Everlasting

  Tristan waited. The tilt of his father’s head told him that he was asking Ivy questions.

  “He knows, yes. Gabriel knows all of what happened,” she said, looking back at Tristan, before turning to his father again. She was nodding at whatever his father was saying, then suddenly leaned against him and started to cry. For a moment, he was an angel without a body again, unseen by Ivy and his father, an outsider, powerless to comfort either of them. He watched his father put his arms around Ivy and saw the age and sadness in his father’s face.

  Then Ivy turned to Tristan, smiling through her tears, and said, “Reverend Carruthers says that there’s something about you, Gabriel. Despite how different you are from Tristan, when he looks at you, he keeps thinking of his son.”

  Tristan stared at his father. What reasonable response could he make to that? None. He walked toward his father, put his arms around his him, and hugged him. It was almost unbearable letting go again. “Thank you,” Tristan said quietly. “Thank you.”

  Twenty-four

  “SO WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF LACEY JR.?” TRISTAN asked Ivy as she drove past the edge of town, following the two-lane road that led to her home.

  Ivy laughed out loud. “Well, we know who is watching out for your parents, but where exactly did Lacey get the kitty? Philip has always said that Ella became an angel, and we all went along with the idea, since it seemed to help him get over her death.” Ivy told Tristan about the graphic novel Will and Beth had been collaborating on, and he smiled.

  “But who knows?” Ivy added. Who knows anything for sure? she thought. She’d never dreamed she’d be driving this road again with Tristan.

  She turned into the driveway that led to her house, climbing the long hill through stretches of trees that opened here and there to small clearings made bright by wild-flowers. When they parked, she turned to look at Tristan, trying to read his feelings about seeing his parents again. The first thing she had learned from loving him was that, when you love deeply, pleasure and pain can be intertwined. “How are you doing?” she asked softly.

  He smiled into her eyes as if knowing she needed to look into them to be convinced. “I’m good. I’m glad we went.”

  She kissed him lightly on the cheek, then got out of the car.

  “You’re sure no one’s here?” Tristan asked, standing next to her, gazing up at Ivy’s home.

  It was an imposing house, three full stories with a two-story wing on each side, massive double chimneys, and heavy black shutters. For Ivy, moving from their Norwalk apartment to this house had been difficult, the residence seeming too large and too cold, and later becoming a place of fear, thanks to Gregory. After her stepbrother’s death, Andrew had asked her mother, herself, and Philip whether they wanted to stay there or move to another house. Knowing Andrew’s attachment to a house and land that had been in the Baines family for several generations, they decided to replace the bad memories with good ones. Ivy believed it was proof of their and Andrew’s love for one another that they’d been slowly able to do that. The only place she avoided in the house was Gregory’s old room, which was now used for storage.

  “While they’re in California, Henry’s taking off,” Ivy told Tristan. Henry was Andrew’s longtime cook, who’d been out of a job for just three weeks before Andrew realized the kitchen wing was in danger of being burned down by his bride. “The groundskeepers come every Wednesday. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”

  “The music room,” Tristan said. “That’s where I want to go. And the tree house.”

  Ivy unlocked the door and punched in the security code. Tristan stood in the middle of the kitchen, gazing about, then peeked in the dining room, almost as shyly as the first time he’d been invited to a family dinner.

  There had been too many serious thoughts and feelings for one day, Ivy decided. “Tag! You’re It!” she cried, and took off.

  Tristan spun around, surprised. They raced down the hall, in one door to the living room and out the other, through the dining room, kitchen, family room, Andrew’s office, and library. Tristan had more speed, but she was more agile and knew better the curvy obstacle course. She danced around a floor lamp that threatened to tip; he flew across a polished floor on an Oriental scatter rug; a pillow fight stripped the sofas and chairs in the family room. With a main staircase and two smaller ones, it was easy to keep from getting cornered, so the chase rolled like a wave upstairs and down. Ivy suspected that Tristan let her get away twice when he could have grabbed her. She finally sprinted from her bedroom up the steps to her third-floor music room where he caught her—or she caught him.

  They held on to each other out of breath and laughing, which made them even more breathless. He covered her face with kisses. “Let’s dance,” he said.

  When they were first together, he had danced with her here in the silent moonlight. Now he provided the music, humming off-key, which made Ivy giggle.

  “Excuse me, Miss Lyons, do you find something funny?”

  “Yes, you,” she said.

  He kissed her smile with a smile.

  She played their favorite songs on the piano, then they returned to the second floor.

  “I’d like to see Philip’s room again,” Tristan told her.

  He stopped at the entrance in front of a picture of himself and Philip, snapped on Philip’s ninth birthday. Tristan picked up the frame, holding it gently for a moment, then returned it to the bookshelf.

  A baseball game was laid out on the floor next to Philip’s bed, a diamond and four bases painted on a green rug, with players’ cards assigned to positions in the field. Philip liked to move the cards around and call the game like a sports announcer.

  “I see Mark Teixeira is up at bat, and the bases are loaded,” Tristan said, then knelt down. He moved a Red Sox outfielder to the edge of the green rug, lined up the three Yankee base runners as if they were ready to greet Teixeira at home plate, and put Teixeira between third and home, as if he were running out a grand slam.

  “You know, Philip never forgets where he left his cards.”

  Tristan grinned. “Good!”

  They retraced their steps, though in a more orderly fashion, straightening everything they had knocked crooked, then went outside.

  Just a puzzle piece of sun was left, shining dark orange through the trees above the horizon. They walked hand in hand toward the stone wall marking the edge of the property. The ground fell away sharply there, eroding into a steep hillside of rocks, spindly trees, and brush. Several hundred feet below was the town’s station for a commuter train, its track following the river. In the approaching twilight, the dark green river valley and distant hills were lapped in violet shadows. Standing near the wall, Ivy leaned back against Tristan, the evening’s peace settling softly around them.

  After a few minutes they turned to the tree house. It had been Gregory’s as a child, and Andrew had it rebuilt and expanded for Philip, putting a new two-floor structure in an adjacent maple and a boardwalk that connected the two sections. A rope ladder dangled from one side and a rope swing from the other. Ivy sat on the swing as Tristan eagerly climbed the ladder. She heard him cross the boardwalk and tread on the heavy planks directly above her. She looked up just as he peeked over the edge. No longer worried about being seen, he had taken off his hat. His gold hair looked like a halo as he smiled down at her.

  “Coming up?”

  You fly down here, she was tempted to say. “In a minute. I want to see how high I can swing.”

  “Then I’m going to the other side, in case you pull over the tree.”

  Ivy loved the feeling of her hair flying back when she sailed forward, then rushing forward over her face as she was sucked back up to the sky. When she had finally had enough and climbed the ladder, she could feel the pink in her cheeks. Tristan’s hands gathered up her wild hair and pulled her to him for a long, sweet kiss.

  They sat together on the top level of the tree house, listening to the leaves rustle around them and the last b
irds of the day singing.

  “They always seem to sing loudest just before it gets dark,” Tristan said.

  They lay down, Ivy in Tristan’s arms. Was it possible? she wondered. Had they been given a second chance for a lifetime together? Were they one cufflink away from many more nights like this?

  “I love you,” Tristan whispered. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. My love for you will never die. It’s everlasting. I swear it to you here, halfway between heaven and Earth.”

  TRISTAN HAD TRIED TO STAY AWAKE AS LONG AS POSsible, not willing to give up one moment of holding Ivy asleep in his arms. Both of them had wanted to stay in the tree house, and they had retrieved blankets and pillows from her bedroom. The night felt gentle, as if all of nature high on the ridge wanted to wrap them in peaceful sounds and tender breezes.

  At last the need for sleep overtook him. A long, heavy sleep gave way to a lighter one. Waking at dawn, finding Ivy still in his arms, he happily fell back into dreams of his time with her.

  Then the voices began—murmuring, menacing, inhuman voices. They crept in like a tide, washing over him. Dread pooled in his soul.

  He could hear distinct syllables—he heard words! Now. Ever. Ours.

  What did they mean? What did they want from him? From their tone, he knew they were not simply telling him something, but demanding it—Now. Ever. Ours.

  “Mine,” he replied, knowing that whatever the hellish voices were claiming, he couldn’t let them have it.

  Now. Ever. Ours, they insisted.

  “Leave me alone!” he shouted.

  Ours!

  He heard the squeal of tires against a road and jolted awake.

  Their laughter exploded in his head. Which way? Which way? they taunted. The voices faded. Which way? one voice asked softly.

  “Tristan?” Ivy’s hand reached up to touch his face. It was morning, the sun already high in the sky and dappling the tree house floor. Ivy lay next to him, gazing up at him, her finger tracing his cheek. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded.

  “You don’t look okay.” She sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I was dreaming.”

  “A nightmare,” she guessed. “What was it about?”

  He hesitated, then lied. “I don’t know. I only remember the feelings.”

  “You shouted. You sounded angry.”

  “I was.”

  She began to gather up the blankets, watching him as if waiting for him to say more, then told him, “It’s okay, Tristan. After all that’s happened, you have many reasons to be angry.”

  They climbed down the rope ladder and walked together across the grass. Tristan felt like he was emerging from a movie theater on a hot summer day, the sun so bright that details of his surroundings were washed out, and the frightening movie seeming more real.

  “Hungry?” Ivy asked.

  “Yes,” he lied a second time, not wanting to worry her.

  In the kitchen she picked up her recharged phone and checked her messages.

  “Beth and Will okay?” he asked.

  “Looks like it.”

  She seemed so happy, flipping pancakes and drizzling syrup over a stack. While cleaning up, she sang. He hummed—the only way he could, off-key—trying to hide his anxiety and make her laugh, which she did. Her laughter helped ease the fear within him, and by the time they were halfway to Providence, the voices seemed farther away.

  They arrived in River Gardens at noon and drove directly to Corinne’s house, hoping to find Gran alone. No one answered the door. Circling the house, they saw that the windows, which had been opened yesterday, were now closed. They didn’t want to draw the attention of neighbors, with many of them home on Saturday, so rather than waiting in front of the house, they drove in loops, leaving the neighborhood and returning, looking for a sign that someone had come home.

  They were exiting River Gardens for the third time when Ivy’s cell phone went off. Tristan recognized the ringtone—Will.

  “I’d better get this,” she said, pulling over to the side of the road. “Hi, Will.”

  Tristan watched Ivy’s face as she listened, her slight frown deepening to genuine concern.

  “So when was the last time anyone saw her? . . . She took your car without asking? . . . I see . . . No, Will, listen to me, there is nothing you could have done. Maybe—maybe she just needs some space.”

  The lines in Ivy’s forehead told Tristan she didn’t believe that.

  “Right. Right.” She nodded silently as Will talked. “Good idea. No, no, I’m coming back. . . . I am! Don’t argue with me!”

  Ivy shook her head, rejecting whatever Will was saying. “If she shows up, then just call me, and I’ll turn around again.”

  “Beth’s missing,” Tristan guessed, after Ivy clicked off her phone.

  Ivy nodded. “She had off from work today, so Will was texting her, but she didn’t respond. When he got a break at the inn, he checked the cottage and his room. She was gone and so were his car keys. Until now, she’s always asked before using it.”

  “Any idea where she’d go?”

  “She has been so strange with Gregory inside her mind, I can’t even guess. Will’s checking her laptop for clues. He’s called Chase, but Chase has been hanging around Dhanya lately. Beth doesn’t talk to Dhanya and Kelsey now, any more than she does to me. She could be anywhere, Tristan, anywhere!” Ivy’s voice broke. “I have to go back.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going to take you to my house for a few more days. You’ll be safe there till Wednesday, and—”

  “No, I’m staying with you.”

  “As soon as she’s found,” Ivy continued, “you and I will go back to Gran’s.”

  “I’m staying with you,” he said again.

  “That makes no sense!” she snapped. “You’ll be safer in Connecticut, and it will be easier for me if I’m not trying to hide you.”

  He blinked and pulled back.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “That didn’t come out right.”

  Tristan didn’t reply immediately. Deal with it, he told himself; the need to keep him hidden had made it hard for Ivy—that was no surprise. But he suspected that something else was going on here. “Ivy, what’s scaring you? I know Gregory has slipped into Beth’s mind, but there’s more, isn’t there? Something you haven’t told me.”

  Ivy looked away from him.

  “What is it?”

  “Several nights ago, she tried to kill me.”

  Tristan slammed his hand against the dashboard. “What?!”

  “She didn’t know what she was doing, Tristan. It was Gregory, not Beth. Gregory!”

  “Oh my God,” he said, leaning forward, both hands holding on to the dashboard.

  “It was my mistake,” Ivy continued. “I should have learned from experience and done more to protect myself. If you could save me last year by slipping inside Will and getting him to act, then of course Gregory could kill me, slipping inside Beth, urging her on.”

  Tristan couldn’t stop shaking.

  “I thought that we were reaching her, Will and I. We had gotten through to her with the amethyst we gave her. I hope she has it with her now, and that we can reach her before she—” Ivy broke off.

  “Before she . . . does what?”

  “I don’t know, Tristan. He is capable of anything.”

  They sat side by side in the car, staring straight ahead. There were too many enemies for him to fight: whoever wanted Luke dead, the police convinced of his guilt, and most powerful of all, Gregory. Tristan couldn’t do it all. But he didn’t have to tell Ivy that, he decided; he simply had to convince her to take him with her. He’d fight the one battle that Ivy had to win, and when the others caught up with him . . .

  “Ivy, listen to me. I am a part of what’s happened to Beth as much as you are. Don’t leave me out of this. Don’t make the mistakes I made when Gregory was alive. I was proud—I wanted to save you myself,
but I needed the help of others—I needed the help of Will to fight him.

  “Gregory’s powers have grown really fast. When I slipped inside other people’s minds, I couldn’t make them do something they didn’t want to. You and I know that Beth would die before she’d hurt you, and yet she tried to kill you. That tells us just how powerful Gregory has become. Bryan, Kelsey, and Dhanya don’t know what they’re dealing with. You, Will, and I—we know—we need to work together.”

  She gazed into his eyes. “I’m so afraid—for Beth and for you.”

  “I’m afraid too, but fear’s okay. Letting it divide us is not,” he said. “That’s exactly what Gregory wants.”

  Ivy took a deep breath. “That’s what I told Beth, not to separate herself from Will and me.”

  Tristan held Ivy’s face in his hands. It was as pale as the night he had given her his kiss of life. “We can’t let Gregory separate us.”

  “It’s your choice, Tristan, but please be careful. I don’t think I can survive losing you again.”

  Twenty-five

  “WE NEED TO CONTACT LACEY,” IVY SAID AS SHE AND Tristan drove toward Bourne Bridge, one of the two car bridges that connected the mainland to Cape Cod. “She’s more likely to come if you ask her.”

  “I called to her when you were talking to Will the second time.”

  Will, knowing Beth’s computer password, had accessed her accounts and was surprised to find that she had deleted all of her mail and texts from the last six months. This was Gregory’s doing, Ivy thought, another attempt to isolate Beth from those who loved her.

  The only leads Will came up with were the Internet pages Beth had visited most recently and most often: Provincetown, especially its mile-long jetty, Chatham beaches, the ferry ports of Hyannis and Woods Hole, and Nickerson State Park. Chase and Dhanya were now headed to Provincetown. Max, knowing Chatham better than anyone, was searching it with Kelsey. Bryan was driving Will to Hyannis Port. Ivy—and, unknown to the others, Tristan—was checking out Woods Hole. Whoever finished first would check the lots at Nickerson in search of Will’s car and Beth.