He followed the different paths in the pictures to the different destinations, wondering if his life had always had so many options and if he had simply been blind to them until now. He couldn’t help but notice how many of the pathways ended up with a picture of Sara.
The buzz from Sara’s phone sounded loud in the quiet room.
She had left her bag next to the framed picture on the table. A black box with a white ribbon had been shoved inside, and her phone was balanced on the lip of the bag, threatening to fall out.
Sam snagged it and checked the incoming text. As he suspected, it was from her dad.
Sara? Where are you?
Sam could sense the worry and fear in those four words. Then he noticed that the same message had been sent every ten minutes since five o’clock.
He had promised Sara’s dad that he would bring her home. It was time to make good on his word. Part of him felt guilty using Sara’s phone without her permission, but he couldn’t let her dad worry in the dark forever.
Hey. This is Sam. We’re at my friend’s place in SoHo. On our way to TS soon. Need to make one stop first, OK?
The reply appeared so fast Sam knew Sara’s dad must have been waiting by the phone.
Sara’s okay? She’s safe?
Yes.
She’s coming home?
Yes.
When?
Soon.
Sam didn’t want to commit to a time. He wasn’t sure how long it would take to arrange a meeting with Piper.
Sam expected another instant question, but when there was a slight delay, he wondered if Sara’s dad had said all he was going to say. Then the next text appeared, and Sam understood the hesitation.
Has she forgiven me?
Now it was Sam’s turn to hesitate. He didn’t know the answer and he didn’t dare bluff and say yes, even though he knew that was what Sara’s dad wanted to hear.
His thumb hovered over the keypad, then he quickly typed the safest message he could manage.
We’ll be there soon.
There was another pause, then two more texts in quick succession.
Okay.
But our flight leaves at noon.
Sam blew out his breath. That changed things. JFK was always busy—figure two hours at the airport, plus at least an hour to get there. Add in the time it would take to get from SoHo to Times Square—twenty minutes; no, better make it thirty—and that left approximately two and a half hours to meet up with Piper at the Plaza and get Sara back to her hotel with enough time to make her flight with her dad.
And that was assuming they left right now.
Sam glanced over his shoulder. Sara stirred in her sleep, her hand rubbing at her nose.
He didn’t want to wake her—she’d been up all night—but it looked like he didn’t have much choice. The familiar demand for urgency stirred inside him, erasing any lingering weariness he felt.
Got it,
he texted, then set the phone back in Sara’s bag.
Even though he was acutely aware of the time slipping away, he couldn’t help but spend a few minutes studying Sara’s picture. He’d never seen anything quite like it. He supposed it was possible that Sara had saved the file on Vanessa’s computer, but even if she printed out another copy, it wouldn’t be the same. It would be close, but it wouldn’t have the green leaves, the red beads, the white feather. It wouldn’t have Sara’s fingerprints—literally—on the canvas. It wouldn’t be infused with her memories or her life the way this one was.
He brushed his fingers over the last picture he’d taken—the one of the two of them together—then traced the path back to the center picture, the one of him outside the bookstore.
As he leaned over the table, his silver chain slipped free and swung from his neck. The rising sunlight caught the flat surface of the engraved dog tags and made them shine. He caught them in his hand and ran his thumb over the names. He had worn them for so long as his own private burden of guilt and secret shame. But Sara had taught him that letting go was sometimes as important as holding on.
With a swift pull, he yanked on the chain, feeling it snap. The ends slithered free. He separated the tags from the St. Christopher medallion and weighed them in his palm, considering his options, choosing the path he wanted to take.
Reaching for his messenger bag, he placed the tags into a small zippered pocket so he wouldn’t lose them. Letting go didn’t mean throwing away, after all.
Glancing back at Sara, still sleeping, he rolled the circular medallion between his fingers, thinking deeper, longer. Then, reaching for the half-empty bottle of glue that stood by the picture, he added the token of St. Christopher to a small white spot next to the center picture, pressing down hard to make sure it wouldn’t slip or fall off.
He liked how it looked. What’s more, he liked how it made him feel.
Chapter 39
Sara
“I can’t believe you did that,” I said, tracing the medallion with my finger.
The taxi slowed for a red light, and Sam reached out to brace himself against the front seat.
“I can’t believe you did everything else,” he said. “I’m amazed you finished it all in one night.”
I yawned. “Don’t remind me. I’m still tired.”
“You can sleep on the plane.”
My yawn turned into a grimace. “Again—don’t remind me.”
I had woken to the sound of Sam’s voice saying my name. Even though I had been groggy with sleep,
that
was a memory I would never forget. He had barely given me time to open my eyes before he’d dumped a ton of information on me, the bottom line of which was that if I wanted to see Piper before my plane left for home, I had to get up and get moving. Now.
I wasn’t ready to leave New York; there was still so much I wanted to see and do. And part of me wanted to see and do it all with Sam, even though I knew that was impossible.
I told him about the picture and how I wanted to give it to Piper—and why. To his credit, he took the information in stride and didn’t protest my decision.
Sam told me he’d texted my dad, which, once I got over my initial wave of anger, I realized was actually a really nice thing to do. But it didn’t make the thought of seeing him again any easier to stomach. We’d said terrible things to each other. I had run from him; he had let me go. I hadn’t called him, or texted him, or even really thought about him since Sam and I had left Top of the Rock.I knew I needed to apologize for leaving him, but I didn’t know if Dad would forgive me. I didn’t know if I could forgive myself.
While I hurried through breakfast—half a glass of juice and a few bites of a granola bar—I saw Vanessa press some bills into Sam’s hand. She had insisted on paying for the taxi—again. I hoped Sam could convince her to accept something in trade for all the help she had given us. She deserved something wonderful, like diamonds, or a building named after her.
Before we ran out the door, picture in hand, Vanessa stopped us long enough to give us each a hug. In my ear, she whispered, “Always listen to the muses, sugar. They will never lead you astray.”
“I will. Thank you,” I said, squeezing her back.
Then we were off. Down the stairs, to the street, and into a taxi that would whisk us uptown to the Plaza Hotel and the completion of our quest.
The driver maneuvered past a bus with barely an inch to spare. I shuddered at the close call; one day was not enough time to get used to driving in New York.
I touched the medallion again and shook my head. “This was your grandfather’s,” I said, awed. “I know you said you’d trade it if the right thing came along, but I’m giving this to Piper. I can’t just take your medallion and give it away.”
“Yes, you can,” Sam said. “This isn’t a trade. It’s a gift. And that’s what you do with gifts—you give them away.”
I thought of the mask Vanessa had given me as a gift, tucked away in my bag, the eyes opened wide like it was my own personal muse that could watch over me.
For all that we were in a rush, he seemed perfectly relaxed. He leaned back against the seat, and, for once, his fingers were motionless on his knee. No endless tapping. No restless energy pouring off him in waves. The calmness suited him, I decided.
“Besides,” he said, touching the silver circle with one finger, “St. Christopher watched over both of us yesterday. It’s only fair he have a place of honor recognizing his contribution.”
I smiled. “He did bring us some good luck.”
“Only the best.”
The taxi pulled up in front of the Plaza Hotel. The building looked the same as it had yesterday—a beautiful gray exterior with flags hung at an angle above the front doors. Today, though, I knew what—and who—was inside. I could only hope that this time we would have a different ending to our meeting with Piper.
Sam paid the fare, and we headed into the lobby. I carried the framed print with both hands.
“How are we going to get in to see Piper?” I asked. “Without Will to buzz us through, I mean.”
Sam smiled. “I have a plan.”
Whereas yesterday we’d sidestepped to Will’s station, today Sam strode directly up to the front desk.
“Sara Nolan to see Piper Kinkade, please,” he announced to the uniformed employee. “That’s Sara without the
h,
” he added in a mock-whisper, as though that detail would make a difference.
I tried to keep my surprise in check and still look official at the same time. This was Sam’s big plan? Did he really think this was going to work?
The employee checked a clipboard, flipping pages and swallowing hard. “Um, there’s no one on the list by that name. So—”
Sam leaned his elbows on the desk and gestured for the clerk to come closer. “You’re new here, aren’t you”—Sam squinted at the gold name tag—“Harold?”
Harold’s nervous glance darted right then left as though he were afraid of being identified as the new guy. “May I . . . uh, may I ask what your business is with Ms. Kinkade?”
“Let me give you a bit of advice, Harold.” Sam’s smile was charming and effortless. “You should
never
pry in Ms. Kinkade’s personal business, and you should
never, ever
keep her waiting. We have a special delivery, so why don’t you call her up and let her know we’re here.”
Harold swallowed and, after a moment, reached for the phone. He turned his back to us, and I took the opportunity to bump Sam’s arm with my elbow.
“What are you doing?” I hissed. “This is never going to work.”
“If I know one thing about Piper, it’s that she loves special deliveries. She’ll be intrigued enough by the promise of a surprise that we should be able at least to secure a pass into the elevator.”
Harold turned back to us, his face ashen. “Follow me,” he said with a quaver in his voice.
Sam grinned. “Thank you, my good man.”
I felt a laugh tickle the back of my throat and I quickly turned it into a cough as I followed Sam to the elevator.
Harold swiped his ID card through the reader, and when the chime sounded, he said, “You have five minutes.”
The elevator doors opened and we darted inside.
I held my breath as we ascended to the top floor. My heart thudded in worried anticipation. We’d come so far and done so much. Would it be enough? Would Piper like our gift enough to give Paul his job back—and, by extension, Sam?
Or had we spent the day on a fool’s errand?
No, I couldn’t believe that.
I looked up at Sam, who was watching the numbers tick higher and higher as the elevator closed the gap between us and our destination.
“Don’t worry, Sara,” he said without looking at me.
Someday I was going to figure out how he managed to see everything around him.
The doors opened, revealing the pristine white hallway I remembered. There were the same tables. The same mirrors on the walls. The same plush carpet rolling all the way back to a pair of wooden double doors.
The difference now was that Piper stood in the center of the hallway, waiting for us. She held a squirming Bootsie in her arms, the small dog sporting an even smaller hot-pink cast around one leg.
Neither one looked happy at all.
“I told the new boy downstairs I didn’t want to be disturbed and what does he do? He calls me—before noon! on a Sunday!—about some random delivery that I don’t even remember ordering. My old assistant never would have let this happen.” Her eyes snapped with anger. “This better be good, or else I’ll have to fire the new guy too. It’s been a bad week for that.” She frowned. “Maybe I’ll fire him anyway. Wait—” She stopped mid-rant and narrowed her eyes at me. “I know you. You told me you worked for that bookstore, but when I called over there to have them fire you, they said no one named Samantha worked there. And then they hung up on me. On
me!
”
Bootsie growled, and Piper shifted her pet into the crook of her other arm.
“I . . . uh, I’m sorry about that. My name is Sara, and it’s true I don’t work for the bookstore.” I handed the collage to Sam so that I could reach into my bag and pull out the head shot I’d carried with me for the past twenty-four hours. “But you asked me for this. Yesterday.”
I held out the glossy photograph, and she took it carefully with her free hand, pinching the paper between two fingers. “I asked you for a picture of me?” She raised her perfectly arched eyebrows in disbelief.
Blushing in embarrassment, I shook my head. “No, not exactly.” I gestured for her to turn the picture over. “You asked me for that.”
I watched as she skimmed my notes, her lips moving ever so slightly as she read.
When she finished, I gestured to Sam, who flipped the frame around to display the collage on his outstretched arms like a living easel.
“And so I brought you this,” I said, and held my breath.
Piper dropped the head shot to the floor and stepped forward. Tapping her finger against her lips, she examined the artwork from the top all the way to the bottom where I had signed my name. After an excruciatingly long minute, she jerked her head over her shoulder.