“Hmm, lemme check.” Sidra climbed on board and took inventory down the aisle, making sure the little curly-haired girl hadn’t slipped by unnoticed during the head count. “No sign of her,” she called back down. Tasha got on the two-way radio with the camp director before hauling herself up the steps. “He said to go ahead, to keep the bus on schedule. The kid is having a meltdown apparently. Her parents have been called to come get her.”
Sidra frowned. That didn’t sound like happy-go-lucky Abbey. “Where is she?”
“In the changing house. Won’t come out.”
“Hold on,” Sidra called to the bus driver. “I’m getting off. You got this, Tasha?” Her coworker waved her off, and she made for the large log cabin that housed the girls’ changing area. Pacing in front of it was the camp director, clearly not versed in how to handle little girls who refuse to change out of their bathing suits. “I can sit with her, Harlen. Until her mom comes. I know her.”
With a sweep of his hand, he gratefully ushered Sidra in. Immediately, the smell of her own childhood camp experience hit her memory triggers. While the digs hadn’t been as luxurious, probably just the local town pool out near Uncle Sully’s in Queens, the same chlorine combination with equal parts mildew and coconut sunscreen was present. She smiled as she moved through the maze of wooden benches and cubbies.
“What’s the haps, girlfriend?”
Abbey sat on the end of a bench with her swim towel tented over her head. “I lost my moonrise shell.” Her voice was muffled by the thick terry cloth, but her misery was clearly apparent.
“Knock, knock.” Sidra tugged gently on the towel. “May I come in?”
Abbey lifted the corner. If Sidra were two feet tall, she might have been able to slip in. Still, she took it as an open invitation. Scooting next to the little girl, she ducked her head under.
“Whooo, it’s hot under here. And it smells like corn chips.”
“I had Fritos at lunch.” Abbey sniffed. Her cheeks were flushed, and her curls a frizzy mess. She wiped her eyes with the towel before slowly sliding it off both of them.
“Tell me about your shell,” Sidra encouraged in a gentle tone. “Did your dad give it to you?” She knew Abbey had lost her dad at a young age. And she knew all about treasured mementos loved ones left behind.
“No, my uncle did. I brought it for show-and-tell. It was makana aloha,” Abbey wailed, “a gift of love. And it was here before swimming and now it’s gone!”
“Oh, sweetie.” Sidra put her arm around the girl as she dissolved into another fit of tears. She wished she could slay the dragon of unhappiness that preyed on her young friend. Her more pessimistic side wanted to tell her that mean people sucked. And that some other little kid probably did take liberties, and the shell. But it was probably best to take a more neutral route. “How about you get dressed and we check the lost and found?” Perhaps a walk in the fresh air down to the main camp building would help calm the girl down, at least until Kat arrived.
“Okay.” Abbey rubbed her face with the towel, then pulled her tiny jean shorts up over her bathing suit. Pushing her feet into her sneakers, she stated matter-of-factly, “I guess if it was a gift of love, it’s never truly lost.”
Sidra was taken aback; that was pretty esoteric thinking for an eight-year-old.
“How true, Abbey. Because you can always find it here.” She tapped her heart’s center, and then her head. “And here.”
“And in the stars, where my dad is,” Abbey was quick to add. “Ouch!”
The girl wriggled her foot, and her little Skechers went flying. Something small and colorful cartwheeled onto the grass. “Hey! My shell!” She scooped it up and grinned. “Here, you can carry it, Miz-ess!” She pushed her foot back into her sneaker and went running in the direction of the blue and white Mini Cooper that had just rounded the camp drive.
Sidra turned the small shell over. Despite having just been kicked out of a shoe, it was perfectly intact, and its colors were like nothing she had ever seen before.
“Mom! I thought I lost the moonrise shell, but me and Miz-ess found it. You did tell her she could come to the wedding, right?”
“Oh, Abbey,” Sidra replied as Kat’s eyes grew wide and apologetic. “Weddings are mainly for family and very, very close friends. You’re sweet to think of me, though.”
“I did promise Abbey she could invite a few people who are special to her,” Kat supplied. Her grin was sheepish as she ran a hand through her curls. “I’ve been so crazed with the planning, I’ve been sort of MIA. I meant to mention it before the summer disappeared. Really. Please come. It’s going to be very casual. Right at the beach near our house next Sunday morning. Shoes optional.”
“Funny, I’m actually someone else’s date that day, for a . . .” Sidra paused. The lakeside wedding upstate for the sister of Liz’s estranged boyfriend sounded suspiciously like Abbey’s mom’s big day. “Wait a minute. Liz Dooley wouldn’t happen to be on your guest list, would she?”
Kat’s reaction was one of delighted surprise. “She’s one of my bridesmaids, as a matter of fact. We’ve been friends since high school.”
“That’s so crazy,” Sidra marveled. “I’ve known her for years. My brother works for her!” She shook her head. “Oh, so Kevin is your brother? Oh my God, this is all making sense now. What a crazy coincidence.”
Kat laughed as Abbey grabbed her hand and swung it. “Small world, for sure! When Liz RSVPed with a guest, I didn’t dare ask. She’s been a little . . . hormonal, if you know what I mean.” She pointedly dipped her head toward her daughter and raised her brows. Sidra nodded. “Although she picked up my brother from the airport yesterday, so I’m hoping they work out their drama before the big day. I’m so glad you are coming!”
“Thanks. Me too.” Sidra was looking forward to staying out of the city for the weekend. With Jack away and Mike on the hook to feed Banana Louie, she had less weighing on her mind.
“Yay!” Abbey crowed. “You’ll get to meet my uncle after all. Maybe he’s got a shell for you. It’s a gift of love,” she singsonged.
“Jump in the car, you!” Kat swatted Abbey’s denim-clad butt. “She’s been trying to matchmake all summer,” she apologized once her daughter was out of earshot. “Don’t mind her. Come on, I’ll give you a ride to the station.” She swung her keys from her finger as they walked. “Kids get ideas; they have no idea how complicated things are.”
Sidra rubbed her thumb over the ridges of the shell like they were beads on a rosary. Kids aren’t the only ones, she thought. “No need to apologize. I roll with the punches. But I don’t think your brother would have any interest in me.”
“Oh, it’s not that uncle she wants to set you up with,” Kat was quick to assure her.
“And not Unkie Luke, ’cuz he has a husband,” Abbey piped up from the backseat. “It’s my uncle Riff. Remember? I told you he’s not my real uncle.”
“Riff?” Sidra repeated.
“He’s my fiancé’s best friend,” Kat explained. “He may as well be family. They’re in the same band.” She turned the key in the ignition, and “Dove” filled the small space. “Speak of the devil,” she said with a laugh. “Here’s their latest hit!”
Abbey began to list the merits of her unreal uncle as Kat navigated them off camp property, but none of it registered with Sidra. It was all so . . . much. All these connections. Like unique and separate movements in yoga, yet all woven together to create the tightest flow. Rick was everywhere she turned. He was ingrained in her. Like a vinyasa. Body and breath. Head and heart.
He was there for the long term.
Out of all the different roads and paths, Sidra mused as Kat wound the car through Bear Mountain. And all these people along the way . . .
Under the guiding light of the ner tamid, she had read the article he’d left for her. And she had meditated over, and memorized, every line of his song while on her mat. But she had stayed at her edge, waiting. Listening to the truth behind
his words. And watching the sky. Her mother’s voice gently reminded her of omens and opportunities. It’s a day for a new journey, my love. Spending the last few months with Rick had made her the happiest in her heart. There was no need to wait for a certain holiday, or for the moon and the sun to be at their brightest. She was done with bittersweet patience. Carpe punctum. Seize the moment.
At the station, she handed Abbey her shell through the open window. “Abbey, I’ll be there. With bells on.”
Rick
Booted
Sam shook the raindrops from his mane of hair and kicked his muddy boots into the pile of river shoes by Adrian’s porch door. “It’s fit for neither man nor beast out there,” he proclaimed. “The cabbie who dropped me just told me the storm’s been upgraded to a nor’easter, and guess what they’ve named her? Isabelle.”
The band had a good laugh over that. Leave it to their self-appointed Queen of Everything to be a pain in the ass, even on the eve of Adrian and Kat’s big day.
“Speaking of friends, both foul and fair-weather,” Jim said, leaning over to inspect Rick’s caller ID as he deftly dealt another hand of poker, “who invited Isabelle to the bachelor party?”
“If she ends up popping out of my cake,” Adrian deadpanned, “I will disown you all.” He was actually smoking that cigar from the duty-free shop at the airport. Rick waved the pungent smoke toward the screens of the lake house’s enclosed porch. The best man had arrived on the last flight in and hadn’t had time to plan anything elaborate for the groom’s last night as a single man. He guessed they always had Sergeant Pepperoni’s Karaoke Night if they got desperate.
“Put ’er on speaker,” Sam demanded.
Rick pushed the speaker button, then placed his bet. He had a pretty good hand.
“Do you realize the damage you fuck knuckles have caused by leaking that track?” Isabelle screeched.
“No idea what you’re talking about.” Not that his lawyers had advised him against talking about it, but it was fun to play devil’s advocate with Isabelle, for once.
“The hell you don’t.”
“It could’ve been anyone,” Sam added, tossing some chips into the pot.
Adrian talked like a tough guy, cigar wedged between his teeth. “It could’ve even been you, Isabelle.”
“Not a chance. I never even heard the finished product! And don’t go blaming Thor, because he only had his rough cuts. That sounded nothing like a rough cut.”
“No,” Rick said slowly. “Because the rough cuts with him were utter crap.”
“Well, there’s more than one way to polish shit into a diamond,” Isabelle sputtered. “But you never, ever give it away for free!”
“Way of the world these days,” Adrian said. “Any album worth its salt has the possibility of being leaked. And honestly, the day the fans don’t want to get their hands on our music any way they can is the day I worry about.”
Isabelle blew a raspberry at Adrian’s comment. “Well. I just heard from my contact at the label. Do you realize how many hours of PR and dollars of advertising and artwork you squandered, with the click of the mouse?”
“Funny, I just spoke with my contact at the label,” Rick countered. “They love the track and haven’t had this much advance buzz about a comeback in years.” In fact, suddenly the band had become the most talked-about name on the roster. Thanks to the runaway single, the label had decided to put even more muscle behind the comeback album. Including moving up the street date, and adding a signed, limited-release LP format to the deal.
“Ninety-five Metascore,” Jim supplied, quoting the latest review aggregator stats.
“THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND ILLEGAL DOWNLOADS!” Isabelle raged. “And you won’t ever see a penny of it.”
“And neither will you, from us, from here on in. Isabelle? You’re fired, luv. Nothing personal. Just business. We don’t like how you conduct it.”
Sidra
Adornment
“So much better than a wild, drunken bachelorette party,” Liz said with a sigh as Sidra stepped back to admire her henna artwork. The bridal party had opted to stay in the night before the big day, using Karen’s spacious home as a girls-only refuge. And Sidra had offered to apply mehendi—henna art—for the excited bride and all her friends.
“I don’t think you could’ve fit through the bar door, Big Red. Even if we’d wanted to go drinking and carousing,” Marissa said. She waved her hands to speed up the drying process of her hennaed hands.
“Kiss my big fat pregnant ass, Falzone!” Liz sassed. Marissa flipped her a festooned middle finger in response. Liz held up her tank top so Sidra could put the finishing touches on the intricate pattern that swirled around her belly. “Ahh, that feels so good!”
Sidra smiled. The cooling paste was calming, and she loved the fresh smell of the natural henna, combined with just a little lemon juice, sugar, and lavender oil. Her Old World aunties would’ve insisted on including certain patterns and protective images to guard against the evil eye and any malicious spirits, but Sidra focused instead on the joyous celebration as her friend entered her final phase of pregnancy. Especially now that Liz had set things to rights with Kevin.
Sidra kneeled in front of Kat again. Her bridal mehendi, even while more modernized and American than the traditional Indian, had been the most time-consuming and intricate, so she had started with her first, before the bridesmaids. “One last detail for you.” She admired the sophisticated patterns on Kat’s hands and feet. “It’s tradition to place the groom’s initials somewhere, for him to search for on your wedding night.”
“Good thing you got a bikini wax,” Leanna said, clinking her wineglass to Kat’s with a wicked gleam in her eye.
“Somewhere in the henna,” Sidra added, chuckling. “Pretty PG-rated, I’m afraid.”
Kat smiled. “What a beautiful tradition, Sidra. I love it. Thank you.”
Sidra carefully stroked the letters into the simple, pretty flower and vining combination along the inside of Kat’s wrist.
Liz waddled over, showing off her pretty baby bump. “Kat, do you think Luke would photograph this masterpiece?”
“Totally! So someday my niece or nephew will see what a wild one you were, with your henna tattoos.”
“Speaking of tattoos, Kat,” Sidra said, “I hid your initials somewhere on Adrian’s torso, earlier today, when he dropped Abbey off.”
Kat bit back a smile, her eyes shining. “I can’t imagine where you managed to find a free spot, but I will uncover it before our wedding night is through!”
All the women roared with laughter. Adrian had been ready, willing, and able when he heard about the tradition, whipping off his black Western-style shirt with a grin. It had been a shock for Sidra to see his misericorde tattoo, which mirrored Rick’s, at such close range, but a comfort, too. She loved the idea that her lover had such a close confidante, and couldn’t help but wonder if Adrian knew her connection to the man he called a blood brother.
“I hear my stepdaughter-to-be is playing matchmaker tomorrow,” he’d murmured as Sidra carefully added his bride’s initials to the hilt of the dagger, close to his clavicle. “She’s pretty good at it.”
Sidra laughed. “Yes, I heard the story of how you and Kat met. I bet you never imagined meeting the love of your life in a library!”
Shrugging back into his shirt and buttoning it, he’d winked. “We rock stars often find ourselves—and love—in the darnedest places.”
As he’d turned to leave, he’d added, “And a word of advice. This guy . . . he’s a little hardheaded. But right here?” He’d tapped his heart with his tattooed knuckles. “He’s a softie.”
* * *
Alone in Karen’s spare bedroom that night, as the other women slept around her, Sidra carefully, and hopefully, placed double Rs within the heart design on the palm of her hand.
Perhaps a little old-fashioned auntie superstition couldn’t hurt.
Rick
The Head and
the Heart
“I don’t want to walk to the beach with the bridesmaids.” Abbey pouted. “I want to go with Uncle Riff.” All morning long, the flower girl had flit back and forth between the two houses on Love Street, leaving a trail of rose petals in her wake.
“Bee . . .” Adrian frowned into the mirror, adjusting his bow tie. “What’d your mum say?”
“Me mum is fine with it!” Her dead-accurate imitation of Adrian’s accent caused Kat’s brother, Kev, to choke on his coffee with laughter.
“It doesn’t matter how metal you are,” Rick reminded the groom, fastening his cufflink for him. “If an eight-year-old asks you to escort her to the beach, you go.”
Adrian chuckled. “Wise words. And speaking of heavy metal . . . take good care of these, won’t you?” He dropped two platinum wedding bands into his best friend’s palm. The rings were thick and festooned with intricate thorns and flowers. A perfect blending for the union of rock star and librarian.
Rick dropped them into his shirt pocket and reached for Abbey’s hand. “Ready to rock and roll?”
They walked in silence to where the pavement became gravel, then dirt, and finally sand. “Shoes optional,” Abbey reminded him, and kicked her sandals off. Rick followed suit, removing his stiff dress shoes and rolling up the bottoms of his trouser legs.
Abbey led the way to the small lake, detouring around the large white tent that had been erected for the reception later. “It’s got a real wooden floor inside it.” Her voice contained a mixture of awe and distain. “Over the sand.”
“You call this sand?” Rick’s tone was teasing; he loved to rile the eight-year-old until she buzzed like a little irritated bee. “Gravel, compared to Hawaii’s beaches.”
She snorted. “Still. Why dance on wood when we can dance on sand?”
“Very good question.”
Abbey was full of them today. “Are you leaving after the wedding? Will you live in Hawaii or go back to England? Would you stay if you found someone, like Adrian found my mom?”
Softer Than Steel (A Love & Steel Novel) Page 32
