The Power of Love by Elizabeth Chandler

Author:Elizabeth Chandler [Chandler, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Pocket Books

8

“Give us a few more minutes, Philip,” Ivy said. “We want to look at the rest of these paintings.”

“I think I’ll go find Gregory.”

Ivy reached out quickly and caught her brother by the back of his T-shirt. “Not today. You’re stuck with Beth and me.”

For the last four days Ivy had spent little time with Gregory, seeing him only at occasional family meals and in chance passings in the hall. Whenever their paths did cross, she’d been careful not to start a long conversation with him. When he’d sought her out—and the more she’d avoided him the more he had sought her out—she’d claimed she was on her way up to the music room to practice.

Gregory looked puzzled and a little angry about the distance she was putting between them. But what else could she do? They had grown too close. Without meaning to, Ivy had come to depend on him. If she didn’t back off now, she might lose Suzanne as a friend.

Suzanne and Beth had met Gregory, Philip, and Ivy in town that afternoon, at the bottom of Main Street, where the festival began. Suzanne had immediately draped her arm across Gregory’s back and slipped her hand into his back pocket, walking him away from Ivy and Philip. Ivy had responded by steering Philip in another direction. Beth was left standing on the street corner.

“Come with us,” Ivy had called to her. “We’re going to see the art.”

The display was set up along a narrow lane of old shops that ran back from Main Street. An assortment of townspeople—women pushing baby strollers, old ladies in straw hats, kids with their faces painted, and two guys dressed as clowns-walked along looking at the pictures, trying to guess who the artists were. Each picture was titled and numbered, but the artists’ names were masked for the judging that would take place later that day.

Ivy, Beth, and Philip were almost at the end of the display when Philip had started fussing about finding Gregory.

Now Ivy pointed to a strange painting, trying to distract him. “What do you think that is?” she asked.

“Things.” He read the title with a scowl.

“Looks to me like a row of lipsticks,” Beth said, “or trees in the fall or Christmas candles or catsup bottles or missiles at sunset—”

Philip screwed up his face. “It looks to me like it’s stupid,” he said loudly.

“Shh! Philip, keep your voice down,” Ivy warned. “For all we know, the artist is right behind us.”

Philip turned around to look. Suddenly the scowl was gone. His face lit up. “No,” he said, “but there’s an—” He hesitated.

“What?” Beth asked.

Ivy glanced quickly behind her. No one was there.

Philip gave a little shrug. “Never mind.” He sighed.

They moved on to the last entry, a panel with four watercolors.

“Wow!” Beth said. “These are fabulous! Number thirty-three, whoever you are, you’re my winner.”

“Mine, too,” Ivy agreed. The artist’s colors were almost transparent and infused with a light of their own.

Ivy pointed to a painting of a garden. “I wish I could sit there, for hours and hours.

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