Serendipity's Footsteps

by Suzanne Nelson

  Orpa frowned. “What’s wrong with that? Everybody needs a decent dose of magical thinking every once in a while. I tell my own kids the same.” She stared out at the highway. “Otherwise, life turns tragic too fast.”

  Orpa winked, and Ray smirked. “And you’re speaking from experience, right?”

  “There were plenty of times Hank and I didn’t have two pennies to rub together, and six mouths to feed on top of it. One year, our oldest, May-Bell, got a Hawaiian vacation stuck in her head. She must have been about eight at the time…heard about Hawaii at some state fair at school. Anyway, that was all she wanted for Christmas, this Hawaii trip. Well, we knew she’d be heartbroken if we didn’t do something. So Hank and I hit the dollar store in town. Stocked up on plastic pink flamingos, blow-up palm trees, ten-cent leis.” She shook her head, remembering. “Course, outside it was colder than a tin toilet on an iceberg. But we even filled our kiddie pool with bathwater in the garage. Strung up some hula-girl lights, and come Christmas morning, May-Bell had herself a regular Hawaiian luau.”

  Ray snorted. “But she knew it was a crock.”

  Orpa paused over that. “Maybe so, but if she did, it didn’t bother her any. She spent hours snorkeling in her kiddie pool with her plastic fish and went back to school after break telling everybody she had a tan. She’s near forty now, and she still says it was the best Christmas present she ever got, her trip to Hawaii. And she’s never been farther west than Santa Fe.” She smiled. “I tell you, it can keep you from the brink, magical thinking. When Hank was sick, imagining me drivin’ my rig kept us both smiling. After he died, the grief made me buggy enough to give it a try. Probably never would’ve otherwise.” She laughed, but then her face grew serious. “You could use a touch of it yourself. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve seen your share of hell on earth. Am I right?”

  “None of your business,” Ray snapped.

  Orpa chortled. “Fair enough. But you’re going to do something for me. You let Pinny have her magical thinking, and maybe you give in to a little of your own. You give me your word that you’ll take Pinny on her quest.”

  “Or?” Ray challenged.

  “Or I’m droppin’ you at the next police station I drive by,” Orpa said. “And that’s a promise.” She nodded toward the back of the cab. “That girl doesn’t need to join ranks with bitterness. The world could do with more of her kind of optimism.” She reached her hand out to Ray. “Is it a deal?”

  Maybe it was Orpa’s stern gaze, or the fact that Ray was too tired to put up a fight. Regardless, she shook Orpa’s hand. “Deal.”

  Orpa nodded and turned on the radio, sitting back in satisfaction. Ray tucked her knees under her, leaning her head against the seat. When she did, the burden of the promise she’d made pressed her from every side with claustrophobia. Her body told her before her mind could fathom it. Damn. She was going to be true to her word. It didn’t make any sense, but then, nothing about her behavior on this trip so far had. Well, this was the last time she was sticking her neck out. No more sorry-ass-puppet-with-a-conscience act for her. Once she took Pinny to the Tree of Lost Soles they’d read about in the newspaper article, and Pinny got the ridiculous shoes, then she’d have to agree to go back to Smokebush without a fight. Ray’d make sure of it.

  She closed her eyes, drifting into that heady place between sleep and waking. She thought over what Orpa had said about magical thinking. Of course, Ray had some magical thinking of her own. It had wriggled into her back when she’d had her pink running shoes. She didn’t think it had survived her scars, until it came back to life again on the day she met Carter. But she didn’t trust it. Not anymore. Magical thinking could do damage if you let it. The night she’d run away, the night of prom, she’d given in to it. It had only been for a few minutes, but that had been enough to break her heart.

  —

  She snuck out of Smokebush half an hour into The Sound of Music movie night. Curfew wasn’t until eleven, and that would give her plenty of time to get to prom and back before Mrs. Danvers checked her room. Even if Nancy or the other girls noticed she was missing, they wouldn’t make a fuss. They hated the running commentaries she made when she actually sat through movies. And smarmy ones that OD’d on lederhosen and singing nuns were prime targets. They’d be relieved to be rid of her for a few hours. Of course, she could’ve told Mrs. Danvers that she wanted to go to prom. Mrs. Danvers would’ve had fits of rapture to rival the Second Coming just thinking about Ray in a dress. There’d have been teasing about crushes, picture taking, fussing over makeup—a horde of ridiculous rituals. Ray wasn’t going to the dance for any of that. No one could know the real reason she was going, so she kept quiet about it.

  She remembered how quickly she’d walked through town that night; how she’d had to pin down her smile inside her cheek before it let loose; how her heart had hummed with anticipation. She’d rounded the corner to the school and faltered, nearly turning back when she saw the other kids. The girls were on the arms of their dates, strutting about in their dresses, lip-glossed, life-size cream puffs. The guys squared their shoulders, their hopes for getting lucky pasted in their cocky smiles. There was Careena, giggling with Meg and kissing her boyfriend, Graydon. Travis Ross, scouting out his next conquest.

  Ray didn’t see Pinny, but she knew she was in the crowd. She’d been gushing about prom for weeks, and she’d even gotten Mrs. Danvers to hand-make a purple sequined dress to match her Keds. Ray seriously hoped she didn’t run into her. The last thing she needed was Pinny announcing to everyone at Smokebush that Ray had gone to prom. Ray would never live it down.

  Once Careena and the others were safely inside, she headed for the second-floor girls’ bathroom, the one farthest from the gym, where she would be least likely to be seen. She smoothed her spiky hair into a girlish pixie style and, in one of the stalls, slipped out of her jeans and faded tee. Then she pulled the dress and shoes from the bag where they’d been hidden, waiting, since the day she’d taken them. The red satin sighed as it glided buttery over her skin. She saved the shoes for last, holding her breath as she stepped into them, bracing for the pain. But just like at the Pennypinch, the shoes melted onto her feet, and suddenly, she was standing in a field of feathers.

  She left the bathroom stall and turned toward the mirror, expecting to see a dolled-up freak. A wide-eyed, dark-haired girl stared back, a girl with a delicate cinched waist and slender shoulders. She was completely foreign to Ray, surprising (and not a little frightening) in her prettiness.

  Her body was a coil of spring-loaded nerves, but she saw no sign of it in her reflection. Please don’t…, she pleaded with the mirror. Don’t let it show. With shaking fingers, she grabbed the CD she’d brought with her off the counter. If she was going to go through with this, it had to be now, before panic changed her mind.

  She sucked in her breath and headed down the stairs. When she walked into the gym, it was a moment of raw truth. No one approached her, but heads turned slightly, and there were snorts of laughter. Music blasting from the speakers hummed up from the floor into Ray’s feet, giving her the unsteady sensation of walking on a diving board.

  “I didn’t think she knew what a dress was,” someone stage-whispered. It could’ve been Meg, or maybe Careena, even, as payback for her Queen Careena drawing. She let it go, though. Tonight, nothing mattered except him.

  A new song started, and kids spun back to the dance floor, already forgetting.

  She hadn’t come here to dance anyway, and she certainly hadn’t expected showing up at prom to earn her instant friendships after years as a social pariah. She scanned the room, searching the faces until she saw him. It was only then that she allowed her smile to break free.

  Carter stood near the stage at the other end of the gym, half hidden by massive speakers, playing the part of DJ. He had his laptop open, probably mixing music files for the next few dances.

  She skirted the dance floor until she stood a few feet from him.

&nbs
p; “Didn’t you tell me techno was trash?” she yelled over the music.

  His head snapped up, but blankness crossed his face, as if he had no idea who she was. Then recognition dawned on him. He grinned, and her heart quivered with the pleasure of knowing it was for her.

  “Ray?” He shook his head. “Is that you?”

  “In the flesh,” she said. “Well, minus the grunge.”

  “I see that,” he said. He took in her dress and hair with an approving nod while her cheeks flamed. “Wow, you look good grungeless.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. At midnight I turn back into a rotten pumpkin.” She laughed, but he shook his head.

  “Don’t make it a joke,” he said. “You don’t always have to blow off compliments. You’re worthy.”

  She gripped the stage to steady herself. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. “So…do you think we could go to the music room? There’s something I wanted to show you.”

  Carter tilted his head quizzically, then nodded. “Only for a sec. I have to man my music, and you have some dancing to do. All those guys out there are going to be lining up in a few minutes, you watch.” He hit some keys on his laptop, then followed her out of the gym.

  She blushed again when he held the door to the music room open for her, then reached behind her to flick on the lights.

  “So…,” he said expectantly.

  Ray held up her CD. “I burned this yesterday. It’s my music.” She stared at the floor. “I thought maybe you could…tell me what you think?”

  His eyes widened. “This is legit? Your originals?”

  She nodded. “For your listening pain. Just…do me a favor and try not to hate it, okay?”

  “Hey, remember the first rule of greatness. Even if it’s the worst you’ve ever made, tell the world it’s the best. Delusions can be convincing.” Then he whisked the CD away to the stereo behind his desk.

  “What are you doing?” Ray asked, her stomach plummeting.

  “Playing it, of course,” he said. “You can’t expect me to wait to hear your first solo album. This is history in the making.”

  “No way.” Ray lunged for the stereo, but it was too late. The first notes of “Blue Lightning” echoed through the room.

  “The composition’s rough, and I haven’t got the riff right yet—”

  “Shhh!” Carter held up a finger for silence.

  Ray shifted on her feet, picking the song apart as it played. This was agony. She should never have made the CD for him. The music wasn’t ready. Not even close. It sounded chintzy and contrived. She reached for the STOP button just as Carter faced her, smiling.

  “Your music’s got it,” he said quietly. “It’s the real deal.”

  “You think so?” Her voice was tinny with doubt.

  “I know it.” He stepped closer, and she could smell the spiciness of his aftershave and see the green flecks shooting through the blue of his eyes. “You’re going to do amazing things, Ray Langston.”

  His eyes were open, asking. Exuberant certainty coursed through her. This was why he’d come here with her. Why he stood so close that the sleeve of his shirt brushed her bare shoulder. He’d never treated her like a child, or like a student. He’d always treated her like…an equal. This was his way of telling her that he knew how she felt, of showing her he was okay with it.

  That was when she’d let her magical thinking take over, when she’d tried to let everything she’d dreamt of happening with Carter come true. With her heart pummeling her chest, she closed her eyes and slid her arms around his neck and pulled his face toward hers. She waited for his lips to meet hers. She’d already imagined how their soft warmth would feel against her skin. But he stumbled back, that stricken look she’d forever remember in his eyes. Instead of slipping his hands around her waist, he used them to gently put her arms at her sides.

  “No, Ray,” he said softly, a puzzled apology on his face. “I’m your friend. You know that, kiddo. This can never happen.” He ran a hand through his hair, frowning. “I hope I didn’t do anything to confuse you. I never meant to—”

  “No.” Ray was stumbling out of the room, waving her hands. “No. I was…It was stupid.” Her laugh was strained. Her insides were parched, her eyes filling against her will. She couldn’t look at him; she couldn’t be in the same room with him. He’d seen what an idiot she was. Worse, he’d never thought of her as anything but a kid. A sexless, breastless kid with issues, a pity party to gossip about in the teachers’ lounge.

  “I—I have to go,” she stammered, forcing a smile. “Forget it ever happened. We’re good. Everything’s fine.”

  She fled down the hallway, vaguely registering him calling her name over the roaring in her ears. She blinked to dam up the tears, but a flood towered behind her eyes, ripe to burst. The only way out of the school was the gym; the main doors were locked by now. The gym. Those people gawking at her crumpling face, their tongues wagging about Freak Show Langston. She wouldn’t make it. Gulping air and shaking uncontrollably, she dimly remembered the emergency exit behind the stage at the front of the gym.

  She hurtled through the door into the night air, the torrent pouring out of her in drowning sobs. Running, running, running from the horrible thing that had happened. Running until she got to Smokebush. And by the time she got there, she knew she would have to keep running.

  Like she was running now, in Orpa’s cab, running to New York City. Because no one could know the truth about the horrible thing with Carter, and she could never go back to Jaynis and face him again.

  DALYA

  When the woman walked into the shop on that rain-streaked day in autumn, Dalya knew exactly who she was. She’d seen the wedding announcement in the Times last year, and the same porcelain face that looked beautifully out from that photograph was before her now, although this face was more tentative, less poised.

  “Excuse me.” Her smile carried the same careful measure of grace as her posture. “Are you Dalya Scheller?”

  Dalya might not ever have found her voice through her rattled nerves if her little Inge hadn’t cried out as she spilled her tin of crayons onto the floor. She scooped her up, kissing her tearful face.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered to Inge, then turned to the woman, adding, “Yes, I am Dalya.”

  “Oh, I’ve come to the right place, then.” Her face broke into relief. “I’m glad.” Her gaze swept around the room, taking in the chaos, and grew doubtful.

  “I’m sorry,” Dalya said. “My regular clients know that tidiness means nothing when it comes to quality. For first-time visitors, it can be a shock.”

  “No, it’s charming,” she said. “Really.” As her eyes settled on Inge, she swept a hand across her coat, revealing the telltale belly beneath it. “Your little girl is beautiful.”

  The comment was intended for Inge, and Inge performed accordingly, grinning and tucking her head coyly under Dalya’s chin in five-year-old fashion. “I see you’re expecting one of your own?” Dalya made herself ask.

  “Yes.” She blushed. “It’s a boy, or…I think it is. I can hardly believe it. We didn’t think…we weren’t sure…” Her voice trailed off and she straightened, as if just remembering she was talking to a stranger.

  The woman smiled at her rounded figure, and Dalya instinctively pressed Inge closer, remembering her own wonder when Inge had come. She and Aaron had nearly given up, and she’d worried her body wasn’t able, after what it had been through so long ago. But then life amazed her with its promise, as it had so many times before, and Inge was born pink and perfect.

  “Congratulations,” Dalya said now, surprised by the sincerity in her voice.

  The woman nodded in thanks, extending her hand. “I’m Christina Ashbury.”

  Dalya nodded. The name she’d flung about in her head a thousand times, trying to erase. “How can I help you?”

  “A friend of mine recommended you,” Christina said. “She said you make th
e most remarkable shoes of anyone in Manhattan.”

  “Thank you,” Dalya said. It still filled her with disbelief that she had achieved that reputation in such circles. Of course, it had taken her over twenty years. Twenty years that had begun in poverty with Aaron, scraping pennies together each month to save for the shoe shop it took a decade to afford. Most people would have said she’d earned her recent success. There were mornings, though, when she woke chilled and shaking from a memory, when her life seemed, somehow, mistakenly good. But the more time she spent with Aaron and Inge, the more time she spent making shoes, the fewer frightful memories returned.

  “So,” Christina continued, “I thought if anyone could help, you could….”

  “Help?” A fist squeezed her chest. Inge must have felt it, too, pressed against her as she was, because she squirmed until Dalya set her back on the floor.

  “My husband, Henry, had polio when he was younger. He walks, but with great pain from his braces.” Christina glanced at the floor, her next words cautious, unsure. “I’m afraid it wears on him, and I can’t stand to see him unhappy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dalya said quietly, remembering Henry’s bitterness and desperation on the day she’d left him. After Columbia, he’d gone to work for his father and taken over the firm. She’d heard of his success on Wall Street through casual conversations with clients, and she knew, sadly, that he’d become everything he’d feared and hated about himself.

  Christina’s eyes implored her. “Perhaps…you could make him a special pair of shoes? Something to make him more comfortable?” She pulled a pair of worn boots and braces from her bag. “I brought these for you to use for measurements.” She held them out to her. “Please?”

  Dalya stiffened. She couldn’t. Suppose Aaron found out who they were for? Aaron was so tenderhearted, so patient with her love—a love that had taken years to flower, starting as deep friendship that, only just before Inge arrived, awoke to a surprising but welcome passion. He’d say he understood, but there would be a wound.