But even as these arguments went through her mind, she heard herself answering, “Of course. I’ll try to help him if I can.” She took the boots Christina offered, though she knew she didn’t need them. Even after these many years, she remembered the shape of Henry’s feet, the feel of them in her hands.
After accepting Christina’s repeated thanks and saying goodbye, she set every other order aside to work on Henry’s boots. She didn’t stop, even when Aaron came home from work that night. She excused herself from dinner and locked herself in the shop, working until the street outside grew quiet in the wee hours, then frantic again with a fresh round of rush-hour traffic.
When the boots were finished a few days later, she was prouder of them than of anything else she’d created. They were beautiful leather on the outside, with hidden braces sheathed in shearling on the inside. She had them delivered to the Ashburys’ house so that she wouldn’t have to see Christina again.
She wondered often, after that, if Henry knew who had made his boots. But then, she reminded herself, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that, at last, she’d found a way to help him, by tucking her love for him into a pair of shoes.
RAY
Glorious moments had never been part of her life. In fact, up until now, any moment that had the potential for glory usually ended in a major shitstorm.
But when Ray opened her eyes to a cathedral of skyscrapers haloed by the sun, the glory of it warmed her to her bones. A sudden sequence of climbing chords streamed through her, and she scrambled to write them down. When she closed her notebook, she noticed Orpa, at the steering wheel, watching her and smiling.
“Makes it hard to lose faith in human beings when you see what they can create when they have a mind to, doesn’t it?” she said.
Her skepticism tried to rear its head, but Ray shut it up. The skyline was too fantastic to spoil. She stretched the stiffness from her legs and arms, refusing to take her eyes from the horizon.
They’d been on the road for over a day, stopping every couple of hundred miles for a break. Last night’s midnight break had been five hours long, and Ray had spent half of it pacing at the rest stop while Orpa and Pinny slept in the cab.
“Can’t drive without sleep,” Orpa had explained, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.
Now, finally, here was the city—immense before her, terrifying and enticing. Once it swallowed her up, who would she become? The answer came instantly. Anyone but who she’d been. Anyone…who mattered. She crawled into the back of the cab, where Pinny slept on the bed, her shoe photos scattered around her. Ray’d never seen them up close before, and she picked up a few. Pinny’d written descriptions for each one in large, haphazard letters. Under the orange espadrilles, she’d written: Nina Gonzalez, Joy Full, Bright, Loud. JT’s snakeskin boots: Slimy, Snake Smile, Poison. And there were Ray’s own safety-pinned Reeboks: Ray Langston, Spiky, Hurting. And then in a newer, fresher ink: Sister. Ray grimaced. Nothing like a dose of conscience to ruin her mood. It was totally unfair of Pinny, trusting her. It would only make things harder when Ray had to leave.
She pushed the photos into a pile, then shoved them into Pinny’s backpack. There. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Pinny,” she whispered. “Wake up and look out the window.”
“We’re crossing the Pulaski Skyway. Then we’ll go in through the Holland Tunnel,” Orpa said. “We should be in Manhattan in about twenty minutes.”
Pinny sat up, rubbing her eyes, then climbed up front and leaned over Ray’s shoulder. “I knew it. It’s so beautiful,” she said. “Anyplace Mama lives has to be beautiful.”
Orpa glanced at Ray, and Ray shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking away. It was all Pinny had talked about since Nashville, as if the closer they got to New York, the tighter she needed to cling to this fantasy city of her mama’s. It might’ve been nervousness, but Ray wondered if it was really doubt. How would Pinny handle the truth when it came? When no Mama magically appeared?
It was simple. Pinny would have to learn to cope, like everyone else who’d had disappointments. There’d be no way to cushion the blow.
“Well,” Orpa said, “I have to unload at South Street downtown.” Worry creased her forehead. “The sun will set soon. I wish I could drop you girls off after. I hate to think of you wanderin’ around at night in the city. But I’m already behind schedule.”
“We’ll be fine,” Ray said.
Pinny nodded, her downy bangs fluffing with her bobbing head. “Mama’s shoes will make everything all right.” She grinned.
Orpa’s lips thinned. “I’m not going to stand in the way of you girls and your quest.” She shook her head. “It’s the worried mother in me, but I wish I knew for sure you’d be okay. This running-away business is risky.”
“I’m not running away,” Pinny said simply. “I’m coming home.”
Orpa smiled at Pinny, then handed Ray a slip of paper with a number scrawled across it. “Y’all keep my number in case. Call me if things go topsy-turvy on you.”
Ray tucked the paper into her pocket, avoiding Orpa’s demanding stare. Its message was crystal clear: Keep Pinny safe. And Ray was going to try, at least until they found the shoes. But then what?
She couldn’t call Smokebush herself. Once Mrs. Danvers found out where she was, she’d force her to come back, or get Sheriff Wane to. And maybe Mrs. Danvers would be sick enough of her to give her to juvie this time. No, maybe she could take Pinny to a hospital, or a shelter, somewhere she could leave her without having to give herself away. Or, she could call Orpa. But then Orpa might force her to go back to Smokebush with Pinny.
Ray sighed. Three days ago, when she’d left Smokebush, she’d never banked on these complications. But by tomorrow morning, they’d be over. She’d help Pinny get the silly shoes tonight. She’d find some way to get Pinny back to Texas, and then she’d be free. Free in New York City, with a diamond ring to buy herself a new life.
She turned toward the window again, focusing on that sleek skyline floating over the sparkling Hudson. A place to lose the memory of the toxic version of herself. A place…for becoming.
—
“Only one more block,” Ray said as Pinny clenched her teeth through another step. Pinny’s hair stuck to her forehead, and she’d stopped talking a half hour ago. The pink shoes had been hurting Pinny’s feet since Nashville, and today she’d walked half the length of Manhattan in them. Orpa’s gum was holding, but the heel of the right shoe was wobbly and made the going even slower. Still, ever since they’d said goodbye to Orpa on South Street, they’d been making their way uptown, block after block. They’d stopped a few times, once at Union Square, and then to look in the windows of Saks and rest for an hour on a bench in Central Park. But other than that, they’d kept walking, with Pinny as determined as ever to make it to her mama’s shoes.
Now Pinny was hobbling. Ray stopped, putting an awkward arm around her. “Lean on me,” she said. “Better?”
Pinny nodded, and together they limped the last few steps, until Ray whispered, “Pinny, look up. We’re here.”
Ninety-Second and Amsterdam, the address they’d found in the article about the Tree of Lost Soles. Ray peered into the darkened shopwindow full of shoes. Luminous in the auburn glow of the streetlight, the shoes in the Art of Heeling had a haunting splendor.
Pinny held up the crumpled newspaper article, studying the photo, then the brownstone in front of them. Her brow furrowed.
“Where’s the tree?” She brought the clipping closer to her face. “There’s no shoe shop in this picture!” she cried indignantly.
“The tree’s here somewhere,” Ray said. “We’ll find it.”
Pinny sank onto the curb, slid off the pink shoes, and winced as she inspected her feet under the streetlight. Angry blisters climbed her heels and toes, her feet two giant red welts.
“Oh man,” Ray whispered. Her own feet were throbbing, too, but she was used to the pain. “You should’ve let m
e nab somebody’s wallet. Then we could’ve taken a cab, or at least the subway.”
“No,” Pinny said scoldingly. “You don’t do things like that.”
“Right.” Ray laughed inwardly. She was a saint on a search for magic shoes. Why not?
“Besides,” Pinny said. “It was fun seeing the city.”
Ray couldn’t argue with that. She’d already fallen in love, like she knew she would. Every block they’d walked had its own eccentric melody. The subway pulsed deep under the streets, pumping people out of its tunnels at a frantic pace. The people scurried on the sidewalks, their footsteps and voices swooping and diving over the treble and bass clefs in chaotic notes. Ray wanted nothing more than to sit in the middle of the song to catch each note on her guitar, to make the city’s rhythm her own. But she didn’t. Not yet.
Instead, she brought Pinny here. It was insanity. She’d traveled fifteen hundred miles with a girl on a quest to rescue a pair of shoes from a tree. Even crazier, she was actually going to help her get them!
Now she stepped back on the sidewalk, looking more carefully at the storefront. Her eyes settled on the iron gate alongside the building.
“Come on,” she whispered to Pinny, easing the gate open and stepping into the narrow alleyway between the store and the building next to it. But Pinny hung back.
“I’m scared.” Her voice was barely there. “What if…nothing happens? What if…there is no More?” Every trace of her stubbornness was gone. Her face was open, breakable, waiting for reassurance.
Ray floundered. Everyone lied in moments like this. It’s going to be okay. Don’t worry. It won’t hurt. When you were left, scraping yourself off the ground, bleeding and broken, the lies hurt less than the betrayal of the person who told them. Finally, Ray said the two words that, in this moment, however short-lived, were undeniably true. “I’m here.”
Pinny heaved a shaky breath and moved to Ray’s side. “I’m ready.”
Ray slid through the shadows, feeling the tug on the back of her shirt of Pinny’s hand holding tight. The alley ended with trash cans butted up against a high wall, but before that, it opened to the left to reveal a tiny patch of grass, only big enough for two folding chairs. The rest of the space was taken up by a tree. Looking enormous in the shrunken space, the maple tree rose, hearty and rambling, to the third story of the building. Shoes decorated every branch like ornaments, hundreds of them swaying in the breeze in a medley of colors, shapes, and sizes.
“I’ve never seen so many shoes in my life,” Pinny whispered. “They’re so beautiful.”
But they weren’t, at least not from what Ray could see. Some had holey soles peeling back from the toes; others had broken heels bent at awkward angles. Most of them had a dejected look, as if the fact that they weren’t on someone’s feet was cause for sadness.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s find these shoes.”
She looked from the photo Pinny was holding to the tree, until finally she saw the silver stilettos dangling from one of the uppermost branches. At the exact same moment, Pinny gave a joyful cry and pointed.
“There they are! They’re just how I remember!”
Ray nodded, staring. She had to admit, it was surprising, seeing them outside the newspaper photo. They were real, substantial. Maybe that would be enough for Pinny, even if they weren’t actually her mama’s. “Of course they’d have to be at the top,” she muttered. She dropped her duffel and guitar to the ground. “You keep an eye out to make sure no one comes. I’ll get the shoes.”
She set one of the lawn chairs under the lowest, sturdiest-looking branch, then stood on it to hoist herself up. She shinnied up the tree trunk and pulled herself to a standing position, climbing the stronger branches like steps on a ladder. The branches were so thick with leaves that it was impossible to see, so she felt her way over the rough bark, giving each branch a shake with her hands before she tried her full weight on it. After ten minutes of weaving through branches, ducking swinging sneakers and pumps, she reached the right branch.
There they were, perched like a glittering, misfit bird atop an umbrella of leaves. Ray flattened her belly against the branch and scooted forward, stretching her fingers toward the shoes. They were still out of reach. She slid out another inch until her fingers touched a cool pleather strap. Her hands closed around the stilettos just as the branch snapped. Then she was falling through the sky clinging to a pair of shoes, absurdly praying they would save her.
DALYA
Dalya sat at her worktable with Kathryn Rosenbak’s shoe resting in her lap. She’d tilted her lamp as close as she dared over the shoe, but her eyes were tight and tired from squinting. Her vision wasn’t what it used to be, and neither were her hands. The rust of age was niggling its way into her joints. She didn’t mind too much. It took her longer to make shoes these days, but she had her steady stream of customers. Better to have lived long enough to rust at all, she always thought.
No matter how brittle her bones became, she’d never give up shoemaking. She’d work until she died in this shop, surrounded by the tools she loved, the shoes she’d poured herself into. She couldn’t ask for a better way to go. Besides, she’d already died once on a long-ago night in Berlin. The second time could only be better.
She straightened her back, glancing at the clock on the wall. Half past midnight.
She never stayed up late like this anymore. Not when she woke every day well before dawn. Old age, she mused, liked fiddling with her rest. Or, maybe it was her body, rebelling against sleep because it knew there was an eternity of it coming quickly her way. Either way, if she stayed up much longer, there’d be no point going to bed.
But there was something about tonight, an anticipation vibrating the air and quickening her pulse. A warm, sweet sensation swept through her at intervals, like the feeling she got when she thought of her Aaron, gone five years already. It was the feeling of remembering something lovely. And suddenly, for no logical reason, she knew she wouldn’t go to bed, that whatever was coming was much too important to miss for something as ordinary as sleep.
So here she sat, sewing peacock feathers to the ankle strap of Kathryn Rosenbak’s shoe as a way to ward off her growing impatience. Kathryn had ordered them for a black-tie fund-raiser at the Met, and she’d be picking them up tomorrow afternoon. She bent closer to the vermilion heel, wrestling with the feathers, and then she heard the scream.
RAY
The scream tore out of her when she hit the grass, but after that she couldn’t make a sound. She had no breath. Pain whipped it away from her, surging from the ground into her skin, wrenching her right arm and hand in a searing heat.
She writhed and choked while Pinny knelt next to her, her hands fretting, afraid to land anywhere.
“Ray,” Pinny whimpered. “Are you hurt? Where? Tell me.”
But she couldn’t, not even when she finally sucked a shallow breath into her lungs. That was when she saw the Payless label across the bottom of the sandals she was holding, and a blinding madness took over. Her arm and hand were broken, lying twisted unnaturally in the grass. Her picking hand…her playing hand. The hand that was going to give her a shot at surviving in this city. In the darkness, clutching her howling arm, she had nothing left but rage. Rage at a world that stole her belief in impossible things, and rage at Pinny for still believing. She wanted to rob Pinny, the way she’d been robbed of her winged pink Converse sneakers, the way she’d been robbed of Carter and, now, of her music, too.
“Ray,” Pinny was saying, “are you okay? What can I do? What can I do?”
“Get…out…of…my…life,” Ray spat, throwing the sandals toward Pinny. “Take your cheap shoes and leave me alone.”
Pinny shook her head, worry turning to confusion on her face. She whisked up the shoes, hugging them to her heart. “Mama wasn’t cheap,” she said.
“Your mama,” Ray whispered, “is dead. Mrs. Danvers knew it, I knew it, everyone in Jaynis knew it. She’s dead! No pair of Pay
less specials is bringing her back.”
She wanted it to splinter Pinny the way she’d been splintered so many times before. No person should be allowed to hope for the magic Pinny hoped for and have it come true. Life sucked, and the sooner Pinny realized that and got back to Jaynis, the better off she’d be.
But when Pinny’s face broke into a thousand shards of sadness and tears, Ray had to look away.
Pain settled in a blanket over her, and the world beyond withdrew. She wasn’t aware of the shift in the air around her when Pinny’s sobs faded. Or of the approaching footsteps. An old woman’s face, framed by thick silver hair, floated into her fog.
“What are you doing back here?” the face asked, hovering over her.
Ray’s heart rammed her throat. Pinny was gone, and Ray was looking into this woman’s ancient, perplexed eyes. “I did a terrible thing,” she said, and then, finally, she gave in to the tears.
She didn’t want to be here, under the cold, glaring lights in the ER.
“We’re wasting time,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
She had to find Pinny before she got lost among the blaring horns and asphalt, before some ass like JT got hold of her and, this time, didn’t let go. She slid off the exam table, then buckled at the fresh eruption of pain.
“Please,” the woman said, easing Ray back onto the table, “you’ll only hurt yourself more.”
“I don’t care,” Ray said, turning her face to hide her wincing. The woman said her name was Dalya, and she’d insisted on staying with her despite Ray’s repeated arguments to be left alone. There was a gentleness to Dalya’s face, but her keen eyes didn’t miss anything. They stayed on Ray constantly, taking note of every expression crossing Ray’s face, every movement she made.
“Are you sure there’s no one I can call for you?” she asked again. “Your family will be worried—”
Serendipity's Footsteps Page 22
