Ella mewed again.
'No, not the one I've been practicing — and not the one you've been practicing, either. The 'Moonlight.' That's right.' Ivy sighed. 'I guess I had to play it for him one last time before I could play for myself again. I think I could play anything now! Come on, cat.'
Ella followed her into the family room and watched curiously as Ivy lit a candle and put it on the floor between them. 'Is this classy, or what?'
The cat let out another soft meow.
Ivy opened the large French doors that led out to the patio at the back of the house, then put on a CD of some soft jazz.
'Some cats don't have Saturday nights like this, you know.'
Ella purred through dinner. Ivy felt just as content as she watched Ella dean herself, then settle down by the tall screen doors» her nose and ears positioned to catch all the smells and tiny sounds of twilight.
After a few minutes of keeping vigil with Ella, Ivy dug a book out from underneath the chair cushion, a collection of stories Gregory had been reading. Moving die candle out of the draft, she rolled over on her stomach next to it and began to read.
It wasn't till then that she realized how tired she was. The words kept blurring before her eyes and the candle cast a hypnotic flicker across the page. The story was some kind of mystery, and she tried со concentrate, not wanting to miss any of the dues. But before the killer struck a second time, her eyes closed.
Ivy didn't know how long she had been sleeping. It had been a dreamless sleep. Her mind had jerked awake suddenly, alerted by some sound.
Before she opened her eyes, she knew that it was late. The CD had ended and she could hear the crickets outside, a full choir of them. From the dining room came the soft bonging of the mantel dock.
She lost count of the hours-eleven? Twelve?
Without lifting her head, she opened her eyes in the dark room and saw that the candle, though still burning, was a stub. Ella had left, and one screen door gaped open, silvery in the moonlight.
A cool breeze blew in. The fine hairs along Ivy's arms stirred, and her skin felt suddenly chill. It was Ella who had slipped through the door, she told herself. Probably the screen had been unlatched, and Ella pushed it open to let herself out-But the draft was strong, drawn across the room to the door behind Ivy. That door, which led to the gallery, had been closed when Ivy fell asleep.
It was open now — without turning around, she knew it. And she knew that someone was there watching her. A board creaked in the doorway, then another, much closer to her. She could feel his dark presence hovering above her.
Ivy quietly sucked in her breath, then opened her mouth and screamed.
Ivy screamed and fought him, kicking behind her with all her strength. He held her down on the floor, his hand pressed over her nose and mouth. She screamed into his hand, then she tried to bite it, but he was too quick for her. She started rolling her body back and forth. She'd roll him into the candle flame if she had to.
'Ivy! Ivy! It's me! Be quiet. Ivy! You'll scare Philip. It's just me.'
She went limp beneath him. 'Gregory.'
He slowly lifted himself off her. They stared at each other, sweating and out of breath.
'I thought you were asleep,' he said. 'I was trying to see if you were all right without waking you.'
'I–I just — I didn't know who you were. Philip is out. He's staying over at Sammy's tonight, and Mom and Andrew are at the gala.'
'Everybody's out?' Gregory asked sharply.
'Yes, and I thought—' Gregory rammed his fist into his palm several times, then stopped when he saw the way she was looking at him.
'What's wrong with you?' he demanded. 'What's wrong with you, Ivy?' He held her by both arms.
'How can you be so stupid?'
'What do you mean?' she asked.
He stared deep into her eyes. 'Why have you been avoiding me?'
Ivy looked away.
'Look at me! Answer me!'
She swung her head back. 'Ask Suzanne, if you want to know why.'
She saw the flicker in his eyes then, as if he suddenly understood. It was hard to believe that he hadn't guessed what was going on. Why else would she avoid him?
He loosened his grip. 'Ivy.' His voice was softer now, wavering. 'You're home alone, late at night, in a house where you were attacked last week, with the door wide open. You left the door wide open! Why would you do something so dumb?'
Ivy swallowed hard. 'I thought the screen was latched. But it wasn't. I guess, and Ella must have pushed it open.'
Gregory leaned back against the sofa, rubbing his head.
'I'm sorry. I'm sorry I upset you,' she said.
He took a deep breath and laid one hand over hers. He was much calmer now. 'No, I scared you. I should be the one apologizing.'
Even in the flickering candlelight. Ivy could see the weariness around his eyes. She reached up and touched the temple he had been rubbing. 'Headache?'
'It's not as bad as it was earlier today.'
'But it still hurts. Lie down,' she said. She set a pillow on the floor for his head. 'I'll get you some tea and aspirin.'
'I can get it myself.'
'Let me.' She put her hand lightly on his shoulder. 'You've done so much for me, Gregory. Please let me do this for you.'
'I haven't done anything I didn't want to.'
'Please.'
He lay back.
Ivy got up and put on a disk with sax and piano music. 'Too loud? Too soft?'
'Perfect,' he said, closing his eyes.
She made a pot of tea, put some cookies on the tray along with aspirin, and brought it back to the candlelit room.
They sipped awhile in silence and munched cookies. Then Gregory playfully clinked his cup against hers in a silent toast.
'What is this stuff! I feel like I'm drinking a garden.'
She laughed. 'You are — and it's good for you.' He took another sip and looked at her through the wispy steam. 'You're good for me,' he said.
'Do you like to have your back scratched?' Ivy asked. 'Philip loves to.'
'Have it scratched?'
'Rubbed. When you were a little boy, didn't your mother ever rub your back trying to get you to sleep?'
'My mother?'
'Turn over.'
He looked at her, somewhat amused, then set down his tea and rolled over on his stomach.
Ivy began to rub his back, running her hand over it in small and big circles, the way she did with Philip.
She could feel the tension in him; every muscle was tight. What Gregory really needed was a massage, and it would feel better if he removed his shirt, but she was afraid to suggest this.
Why? He's just my stepbrother. Ivy reminded herself. He's not a date. He's a good friend and kind of a brother' Ivy?'
'Yes?'
'Would it be all right with you if I took off my shirt?'
