"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.
"He was the good kid on my Little League team," Gregory said, pulling himself up so he could reach Ella. She rose at the same time and walked to the other end of the bed. "He was the good kid on every team," Gregory said. He reached again for Ella.
The cat hissed. Ivy saw the color rising in Gregory's cheeks.
"Don't take it personally, Gregory," Ivy said. "Just let Ella be for a while. Cats often play hard to get."
"Like some girls I know," he remarked. "Come here, girl." He thrust his hand toward her. The cat raised a quick black paw, claws extended.
"Let her come to you," Ivy warned.
But Gregory took the cat by the scruff of the neck and pulled her upward.
"Don't!" Ivy cried.
He pushed his other hand up under her belly. Ella bit him hard on the wrist.
"Shoot!" He threw Ella across the room.
Philip ran for the cat. The cat ran to Ivy. She scooped her up in her arms. Ella's tail switched back and forth; she was angry rather than hurt. Gregory watched her, the color still high in his cheeks.
"Ella's a street kitten," Ivy told him, fighting to keep her own temper. "When I found her, she was a little bit of fur backed against a brick wall, holding her own against a big, torn-up torn. I tried to tell you. You can't come on to her that way. She doesn't trust people easily."
"Maybe you should teach her to," Gregory said. "You trust me, don't you?" He gave her one of his crooked, questioning smiles.
Ivy put down Ella. The cat sat under the chair and glowered at Gregory. At the sound of footsteps in the hall, she scooted under the bed.
Andrew stood in the doorway. "How's everything?" he asked.
"Fine," Ivy lied.
"It stinks," said Philip.
Andrew blinked, then nodded graciously. "Well, then," he said, "we'll have to try to make things better. Do you think we can?"
Philip just stared at him.
Andrew turned to Ivy. "Did you happen to open that door yet?" Ivy followed his glance to Gregory's secret steps. "The light for the upstairs is on the left side," he told her.
Apparently he wanted her to investigate. Ivy opened the door and turned on the light. Philip, growing curious, slipped under her arm and scooted up the steps.
"Wow!" he shouted from above them. "Wow!"
Ivy glanced at Andrew. At the sound of Philip's excited voice, his face flushed with pleasure.
Gregory stared intently out the window.
"Ivy, come see!"
Ivy hurried up the steps. She expected to see Nintendo, or Power Rangers, or maybe a life-size Don Mattingly. Instead she discovered a baby grand piano, a CD and tape player, and two cabinets filled with her musical scores. An album cover with Ella Fitzgerald's face was framed on the wall. The rest of her father's old jazz records were stored next to a cherrywood phonograph.