"Kids can do a lot of things," he replied, "because kids trust. The trick in swimming is not to fight the water. Go with it. Play with it. Give yourself over to it." He splashed her lightly. "How about trying again?"
She lay back. She felt his left arm under the arch in her back. With his right hand he gently eased her head back. The water lapped around her forehead and chin. Ivy closed her eyes and gave herself over to the water. She imagined being in the center of a lake, sunlight sparkling at her toes and fingertips.
When she opened her eyes, he was looking down at her. His face was like the sun, warming her, brightening the air around it. "I'm floating," she whispered.
"You're floating," he said softly, his face bending closer.
"Floating…" They read it off each other's lips, their faces close, so close-"Tristan!"
Tristan straightened up and Ivy sank.
It was Coach, calling from the door of his office. "Sorry to toss you two out," he hollered, "but I got to head home in about ten minutes."
"No problem, Coach," Tristan called back.
"I'll be staying late tomorrow," the older man added, coming a few feet out of his office. "Maybe then you can pick up where you left off?"
Tristan looked at Ivy. She shrugged, then nodded, but kept her eyes down.
"Maybe," he said.
Ivy took a long route home that afternoon, driving a road that ran south from the center of Stonehill, following a tangle of shady streets lined with newer houses. She drove round and round, unwilling to make the final turn and head for the ridge. There was so much to think about.
Why was Tristan doing this? Was he just feeling sorry for her? Did he want to be her friend? Did he want more than a friendship?
But it wasn't these questions that kept her driving. It was the luxury of remembering: how he had looked rising out of the water, a shimmer of drops spilling off him; how he had touched her, gently, so gently.
At home, she'd have to listen to her mother's story about the latest round of snobbery that Maggie was encountering; she'd talk about the ups and downs of Philip's life as a third grader; she'd find a new way to say thanks for the things Andrew kept giving her, and walk on eggshells around Gregory. With all that going on, the moments of the afternoon would fade and be lost forever.
In her mind, Ivy saw Tristan in slow motion, swimming in a circle around her. She remembered the way his hands had felt when he helped her float, the way he had slowly tilted her head back in the water. She trembled with pleasure, and a little fear.
Angels, don't let go of me! she prayed.
This was something different from a crush. This was something that could flood out every other thought and feeling.
Maybe I should back out now, Ivy thought, before I'm in over my head. I'll call him tonight.
But then she remembered how he had pulled her through the water, his face full of light and laughter.
Ivy didn't see the car coming. Lost in thought, responding only to what was directly in front of her, she didn't see the dark car run the stop sign until the very last second. She slammed on her brakes. Both cars squealed and spun around, and for a moment were side by side, lightly touching. Then they veered away from each other. Letting her breath out slowly, Ivy sat still in the middle of the intersection.
The other driver threw open his door. A stream of four-letter words came rushing at her. Without even glancing in his direction, Ivy rolled up her window and checked her door locks. The shouting stopped suddenly. Ivy turned to look coolly at the driver.
"Gregory!"
She put her window down.
His skin was pale except for the scarlet that had crept up his cheeks. He stared at her, then glanced around the intersection, looking surprised, as if he were just now recognizing where he was and what had happened.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yes… yes. Are you?"
"Well, I'm breathing again."
"I'm sorry," he said. "I–I wasn't paying attention, I guess. And I didn't know it was you, Ivy."
Though his anger had subsided, he still looked upset.
"That's okay," she said. "I was driving in a daze, too."
He glanced through the window at the wet towel on her front seat.
"What are you doing around here?" he wanted to know.
She wondered if he would make the connection between the wet towel and swimming and Tristan. But she hadn't even told Beth or Suzanne what she was doing. Besides, it wouldn't matter to Gregory.
"I needed to think about something. I know it sounds crazy, with all the space we have at the house, but I, well-" "Needed other space," he finished for her. "I know how that is. Are you heading home now?"
"Yes."
"Follow me." He gave her a brief, lopsided smile. "Behind me, you'll be safer."
"You're sure you're okay?" she asked. His eyes still looked troubled.
He nodded, then returned to his car.
When they arrived home, Andrew pulled into the driveway after them.
He greeted Ivy, then turned to Gregory. "So how is your mother?"
Gregory shrugged. "Same as always."
"I'm glad you went to visit her today."
"I gave her your good wishes and fondest regards," Gregory said, his face and voice deadpan.
Andrew nodded and stepped around a spilled box of colored chalk. He bent over to look at what had once been clean, white concrete at the edge of his garage.
"Is anything new with her? Is there anything I should know about?" he asked. He was studying the chalk drawings done by Philip; he didn't catch the pause, didn't see the emotion on Gregory's face that passed as fast as it came. But Ivy did.
"Nothing new," he said to his father.
"Good."
Ivy waited till the door closed behind Andrew.