Serendipity's Footsteps Page 17

  Danny skulked behind Officer Newton, his stomach pinching, preparing for the interrogation.

  When they stepped into the marble foyer, Suki, his nanny, was looming on the staircase, her stare formidable.

  Officer Newton explained everything while Suki clucked her tongue and muttered, “Lordy, Lordy,” and Danny bore holes in the floor. Finally, Officer Newton left, but not before giving Danny a talking-to.

  “Look, son,” he said. “I know your mom and dad aren’t home much. But you can’t keep losing track of yourself this way. You’ve got no business roaming that highway. You could get hit by a car, or picked up by some lunatic.” He gave him a manly slap on the back. “And for God’s sake, stay out of people’s trash. You stink like a mound of pig slop.”

  The door clicked shut, and Danny waited for Suki’s scolding to kick in where Officer Newton’s had left off. But there was only a sigh and then, “Come on. Let’s get you upstairs for a bath.”

  The wedding dress was banished to the back porch as if it were contaminated, but Danny had time to hide the shoes in his closet before his bath. Knowing that they hadn’t been discovered made what came at dinnertime a lot easier to take.

  When his parents got home from work, Suki motioned them into Danny’s father’s office for a hushed conversation. Afterward, his parents sat down across from him at the dinner table, exasperated.

  “Really, Daniel,” his mother started in. “This is the third time in a month you’ve been caught digging up garbage in the bad part of town. What has gotten into you?”

  “It’s not garbage,” he said. “I’m using what I find to make art.”

  “To make messes, you mean,” his father said. “Those piles of junk you piece together in the garage are an eyesore.”

  “It’s not a productive use of your time,” his mother added.

  The lecture went on, but Danny didn’t dare defend himself. The collages he made from old skirts, hats, and jewelry looked odd to most people, but putting them together made him feel peaceful all over. Still, he had to be careful. He knew what happened when boys who came from “decent people” got into trouble. Boarding school. His friend Eric had disappeared that way, and he was not about to suffer the same fate.

  So, he listened. He promised not to go near Highway 10 anymore, or to dig through Dumpsters. Finally, when his parents had bored even themselves with the lecturing, they sent him to his room. Once he shut the door, he smiled. He was free.

  He ran to his closet and dug out his two newfound treasures—a pair of broken clip-on earrings he’d unearthed from his teacher’s wastebasket last week, and the pale pink shoes he’d found today. He locked his door and carefully laid the earrings on the bed. He caressed them, admiring the way the silver teardrops fractured the light. Then he stepped into the shoes. They were too big for his feet, but that didn’t matter.

  He arched his ankle, examining himself in the mirror. His legs were too knobby and hairy—not the way a woman’s sleek legs should look. The shoes were beautiful, though, even on his awkward feet.

  He dug for these buried treasures in trash cans always, because he could never take anything from his mother’s room. When he was smaller, he’d loved watching her get dressed. He loved the silkiness of the fabrics she wore, how her skirts flowed when she moved. He loved beautiful clothes; he loved watching women wearing them. As he got older, his mother told him it wasn’t proper for him to be in her room, playing in her closet. His father told him it was freakish. They told him…told, told, told. So much talking, without ever understanding. But he couldn’t explain that he felt more normal around high heels and jewelry than he did playing cops and robbers or Lone Ranger. He couldn’t much understand it himself. But somehow, it felt as natural as breathing to him.

  He could never tell anyone. It wasn’t right—a boy collecting women’s trinkets. Everyone said so. Pastor Marshall, Suki, his parents. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal.

  Tonight, though, he held the pale pink shoes as their pearl beading shimmered, and he smiled. All those words were lost on him. They didn’t change a thing. But the shoes—the shoes gave him a glimpse of who he wanted to be.

  PINNY

  Pinny woke to good-morning voices, sleeping bags unzipping, and a crackling campfire. But none of those cozy sounds were coming from her tent. Her tent was so quiet she could hear a shushing from her sleeping bag whenever she breathed.

  “Ray?” she called, sitting up.

  Then she saw it. The note in the corner where Ray’s duffel and guitar had been. Ray was gone.

  “Ray!” Heat filled her belly. She’d been so sure Ray would do right by her. And now here she was, without Ray. Without anybody.

  She beat her fists on the ground, but that only made her hands sore. So sore that she felt like crying. Then she was crying. Droopy tears that dribbled off her chin and made her nose a river. That made her even madder, because crying like this always gave her the hiccups.

  “Everything all right in there, darlin’?” a voice called from outside. A person-shaped shadow loomed over the tent.

  “JT?” she said through her hiccups. She unzipped the tent to see him smiling down at her, a steaming frying pan in his hand.

  “None other.” He tipped his hat. “I hate to hear a pretty gal like you cryin’. Why don’t you come on outta there and tell me what the problem is?”

  Pinny nodded, dressed quickly, then climbed out of the tent, wiping her eyes. JT handed her a plate brimming with scrambled eggs, biscuits, and gravy.

  “JT’s all-you-can-eat breakfast.” He winked. “On the house.” He motioned to the folding chair next to his grill. “You eat while you tell me what’s eatin’ you.”

  She took a bite of eggs and sniffed. “Ray up and left. She promised to take me to New York, but she lied. Her note says I should go back to Smokebush.” She gave her eggs a grumpy shove with her fork. “I won’t do it! She thinks she knows what’s best for me. Like everybody else. But I can decide my own self!”

  JT patted her shoulder. “Of course you can. You seem like a gal who knows how to take care of herself just fine.” He sat down next to her. “But what’s so special about New York that you need to get there so bad?”

  Pinny smiled, and before she’d finished her eggs, she’d told JT everything. About Mama’s shoes. Daddy’s watch. The invisible princess. She’d even told him about the pink high heels she had hidden in her backpack. He was a good listener. He said she was right to be mad, and that made her feel better.

  “You know, I’d love to see those pink shoes,” he said. “Why don’t you come on inside the trailer and show me? Then we’ll see about gettin’ you to New York.” He opened the door to the trailer, waving her inside.

  “Really?” Pinny stood up. “You can help me get to New York?”

  “Sure,” he said. “We’re friends, right? Friends help each other out.”

  Pinny nodded. She’d thought Ray was her friend, too, until this morning. Well, she’d show her. Maybe she’d even get to New York before Ray did. ’Cause together she and JT would figure out a way to get Mama’s shoes back.

  She smiled, then swung her backpack over her shoulder and climbed the steps into the trailer.

  RAY

  Ray stood on the side of the road with her thumb in the air as car after car passed her. So far, no one had even slowed down. She checked her watch. Eight o’clock. Pinny would probably be awake by now. Had she seen the note yet? What if she hadn’t? Ray’s stomach churned. Pinny wouldn’t go looking for her on the streets of Nashville, would she? What if she left the campsite and couldn’t find her way back?

  Stop it. Ray pushed the thoughts away. It wasn’t her job to look after Pinny. But the pitching of her insides wouldn’t quit, and she knew why.

  There’d been other times, lots of times, when she’d looked the other way.

  She closed her eyes and tried to shake the memory out of her head. But it stuck there, until she could smell the bitter bleach in the bucket, fe
el the weight of the mop in her hands. Until she was back in the gym last fall, swiping halfheartedly at the bleachers with the mop, watching the dance-team tryouts. She’d been sentenced to scrubbing the bleachers after getting caught ditching English. She didn’t care. Punishment was her comfort zone. Without it, no one would notice her. Not even Carter anymore.

  To Carter, she’d become another blurry face at a desk. It was torture, being near him in “teacher mode,” when he acknowledged her politely but without the easy openness of summer. A single smile, though, or a casual question about music…she could live off that for weeks. She gnawed the bones of hope Carter threw her, but her frustration over him, over the dead-end, small-town future closing in on her, was what fueled her. If she wasn’t lashing out at the world, she couldn’t control her corner of it. Scrubbing bleachers was just the lame price she paid.

  Besides, she’d been getting a good laugh out of the dance tryouts. Careena and her co-captains were running them with all the bitchability they could muster. Careena was trying to be diplomatic in her Miss Politician mode, offering compliments even to the worst dancers, but they were too sugarcoated to sound even remotely sincere. Meanwhile, Meg was whining that every candidate danced like a stripper or a Bible-beating revivalist possessed by the Holy Spirit (apparently, neither one qualified as Jaynis Dancette material).

  That was the moment when Pinny walked in, with her shoelaces untied and her ponytail slipping messily out in every direction. Ray gripped the mop in a choke hold, fearing she was about to witness a slaughter. Pinny’d been gushing about the tryouts for weeks. Not one of those Dancette drama queens had bothered coming to Pinny’s birthday, but that had only made Pinny more obsessed with winning their friendship. Ray didn’t get why Pinny had to reach for the upper crust to feel like she belonged. Then again, Ray was reaching for Carter. God, maybe they both had delusions of grandeur.

  “I’m next,” Pinny announced happily.

  Careena’s mouth opened in a silent O, but she recovered a second later, smiling. “Great!” she crooned, nodding to Meg and Kim. “Show us what you’ve got.”

  She perched her head on her hands, her expression one of polite, coddling interest, as Meg turned on the music and Pinny began her routine.

  Pinny’s movements were slow and clumsy, and she stumbled a few times. She kept smiling, though, even as her cheeks blotched with sweat. But it was on her first high kick that everyone saw the blood. A red blemish blooming in the crotch of her shorts.

  Careena covered her mouth, blushing. Meg turned to Kim, mouthing, “Oh my God,” and an uncomfortable giggle followed.

  Ray watched it happen. The smirk on Meg’s face made her want to vomit. But still, she didn’t move a single inch.

  When the music ended, Meg leaned toward Careena as they clapped.

  “Shouldn’t you say something to her?” Meg whispered, snickering. “I mean, you’re so close to her and everything. Besties, right?”

  “No!” Careena hissed, keeping her eyes on the notepad in front of her, her face puckered with mortification. “No. She helped me out with campaigning, but…we’re not friends or anything.” She shrugged. “I’m sure the special-ed aides will deal with it. That’s why we have them.” Then she stood up quickly, smiling at Pinny. “That was incredible!” Her voice gushed enthusiasm. “Thank you so much.”

  “So, I made the team?” Pinny asked hopefully.

  Careena dropped her eyes, acting very busy scribbling notes. “Um…we’ll see. We won’t know anything until after the rest of the tryouts. We’ll post the new team members next week.”

  Pinny walked away beaming, waving over her shoulder. And Ray let her go. She stayed as Careena sat back down, blowing out a breath.

  “That was completely awkward,” she said with a stilted laugh after Pinny left. “I don’t know why Principal Tate said we had to let her try out, when she didn’t stand a chance.” She crossed Pinny’s name off the list on her notepad. “Well, nobody can say we didn’t do our part.” She shook her head. “At least, it’s out of the way.”

  In the moment, Ray could’ve done so many things. She could’ve told Careena off. She could’ve gone after Pinny. She knew what was right, but she didn’t have the momentum to follow through. “Inertia,” the word of cowards.

  Later, when she saw Mrs. Haley, an English teacher, lead Pinny from her locker to the restroom, whispering in her ear, a gnawing started in her gut. It stayed with her for days, making her want to strangle the memory of that afternoon right out of her body.

  The gnawing gave her inspiration for the very unflattering picture she drew in permanent marker on every stall of the girls’ bathroom the next day. A piece she coined “Queen Careena.” But it didn’t get rid of the gnawing.

  It was with her now as she stood on the side of the road, waiting to abandon Pinny. She straightened her shoulders, determined not to give in to it.

  A car slowed, pulling up next to her. A friendly-looking girl in her twenties leaned over the steering wheel.

  “Need a lift?” she said.

  Ray put her hand on the car door. She wouldn’t get another chance like this. Besides, the sooner Pinny realized that she couldn’t rely on the world to come to her rescue, the better. Ray had learned that long ago, and now it was Pinny’s turn. After that, Pinny would be fine. Maybe not as happy, but fine, all the same.

  DALYA

  Dalya had been sleeping on the couch at the Blumbergs’ apartment for a month when the knock came at the door. They’d invited her to live with them until she graduated and could find steady work, but she’d told them she’d stay only until she found an after-school job and a place to live. She’d reluctantly accepted the Ashburys’ offer to continue paying her tuition, knowing she needed to graduate to have any chance at all of supporting herself in the future. Even so, she didn’t want to rely on anyone’s charity—the Ashburys’ or the Blumbergs’—for a second longer than she had to. That afternoon, she was studying with Ruth at the kitchen table when she heard the doorbell and the click of Mrs. Blumberg’s heels as she went to answer it.

  Then Mrs. Blumberg was in the kitchen, looking baffled. “Dalya. Someone’s here for you.”

  Dalya stood, worry pulsing through her. If it was Henry, she didn’t know if she’d be able to refuse him this time. But when she rounded the corner of the kitchen, it wasn’t Henry she saw. It was a ghost, time worn, all trace of boyhood gone, but with the same unwavering eyes.

  “Aaron?” she choked, bracing herself against the doorframe.

  He smiled slowly, sadly. “I told you I’d find you.”

  —

  The Blumbergs were full of questions, but Dalya couldn’t breathe, let alone fathom explanations. So after making some vague excuses, she and Aaron left the apartment and started walking uptown. Dalya paid no attention to the blocks that passed. Instead, she walked beside him, too stunned to say anything except one repeated word: “How?”

  Once they were seated on a bench on the outskirts of Central Park, he told her. He told her of how he’d been put on a train from Sachsenhausen to Auschwitz but had jumped from it in the middle of the night. How he’d limped through the countryside, hiding in the forest, camouflaging himself with mud and leaves and living off insects, wild berries, and anything else he could find. How with the help of a few brave people willing to hide him, he’d worked his way out of Europe and then to Argentina. There, he’d waited for months for an American visa.

  “Finally, I got on a boat to Texas,” he told her. “But they kept us aboard in Galveston Bay for a week before they let us come ashore, even with our approved visas. They told us it was for our own safety, but really it was the government.” He shook his head. “Everybody in America wants to be sympathetic to the plight of refugees, as long as we don’t move here.”

  “But they let you off the boat,” Dalya finished, “and you came to New York?”

  He nodded. “My mother has a distant cousin who lives here,” he said. “They own a kosher ma
rket at Ninety-Second and Broadway. I’ve been working there and sleeping on their floor. Until I can afford a place of my own.”

  “But…how did you find me?” she asked. “How could you know I was here?”

  “I didn’t,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I hoped that you’d found a way to stay alive. It seemed so…impossible. But then I remembered your father’s friend Leonard Goodman. I wrote to him, hoping he’d heard from you, if you were alive. He gave me the Ashburys’ address.”

  Dalya swallowed hard, her pulse roaring. “You went to them?”

  Aaron nodded. “I talked with Mrs. Ashbury first, but she told me you’d left without telling them where you were going.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Then Henry came to the door.”

  At the mention of Henry’s name, Aaron looked at her cautiously. Even though she tried to hide the tremor that ran through her, she saw an unhappy question answered on Aaron’s face.

  Understanding came into his eyes, and then pain, but after a few seconds of silence, he continued. “Henry remembered you running into Ruth Schwarz and Ann Blumberg. I tried a dozen other Blumbergs on the Upper West Side, but today I went farther downtown and finally found the right ones. Still, it doesn’t seem real.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” she whispered. He leaned forward on the bench to stare at the ground, his elbows resting on his knees. His once-familiar face was a canvas of cracks and creases that made him look older, and infinitely sadder than she’d ever seen him. “But…you found me.”

  “Yes. I promised your father I would.” He focused his eyes on hers, and he reached out his hand, like he was about to slide it into hers. Instead, he dropped it helplessly to his knee. He sighed and straightened. “I’ve told you my story. Now, will you tell me what happened to you?”

  She wrung her hands in her lap, weighing the heaviness of what he was asking, trying to gauge if she’d come out alive on the other side of the question. But she couldn’t say no. He’d followed her halfway around the world. She owed him an answer.