But someone was lying.... Someone who had no qualms about hurting people. She started shivering.
Russ caught her staring at him and abruptly stopped the game. He gave the Frisbee to Spero, then joined Miranda on the deck.
“Miranda. It’s okay.”
“What?”
“I know you’re very frightened and I simply want to tell you it’s okay to feel that way.”
How can you tell? she signed.
“You haven’t moved an inch in the past ten minutes, you’re swallowing almost nonstop and there’s an expression on your face I saw more than once on soldiers back in Afghanistan. Good grief! You got locked inside a small space and you didn’t know when you’d get out or what else might happen. No one expects you to behave as though this is normal. It’s all right to show you’re scared.”
Miranda tried to nod but her neck still hurt even attempting a slight movement.
He winked at her. “Plus, I had a ton of combat training before I ever stepped foot in Kabul. I can take down any other burglars who are crazy enough to show up today with a single karate chop before breakfast, lunch or dinner.”
Miranda managed a weak smile. She signed, Thank you.
Russ grinned. “Speaking of lunch, would you like some Chinese food? Always helps in a crisis. I texted Won Ton Wong’s while our dogs were flying through the air. Delivery guy should be here in about five minutes which should be just enough time to stop Phoebe from chasing Spero around the yard again. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even want the Frisbee. She likes to herd and Spero is more than willing to comply and play sheep. Anyway, does a little sustenance sound good?”
Miranda was finally able to laugh. Yes! Thanks for the distraction and the offer of food.
Russ whistled for both dogs, who joined them on the deck and lapped up two bowls of water, then patiently waited for someone to open the back door and let them inside for their well-deserved naps.
Russ led the way to the living room, where he’d left the Dragon. “So? What did Hernandez have to say?”
“He’s going to question the usual suspects,” Miranda responded.
Russ raised an eyebrow. “Exactly whom are you accusing?”
She ran down the list she’d just given Hernandez. Russ nodded after each name but stopped her when she mentioned George Miller.
“I’d put him at the top of the list merely on principle—the guy’s slimy.”
Miranda chuckled. “Do we want to tell him that no matter who wins the estate battle, he’s not setting a toe inside this house?”
“Ah, gee, it’ll break his heart.” He chuckled. “Believe it or not he and I were in high school together. Only guy in class who knew exactly what he wanted to do in life but even then he was voted ‘most likely to end up annoying potential clients.’ Wouldn’t surprise me to hear that he came over on an annual basis and bugged Virginia to sell this house and name him as her agent.”
“I would’ve bought tickets to watch Virginia deal with anyone who tried to make her sell. This house was so...her. Plus, where would she have gone? Can you see her trying to bring thirteen cats into a retirement home?”
Russ and Miranda both burst into laughter. Russ solemnly declared, “She’s the one person who could’ve gotten away with it.”
The doorbell rang and Miranda jumped to her feet.
“What?” Russ asked.
“Delivery,” she said. “Which reminds me, what do you normally do? I mean about knowing when someone is at your door?”
Russ accompanied Miranda to the door, while explaining that he had a light that flashed whenever the bell rang, adding, “I’m trying to get Spero to chase his tail in circles when he hears a knock but I can’t figure out how to do that without turning him into a maniac every time a squirrel throws a nut and hits the door.”
Russ refused to allow Miranda to pay but graciously accepted her offer to give the delivery boy a very generous tip. “He needs the money for a new tire for his bike,” Russ explained. Once the food was on the table, Spero and Phoebe flopped next to each other and promptly went to sleep, even with the tempting chicken scents wafting from the boxes. Miranda eyed them with no small amount of envy.
“Chopsticks or forks?” Russ asked.
“Forks.”
“Wimp.”
Miranda lifted her chin. “I’ll have you know I am one tired lady. I took three impossible dance classes and was burgled and stuffed into a closet all in the same morning. I spent last week nurturing the creative beast lurking within small children. I need nourishment and I don’t want to wait for it. I’m ashamed to admit I never mastered the technique and hot sauce will land on the ceiling if I try to deal with chopsticks.”
Russ slid a fork across the table. “You are a whirlwind of activity, aren’t you? Do you ever slow down and take a moment? Or are you always running around expending tons of energy. Much like Phoebe.”
Miranda eyed Russ, who looked quite innocent. Had the remark been intended as a dig? “Activity” meaning too busy to visit friends like Virginia? Too busy to connect with family? Too caught up in work to try and establish a relationship?
Russ waited, obviously expecting her to comment.
She slowly said, “I’ve been accused often of trying to do about twenty things at once, to the extent that I forget to stop and notice others around me. When I didn’t make it to my dad’s wedding, he called the next week.” Miranda hesitated. Could she—should she—admit this to Russ? She tilted her chin and continued. “Dad said he often wondered if I kept so busy because...I was afraid I’d die young, like my mom, and never get to accomplish all the things I wanted to—just as she didn’t.”
Russ remained silent for a moment, then he reached across the table and gently placed his hand over hers. “I’m sorry. I should learn to think before making comments when I don’t know the background of someone’s life.”
“It’s okay. Believe me, I’ve wanted to smack myself more than once for stating opinions or asking personal questions—” she smiled “—including the day I first met you.”
Russ returned the smile. “Well, maybe we’re both abnormally honest people who say what we think—or we haven’t learned the art of diplomacy yet.”
“For abnormally honest you can read ‘perpetual foot in mouth disease,’ in my case.”
Russ grinned and moved out of emotional territory. “Well, let’s exchange the foot for something more nourishing. This should help revive you. General Tso’s chicken, spicy bean curd and peppers, veggie lo mein, egg rolls—all from the kitchen of Won Ton Wong’s.”
Miranda dove in without hesitation. “For this I could endure a burglary on a daily basis. Almost. Now, don’t take offense but I have yet to find a place here in Birmingham that serves anything truly hot and spicy. Actually the best place outside of Manhattan was this little café in Vancouver. I was there on tour and was always hoping to go back but for some reason I kept getting sent to Oklahoma or Kansas or Indiana. All lovely states except for their tornado season but none of them had Chinese food that compared to Vancouver or my favorite spot in Manhattan, China Tan’s. I miss that place and I was just there a couple of weeks ago.”
Russ paused then quietly asked, “So you’re sticking to Manhattan? As your home, I mean.”
Miranda, startled, glanced down at her food before replying, “I guess that depends on what happens here.”
Russ finished a bite of egg roll. “Tell me this, then. What will you do if it turns out you inherit this house?”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. Will you sell it? Will you rent it and keep it for the day you decide to retire and enjoy a leisurely Southern life? Will you fly down from Manhattan now and again and use it as a weekender?”
“Wow. That’s...direct.”
“Well, di
dn’t we both just admit to diving in and speaking our minds?”
“True. As to the house? My only answer is that I don’t know yet.” Miranda paused. “What about you? Do you want to live here?”
“Yes. If I inherit I won’t sell. I’d probably quit my job at the furniture store and just hunker down and work on renovations.”
Miranda thought Hunker down as in “hide.” Funny. Russ obviously believes I run away in what he calls a whirlwind of activity. I see him slowly turning into a recluse.
Aloud she simply said, “I’d say we both have time to consider options. As far as I can tell nothing has been done to get this whole inheritance issue settled any time before next Christmas, if then.”
“True. I often wonder exactly what the lawyers do that takes so long. Meantime, at least we get to enjoy the backyard for our pups—and try to make the right decisions.”
Miranda nodded.
Nothing more was said about future plans. They spent the next thirty minutes enjoying the tasty Chinese food.
After Miranda placed her fork in the sink she turned to Russ. “I am replete. I am happy. My neck even feels better. Thank you.”
He smiled. “Don’t you want to read your fortune?”
What’s the point? she signed, not quite joking. She grabbed the Dragon. “I can see it now—‘House much loved. More thievery to follow.’”
“Now, now. That’s not a fortune. That’s plain fact. Here, try this one. Handpicked by Russell Gerik.”
She broke the cookie and popped half into her mouth before unrolling the tiny piece of paper. Her eyebrows lifted and she handed the paper to Russ. He handed her his.
The two fortunes were exactly the same. “You must make a big decision soon.”
Russ pursed his lips. “I’m assuming Mr. Wong’s cookie is nudging me toward deciding what to do with the job offer.”
Miranda decided to take the plunge. Russ wanted direct? She’d give him direct. “I don’t want to get into a big debate about U.S. military policy but I have to ask—why don’t you go back to teaching?”
“Because Samford filled my job two years ago when I told them I wasn’t ready to return. Understandable.”
Miranda shook her head. “Russ, it’s not the only game in town. Community colleges or less-than-well-funded four-year schools would love to have you. I taught part time at a community college in Queens, and I can truthfully say those are the kids—and adults—who want to learn. They don’t have parents who can afford to send them off to school just so they can party. They’re the students working low-paying jobs at fast food joints at all hours so they can get an education.”
He didn’t speak for a few moments. Finally he said, “I honestly don’t know what to do. The defense job sounds really interesting.”
Miranda inhaled and headed for deeper waters. “You can tell me to butt out, Russ, but it seems to me that by taking the job you’re only trading one retreat for another.”
“What?” He stared at her.
“You currently deliver furniture and you don’t talk to anyone. You order from the same Chinese place so often you know that the delivery kid needs a new tire. Although, that I get, since I don’t cook and my idea of kitchen décor is take-out menus plastered next to the wall phone.” She forced herself to continue, unsure of his reaction. “I’m honestly amazed you got the Dragon because it’s been easier to withdraw from everyone around when there’s no way to know what they’re saying.”
Russ looked down at the floor. Miranda stopped talking.
After an agony of waiting, Russ spoke. “I don’t want to admit this, but you’re right to some extent. I’ve been in the back of a furniture van for the past two years, hoping to avoid running into anyone I know who feels sorry for me or might be embarrassed because they don’t sign. Part of that revolves around issues of post-traumatic stress disorder, which can affect anyone who suffers a major injury during war, even if that someone is just a lousy interpreter. In my case, survivor guilt was added to the diagnosis.” He looked at the ceiling for a moment. “I’m sorry. That sounds whiney. Was it what the kids call too much information?”
“Aren’t we friends by now? Or at least friendly rivals? After all, we’ve endured one of Farrah’s dinner parties, an afternoon at the Becker Gallery and a burglary about once a week!”
He smiled. “We’re friends. You didn’t even mention diving through old journals together, which reminds me—we should probably read whatever we have time for this afternoon, before our thief decides to make a repeat visit.”
“We should rig up a trap. You know, glue on the floor or something.” Miranda sighed. “First, though, I do get it, Russ. You went through a horrific experience and you have every right to find a cave and turn into a hermit. But I can’t help thinking that if you take this job, you’ll never leave that cave. Twenty years from now you’ll still be avoiding people and your only involvement will be with reams of documents.”
Russ’s jaw went rigid.
Miranda took a breath and prayed she wasn’t about to destroy their tentative understanding. “We’ve been reading the diaries of a woman who spent seventy years as a virtual recluse...a woman who missed out on seventy years of life. She had excellent reasons, but I’d hate to see that happen to you.”
Russ’s eyes narrowed and Miranda thought, Now I’ve really done it.
Finally, he asked, “You truly believe I’m turning myself into Miss Virginia?”
“Not completely...yet. But how often do you see the Durani family? How often do you do anything outside of your job that has you talking to other people?” She started to ask if he even saw his family but suddenly remembered Candy and Darci’s words about the mother who’d abandoned a young Russ to become a singer and a father who died. “That day at the Trussville Fair, when you were telling me about Kam’s illustration and giving me a short lecture about sign language I could tell that you have the soul of a teacher. For you not to be in front of a classroom when good teachers are so badly needed seems to me to be worse than hiding.”
“Wow. You just don’t hold back, do you?”
“I’m sorry. Tell me to shut up. Tell me to mind my own business. Because if you don’t I’ll keep on saying exactly what I think.”
Russ’s face turned an unbecoming red. For a few moments Miranda couldn’t tell if he wanted to ask her to leave or strangle her. Then he started to laugh.
“You, Ms. Nolan, are a meddler. A blunt, nosy, meddling noodge who is the only person in two years to let me have it with both barrels. First you tell me to get over myself and now you’re verbally whapping me over the head, saying I’m about to follow in the footsteps of a very lovely but very sad lady. Right?”
She gave him a tentative smile. “Uh. Yeah. That about nails it.” She paused, then jumped back into the deep end. “While I’m being a nosy noodge, I have a suggestion.”
“I’m almost afraid to hear it, but go ahead.”
“Well, when do you have to tell the defense contractors if you’ll take the job?”
“Middle of July.”
“Okay. You know a mess of languages, don’t you? Including Spanish?”
“I do. Why?”
“The school where I took the ASL classes is in desperate need of a Spanish-speaking instructor. Very part-time. Just three weekends for their beginner course.”
He lapsed into silence for a long moment. “Interesting. That sounds like it might be good for me. I assume classes are small?”
“Yep.”
“So this would be a way to teach without, pardon the pun, signing my life away—a chance to find out how I work with people and not furniture or documents.”
Miranda started to breathe again, relieved he hadn’t ripped her head off for meddling. “It would also be a wonderful thing to do. We’re talkin’ brownie points i
n heaven for this.”
“Brownie points,” he said wryly. “Something I can always use. Okay, I’ll give this a shot. In fact, if you’ll give me this Dr. Vinny’s number I’ll text him right now and try to set up a meeting. I might be a hermit, but I’m not one to procrastinate.”
Miranda gave him the number, then excused herself to wander into the living room and begin pasting labels on a box that held lamps sans shades.
Less than ten minutes later, Russ joined her. “I like your Dr. Vinny. And he apparently likes you because when I dropped your name he texted back to say he trusted your recommendation.”
“Wow! So, you’re going to do it?”
“Sí! Empiezo a enseñar en dos semana.” He grinned. “For you pitiful English-only speakers, roughly translated that means ‘I start teaching in two weeks.’”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SIXTEEN SQUEALING CHILDREN bounced up and down in sheer glee after hearing that they were about to create the Most Extraordinary Super-duper Unbelievably Amazing Kick Line in the Universe. Miranda wasn’t sure she could explain why it was so wonderful, but she was also fairly certain none of the six-or seven-year-olds would even consider asking such a tactless and unnecessary question.
Aided by her two high-school-age counselors, Miranda managed to herd the dancers into a Rockettes-style kick line, with the shortest child in the middle. The biggest obstacle was ignoring the cries of “I’m taller ’n you!” and “Look, Miss Randi! See how high I can kick!”
“Hang on, crew! No joining of hands or arms around middles yet. Got that? Just let us figure out where you’re going to stand and exactly what the height is going to be for the ‘all kicks.’” She grinned. “It doesn’t matter if you can kick your leg over your head. This is the Most Extraordinary Super-duper Unbelievably Amazing Kick Line in the Universe and that means everybody has to kick to the same height, otherwise you look sloppy. We don’t want sloppy, right?”
Legacy of Silence Page 14
