Kissed by an Angel

When she told Tristan she wanted to learn, his eyes had lit up. Ivy was pretty sure she had successfully discouraged any romantic interest he had in her; according to Suzanne, he was dating two other girls. But she felt as if he was her friend. Getting her down from the board, taking in Ella, helping her face her greatest fear-he was there when she needed him, the way no other guy had been, the way a real friend would be.

Now she watched him doing laps. The water flowed past his muscular body; it lifted him up as he moved swiftly and powerfully through it. When he swam the butterfly, his arms pulling up out of the water like wings, he was visual music-strong, rhythmic, graceful.

Ivy watched for several minutes, then came back to the reason she was there. She walked to the pool's edge at the shallow end and stared down at it. Then she sat down and slipped in her legs. It was warm. Soothing. Still, she was cold all over. She gritted her teeth and slid off the side. The water rose to just below her shoulders. She imagined it inching up over her throat, her mouth.

She closed her eyes and gripped the side of the pool, trying to stop the fear rising within her.

Water angel, she prayed, don't let go of me. I'm trusting you, angel. I'm in your hands.

Tristan stopped swimming. 'You're here,' he said. 'You're in.'

He looked so pleased that for a moment, a very brief moment, she forgot her fear.

'How are you doing?' he asked.

'Fine. You don't mind if I just stand here and shake, do you?'

'You'll warm up if you move around,' he told her.

She glanced down at the water.

'Come on, let's take a walk.' He took her hand and walked her along the edge of the pool, as if they were walking the mall, though in the resistant water each step was in slow motion.

'Do you want me to tell you about Ella and the chaos she's creating at home?'

'Sure,' said Ivy. 'Did she find that tub of chicken wedged into your television cabinet?'

Tristan looked startled for a moment, then recovered. 'Yes, right after she burrowed through all the stuff I'd crammed behind the sofa.' He chattered on, telling her several Ella stories, walking her up and down the short end of the pool.

When they stopped, he said, 'I think we'd better get some water on your face.'

She had been dreading that.

He scooped handfuls of it up over her forehead and cheeks as if he were washing a baby.

'I do that in the shower,' Ivy said tartly.

'Well, excuse me, Miss Advanced. We'll go on to the next step.' He grinned at her. 'Take a big breath. I want to see you looking at me under there. The chlorine will sting a little, but I want to see those big green eyes and little bubbles coming out of your nose. Suck in above the water, blow out below it. Got it? One, two, three.' He pulled her down with him. Up and down they bobbed, he holding her down there a little longer each time, making faces at her.

Ivy came up to the surface, sputtering and choking.

'Now, if you can't follow a few simple directions…' he began.

'You're making me laugh!' said Ivy. 'It's no fair when you make me laugh.'

'All right. Now we get serious. Sort of.'

He taught her how she would breathe when swimming, pretending the water was a pillow, turning her head to the side to breathe in. She practiced, gripping the side of the pool with her hands. Then he took her hands and pulled her through the water. She naturally started kicking her feet to keep them afloat behind her. It was tempting to pull her head up and look at him. Once Ivy did and found him smiling at her.

They worked on kicking for a while. After she practiced on the side, they played train. He had her grab his ankles, following behind him in the water, he swimming with his arms and she kicking her feet. It amazed her that he could pull her so swiftly with just the strength of his arms.

When they stopped, he asked her, 'Are you getting tired? Do you want to sit up on the side for a few minutes?'

Ivy shook her head no. 'If I get out, I don't know if I'll get in again.'

'You've got guts,' he said.

She laughed. 'I'm standing in water just up to my shoulders and you call that guts?'

'Yup.' He swam in a circle around her. 'Ivy, everyone has something they're afraid of. You're one of the few people who face their fear. But then, I always knew you were the gutsy type. I knew from the first day, when I saw you striding across the cafeteria, that cheerleader, who was supposed to be leading you around, following.'

'I was hungry,' Ivy said. 'And that was a bit of a performance.'

'Well, you carried it off.'

She smiled and he reflected her smile, his hazel eyes alight and lashes spangled with water drops.

'Okay,' he said. 'Want to float on your back?'

'No. But I will.'

'It's easy.' Tristan stretched back in the water and floated, looking entirely relaxed. 'You see what I'm doing?'

Looking awfully good, she thought, then thanked her angels that he couldn't read minds as well as Beth.

'I keep my hips up, arch my back, then just let everything else go. You try it.'

Ivy did, and sank. The old panic returned for a moment.

'You were sitting,' he told her. 'You let your seat drop down. Try again.'

As she lay back again he slid an arm under her. 'Easy now, don't fight it. Back arched. That's the way.' He slipped his arm out from under her.

Ivy pulled her head up and started to sink again. She stood up angrily. Her wet hair was coming loose out of her ponytail holder and slapped against her neck.

Tristan laughed. 'That's how I imagine Ella would look if she ever got wet.'

'A little kid could do this,' Ivy told him.

'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.

Chapter 8

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