)“There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.”
—Alfred Hitchcock, Halliwell’s Filmgoer’s Companion (1984)
After a nap and a leftover cinnamon roll heated up in the microwave, things started looking . . . not exactly rosy, but less dreary. I still didn’t know what to do about Cherry, but Daniel and I texted on and off throughout the afternoon about other things, including what Leon Snodgrass had said to me, which Daniel thought was no big deal.
And maybe it wasn’t. I definitely regretted some of the stuff I’d said to Leon in the heat of the moment. I decided to let it go. I had too many other things to worry about, and I desperately wanted to see Daniel. I was hoping maybe he could meet me at the diner before work, but he was busy finishing some woodworking project for one his neighbors.
Once I got to work, he’d already been dragged into a security meeting with all the other employees who reported directly to Mr. Kenneth. It had something to do with SARG, the animal rights group. They’d staged another protest earlier today, outside the hotel, and this time the local news covered it.
“They dropped a huge banner from the second-floor windows,” Daniel whispered at the side of the registration desk later during a rare interlude, checking to see that no guests or employees were in hearing range. A couple of businessmen lounged on one of the sofas in the middle of the lobby, but they were caught up in their own conversation.
“A banner?” I repeated.
“Apparently, during the protest out front, two of their members checked in under false names in adjoining rooms and hung a banner out the window that said ‘Octavia Is a Prisoner,’ ” Daniel explained. “No one in the hotel noticed for an entire hour. Management says SARG is becoming a PR disaster, and we have to watch out for their members. Gotta admit, though—I’m sort of admiring what they’re doing. They have pluck.”
I felt the same way. Just before ten p.m., I’d checked out an entire women’s soccer team, who were taking a red-eye flight back to Chicago, and their manager was fussy about every line item on the bill. They’d also rented five goldfish, and one of the players admitted that she’d knocked over the goldfish bowl and by the time she’d found the fish on the floor under the bed, it was dead, so she’d flushed it.
So, yeah. Maybe the animal rights group had some valid beefs with us.
“By the way,” I said, a little hesitant. “I wanted to ask . . . How’s your mom?”
“We’re not speaking at the moment.” He glanced at the guilt on my face that I couldn’t hide and added, “Don’t worry. We shun each other when we’re fighting. I always let her make the first move, since she’s supposed to be the adult. Anyway, it’s a ton easier to do when we’re staying in two different houses, so all hail Green Gables.”
He was trying to sound nonchalant. I could recognize it now in the little double swish of his eyelashes. The mannered shrug of his shoulder.
“I’m sorry you’re not speaking,” I said. I felt awful about it.
His lips parted as though he was going to respond, but nothing came out. His eyes roamed over my face for a long moment—so long my heart started racing madly and my chest got warm.
“Want to see a trick?” he asked, digging a deck of cards from the inside of his hotel zip-up jacket. Impossibly quick fingers shuffled the cards and fanned them out for my perusal. “Pick one.”
“Is this a marked deck?”
“You’re not supposed to ask that,” he said, mouth twisting upward. “Spoils the illusion. Just pick one.”
My fingers hovered over the worn blue corners of the cards. I slid one out.
“Don’t show it to me,” he said, flicking the remaining cards back together and palming them. “Just look at it and memorize it.”
I held my hands together, shielding the card from his eyes, and peeked.
“Got it?” he asked.
It was the two of hearts, and over the middle of the card were block letters, written by hand in Sharpie. It said: LOOK UP.
I did just that—right as his mouth pressed against mine.
Misdirection.
It was completely unexpected, and I kissed him back without thinking. His lips were soft and warm. He was still palming the deck of cards, and they were now pressing against the back of my neck. Pleasure flooded my limbs. Then he was pulling away, and when my hands left the mooring of his chest, I wobbled, cheeks hot, dizzy with the surprise of it all.
“We forgot to do that last night,” he said in a gravelly voice.
All I could do was make a noise to answer him, but it sounded more like a whimper than an acknowledgment. “That was a mean trick. How am I supposed to work now?”
“Never trust a magician, Birdie,” he said, smiling with his eyes. He dumped the deck of cards in a trash can behind the registration desk as he glanced over his shoulder. One of the businessmen sitting in the lobby was getting up and headed this way.
“See you after work,” Daniel whispered. “Pie for breakfast. One positive about fighting with my mom is that she can’t complain about when I come home.”
I watched Daniel stride across the lobby, heat still thrumming through me, toes curling inside my shoes. These were not feelings I should be feeling in public.
The businessman approached the desk and asked me for a pen. I dropped it twice, right as Chuck was coming out of the back offices. “Dopey strikes again,” he mumbled as he passed. “Wake up. It’s going to be a long night.”
Pasting on a smile for the guest, I waited until everyone was gone, and then quickly squatted in front of the trash can and fished out the cards Daniel had dumped. Every single one said the same thing: LOOK UP.
This was not how friends were supposed to act.
I imagined him marking all the cards, perhaps sitting on that old green couch, and wondered how long it had taken. Then I thought of him and Cherry not speaking, and it felt like my fault. If Daniel and I were going to be friends, I didn’t want her hating me. He shouldn’t have to choose me over his own mother.
What are you doing with my son?
Maybe I had a better answer for her now.
Maybe I needed to fix the problem I’d caused.
• • •
The next afternoon I took an early ferry into the city and hopped on a bus that stopped a bit beyond the International District. I’d never been out this way, and it took some time for me to get my bearings. But when I spotted the black-and-red single-story building across the street, I recognized it from its online photos. Salsa Dance Studio.
Nothing of note happened between me and Daniel after our shift last night. The Moonlight was surprisingly packed, and our normal booth was taken, so we ended up sitting at the counter, and that wasn’t the ideal spot for intimate conversation. I didn’t mind all that much. I was just glad to sit next to him and feel his shoulder against mine. We shared a slice of the Pie of the Day: LIVIN’ ON A PEAR, featuring spiced Anjou pears under an angelic cloud of streusel topping. It was so spectacular, I wasn’t even depressed when we talked about the Raymond Darke case and how neither of us could figure out any new angles to pursue. It was just one of a dozen things that wasn’t going smoothly this week. The only thing that was okay—miraculously—was my relationship with Daniel.
And I needed to make sure it stayed that way. Which was why I was doing this right now as I fought down the overwhelming urge to turn on my heel and run in the opposite direction.
She’s only an overprotective mama bear. You can do this.
As traffic sped by on Jackson, I warily entered the dance studio. An unoccupied reception area divided the entrance from a warehouse-like dance space. Polished wooden floors and brick walls surrounded a handful of sweaty people who were laughing as they headed toward the doors in a herd, probably after they’d finished their bachata dance lesson—that’s what had just ended. The studio’s dance classes were listed online, as well as the instructors; Cherry Aoki was easy to find.
And easy to spot, striding across the dance floor in loose, dandelion-yellow dance pants and a sleeveless T-shirt that read SHAKE IT! But when she spotted me in return, my mouth went dry, and I almost lost my nerve. What if this was a huge, GD mistake?
I could tell she thought I was some schlub off the street, wanting to sign up for dance classes, or maybe a one-on-one instruction to prepare me for a prom or a wedding. The moment she recognized me, I knew it, because her high ponytail stopped swinging.
“Birdie? Is something wrong with Daniel?”
Too late to run now.
“No, not at all! I’m sorry. I looked you up online. Daniel doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Oh, thank God. Whew!” she said, holding her hand over her heart. Then her eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”
“I just . . . wanted to talk. If you’re busy—”
“I’ve got a few minutes before my next class.” She gestured toward a corner of the dance floor. “Over here.”
I followed her to a waiting area with a couch and two chairs. She took a seat, wiping her cheek on a towel around her neck. “What’s on your mind?” She wasn’t cordial, but she wasn’t icy cold, either, and that made it easier for me to talk.
“I just wanted to apologize for upsetting you,” I said.
She was silent for an impossibly long time. Then she said, “I appreciate that.”
“I didn’t have any intention of spending the night with Daniel. It just happened. I don’t know what the protocol on this kind of stuff is.” Or why my hands didn’t seem to know what to do when I was nervous; I hoped she didn’t notice.
She flicked a look at me, curious but wary. “Daniel said you met downtown.”
“At the Moonlight Diner,” I said. My nerves were jangling, and I was hoping I wasn’t giving away anything about that first day I met Daniel. “I was shocked to find out we worked together, and I guess he was too. We started talking more, and . . . I don’t know. I guess we’ve been confused about our relationship. But nothing happened that night I stayed with him.”
She stared at me. “I can’t figure you out.”
“You aren’t the only one,” I said, scratching my neck. “I have no idea what I’m doing. Not with Daniel or anything else in my life, if you want to know the truth.”
Something in her posture softened. “It never gets easier, just so you know. I’ve been floating from one thing to the next all my life. The only thing that’s changed is that I gave up trying to make sense of things.”
“I’d definitely like to stop trying. It’s exhausting.”
“It truly is.” She sighed heavily and reclined against the couch.
“You asked me what I’m doing with your son, and I couldn’t give you an answer. I’ve never . . . been in a relationship before. My grandmother—well, I guess because my mother got pregnant at seventeen—she had strong feelings about who I could see. Mostly who I couldn’t see, which was everyone. And now I’m just trying to figure it all out as I go. I don’t want to screw things up, and I’m sorry if you thought I disrespected you or your rules. That’s the last thing I want. I . . . guess I don’t know what I want, honestly. I didn’t realize relationships could be so complicated.”
A long moment stretched between us. Then Cherry said, “Has Daniel told you how I met his father?”
“Not really,” I said. “Only that he didn’t stick around.”
She let out a single laugh. “Understatement of the century. I met his father by accident, when I was trying out for a dancing part in a production of the Vietnam War musical, Miss Saigon, at the 5th Avenue Theatre. Ever been there?”
I shook my head.
“Beautiful old theater. A landmark. I desperately wanted to work there, and I desperately wanted to be in an off-Broadway production—and Miss Saigon has a real helicopter that hangs from the rafters and descends onto the stage, really dramatic. It was everything I wanted artistically . . . and financially, because I was trying to supplement my magic income with something steadier. Anyway, I memorized every song in Miss Saigon, but I still didn’t get the part. However, Daniel’s father happened to be there, having lunch with one of the theater owners. He saw me, and the next thing I knew, we were meeting every week.”
She sighed, long and slow, and then continued. “It was only a fling. I just didn’t want to face it at the time. Here was this rich, important man who was educated and a decade older than me—I thought he was so sophisticated.” She crossed her legs and sighed. “I knew he saw other women. He was very up front about that. But when I got pregnant, which was a complete surprise, I was scared and then happy. Because I truly thought I was crazy about this guy, and I made myself believe that the prospect of a baby would melt him. That he’d give up the other girls and realize he loved me. Or, at the very least, he’d sober up and take responsibility. I pictured myself living in his big mansion that overlooked the city, with a maid and a nanny, both of us in love. Do you know what happened?”
I did, but I didn’t want to repeat what Daniel had told me, so I shook my head.
“None of that,” she said, swiping her hand through the air. “Not any damn bit. His ‘traditional’ parents wouldn’t accept me because I wasn’t blond and Catholic. That’s what he told me—that our relationship was doomed. But it was just a cowardly excuse. He didn’t love me, and nothing could make him. If the prospect of a man caring for his own flesh-and-blood isn’t enough to change his feelings, nothing is. People either gravitate toward each other or they don’t. You can’t force it. You can’t control their feelings or yours.”
“So, you’re saying . . . ?”
“I’m saying that I’ve never seen Daniel so worked up about a girl before. Ever.”
Several emotions raced through me.
“I can’t tell you what to do,” she said. “I’m completely biased when it comes to Daniel, and in my head I pictured the same dream for him. I imagined him being brilliant at something—maybe carpentry—and being successful and happy, and for one day, a sweet Japanese girl to come along and give me lots of grandchildren with fat cheeks.”
Something that sounded like an old mausoleum door creaked out of my mouth.
Cherry gave me a sheepish look. “Daniel’s father put me off white guys for a long time,” she explained. “But it doesn’t matter, because it was my dream—not Daniel’s. I can’t plan his life. I try, believe me. I try so hard. But it’s only because I can’t bear to lose him again.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t imagine what you’ve all been through.”
She nodded, stroking her fingers down a seam of her pants. “I just want him to be happy. And he was right—I promised him I’d give him some space, but I used a spare key to get into Green Gables, so technically I was being a jerk.”
Oh, wow.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you that morning,” she added. “I overreacted. When it comes down to it, I guess I’m just as emotional as Danny. We’re both beautiful cinnamon rolls, too good for this world,” she said wistfully.
I suddenly remembered what I’d stuck in my purse before coming out here. I wiggled it out and handed it to her. “My aunt Mona had this. When she found out who you were, she remembered seeing one of your shows when she was a teen. She and my mom saw you.”
“The Showbox,” Cherry said, staring at the neon pink flyer. “Oh God. I remember this show. I’d just found out I was pregnant with Daniel. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this flyer.”
“It’s yours if you want it.”
“That’s . . .” She nodded a couple of times, gripping it tightly in her fingers as she stared at it. Then she looked up with a soft smile. “You’re a good kid, to come apologize to me. That was respectful, and I appreciate it.”
Finally. I’d done one thing right. At least, I thought so. Then I knew so when I got a series of texts from Daniel a couple hours after I left the dance studio.
Daniel: Birdie
Daniel: Birdie
Daniel: Birdie
Me: You rang?
Daniel: Mom told me you came to see her.
Me: Does that mean you guys are speaking now?
Daniel: Yes. Do you know how cool you are?
Me: Not very.
Daniel: Wrong. This is you: ( )
Me: You flatter me, sir.
Daniel: This is me when I think about u:
(>‘-’)> <(‘_’<) ^(‘_’)\- \m/(-_-)\m/ <( ‘-’)> \_( .”)> <( ._.)-`
Me: What is that? Someone having a stroke?
Daniel: It’s dancing, Birdie.
Me: I warned you I wasn’t cool.
Daniel: I never listen to warnings. Life is better when you wing it.