Read Online The Power of Love by Elizabeth Chandler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Chandler
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hands. “Be nice to Will,” he said. “He’s had some rough times in the past.”
Before Ivy could ask what kind of rough times, Maggie and Philip came into the kitchen. Philip was wearing the Yankees cap and T-shirt that Gregory had bought him at the game.
Little by little, Philip was warming up to Gregory, and Gregory seemed pleased by it. Philip’s talk of angels still annoyed him, but that was probably because it upset Ivy.
Philip gave Ivy a light punch in the arm. She had noticed lately that when others were around, her little brother wouldn’t hug her. Maggie, who was dressed for the great outdoors from the neck down and made up for a photo session from the neck up, gave Ivy a squeeze and a kiss.
Gregory and Philip immediately rubbed their faces in the same place. Ivy grinned at them but left the fresh, red print of lips on her cheek.
“That’s my girl,” Maggie said. “Got us all packed up. I swear, I raised you to be a better mother than me.”
Ivy laughed.
Gregory carried out the ice chest, and the others followed with bags and suitcases, putting them in Maggie’s car. Gregory planned to take his own car, and Andrew, who had been held up by a late-afternoon meeting, would drive up to the lake afterward.
There was a lot of car door banging and loud spurts of music. Philip, who wanted to ride with Gregory, was fooling around with his stereo. At last both cars drove off, and Ivy stood alone, cherishing the silence. The afternoon was warm and still, and only the trees, the very tops of them, rustled dryly. It was one of the few moments of real peace that she had felt since Tristan’s death.
She went inside and grabbed a book, one that Beth had given her, so it was sure to be a torrid romance. Beth had sent it via Suzanne with a note of apology, afraid to face Ivy and afraid to call her up. Ivy had telephoned Beth to let her know she wasn’t angry anymore.
She was still mystified, however. It was such an odd thing for Beth to have done—creating computer messages from “Tristan.” Beth was usually so sensitive to other people’s feelings. Well, she had thought that Will was sensitive, too, and look what he had done: put a pair of wings on Tristan.
In spite of the pain of that memory, Ivy smiled a little. What would Tristan have thought about Will turning him into an angel?
She read for more than an hour and a half up in the tree house, occasionally gazing out through the branches at the distant glittering strip that was the river. Then she stuck the book in the waistband of her jeans and swung down on the rope. In the mood for a walk, Ivy circled around the front of the house and headed down the winding drive. She quickened her pace, and kept it up as she climbed the hill again, returning to the top, sweaty and exhilarated.
Maybe she could finally play “Liebestraum,” she thought. With all this quiet around her, maybe she’d play up a storm, and work all the way through the love song. She had been practicing for the festival every day but hadn’t been able to get to the end of the piece. At some point the memories always came back to her, a slow tide turning in her, and washed out all her music. Maybe that day she could hold on to the notes.
Ivy grabbed a soda from the kitchen and hurried upstairs to take a shower. Halfway through it, she wondered if she should have locked the back door. Don’t be silly, she told herself. No one ever comes up on this hill. She intended to enjoy these days of peace and wouldn’t let the worrying of Suzanne, Beth, and Gregory put her on edge.
When Ivy climbed the steps to her music room, Ella scooted ahead of her and leaped up onto the piano bench.
Ivy smiled. “You’re practicing for the festival, too?”
She thought about the triplets of notes that Ella had “played” the week before, then pushed it out of her mind; the song would make her start thinking of Tristan.
Ivy began her warm-ups, then played melodies that were Philip’s favorites,
Before Ivy could ask what kind of rough times, Maggie and Philip came into the kitchen. Philip was wearing the Yankees cap and T-shirt that Gregory had bought him at the game.
Little by little, Philip was warming up to Gregory, and Gregory seemed pleased by it. Philip’s talk of angels still annoyed him, but that was probably because it upset Ivy.
Philip gave Ivy a light punch in the arm. She had noticed lately that when others were around, her little brother wouldn’t hug her. Maggie, who was dressed for the great outdoors from the neck down and made up for a photo session from the neck up, gave Ivy a squeeze and a kiss.
Gregory and Philip immediately rubbed their faces in the same place. Ivy grinned at them but left the fresh, red print of lips on her cheek.
“That’s my girl,” Maggie said. “Got us all packed up. I swear, I raised you to be a better mother than me.”
Ivy laughed.
Gregory carried out the ice chest, and the others followed with bags and suitcases, putting them in Maggie’s car. Gregory planned to take his own car, and Andrew, who had been held up by a late-afternoon meeting, would drive up to the lake afterward.
There was a lot of car door banging and loud spurts of music. Philip, who wanted to ride with Gregory, was fooling around with his stereo. At last both cars drove off, and Ivy stood alone, cherishing the silence. The afternoon was warm and still, and only the trees, the very tops of them, rustled dryly. It was one of the few moments of real peace that she had felt since Tristan’s death.
She went inside and grabbed a book, one that Beth had given her, so it was sure to be a torrid romance. Beth had sent it via Suzanne with a note of apology, afraid to face Ivy and afraid to call her up. Ivy had telephoned Beth to let her know she wasn’t angry anymore.
She was still mystified, however. It was such an odd thing for Beth to have done—creating computer messages from “Tristan.” Beth was usually so sensitive to other people’s feelings. Well, she had thought that Will was sensitive, too, and look what he had done: put a pair of wings on Tristan.
In spite of the pain of that memory, Ivy smiled a little. What would Tristan have thought about Will turning him into an angel?
She read for more than an hour and a half up in the tree house, occasionally gazing out through the branches at the distant glittering strip that was the river. Then she stuck the book in the waistband of her jeans and swung down on the rope. In the mood for a walk, Ivy circled around the front of the house and headed down the winding drive. She quickened her pace, and kept it up as she climbed the hill again, returning to the top, sweaty and exhilarated.
Maybe she could finally play “Liebestraum,” she thought. With all this quiet around her, maybe she’d play up a storm, and work all the way through the love song. She had been practicing for the festival every day but hadn’t been able to get to the end of the piece. At some point the memories always came back to her, a slow tide turning in her, and washed out all her music. Maybe that day she could hold on to the notes.
Ivy grabbed a soda from the kitchen and hurried upstairs to take a shower. Halfway through it, she wondered if she should have locked the back door. Don’t be silly, she told herself. No one ever comes up on this hill. She intended to enjoy these days of peace and wouldn’t let the worrying of Suzanne, Beth, and Gregory put her on edge.
When Ivy climbed the steps to her music room, Ella scooted ahead of her and leaped up onto the piano bench.
Ivy smiled. “You’re practicing for the festival, too?”
She thought about the triplets of notes that Ella had “played” the week before, then pushed it out of her mind; the song would make her start thinking of Tristan.
Ivy began her warm-ups, then played melodies that were Philip’s favorites,
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