“Trading? Like how you wanted to trade stories with me?”
“A little. It’s more like you give up something small that someone needs for something better that someone else wants. If you keep things circulating, eventually you’ll get what you want. Take and trade. Trade and transfer.” He turned left at the corner, and Sara stayed in step with him.
“And that’s how you get what you want?”
A muscle moved in his jaw. “You’ve got to keep moving. Stagnation kills.”
“Profound,” Sara said with a raised eyebrow.
“Truth,” he said again. He stepped around a man with a briefcase and fell back into step with Sara. “We made a bet—me and Jess. She bet me that I couldn’t bring back her heart’s desire if all I could use to trade was a sugar packet.”
“And you knew the tickets were her heart’s desire.”
“I knew Donovan was her heart’s desire. The tickets were just an excuse to get them together.”
Sara tilted her head. “But you could have done anything, then. Movie tickets would have been just as good. It didn’t have to be front-row seats to her favorite play.”
“You’re right—it didn’t have to be,” he agreed lightly.
Her green eyes filled with light—and admiration. “Show me.”
“What?”
She tilted her head the other direction. “Show me how you trade. Jess gave you all those sugar packets. Trade one for me.”
A smile hovered around Sam’s mouth. “Okay. What do you want?”
Sara started to shrug, but Sam held up his hand.
“Don’t say you don’t know.”
“I wasn’t—” she started.
Sam ignored the lie he saw on her face. “I can’t trade without knowing what’s at stake.”
“I thought the important thing was to keep things moving.” Sara waved her hands in small circles in front of her as though stirring the air into action.
Sam shook his head. “If you don’t know what you want, you’ll never get it. What’s more, if you don’t know what you want, you’ll never know when you do get it.” He reached into his bag and withdrew a packet. He offered it to her on the palm of his hand. “So, Sara without an h, tell me—what do you want?”
Sara looked from Sam’s hand to his eyes and back again. Then she carefully took the sugar packet, turning the small square over and over in her fingers. She was quiet for a few steps. A bike messenger zipped past in the narrow space between sidewalk and street, his bell chiming a shrill warning. A few high clouds skidded across the sun, casting dappled shadows over the trees. Sam and Sara walked past the open door of a German deli, the distinct scent of mustard and bratwurst billowing out in a cloud around them.
“There are lots of things that I want.” Her eyes stayed focused on the packet, and her voice sounded softer than he’d expected.
He looked at her sharply; he hadn’t meant to strike a nerve—at least not one so clearly close to the heart.
He brushed his hand against her wrist. When she looked up at him, he said gently, “Well, then, pick just one, and let’s see where it takes us.”
Chapter 11
Sara
I couldn’t pick just one.
The moment I’d touched the sugar packet, a thousand thoughts cascaded through my mind.
I want to go shopping in Times Square.
I want to go to the top of the Empire State Building.
I want Dad to finish his meetings and come see the city with me.
I want to travel to Paris.
I want to fall in love so hard it makes me cry.
I want . . .
I shook my head. Sam didn’t know what he was asking. How could this small pink square of processed sugar be transformed into my heart’s desire?
I want Mom to come home.
But I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t tell anyone that. Because it wasn’t true, I told my heart. That wasn’t what I wanted. Mom had left. She had made her choice, and she hadn’t looked back.
Now that I’d thought about it, though, I couldn’t not remember. The late-night fights, followed by mornings of frosty silence. Then, one night, anger filled the kitchen like buzzing flies circling a corpse.
I was only eight, so I didn’t understand everything Mom and Dad had said to each other; I didn’t understand the significance of the suitcase by the door. Even when she crouched down to where I sat hidden beneath the kitchen table, my stuffed dog clutched to my chest, and said, “I’ll talk to you soon, sweetie, okay?” I didn’t really understand what was happening.
It wasn’t until she was at the door, her suitcase in hand, that I finally understood.
It wasn’t until she said good-bye that I started to cry.
I closed my hand in a fist around the sugar packet. No. Not today.
“I want to see the Giants play,” I said, blurting out the first thing I could think of. My chin jutted out in a challenge.
Sam blinked. “The Giants?”
“They’re famous, right? And they play in New York. We’re in New York. So let’s go see them play.”
“It’s not that easy—”
“Why not? I thought you could get anything you wanted.”
Sam scratched the underside of his jaw. “I can, it’s just—”
“What? It’s just—what?” A hard knot of emotion lodged in my throat. I tried to swallow around it. I didn’t want to be so aggressively unlikable. I could hear my dad’s voice in my head: Now, Sara, be nice. I was a nice person—most of the time. I hated that the mere thought of my mom could make me feel like this.
And Sam had been nothing but nice to me today even when he didn’t have to be. I knew I shouldn’t be taking it out on him, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
He looked at me with those dark brown eyes, surprisingly serene—and perhaps a little sympathetic—and hooked his thumb beneath the strap of his messenger bag that crossed his chest. “Somehow I don’t think going to a football game is what you really want.”
“You don’t know that. I could be a big football fan,” I snapped back.
“That’s true. But if so, then you’d know that the Giants aren’t playing right now. It’s May. Preseason games don’t start until August.” He hesitated, then added, “And, technically the Giants don’t play in New York; their stadium is in New Jersey.”
“Oh.” I felt as though a trapdoor had opened up beneath my feet. All my hot anger fell through, leaving behind a blush of embarrassment.
Sam was kind enough not to laugh.
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t still try to see them play,” he said.
“How?”
“I don’t know. But I know how to start.” He stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk and reached for my hand that was still curled around the sugar packet. “Step one: trade this for something better.”
Opening my hand, I saw that the paper had been crinkled and creased from the force of my fist. “Who’s going to want a slightly sweaty sugar packet?”
“Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t?” Sam grinned, and I couldn’t help but feel a smile coming on.
“Gotta keep things moving, right? Stagnation kills.”
His grin tightened a little on his face. He closed my fingers around the packet again. “You hold on to this. Never know when it’ll be time for a trade.”
I stashed the sugar packet in my bag next to my camera. Another red double-decker bus rumbled past us, spewing exhaust. Without warning, I remembered seeing my mom’s shoes turn away from me. They had been the same dark-red color as the bus. There had been a small scuff on the left heel. And the sound they had made—a crisp snap, like a twig breaking in two. I shuddered.
No.
I took a deep breath and brushed my hair away from my face. I had promised myself I wasn’t going to let my mom ruin my day. I closed the door on those memories and forced myself back to the present.
“You said we were going to a church?” I slipped my sunglasses
over my eyes, even though we were partially in the shade. Sam was much too observant for his own good, and I didn’t want to take the risk that he would see something he shouldn’t in my eyes.
“St. John’s.” Sam pointed. “It’s just up the street.”
“Then what are we waiting for? We’ve got a job to do.”
“A job?”
“For Piper,” I reminded him. “We have to find something amazing that she can hang above her fireplace—or else.”
“Oh, I know. I’m well aware of the ‘or else.’ It’s just that calling it a job makes it sound so . . . boring. A job is something you do every day—at least, it’s something I do every day—and I’m not sure what we are doing is an everyday sort of thing.”
“What would you call it, then?”
He drummed his fingers against his leg in thought. “An assignment?”
I made a face. “Sounds too much like homework.”
“A threat?”
“That makes it sound too dangerous.”
Sam shrugged lightly. “Then it’s gotta be a quest.”
“What?” I laughed. “We’re not on a quest.”
“Aren’t we? A dashing hero”—Sam pointed at his chest—“and a beautiful girl”—he pointed at me; I blushed—“are looking for the one object that will appease the wicked queen and save us all.”
“Piper,” I said with distaste.
“Exactly.”
“She is rather wicked,” I allowed. “But a quest? I don’t know—it sounds so . . . silly.”
“That’s because you’re thinking of dragons and magic and elves—”
“Oh, my!” I chimed in and was rewarded with a smile from Sam. His smiles were beautiful. They added just the right amount of curve to his mouth. And they had just the smallest hint of unexplained sadness that kept them interesting.
“But a quest can be for anything—knowledge, love, a ham sandwich—not just a dragon’s lair or a magical ring.”
“Though I suppose you know where we can find one of those, don’t you?” I teased.
“A magical ring? Maybe,” he replied. “This is New York. You can find anything here.”
“Hmm, while a magical ring might qualify as ‘unexpected and bold,’ Piper also said ‘no fakes,’ so it would have to be a real magical ring, and that might be tricky.”
“True. And unless it was a hot pink magical ring, I doubt it would match her décor.”
I laughed again. “So rings are out—”
“Magical rings.”
“—magical rings are out. Dragons, too, probably.” I sighed melodramatically. “I guess we’ll just have to find something else to quest for. You mentioned something about a ham sandwich . . . ?”
His smile flashed bright. “So you agree with me. We are on a quest.”
All my earlier dark thoughts had fled from the force of Sam’s cheerfulness. Everything around me seemed brighter; everything inside me felt lighter. I looked up at Sam, noting the line of his jaw and the way his hair curled a little around his ears. I caught a glimpse of a silver chain around his neck, the thin metal disappearing beneath his shirt. When he ran his thumb along the underside of the strap again, I wondered what else he had in his messenger bag.
I had never met anyone like Sam before. I thought he was beyond interesting, and he seemed to offer more questions than he answered. I felt a small bubble of happiness start to swell inside my chest.
“Yes,” I said after a moment. “I suppose we are.”
Chapter 12
Sam
The doors to St. John’s Cathedral were tall and imposing. The dark bronze appeared almost black against the carved stone panels flanking the doors. Statues of people and stories from the Bible decorated the walls and the doors. Sam recognized only a couple of them—mostly the ones from the New Testament—but he could appreciate the artistry and the work that had gone into them. He especially liked the angels that seemed to soar high above.
Sara leaned so far back, her eyes following the rise of the spires, that, for a moment, Sam worried she might fall over.
“Wow,” she breathed. “This is amazing.”
“You don’t have cathedrals like this where you live?”
She shook her head, her mouth open slightly as she tilted her head even farther back.
“And where is that, exactly?” he asked, fishing for information. “I don’t remember . . .”
“That’s because I didn’t say,” Sara replied. She walked up the last few steps, brushing past him on her way to the doors.
“Are you ever going to tell me?” he asked.
She paused on the threshold of the doorway and looked back over her shoulder. “Maybe,” she said, a daring edge to her smile.
Sam chose to hear the word as a promise instead of an evasion. There had been a moment—right before she’d hidden behind her sunglasses—when he thought he had caught a glimpse of something unexpected. A deeply hidden pain. Raw anger. And maybe a little fear. Perhaps his first impression of her had been accurate. Perhaps they were kindred spirits after all.
There were layers to her that made her intriguing because beneath those layers of emotions, Sam sensed a core of strength in her. He appreciated that. Most people would have delivered the book to Piper and then walked away from her outlandish demand with a simple, Not my problem attitude. Not Sara. Even after he had pointed that out to her, she had accepted the quest, and Sam suspected if anyone could see it through to the end, it would be her.
He followed her into the church, trying to remember if he had ever been as brave as Sara seemed to be. Maybe. Once. Not anymore, though.
Sara hadn’t gone far. She stood just inside the doorway, her face lifted toward the high, arched ceilings. “Oh, wow,” she said again. She slid her glasses back up onto her head, her face peaceful.
The afternoon light filtered through the stained-glass panels on the walls and touched the floor with color. The rich sounds of organ music filled the church. Deep bass notes rumbled through the air, followed by a flurry of ever-increasing notes that traveled all the way up the scales to a piercingly high soprano pitch. Sam had been gambling that Daniel would be on the bench this afternoon. Sounded like he was right. That was good. But Sam knew they’d have to hurry if they wanted to talk to him before he left for the day.
Sam touched Sara’s shoulder and gestured for her to follow him.
They each dropped a few dollars into the donation box—the volunteer thanked Sam by name—and then they walked down the long aisle toward the nave. Tall, arched alcoves lined the aisle on either side. Sara pulled out her camera and looped the strap around her wrist. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to take a few pictures, but Sam tugged on her sleeve and quickened his pace. He wished they could take their time and really explore the church, give Sara the time she wanted to frame up some amazing pictures, but from the sound of the music filling the room, Daniel was almost done with his organ recital.
They reached the choir seats and Sam glanced up into the loft where the organist sat. A group of people stood together in a small cluster, watching Daniel play the final measures of music.
Sara sat in one of the empty chairs facing the loft, her eyes closed, basking in the echoing sound of the organ.
Daniel struck the final, thundering chord. The note held for a moment, then slowly faded away. The smattering of applause sounded weak and small in its wake. Daniel stood up from the bench and shook hands with each member of the tour group who had been watching him, then turned and stretched, lifting his arms high above his shaved head.
Sam raised his hand, waving to catch Daniel’s attention. “Not bad—for a beginner,” he called up in a loud whisper.
Daniel leaned his elbows on the railing. His dark skin looked even darker against the pale white marble of the balustrade. “Beginner?” he scoffed. “Nah, I earned my place here, my man.”
“Have a minute?”
“Always. Gimme a sec; I’ll be right down.”
; Sam joined Sara on the front row, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his long legs.
“So, do you like it here?”
She nodded. “It’s so beautiful. And . . . quiet.”
Sam chuckled. “You didn’t appreciate the music?”
“No, it’s not that. Honest. It’s just . . . this place makes me feel quiet. On the inside.”
“I know what you mean. An inside quiet can be a good thing.” Sam absently reached for the silver chain around his neck and felt the familiar shape of the dog tags and the token that he wore beneath his shirt. As soon as he realized what he was doing, though, he dropped his hand. He hoped Sara hadn’t noticed; he didn’t want to invite too many questions. Or conjure up unwanted memories.
“You must come here a lot,” she said. “I mean, it seems like the people know you here. The lady at the donation box. The organist.”
“Oh, lots of people know me,” he said, but he made sure to keep his tone light. He didn’t want Sara to think he was bragging. “But I do love this place. When I first got to New York, I would come here at least once a week.”
“So you must be pretty religious, then, right?”
Sam swallowed. So much for keeping his memories quiet. He hadn’t meant to let the conversation take such a personal turn. Especially not here. He would have to be more careful.
Daniel emerged from one of the archways and jogged softly toward the choir seats.
“Hang on a sec.” Sam stood up, grateful for the interruption, and met Daniel partway, knocking knuckles and then slapping his back in greeting.
“Good to see you, Sam, my man. What’s on the agenda for today?”
“Sara and I are on a quest for a rather particular client.” He gestured at Sara, who sat a few feet away. She offered a small wave, then pulled one leg onto the seat with her, wrapping her arms around her bent knee.
Daniel leaned back on his heels and whistled, low, between his teeth. “You subcontracting your subcontracts now?”
Sam shook his head. “Not exactly. This is an unusually tricky job, and I’m helping out to make sure everyone wins.”