory didn't notice the schedule, though he went directly to his desk and sat down. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, and his skin had turned a strange color, paling beneath his tan. He dropped his head in his hands. For several minutes, he rubbed his temples, then he sat back in the chair.
Suddenly his head jerked around. Gregory stared at the train schedule on the floor, then glanced slowly, suspiciously around the room. He reached for the videotape and pulled it out of the box. His jaw dropped.
He checked the label, then yanked out one tape after another. He ripped cellophane off a second cassette-it contained three more capsules — and again glanced around the room.
"Philip!" He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back on the floor. He started for the door, then stopped and slammed his palm against the wall. He stood there, motionless, scaring at the door to the hall, one hand still clutching the drugs.
"Damn you, brat!"
He shoved the capsules deep in his pocket, then slipped his wallet in after them. Returning to his desk, he picked up the chair, then sat down to read the train schedule.
Tristan read over his shoulder and watched as Gregory circled the time of the last train running after midnight. It left Tusset at 1:45 A.M., but didn't make a stop at Stonehill´s little station. Gregory did some quick calculations, wrote down 2:04, circled it twice, then slipped the schedule under a book. He sat for fifteen minutes more, his chin resting on his hands.
Tristan wondered what was going through Gregory's mind, but he was much too weak to attempt an entrance. Gregory seemed much calmer now — so calm it was eerie. He sat back slowly and nodded to himself as if he had made some big decision. Then he reached for his car keys and started toward the door. Halfway down the steps, Gregory began to whistle.