Confucius Jane (40 page)

“Hi, Giovanni. Is Sue here?”

“Um. Well…” He looked around furtively, seeking out a distraction. Obviously, he was in the know about her treatment of Jane. Who was she kidding? This community was more close-knit than her own family. She was probably persona non grata in both Little Italy and Chinatown.

“Let me make this easy on you. I'd like to apologize to Sue, and I have a question to ask her. Now. Where is she?”

Ducking his head, he muttered, “In the back.”

“Thank you.” She pushed through the gate leading behind the counter. The hallway beyond opened into a cluttered office in which a desk, refrigerator, and bookshelf competed for space with stacks of boxes. Sue sat at the table, leafing through a pile of envelopes. When she raised her head, her lips drew down in an expression of clear disapproval. Sutton's throat tightened. No one thought well of her at the moment—including herself. But there was only one way to change that.

“Hi, Sue.”

“Sutton.” She sighed and put the papers aside. “Of course. I should have known you would come today.”

Sutton wasn't sure she wanted to know anything more about what Sue had seen in her daily horoscope. “I need to speak with you. Do you have a few minutes?”

Sue reached over and pulled out a chair. “Yes. But I must warn you—I'm quite angry with you.”

“I deserve that.” Sutton sat and laced her fingers together to stop herself from fidgeting. “First of all, I want to apologize for not making myself available to help when your store was broken into. Everything else notwithstanding, I could have found some time to pitch in, and I didn't.”

Sue's face softened a little, and she reached over to touch Sutton's arm. “Please. We all knew what you were going through. You needed to tend to your family. How is your mother?”

“She's much better. She was finally released from the hospital on Sunday. And thank you for your kind words, but I'm still sorry for not lending a hand. Is there anything I can do now? Anything you still need?”

Sue raised an admonishing finger. “I need to know what you intend to do about Jane.”

“I made a mistake. And now I want to make things right with her.”

“You hurt her very badly. The ripples of her anguish destabilized the entire community.”

Taken aback, Sutton covered her confusion by exhaling slowly. Destabilized the entire community? What on earth did that mean? “I know I've lost her trust,” she ventured. “And yours as well. But I want to get it back. I want to get her back.”

“That will not be easy.”

“I know. I'm willing to do what it takes.”

Sue leaned back in her chair and regarded Sutton thoughtfully. “What exactly do you think that will entail?”

After days of introspection, Sutton knew exactly how to answer this question. “I need to make her feel like she's an integral part of my life, instead of on the fringes.”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

“Well, I was thinking about starting with a grand gesture. Something romantic.” Sutton's nerves began to subside as Sue listened attentively. “I don't want her to have any doubt about how I feel. But I also know that a gesture isn't enough. I'll need to prove myself, every day, until she trusts me again.”

“Yes.” Sue was looking at her with a newfound respect that made Sutton feel better about herself than she had in weeks. “You will.”

Mentally crossing her fingers, Sutton prayed Sue would divulge whatever she knew. “Did she tell you when she's coming back? I tried asking Min, but she wants nothing to do with me.”

A touch of a smile curved Sue's lips. “Minetta is young and naïve and fiercely loyal. But she thinks the world of you. Give her time.” Suddenly, she laughed. “Here I sit, counseling a Dragon to be patient. I know it isn't in your nature. But sometimes it is the only solution.”

“I understand,” Sutton said, even as she wondered whether that patience had to extend to learning the date of Jane's homecoming. “I'll do my best.”

“Jane returns one week from today. Let me know if I can help as you plan your … grand gesture.”

Relief sluiced through Sutton's body, a cool wave soothing the anxiety that had been her constant companion. “Thank you. So much. For everything.”

When she stood, Sue did also and pulled her into a hug. Tears bounced into Sutton's eyes at the gesture, and she struggled to suppress the swell of emotion. This had to be the Platonic ideal of a grandmotherly embrace. Her own grandmother had only ever delivered air kisses.

And then Sue gasped. Her arms tightened momentarily before dropping away. Then she was hurrying across the room, and Sutton spun to see what was the matter. Giancarlo stood at the door, a large Band-Aid covering part of his neck. Sue paused a few feet away, hands fluttering at her sides.

“Are you—”

“I'm in the clear. The doctor just confirmed it.”

Sue let out a small cry of delight and ran to him. As she watched them embrace, Sutton felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy. She watched one of his hands lightly caress Sue's lower back in small, comforting circles, and her own skin ached for Jane's touch. They made it look so easy to be together.

After a long moment, Giancarlo raised his head and met her gaze. “Hello, Dr. Sutton,” he said gravely.

Sue pulled away, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, as if she had just then remembered Sutton was in the room. “Forgive me. We haven't been able to see each other because of Giancarlo's illness.”

“Are you all right?”

“Shingles.” He shrugged. “It was more an annoyance than anything else.”

“That can be painful. I'm glad you've recovered.” Sutton suddenly felt like the third wheel, but before she could open her mouth to say good-bye, Giancarlo spoke again.

“How are you?” His tone was at once solicitous and wary.

“I'm…” Instead of finishing the sentence automatically, she forced herself to tell the truth. “I'm struggling, honestly.”

“Sutton wants to make up with Jane,” Sue explained.

“Ah.” Giancarlo nodded. “Well. If I can be of any help, please let me know.”

“Thank you.” Sutton edged toward the exit, wanting to give them space to celebrate their reunion. “I will, once I have a plan.”

“I'll see you out,” Sue said preceding her down the hallway. “Stop by any time if you'd like a sounding board for your ideas.”

She seemed almost gleeful at the prospect of scheming up a special event for Jane, and Sutton wished she could share her clear excitement. Her own enthusiasm was tempered by the high stakes. Whatever she did, it had to succeed. The alternative was unthinkable.

“What's this?” Sue asked as they emerged into the storefront where Giovanni was stacking several large boxes behind the counter. They bore the insignia of Confucius Fortunes, and Sutton's pulse jumped at the sight. She looked around for one of Jane's family members, but the only other people in the room were customers.

“Cornelia just delivered these,” Giovanni said. “When I asked for the invoice, she said they were free.”

Sue clucked her tongue. “They are being so kind to us.”

Sutton watched as Giovanni opened one of the boxes and tore into the first bag of fortune cookies, emptying it into the large bowl next to the register. Jane's words were locked inside each of them. Each cookie was a message in a bottle, and after weeks without any communication, she was desperate to hear from her in some way—even if only in vaguely Confucian sentence fragments.

“I want to buy a bag from you.”

Giovanni frowned. Sue looked confused for a moment before comprehension dawned on her face. “Don't be silly. They came to us at no charge.”

“I'd really prefer to pay.” Sutton extracted two twenty-dollar bills from her wallet and held them out to Giovanni, who took them automatically. She snatched up a bag of cookies and darted toward the exit. “Thanks. Must run!”

As she burst through the door, she almost bowled over an elderly Chinese man who was just turning to enter. Stammering an apology, she hurried to the corner and caught the tail end of the light. Tightening her grip on the bag, she walked north at a pace a professional speed-walker would have envied. When she finally entered her apartment, she kicked off her shoes, tripped over them, and almost faceplanted on her way to the kitchen table. She didn't even bother removing her coat before digging her fingernails into the plastic and prying the bag open. Fortune cookies spilled out onto the table, and she ripped through each individual wrapping like some sort of addict. Once she was finished, she perched in the nearest chair, gathered the cookies into a cluster, and began breaking them open. Each crack increased her anticipation, but she forced herself not to look at a single fortune until she had liberated them all.

But trepidation assailed her as she sat and stared at the small mound of paper. What kinds of messages would she find? Had Jane been thinking of her while writing any of these? Had she been angry? Upset? Sad? Or had she already begun to move on with her life?

“There's only one way to find out,” she muttered, extracting a slip at random from the pile.

I miss you.

Sutton's breath caught in her throat. This one had to be about her, didn't it? How often had she wanted to write the exact same words to Jane? Each time, she had found a way to justify her reticence, when really, the explanation was simple. She hadn't had the courage to admit—to herself or anyone else—that the way she felt about Jane was far from casual.

“I miss you, too,” she whispered as she reached for the next fortune.

Sleep left me when you did.

Sutton felt oddly comforted that Jane had shared her insomnia. The knowledge that they had lain awake together made her feel closer to Jane, somehow. Except, of course, that her distant behavior had been the direct cause of Jane's sleeplessness. Ashamed, she picked again from the pile.

It takes all my strength, every moment, not to go to you.

What would she have done if Jane had shown up at her doorstep? Her remorse intensified when Sutton realized that Jane had done exactly that. And she had reacted by insisting they break off their relationship. But there would be no more putting Jane's needs below those of her biological family. She wasn't going to live her life in fear of what anyone thought of her choices.

Every train station gapes as I pass, tempting me.

Sutton winced as she imagined Jane walking through the city, tormented by the sight of each subway entrance. What would the past month have been like, if Sutton had been more open to accepting Jane's help? She would have had someone to lean on—someone to share the burden and act as a sounding board. Someone who would have made her feel loved unconditionally, not contingently. Jane had offered that kind of love, and she had spurned it out of a misguided sense of duty and guilt. Her parents didn't care about what was truly best for her—they cared about what was best for them. She didn't want to be used anymore. She wanted to be loved. Pure and simple. Loved the way Jane loved her.

Every overheard conversation between lovers reminds me of us.

She flashed back to their adventure in Grand Central Station—to the way Jane's eyes gleamed and her hands gestured so expressively whenever she discussed her poetry. To the emotion that had saturated her voice when she spoke of her professor who had passed away. To the exuberance with which she had greeted Sutton's contributions to her work. Sutton had learned to see the city so differently through Jane's eyes—or, more accurately, hear it through her ears. Jane had taught her how to place her finger on the pulse of the multitudes—how to feel a part of something larger, instead of lost in the crowd. Simply by listening.

You think you have to carry your pain alone, but you don't.

Sutton lowered her head into her hands. Her eyes felt like sandpaper, and a dull throb was beginning in her temples. She was so weary, through and through. Could she accept that offer? Could she believe Jane was being sincere? What if Jane was wrong—what if, when she saw Sutton's baggage up close and personal, she wanted nothing whatsoever to do with it?

No. With a sharp shake of her head, Sutton resisted the urge to wallow in self-defeat. Jane had met her parents and weathered the storm of their bullying tactics. Jane had seen the skit, and read the newspapers, and cleaned up after the break-in at Sue's. Jane knew what she was getting into, and she wanted Sutton regardless. Or, at least, she
had
.

Sutton watched her fingers tremble as she reached for the next fortune.

Trust yourself. Trust me.

Tears pricked her eyes, and alone in the growing dark, she didn't try to hold them back. As they trickled down her cheeks, she thought about fate. It had always seemed like such a ludicrous concept, but when she thought back to the events of the past few months, her brain recognized a pattern that appeared—over the objections of her reason—providential. It almost seemed as though she had been driven out of the library and coffee shops, herded by destiny toward Noodle Treasure. That, having grown close with Benny and Mei over the course of a few weeks, she had been compelled to look out the window at the very moment Jane emerged from Confucius Fortunes. Coincidence? Maybe. But it felt planned, somehow. Orchestrated. And then Jane had proven irresistible, despite all of Sutton's efforts to be rational.

Suddenly feeling silly, she unfolded the next piece of paper. There was no need to turn to destiny and fate to explain what had happened. She had fallen in love with Jane, pure and simple. That was the truth. There was no denying it.

Trust yourself. Trust me.

Her first repeat. It was bound to happen sometime. She reached for the next.

Trust yourself. Trust me.