After Hello (11 page)

Could she? Could he? He wasn’t sure he wanted to risk it.

Not yet.

“Sara,” he called out, running to catch up with her. His heart thudded in his chest out of rhythm with his steps. He reached out to touch her arm but stopped short of making actual contact. “Not that way. The station is this way.”

She pivoted on her heel and followed him silently down the walk.

The station bustled with activity. A large sign announced the different trains that stopped at the hub—B and C—and the staircase descending into the underground was wide with green rails.

Sam grabbed the banister and hopped up on the bottom rail. With the extra few inches of height, he scanned the crowds. “I don’t see him,” he said after a moment. “He has really bright red hair, so he should be easy to spot.”

Sara joined him on the rail, twisting and scanning alongside Sam. The ends of her brownish-blonde hair brushed past his face. It was soft, and he could smell her shampoo—something fruity and floral—along with the tang of exhaust. Even a sunshine girl like Sara couldn’t last long in New York without being touched by the city.

“What’s that?” she asked, standing on her toes and pointing to a small playing card that had been taped to the bottom of the subway sign.

“Ah! Aces’ calling card.” Sam hopped off the rail and moved closer to investigate. “Told you he’d leave a note. Looks like he’s gone to the park. Heading south.”

Sara raised one eyebrow. “It’s the ace of clubs.”

“Spades are north. Hearts are east. Diamonds are west.” Sam shrugged, settling his bag more comfortably on his shoulder. “Clubs are south.”

“That’s kind of vague. Doesn’t he want people to find him?”

“Codes and clues are part of what he does. Don’t worry—Aces will leave out another card if we need to change direction.” Sam headed into the park and turned south on the first pathway he came to.

Even on the leading edge of Central Park, the trees were huge and green. The wide canopies of leaves cast soft shadows over the hard concrete. New York was a vertical city, no two ways about it, but Central Park had its own unique verticality. Trees instead of buildings. Monuments and statues instead of lampposts and street signs. Wide, rolling lawns spread like green paint, pooling around bridges, ponds, and pathways. The green evoked a strange mix of calm and excitement in Sam, a color that felt all the more shocking and refreshing to his eyes after days of staring at mottled gray sidewalks, rust-colored bricks, and tinted glass buildings.

They walked deeper into the park, past picnickers and Frisbee players and a pack of bicyclists. The afternoon sun was falling lower in the sky, adding some pink and gold to the blue. The sounds of the city—the cars, the sirens, the background hum of endless activity and energy—faded along with the light and were replaced with the sounds of nature: the wind in the trees, a birdsong chorus, a barking dog.

Sara inhaled deeply and wiped her fingers across her cheeks.

“Are you crying?” he asked quietly, pierced with the pointed edge of his lingering guilt.

She shook her head, but he wasn’t quite sure he believed her. Those sunglasses of hers were an effective barrier.

“I was just thinking how this place makes me feel like I did at St. John’s.”

“Quiet?”

“Yeah, but a different kind of quiet. I mean, there it was all about an inside quiet. Like I should whisper, even in my thoughts. But here, I feel like running across the grass and shouting—but I still feel quiet on the inside. It’s strange.” She shook her head. “I’m not explaining it well.”

She reached up and touched a branch of a nearby tree. A few small leaves came away in her hand, three tiny green buds clustered together. She stashed them in her bag.

“I think I understand,” Sam said. “It’s kind of like how you feel during the first big snowstorm of the season. Part of you just wants to stay inside and watch the snow fall—and the rest of you wants to go outside and build a snow fort.”

“I’ve never seen snow.”

“Never?”

Sara cocked her head at him and placed her hand on her hip. “It doesn’t snow in Arizona, you know.”

Sam grinned. “Aha! I knew you’d tell me where you were from eventually.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth, the tops of her cheeks turning pink. “Oh, man, I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Why don’t you want me to know anything about you? Is it embarrassing? Scandalous? Are you really a Russian government spy sent to uncover my secrets?”

Sara lifted her sunglasses and slanted a look at him. “Do I look Russian to you?”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you were from Arizona. You could have gotten that tan anywhere.”

She looked away, rubbing her arm as though attempting to smooth away the caramel color.

“So what secrets are you keeping?” she asked, a tease in her tone. “You know, so I can report back to the KGB at the end of my mission.”

Sam swallowed the words that weighed down his tongue.
Not yet.
Instead he shook his head and tsked in mock disapproval. “Look at you. Asking me for the information outright. Some spy you are.”

“Gimme a break. I’m new to the espionage game.”

“Then what game
are
you good at?”

“Well,” Sara began, holding up her hand and ticking off her answers one by one. “I’m good at Scrabble and Twister and Pictionary and Clue and Uno, but the game I’m best at is—” She slapped his arm with her open hand. “Tag—you’re it!”

And then she ran.

Chapter 17

Sara

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The look on Sam’s face had been priceless. His eyes had opened so wide, and his eyebrows had drawn together so fast, he’d looked like a cartoon character. His mouth had even dropped open enough that I could see the tops of his teeth.

He’d been acting weird the last couple of hours—running hot and cold. Sometimes he was fun and friendly, and our conversation was the same. But then he’d brought up all that talk about emotions and God and stuff. The topic seemed to be important to him, and I felt like maybe he was really trying to tell me something else, but I wasn’t sure I understood.

What I had understood, though, was the playing card tied to the tree. The ace of hearts. That meant we were supposed to head east. So I did. And the part of me that thrilled at the thought of running through this glorious park didn’t hesitate for a moment to accept the invitation to change direction.

I laughed again, this time for the sheer joy of taking flight across the green, green grass. I took all my negative emotions of the day—my memories of my mom, my frustration with my dad, Sam’s weirdness, Piper’s threat—and pushed them out of my mind. I turned my face to the light and closed my eyes for a brief moment, relishing the sense of freedom that filled me.

Then my foot slipped and I squeaked. I flung my arms out, trying to regain my balance.

A hand reached out to steady me. I squeaked again, laughing. “Sam—no—let go—” But it wasn’t Sam who had grabbed my arm.

He had the thickest, brightest, most fire-engine red hair I had ever seen. Below that was a face lined with wear and weather. His hazel-brown eyes were framed with smile lines and a thick pair of black-rimmed glasses. He wore a white shirt with the words “Aces Wild” printed across the front and a pair of tattered jeans with a hole in the left knee. He was barefoot in the grass. He had to be at least sixty years old, but he still looked lean and fit.

“Are you Aces?” I gasped, stumbling over my feet as I tried to stay upright.

“The one and only. I see you followed the cards and found your way. Thus, you have earned the right to ask what you may.”

“What?”

Aces chuckled. “Not the best question, I suppose, but I am obligated to answer it as best as I can.”

“I don’t understand,” I managed, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

“Clearly.” He clapped his hands around my shoulders and set me on my feet.

“Hey, Aces,” Sam said, coming up to join us. His breath came short and he ran a hand through his hair.

I noticed that Sam’s silver chain had come free during the chase, and what appeared to be a pair of dog tags rested on his chest along with another silver circle I didn’t recognize.

“Samuel.” Aces inclined his head like a reigning king.

“Samuel?” I echoed, looking over at Sam.

He waved away my question and kept his attention on Aces. “Daniel sent us. He said you had some new art?”

“I see. And I do. And I create—yes, indeed I do.”

I stepped back from Aces so Sam was closer to him than I was. The old man seemed nice enough, but he was a little strange.

The three of us stood in silence for a moment. I edged even closer to Sam.

“May we see it?” he finally asked. “Your art?”

“What will you give me in return?” He leveled a gnarled finger at Sam. “And no sugar packets.”

Sam held up his hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He lifted the flap on his bag and rummaged through the hidden contents. He held up a small plastic bottle. “What about an unopened jar of red paint?”

Aces looked horrified. “You would threaten me with an unopened jar of possibilities? That is not a trade, that is a burden. Take it away!”

“O-kay.” Sam and I exchanged a glance.

I thought paint for an artist would have been the perfect choice. And what was Sam doing with a jar of paint in his bag, anyway?

Sam dove back into his bag and withdrew a white envelope, similar to the one he had given Jess at 24 Frames. “Movie tickets?”

“Bah!” Aces shook his head. “I have no interest in dreaming other men’s dreams.”

Again, Sam and I exchanged a glance. “What about a . . . a pair of socks?” he asked with hesitation in his voice.

I raised an eyebrow at Sam. “You have socks in your
bag?
”

“You have
socks
in your bag?” Aces repeated in delight. He held out his hand. “Produce.”

Sam handed over a pair of brand-new Christmas-themed socks, complete with two small jingle bells sewn along the top edge.

Aces studied the bells carefully, then examined the reindeers stitched along the sides before counting the individual toes on each sock. “I find these socks to be acceptable. Come with me.”

I stifled a giggle. I couldn’t help it. The whole situation suddenly struck me as slightly unreal. I was standing in Central Park in New York City bartering Christmas socks with a potentially crazy man in order to see if his original artwork would appease the ridiculous demands of mega-superstar Piper Kinkade or else the brother of the boy I kinda-sorta liked would lose his job.

“Sara,” Sam warned under his breath.

“Sorry,” I managed. Another giggle surfaced and I barely managed to turn it into a cough. I didn’t want to offend Aces, who was clearly everything that had been promised—a true original—but now that the laughter had hold of me, I could feel my resolve slipping away.

Aces led us deeper into the park and literally off the beaten path, pushing past bushes and branches.

“I thought you said he was an oil painter,” I said, sucking in a breath as a particularly sharp thorn scratched my arm.

“He was,” Sam replied, worried.

A few minutes later, we reached a small patch of grass where a red-white-and-blue-striped blanket had been spread out into a perfect square. Sitting on the blanket was a picnic basket containing a porcelain Dalmatian dog and a stuffed black cat; a carved wooden bird had been clipped to the side of the basket. Lined up in a row leading to the basket was a parade of plastic green army men. The last man held a miniature American flag instead of a gun.

The entire thing had been cordoned off with bright yellow caution tape spread on the grass.

Aces stood tall and proud, gesturing to the blanket. “Behold,” he declared. “My latest work of art.”

It was so amazing and absurd at the same time that I couldn’t contain my amusement. Giggles poured out of me like bubbles, each sound lighter and louder than the last, until I was engaged in a full-fledged belly laugh. Tears ran down my cheeks from the corners of my eyes.

“Sara,” Sam hissed. “Stop it!”

Aces turned to regard me with his hazel eyes, a strange expression on his face.

“Sara!”

But Sam’s tone only made me laugh even more.

My laughter spent itself in one last burst before finally dribbling into short chuckles and then into bemused silence. I used the hem of my shirt to dab away the last of my tears. “Oh, wow. Oh, man. I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.” I had to force myself not to look at the picnic blanket; I didn’t want to risk collapsing into laughter again.

“I’m sorry too, Aces. I—” Sam began.

“No, it’s all right,” Aces said, his attention still on me. “Art should always produce some kind of visceral reaction, and laughter is as good as revulsion.” He frowned for a moment, then smiled widely. “Better, actually.”

“Okay, I think I’m better now,” I said, clearing my throat and squaring my shoulders. I pulled my hair back with both hands, smoothing it over my head, and then shook out my fingers. “Okay.”

Sam glanced at me as if to make sure I was telling the truth, then cleared his own throat. “Um, Aces? Do you, by any chance, have any other artwork you could show us? Something like you used to do? You know, something on canvas?”

As Aces’ lips creased in displeasure and his eyes narrowed, Sam hurried on. “I mean, not that this piece isn’t amazing, because it is, it’s just that we’re looking for something you can hang on a wall, and, well, you’d have to admit, this would be a little difficult to frame.” Beads of sweat dotted his forehead by the time he was done speaking.

Aces’ displeasure morphed into sadness. “Art should be alive. Three-dimensional. I no longer work in a medium that requires my vision to be flat and lifeless, good only to be trapped under glass like a dead insect.” He tucked the Christmas socks into the waistband of his pants. “Thank you for the socks, but this is all I have to give you.”

My good humor folded in on itself. We had struck out yet again. I was starting to worry that we might not be able to fulfill Piper’s demands. And if not, then this day would end in disaster. I couldn’t let that happen.