Элизабет Чандлер: Kissed by an Angel

That afternoon Ivy picked up Philip from school. He had given up the fight and rode next to her in silence. Halfway up the ridge, Ivy heard a motorcycle on the bend above them, roaring downhill. Suddenly the cyclist and she were face-to-face. She was already as far to the right as she could get. Still he came head-on. Ivy slammed on her brakes. The cycle swerved dangerously close to them, then sped past.

Philip's head spun around, but he didn't say anything. Ivy glanced in the rearview mirror. It was probably Eric Ghent. She hoped Gregory was with him.

But Gregory was waiting for them at the house, along with Andrew and her mother, who were just back from their honeymoon. Her mother greeted them with big hugs and lipstick kisses and a cloud of some new kind of perfume. Andrew took both of Ivy's hands in his. He was wise enough to smile at but not touch Philip. Then Ivy and Philip were turned over to Gregory.

"I'm the tour guide," he said. Leaning toward Philip, he warned, "Stay close. Some of these rooms are haunted."

Philip looked around quickly, then glanced up at Ivy.

"He's just kidding."

"I'm not," said Gregory. "Some very unhappy people have lived here."

Philip glanced up at Ivy again. She shook her head.

On the outside the house was a stately white clapboard home with heavy black shutters. Wings had been added to each side of the main structure. Ivy would have liked to live in one of the smaller wings with their deep sloping roofs and dormer windows.

In the main part of the house, some of the high-ceilinged rooms seemed as large as apartments that they had once lived in. The house's wide center hall and sweeping stair separated the living room, library, and solarium from the dining room, kitchen, and family room. Beyond the family room was a gallery leading to the west wing with Andrew's office.

Since her mother and Andrew were talking in the office, the downstairs tour stopped at the gallery, in front of three portraits: Adam Baines, the one who had invested in all the mines, looking stern in his World War I uniform; Judge Andy Baines, in his judicial robes; and Andrew, dressed in his colorful academic gown. Next to Andrew there was a blank spot on the wall.

"Makes you wonder who's going to hang there," Gregory remarked dryly. He smiled, but his gray, hooded eyes had a haunted look. For a moment Ivy felt sorry for him. As Andrew's only son, he must have felt a lot of pressure to do well.

"You will," she said softly.

Gregory looked in her eyes, then laughed. His laughter was touched with bitterness.

"Come upstairs," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the back stairway that ran up to his room. Philip tagged along silently.

Gregory's room was large and had only one thing in common with other guys' rooms-an archaeological layer of discarded underwear and socks. Beneath that, it showed money and taste: dark leather chairs and glass tables, a desk and computer, and a large entertainment center.

Covering the walls were museum prints with striking geometric shapes. In the center of it all was a king-size waterbed.

"Try it," Gregory urged.

Ivy leaned down and jiggled it tentatively with her hand.

He laughed at her. "What are you afraid of? Come on, Phil"-no one calls him Phil, Ivy thought-"show your sister how. Climb on top and give it a good roll around."

"I don't want to," said Philip.

"Sure you do." Gregory was smiling, but his tone of voice threatened.

"Nope," said Philip.

"It's a lot of fun." Gregory grasped Philip's shoulders and pushed him back forcefully toward the bed.

Philip resisted, then tripped and fell onto it. He sprang off just as quickly. "I hate it!" he cried.

Gregory's mouth hardened into a line.

Ivy then sat down on the bed. "It is fun," she said. She bounced slowly up and down. "Try it with me, Philip." But he had moved out into the hallway.

"Lie back on it, Ivy," Gregory urged her, his voice low and silky.

When she did, he lay down close to her.

"We really should get to our unpacking," Ivy said, sitting up quickly.

They crossed through a low-roofed passage that was just above the gallery and into the section of the main house where Philip and she had their bedrooms.

Her door was closed and when she opened it, Philip rushed through to Ella, who was stretched out luxuriously on Ivy's bed. Oh no, Ivy groaned silently as she glanced around the elaborately decorated room. She had feared the worst when her mother said she was in for a big surprise.

What she saw was lots of lace, white wood trimmed with gold, and a canopy bed. "Princess furniture," she muttered aloud.

Gregory grinned.

"At least Ella looks at home. She's always thought of herself as a queen. Do you like cats, Gregory?"

"Sure," he said, sitting on the bed next to Ella. Ella promptly got up and walked to the other end of the bed.

Gregory looked annoyed.

"That's a queen for you," Ivy said lightly. "Well, thanks for the tour. I've got a lot to unpack."

But Gregory lounged back on her bed. "This was my room when I was a kid."

"Oh?"

Ivy lifted an armload of clothes from a garment bag and pulled open a door to what she thought was a closet. Instead she faced a set of steps.

"That was my secret stairway," Gregory said.

Ivy peered up into the darkness.

"I used to hide up in the attic when my mother and father fought. Which was every day," Gregory added. "Did you ever meet my mother? You must have; she was always getting done over."

"At the beauty shop? Yes," Ivy replied, opening the door to a closet.

"Wonderful woman, isn't she?" His words were heavy with sarcasm. "Loves everyone. Never thinks of herself."

"I was young when I met her," Ivy said tactfully.

"I was young, too," "Gregory… I've been wanting to say this. I know it must be hard for you, watching my mother move into your mother's room, having Philip and me take over space that was once yours. I don't blame you for-" "For being glad that you're here?" he interrupted. "I am. I'm counting on you and Philip to keep the old man on his best behavior. He knows others are watching him and his new family. Now he's got to be the good and loving papa. Let me help you with that."

Ivy had picked up her box of angels. "No, really, Gregory, I can handle this myself."

He reached in his pocket for a penknife and slit the tape on the carton. "What's in it?"

"Ivy's angels," said Philip.

"The boy speaks!"

Philip pressed his lips together.

"Soon enough, you won't be able to shut him up," Ivy said. Then she opened the box and began to take out her carefully wrapped statues.

Tony came out first. Then an angel carved out of soft gray stone. Then her favorite, her water angel, a fragile porcelain figure painted in a swirl of blue-green.

Gregory watched as she unwrapped fifteen statues and set them on a shelf. His eyes were bright with amusement. "You don't take this stuff seriously, do you?"

"What do you mean by seriously?" she asked.

"You don't really believe in angels."

"I do," said Ivy.

He picked up the water angel and made her zoom around the room.

"Put her down!" Philip cried. "She's Ivy's favorite."

Gregory landed her facedown on a pillow.

"You're mean!"

"He's just playing, Philip," Ivy said, and calmly retrieved the angel.

Gregory lay back on the bed. "Do you pray to them?" he asked.

"Yes. To the angels, not the statues," she explained.

"And what wonderful things have these angels done for you? Have they captured Tristan's heart?"

Ivy glanced at him with surprise. "No. But then, I didn't pray for that."

Gregory laughed softly.

"Do you know Tristan?" Philip asked.

"Since first grade," Gregory replied, then lazily extended an arm toward the cat. Ella rolled away from him.