Her mother looked up as the two of them approached, beaming at Ivy in her plantation-poof gown.
'Thank you,' Ivy said as Gregory held out her chair for her.
He smiled at her-that secret kind of smile she had first seen at the swim meet. He leaned down, his lips close to her bare neck. 'My pleasure, ma'am.'
Ivy's skin prickled a little. He's playing, she told herself. Just play along. Since the swim meet, he had been teasing her and trying to be friendly, and she knew she should give him credit for that; but Ivy preferred the old, cold Gregory.
She had understood completely his icy response when she arrived at his school. She knew it must have been a terrible shock when he found out that Maggie was moving her brood from their apartment in Norwalk to one his father was leasing in Stonehill, and that this was in preparation for marriage.
Andrew and Maggie's affair had begun years earlier. But affairs were affairs, people said, and Andrew and her mother were such an odd romantic pair-a very wealthy and distinguished president of a college and his wife's hairdresser. Who'd have guessed that years after their fling, years after Andrew's divorce, he and Maggie would tie the knot?
It had been a shock even to Ivy. Her own father had died when she was an infant. She had grown up watching her mother run through a series of boyfriends, and thought it would always be that way.
Ivy leaned forward to look down the table at her mother. Andrew caught her eye and smiled, then nudged his new wife. Maggie beamed back at Ivy. She looked so happy.
Angel of love, Ivy prayed silently, watch over Mom. Watch over all of us. Make us a loving family, loving and strong.
'Should I tell you that your-uh-sparkles are dipping in the soup?'
Ivy sat back quickly. Gregory laughed and offered her his napkin.
'That dress can get you in a lot of trouble,' he teased. 'It nearly blinded Tristan Carruthers.'
Ivy could feel the warmth spreading in her cheeks. She wanted to point out that it was Eric, not she-'I feel sorry for the table he's waiting on tonight. He and that other jock,' Gregory said, still grinning. 'I hope it's not ours.'
They both glanced around the room.
Me too, Ivy thought, me too.
Shortly after the raw vegetable shower, Tristan was told he could leave and should leave, immediately. Tired and humiliated, he would have been glad to clear out, but he was Gary's ride home. So he poked around behind the kitchen until he found a storeroom to hole up in.
It was dark and peaceful there, its shelves stacked with large boxes and cans. Tristan had just settled down comfortably on a carton when he heard rustling behind him. Mice, he thought, or rats. He really didn't care. He tried to console himself, imagining himself standing on the top winner's block, the flag of the United States rising behind him while the anthem played, Ivy watching on TV and sorry she had missed her chance to go out with him.
'I'm an idiot!' he said, dropping his head in his hands. 'I could have any girl I want and-' A hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
Tristan's head shot up and he looked into the pale, triangular face of a kid. The kid, who looked about eight years old, was all dressed up, his tie knotted tightly and his dark hair plastered down.
He must have been one of the wedding guests.
'What are you doing in here?' Tristan demanded.
'Would you get me some food?' the boy asked.
Tristan frowned, annoyed that he had to share his hideout, a cozy place for pining over Ivy.
'Why can't you get your own food?'
'They'll see me,' said the boy.
'Well, they'll see me too!'
The boy's mouth formed a thin, straight line. His jaw was set. But his eyes looked uncertain and his brow was puckered.
Tristan spoke in a gentler voice. 'Looks as if you and I are up to the same thing. Hiding out.
'I'm really hungry. I didn't eat breakfast or lunch,' the kid said.
Through the door, which was open a crack, Tristan could see the other waiters whisking in and out. They had just begun to serve the dinner.
'I might have something in my pocket,' he told the kid, and pulled out a squashed crab ball, several shrimp, three stalks of stuffed celery, a handful of cashews, and something unidentifiable.
'Is that sushi?' asked the boy.
'Got me. All of this was on the floor and then it was in my pocket, and I don't know where this jacket has been, it was rented.'
The boy nodded solemnly and studied Tristan's selection. 'I like shrimp,' he said at last, picking up one, spitting on it, then wiping it clean with his finger. He did this with each shrimp in turn, then the crab ball, then the celery. Tristan wondered if he'd spit on each tiny nut. He wondered how big a problem this kid was carrying around to make him not eat all day and hide in a dark storeroom.
'So,' said Tristan, 'I guess you don't really like weddings.'
The kid glanced at him, then took a nibble out of the unrecognizable thing.
'Do you have a name, kid?'
'Yes.'
'Mine's Tristan. What's yours?'
The kid set aside the unrecognizable hors d'oeuvre and began working on the nuts. 'I'd like dinner,' he said. 'I'm real hungry.'
Tristan peered through the crack. Waiters were rushing in and out of the kitchen. 'Too many people around,' he said.
'Are you in some kind of trouble?' the kid asked.
'Some kind. Nothing serious. How about your 'Not yet,' said the kid.
'But you will be?'
'When they find me.'
Tristan nodded. 'I guess you've already figured out that you can't stay here forever.'
Squinting, the boy surveyed the shelves in the dim room, as if he were seriously considering its possibilities.
Tristan laid his hand gently on the boy's arm. 'What's the problem, pal? Want to tell me about it?'
'I'd really like dinner,' the boy said.
'All right, all right!' Tristan said irritably.
'I'd like dessert, too.'
'You'll take what I can get!' snapped Tristan.
'Okay,' the boy replied meekly.
Tristan sighed. 'Don't mind me. I'm grouchy.'
'I don't mind you,' the boy assured him softly.
'Look, pal,' Tristan said. 'Only one waiter left, and plenty of food. You coming with me? Good!
There he goes. Raiders, take your mark, get set-' 'Where's Philip?' Ivy asked.
The wedding party was halfway through their dinner when she realized that her brother wasn't in his chair. 'Have you seen Philip?' she said, rising from her seat.
Gregory pulled her back down. 'I wouldn't worry, Ivy. He's probably messing around somewhere.'
'But he hasn't eaten all day,' said Ivy.
'Then he's in the kitchen,' Gregory said simply.
Gregory didn't understand. Her little brother had been threatening to run away for weeks. She had tried to explain to Philip what was happening and how nice it would be in their big house with a tennis court and a view of
