After Hello (27 page)

“Put it in there,” she ordered Sam. “I’ll have someone hang it up later.” She turned to me. “I like it. Who’s the artist?”

I gulped. “Me?” I said, hating that it sounded like a question.

I saw Sam slip into Piper’s apartment, and I felt a small pang of loss in my heart. I knew giving the collage to Piper was the right thing to do, but it had all happened so fast.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “I mean, I am. It’s my work.”

She examined me as closely as she had my artwork, from the top of my head all the way to the bottom of my feet. “You have good taste,” she finally said. “For someone who works at a bookstore.” Then she turned her back to me in what was a clear dismissal.

I didn’t bother to correct her. Once she returned to her apartment, I would lose my chance to set things right. It was now or never.

“Piper?” I called out, feeling the rush of adrenaline that only comes from fear—or from doing something dangerous. “What about Paul?”

She turned slowly to face me again. “What
about
Paul?”

“You fired him because I didn’t bring a piece of artwork back to you in time. But I did bring you something—something you liked. And so I think you should give Paul his job back,” I said, my voice gaining strength the longer I spoke.

“And you know him—how, exactly?”

“He’s my brother,” Sam answered from behind her. He closed the apartment door and walked back down the hallway toward us.

Piper watched his every move, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.

“And, trust me,” he said, stopping at my side, “you have no idea what you’ve lost by firing him. You’d be smart to bring him back.”

She pinned me with her eyes. She looked so young and innocent, but I could see the shrewd and careful mind behind her gaze. It was no wonder she’d made such a successful career for herself. She lifted Bootsie and pressed a kiss to the top of the dog’s head.

I took a step closer to Sam.

The moment seemed to lengthen to the breaking point, then reached beyond. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. Sweat tickled along the nape of my neck. Sam brushed the back of his hand against mine, and I knew he was feeling anxious too.

Then Piper shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “Tell him to be here at eight tomorrow morning.” She turned on her heel and sauntered back to her apartment.

The sound of the door closing cut the tension, and all the air rushed out of my lungs in one enormous, grateful sigh.

We’d done it.

My hand reached for Sam’s, our fingers automatically locking together. I looked up at him, and he looked at me.

And then we both started to laugh.

Chapter 40

Sam

They were still laughing when they left the hotel and stumbled back onto the sidewalk, falling over each other with comfortable ease.

“Success!” Sara crowed, throwing her hands up in the air like she’d scored the winning touchdown. “Though I was a little worried there at the end. She was so mad at us and at poor Harold.” She shuddered. “I still don’t know why Paul wants to work for her. She’s scary when she’s mad.”

“I guess she hasn’t read the book yet,” Sam said with a grin.

“What book?”

“The one we brought to Piper. The one that started all this.”

She looked at him in surprise. “
That
book? What was it? You never told me. And Piper wasn’t exactly chatty about it either.”

Sam tried to force his mouth into a serious line, but failed.
“Anger Management for the Celebrity Soul.”

Sara’s mouth rounded in honest surprise. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Piper—if you hadn’t noticed—has a bit of a temper.”

“I’d noticed,” she drawled.

“It’s why I didn’t want to say what it was. Stuff like that is personal. She wouldn’t want something like that to get back to her fans.”

“Clearly not.”

“I mean, can you imagine if her fans knew what kind of a person she really was?”

“The mind boggles.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then dissolved into laughter again, turning the corner and leaving the hotel behind.

They walked along the sidewalk for a few blocks; Sam tried to aim their route toward Times Square, but he wished he could take a few detours. There was a shop down the street that had the best bagels. And the International Center of Photography was on 43rd Street and Sixth Avenue—they would practically walk right past it. Sara would go nuts there.

There just wasn’t enough time.

The morning was still cool and fresh, though Sam knew that by noon, it would turn muggy and oppressive. By noon, the clouds that were skimming high in the air would plod sluggishly across the sky.

By noon, Sara would be gone. Back on a plane that would carry her through miles and miles of that same cool air all the way to Arizona.

He’d heard about the dry heat of the Arizona sun, but he’d never actually experienced it himself. He wondered if the heat would sap the color from Sara’s face, drain her energy, and burn away her vitality. He hoped not. He wanted to remember how she looked in this exact moment of time: her green eyes sparkling, her lips parted in a smile, her face lit with joy.

Once noon came and went, it would be all he’d have left of her.

He pushed away the thought.

“Thanks for an amazing adventure, Sam,” she said, looking up at him.

He laughed. “Who would have believed we would be victorious in our quest?”

“I’ll be honest, at times, I had my doubts.”

Sam’s laugh softened into a sigh. “So did I.” He kept his hand twined with hers and hoped she wouldn’t pull away. “But I knew if anyone could do it, it would be you.”

Sara tilted her head to the side. “Wow. You’re braver than I am.”

“I don’t know—I think you’re pretty brave.”

“And stubborn,” she added. “I’m equal parts stubborn and brave. Remember? That’s what you said to me when we met.”

Of course he remembered. He doubted he would forget anything about that meeting.

“Which reminds me.” She let go of his hand and opened the mouth of her bag. Digging in the depths, she finally emerged with a small 3x5 framed picture. “Here. This belongs to you.”

Sam took it from her and held it carefully with both hands. She had framed the picture of him walking away from the bookstore. Written in small letters along the edge of the white mat was the caption: Sam. She’d signed her name in the corner.

He looked at her, feeling overwhelmed.

“Vanessa helped me with it once we were done with the collage. Do you like it?” she asked, rocking up onto her toes, her fingers twisting into a knot of nerves.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I’m still not sorry I stole your soul,” she said. “But I’m glad I was able to give it back.”

He tightened his hands around the frame, holding on as if he were afraid to let go. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words he wanted to say felt rusty and raw. He cleared his throat and tried again. “In more ways than one.”

Her face filled with color, soft and warm. “I just wanted to say thanks. For everything.”

He swallowed. His heart picked up speed in his chest. He thought about that night eighteen months ago when he had driven along a country road on a dark night with a blue-eyed girl. Then he thought about last night when he had stood on a building that seemed to reach to the stars with a girl who had green eyes. Both nights had changed his life, but in such different ways.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe a little. Why?”

“I believe sometimes people come into your life at exactly the right moment to give you exactly what you need at that moment.”

She bit her lip and looked at the framed picture in his hands. “You think it was fate that we met?”

“It kind of feels like it, don’t you think?” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah,” she said after a long moment. “It kind of does.” She gave herself a little shake, like waking up from a dream. “Though it’s hard to believe that all I needed was a little pink packet of sugar.” She smiled ruefully. “You know, I traded that sugar packet all the way to Top of the Rock, but I never did get to see the Giants play.”

He matched her smile. “You didn’t really want to see the Giants play, though, did you?”

“No,” she admitted, looking down. “I only said that because I knew what I really wanted wasn’t possible.” She sighed. “All these years, I kept wishing that my mom would come home, that I could see her again—just once. But now that I know the truth, I guess I just have to accept the fact that she’s gone and, if she hasn’t come back by now, she’s not coming back.”

Sam took a deep breath and lifted her chin with his finger. “I’ve been trading for a long time now. I’ve found a lot of interesting things. I’ve met a lot of interesting people.”

Her eyes were the green of spring, of new life.

She looked up at him with so much trust that he had a sudden moment of doubt. Was this the right thing to do? Or would this just lead her down a path that would end in heartache? He thought about the collage she’d made and how all those different paths had been marked out for him. If there was even a chance that one of the paths in Sara’s life would lead to joy, then he had to do this.

He would have wanted her to do the same for him.

“One thing I’ve learned, though, is that you work and you try and you trade, but sometimes you don’t always find what you want.”

Sam carefully placed his framed picture into his messenger bag and withdrew a small square piece of white paper, which he held out to Sara. “And sometimes you do.”

Chapter 41

Sara

I took the card Sam offered to me. “What’s this?”

He scrubbed his hand through his hair and shifted uneasily on his feet. Nervous Sam had returned. I wondered why.

All that was written on the card was a phone number with a New York area code. I flipped the card over to see if there was anything written on the back, but it was blank.

“What’s this for?” I asked again.

Sam swallowed. His fingers drummed on his leg; he couldn’t seem to decide if he should keep his hands in his pockets or not. “If you’re serious about getting what you want, then you’ll want to call that number.”

I felt a hard, cold panic settle in the pit of my stomach. Sam was a magician when it came to finding things. He had said it himself—he could find anything. Was it possible he had found in one day what I had spent half my life looking for?

“Is this . . .” I had to stop, my breath catching in my throat. “Is this my mom’s phone number?” My voice cracked. Yes, I had said that was what I wanted, but I suddenly felt unprepared to have it so close. I wasn’t ready to hold the answer in my hand. I wasn’t ready to face her.

“No,” Sam said quickly. “It’s not her number. But you said your dad didn’t know where your mom was anymore. That number will put you in touch with a friend of Vanessa’s who knows a guy who knows a guy who might be able to help you find your mom.” His smile was the slightest bit crooked on his face. “I guess you still have a little more trading to do before you get to the end.”

I pressed the card between my palms and brought my hands up to my mouth as though I could breathe in the possibilities. “Oh, Sam . . .” I said, feeling tears rise in my eyes.

“I know it’s a lot to handle. And kind of a surprise—but, I hope, a nice surprise.” He looked down at the tops of his boots. “I can’t promise that James will be able to find her for you, but if anyone can, it’ll be him.”

All the words I wanted to say seemed small and inadequate compared to how I was feeling.

“I wanted to leave it up to you,” he continued. “You know, for when you wanted to call. That way you can talk about it with your dad. See what he thinks.”

A frown threatened to interrupt my good mood. “I doubt my dad would think this is a good idea.”

“You weren’t the only one she left behind,” Sam said quietly. “Your dad sacrificed a lot—he
lost
a lot—as well. But he loves you. And maybe he’s just been looking for his own happiness—same as you. Maybe you should give him a chance to find it again.”

I thought about Sam’s words. I was still mad at my dad for keeping secrets from me, for not fighting for our family like I thought he should have, but underneath the simmering anger I felt was a truth I wasn’t ready to acknowledge: There was more to the story. There were things about my parents’ divorce that I still didn’t understand, questions I hadn’t known to ask. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe, before I made a decision I couldn’t change, I should give my dad another chance to explain.

Maybe, before it was too late, I could try to trade my anger for understanding and build a better relationship with my dad. Starting with my apology for making him worry about me all day and night.

I looked down at the business card in my hands, amazed that something so small could be such a large burden and such an amazing opportunity at the same time. “How can I ever repay you for this?”

He lifted a shoulder in that familiar half-shrug of his. A dark shadow of embarrassed pride stained his cheek. “It’s what I do. I’m a finder.”

“Still. This seems like it goes way beyond the kind of thing you normally find for people. Don’t you usually charge some kind of finder’s fee or something?”

Sam brushed his hair out of his eyes. He hesitated, then said, “I can think of one thing that might cover it.”

“Name it and it’s yours.”

“A kiss,” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft and shy. “If you don’t mind.”

My heart flipped in my chest.

Slowly, he stepped closer to me. Close enough to place his hand on my wrist. Then he slid his hand upward, his fingertips just skimming the surface of the skin. The fine hairs on my arm stood up as if electrified. I could feel the slightest tremor pass through him, as though he had to concentrate on keeping his movements slow and even.

My breathing was suddenly anything but slow or even. I focused on the details of him that I had come to know so well over the last twenty-four hours: the way his brown eyes turned a shade darker when he was deep in thought, the slant of the leather strap of his bag as it cut across his broad chest, the curl of his hair as it fell across his forehead, the smell of smoke and sky and endless motion that was uniquely New York, uniquely Sam.