Page 28
Chapter Twenty-Seven
–––
Blind Spot
Dot had been right about pulling an all-nighter: it took a significant chunk of the next twelve hours to get everything ready. Maybe this was a more elaborate plan than the situation required. But I’d pulled off something similar back in Kansas City when I was eighteen, and took comfort in the familiarity. Plus, it was straight out of my parents’ playbook, which would help them do their part.
At least, I hoped so.
Regardless, Dot came through smashingly, as always. She’d managed to wrangle not only her Fatal Femmes group, but also a wide assortment of other Vegas folks, mostly set designers, theater techs, and performers. Her extensive network of friends and contacts never ceased to amaze.
Toni showed up around two a.m., wheeling a rack of costumes. They were immediately descended upon by everyone who had agreed to help out. She came over to where Marcella and I were setting up the tables that had been loaned by a caterer. “Hot damn, ladies,” she said approvingly, hands on her hips. “This is something else!”
“Thanks for the costumes, Toni,” I said, trying not to react as Marcella wrapped her arms around Toni’s neck and gave her a deep kiss.
“It was nothing,” she said dismissively. “Had this rack in storage from a show last year, just glad I hadn’t already donated them. You need anything else?”
“Nah, I think we’re almost done.” I scanned the room. The majority of people had grabbed their outfits and were drifting away, saying goodbye to Dot, who stood by the door supervising.
“Well, you two better be careful,” Toni said. “I don’t know that I approve of any of this.”
“I’ll be fine, baby,” Marcella said, wrapping an arm around Toni’s waist. “You know I can handle myself.”
Toni still wore a look of concern. Turning to me, she said, “You watch out for her, yeah?”
“I promise,” I said. “She’s not going to be in any danger.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but Marcella had insisted we tell Toni only the bare minimum.
Toni nodded. “All right then. I’m supposed to fly to L.A. in the morning to source some fabric, but if you need me here, I can cancel.”
Marcella nuzzled her shoulder. “Nah. We got this.”
“If you say so.” Toni sighed, still looking uncertain. “You coming home with me tonight?”
Marcella glanced at me and then said, “I gotta help finish up. Probably better if I crash at my place so I don’t wake you.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow night. Call to let me know how it goes, ’kay, babe?”
Marcella nodded, and they kissed again. I turned away, trying to ignore the pit that had yawned open inside me. It had been hard enough watching them canoodle when I still thought I had a girlfriend. Now, knowing I’d just been a mark, well…it was a hundred times worse. Plus, things had felt stilted since our conversation in the back office. I could tell that something had shifted for Marcella. Whenever she spoke to me now, it felt like chatting with an acquaintance, not a friend.
To give them some privacy, I went over to where Dot was directing people to hang a series of framed watercolors she’d produced out of nowhere. “Wow,” I said. “It’s really coming together. Thanks again, Dot. This is incredible. I can’t believe it was an empty space a few hours ago.”
“Right? Paco’s the best. Won a Tony a few years back for set design. We’re lucky he was in town for the latest Cirque revamp,” she said. “Couple more weeks, this whole place will be booked up, so we got in under the wire. Skeeter, hang that a little lower, hon.”
Skeeter nodded, moved the nail down a few inches, and hammered it in while we watched. Dot crossed off another item on her clipboard and said, “Almost done. We might get out of here earlier than I thought, not that I’ll be sleeping tonight. I just can’t stop worrying about poor Grace.”
“She’ll be fine,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “I think Grimes wants her mom more than anything. And he knows he needs Grace in one piece to get to her. He won’t hurt her before tomorrow.”
Dot shook her head. “Well, I just hope you’re right, kiddo.”
“What does Jim think?” I asked.
Dot hesitated, then said, “I haven’t told him. Didn’t want to worry him, ’cuz if he knew, he’d rush back.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” I said, then added awkwardly, “By the way, I’m really sorry. I kind of flaked on all the traditional bridesmaid stuff.”
Dot laughed. “Are you kidding, hon? It’s like I said the other night. I’m not a traditional bride, and we’re not traditional people. Catching two bad guys in one week? Hell, that’s the best wedding gift ever. Besides, the wedding planning was done and dusted weeks back. My gal Steph handled it for me.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Still. I feel bad.”
“Don’t you dare,” Dot admonished me. “I’m just sorry you’re having such a terrible week. You need anything else, you let me know.”
“My offer still stands,” Marcella said, coming over. “I’ll go kick her teeth out right now.”
“Tempting, but we need Kat to be presentable for tomorrow,” I said grimly.
“You sure involving them is a good idea?” Dot asked worriedly.
I nodded. “Yeah. They’re awful people, but that’s what makes them good at stuff like this. I trust them to pull this off.”
“And if they don’t show?” Marcella asked.
“Then I’ll handle it.” I was really hoping that wouldn’t be the case, though. One of the few advantages we had was that Grimes thought I was dead. Maintaining that misconception was a critical element of the plan. I checked my watch: almost two-thirty a.m. It was starting to feel like I’d never sleep a full night again. “So what do you think? Should we crash out for a couple hours?”
“I’m definitely gonna try,” Dot said. “Don’t want to look like death warmed over when Jim gets back tomorrow afternoon, that might give him a reason to reconsider.”
“Never happen,” I said. “And you know it.”
“Still, I’m wiped. See you gals tomorrow.” She gave us each a hug and then went to say goodbye to the few folks who remained.
Marcella and I stood there for a minute. “Want to grab a drink?” I offered awkwardly.
Marcella shrugged. “Sure. Might be our last chance for a buzz, if this asshole murders us tomorrow.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered.
“You know me, always an optimist. There’s a place right around the corner.”
We walked there in silence. The crowd was sparse due to the late hour, and we managed to score a table by a giant fern. I stirred my margarita and took a sip; it wasn’t bad, for a casino drink.
Marcella had ordered the same. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass.
“To not dating grifter assholes,” I said.
She threw me a rueful smile and clinked, saying, “To not dating grifter assholes.” She took a sip and then said, “We’re not counting you, right?”
“I mean, I’m a grifter, but hopefully not an asshole.”
“Hm,” she said, eyeing me. “Jury’s still out on that.”
“Fair enough.” I pretended to think for a second, then said, “To not dating five-foot-eight blonde fake-German grifting assholes.”
“Now that I can get on board with,” Marcella said approvingly. We clinked again, and she said, “I really am sorry about earlier. Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “You’re not wrong. I don’t know why bad shit keeps happening to me, but it does. And the people around me always get pulled in.”
“Still. It was a shitty thing to say.”
“A little, yeah.” After a second, I added, “Sorry about kissing you earlier.”
“Are you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why? It was a good kiss.”
“Yeah, but…you and Toni seem really happy.”
“We are,” Marcella said. “I don’t think she’d mind, to be honest. Neither of us is possessive like that.”
“Must be nice,” I muttered into my margarita.
“Fuck Kat. You deserve better.”
“I don’t know about that,” I mumbled.
“Amber, look at me.” Obediently, I raised my eyes to meet hers. Taking my hand, she said, “You’re a good person. I mean, you’re trying to help Grace even though we both know she’s a stone-cold bitch. Trust me. You deserve someone great.”
“Thanks.” I hesitated, then said, “I’m glad you found Toni. She seems great.”
“She is.” Marcella released my hands and shifted back slightly. “She’s helped a lot with my recovery.”
“That’s good.” I realized I was nodding dumbly and made myself stop. “I wouldn’t want to mess with that.”
“Oh, you couldn’t.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I don’t mean it like that,” Marcella said earnestly. “Really. The thing about you and me is, we’re too alike. I was so pissed and hurt after you left. I kind of thought we were meant to be. I know how dumb that sounds, but it just felt like we clicked, y’know?”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I felt the same way.”
“Then why’d you just take off?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess maybe I got a little freaked out? I mean, I told myself I was just trying to keep you safe—”
“Which was bullshit,” Marcella interjected pointedly.
“Yeah,” I said. “It was.”
“And deep down, I knew that.” Marcella leaned forward again. “Going into treatment made me realize that we were both attracted to the damage in each other. That’s what we recognized. That’s why it felt so right. Because we have the same broken bits inside us.”
I squirmed; that felt a little too on the nose. Uncomfortably, I joked, “Sure that you’re not the therapist in training?”
She laughed. “Oh hell no.” After a long beat, she added, “You probably don’t want to hear this, but I don’t think that’s what you’re cut out for either.”
My hackles rose at that. I snapped, “Why not?”
“I’m not saying never, Amber. It’s just…I don’t know if you’ve sorted through all of your shit yet. And shouldn’t that happen before you try to help other people sort through theirs?”
I hated to admit it, but she had a point. And if I were a bigger person, I’d be able to say so. Instead, I took a big gulp, polishing off the last of my drink. Getting to my feet, I said, “We should get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“Yeah, sure.” Looking wounded, Marcella sucked on her straw. Still focused on her drink, she asked, “So do you really think we can pull it off?”
“Absolutely,” I said, trying to sound more certain than I felt.
———
Unsurprisingly, I did not sleep. Based on a thorough sweep, Gregory Grimes hadn’t left anything in the motel room (although I found an old condom wrapper under the bed that I could have lived without seeing). So I swallowed my discomfort, double-bolted the door, and jammed a chair under the knob for good measure.
Then I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and reviewing the plan over and over in my mind. An hour in I considered going out to run sprints, but figured it wouldn’t be smart to waste my energy. So instead I spent the remainder of the night spinning out over every detail of my last few months with Kat. I reexamined every conversation, every moment of our relationship, looking for the clues that I’d missed.
Which actually turned out to be more exhausting than running sprints. I finally crawled out of bed at five a.m. and made my way to the dining area, where I downed three espressos, one after another. Then I went back to my room and sat on the bed until it was time to meet the assholes.
The early morning air was frigid; I shivered as I walked to the parking lot. When I got there, it was empty. My heart sank. Swearing to myself, I stormed to my parents’ room and banged on the door, calling out, “You better be in there!”
The door popped open, and my dad beamed at me. “Morning, sunshine! How’d you sleep?”
“I didn’t,” I said, leaning to see past him. My mom was staring into the mirror over the bureau, adjusting her wig. Kat sat on the bed, already dressed in scrubs. The wave of relief I felt was quickly supplanted by the sourness of seeing them again. I nodded briskly and said, “Let’s go.”
They followed me to the car in silence. My mom took the front passenger seat while Kat and my dad got in the back. “I hope it’s not far,” my mother said. “My back has been acting up. These mattresses are awful, frankly. I was going to have a word with the front desk about it.”
“You will do no such thing,” I snapped. “Just be grateful you’re not sleeping in your car. Unless that was bullshit, too?”
None of them answered. I glanced at Kat in the rearview mirror; she was staring out at the passing landscape as if strip malls and pawn shops were fascinating.
Which just pissed me off more. I snapped, “What’s your real name, anyway?”
After a beat, she said in a small voice, “Kate. Kate Merritt.”
Her accent had vanished entirely. I wanted to kick myself for being such an idiot. “So my parents recruited you to seduce me? Because that’s pretty fucking creepy on a lot of levels.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Kat/Kate protested. “I didn’t even know you were their kid at the beginning.”
“Jesus.” Turning to my mom, I said, “How’d you find out about the money?”
“Well, if you must know, Roger saw you at some fancy restaurant in San Francisco,” she said. “You remember Roger? Specialized in widows? Anyway, he was sure it was you. You apparently were making a bit of a scene, and they were asking you to pay for damages. You claimed you could buy the place if you wanted.”
I winced, vaguely remembering getting banned from a Michelin-starred restaurant my first week in town. Not my finest hour for sure.
“Anyway, Roger charmed the hostess into providing your new name, and from there, we tracked you down.”
“Right.” I remembered Roger as a particularly oily character my parents had pulled three gigs with. I also remembered them telling me to make sure I was never alone in a room with him, so, yeah—real prince of a guy. “And how do you all know each other?”
They exchanged a glance and then my mother said, “Kate is Jen Merritt’s girl. Remember her? Actually, the funny thing is you two did a job together when you were little! Of course you won’t remember, but still. Isn’t that something?”
“It sure is something,” I growled, throwing Kate a dirty look. She avoided my eyes.
“I’m curious, Emily,” my mom said innocently. “Where did you get all that money?”
Based on her expression, this had been driving her particularly crazy. Which gave me no small measure of satisfaction. Loftily, I said, “Won the lottery.”
“Really! Which one?”
I snapped my fingers and said, “No, wait…it was an insurance settlement. Actually, now I remember, I inherited it from a distant relative.”
“If you don’t want to tell us, just say so,” my mom sniffed.
“Great. Because it’s none of your damn business.”
“Rude,” my mom said.
“The thing is, sweetheart, we really are in the hole to some scary people,” my dad said apologetically from his seat in the back.
“I’ll bet,” I muttered, turning right. “Story of your life, isn’t it?”
“And you wonder why we left you,” my mother said quietly.
“What?” I spat, whirling on her. She stared back at me, a challenge in her eyes.
From the back seat, my dad piped up nervously, “Girls? Can we all just try to get along?”
I glared at my mother, who regarded me placidly. But fighting with her now wouldn’t accomplish anything. And knowing her, she was just fishing for an excuse to bail on the job. So I gritted my teeth and said, “Sure, Dad. You know, you could’ve just asked me for a loan.”
“Right,” my mom scoffed. “As if you would’ve given us one.”
“Well, you could’ve tried.” My hands tightened on the steering wheel. We were getting close to the site, and there was one more thing I wanted to say before we shifted into the mindset for the con. “Out of curiosity, Kate, was any of it real?”
She had the decency to look wretched. “Of course it was real.”
“Right.” I replied. “I bet you’re not even really gay.”
“Perhaps we should put a pin in all this,” my mother said primly. “You know how I like to get into character.”
“Great idea,” I muttered. “Do you need me to go over it with you again?”
“Please, Emily. We practically invented this con.”
“You definitely didn’t.”
“Well, we put our own spin on it at least.”
“None of that today,” I said forcefully. “I mean it. No ad-libbing, no extra theatrics. Just follow the script to the letter. Got it?”
“If you insist,” she sniffed. “Although I much prefer to riff.”
“Your mom is one heckuva improviser,” Dad chimed in from the back seat.
“Knock yourself out on your next job,” I said. “But if you want to get paid, you do it exactly the way I said.”
My mom sighed heavily. “I’m really not sure where you get this bossiness from.”
“Gee, I wonder,” I muttered, turning into the parking lot. It was already full of cars: Dot’s crew, right on time. I eased into a spot at the far end behind a van on the off chance that Grimes might recognize my Audi.
“We’re doing it here?” my mom asked, craning her head forward.
“Yes, Mom, we’re doing it here.” I turned off the car and shifted to face my dad and Kate. “Hopefully we have a couple hours before the mark shows up. But if he gets here early, we need to be ready.”
“And who is he again?”
“Not important,” I said briskly. In spite of everything, I felt a slight pang; was it truly awful of me not to tell them who they were going up against? Of course, if I did, they were sure to bail. And even though they were all great actors (as evidenced by Kate making me believe she loved me), I didn’t trust them to maintain their poise if they knew they would be facing off against Gregory “Gruesome” Grimes.
“If you say so,” my mom said. “Although I simply cannot understand all the mystery. Is it someone famous?”
“No, mom, it’s no one famous. All you need to know is that he thinks you’re his wife who suffers from dementia and who he hasn’t seen in a really long time. Okay?”
“I suppose.”
“He better not get handsy!” my dad chirped.
“Can we talk, Amber?” Kate asked, her voice pleading. “Just, really quick?”
“Her name is Emily,” my mom scoffed. “Honestly, can we please just call her that, now that everything is out in the open?”
“I prefer Amber. And there’s nothing to talk about.” Across the lot, I spotted Marcella sauntering toward the entrance. “Let’s get going. There’s still a lot to do.”
We all climbed out in silence. I felt jittery, infused with caffeine and the adrenaline rush that kicked in at the start of a job. The sun had fully risen, but it was overcast and cold. I shivered in my thin jacket and tightened the scarf knotted at my throat.
Kate grabbed my elbow, stopping me. Her eyes were full, and she looked pale, like she hadn’t slept much either. There was a catch in her voice as she said, “Amber—”
“I can’t,” I said forcefully, shaking her off. “Not now. I need to focus and so do you. Okay?”
“Sure,” she said in a small voice. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t help me,” I said. “Doing your job will. So c’mon.”
———
A painted sign above the door read SUNSET LIVING in elaborate script, surrounded by olive leaves.
“Is this a theater?” my mom asked, squinting up at the sign.
“Usually,” I said.
“Won’t that make the mark suspicious?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. A lot of buildings get repurposed, and the inside should convince him.” At least, that’s what I was counting on. Because if Grimes picked up on the ruse, my plan would be over before it started.
“Well, it sure looks like a nice place,” my dad commented. “Wouldn’t mind ending up somewhere like this in our old age, don’t you think, pet?”
“If only we had a daughter who would pay for it,” my mom said, shaking her head. “Sadly, we’ll probably be living on the streets.”
“Who knows,” I said. “Maybe Kate will cover it. She’s a baroness, you know. Primeval nobility, apparently.”
Kate threw me a look, which I met with a stony gaze. I pulled open the door and waved them inside. “Now let’s go.”
We stepped into a fancy lobby bustling with activity. It looked every inch the posh retirement facility, which was particularly impressive considering the fact that last night it had been a giant empty room.
“My,” my mother said approvingly. “This is nice.”
“Love the verisimilitude,” my dad agreed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was the real deal.”
“That’s the idea,” I said. It was a relief to see that in daylight, it looked even better than it had the night before. I’d worried that we wouldn’t be able to pull it together in time, but Dot had come through yet again.
Speaking of which, she was currently standing across the room, clipboard in hand, emanating a frenetic energy as she barked orders. “Portia, hon, you gotta wear the scrubs.”
Portia was standing in front of her, wearing an ensemble that had definitely been marketed as a “naughty nurse” costume. She propped a hand on her hip and said, “Why? I use this in the dungeon all the time. It’s authentic.”
“I’m sure, but we need folks to fade into the background, and this—” Dot swept a hand over her. “I mean, c’mon, Portia. You’re all he’s going to see.”
“Fair point,” Portia conceded. “Fine, I’ll change. Those scrubs do nothing for my ass, though.”
“Great. Oh, and make sure to tell BJ to double-check the camera feeds. Thanks, toots.” Spotting us, Dot waved me over. “Thank God, Amber, I was starting to worry.” She hugged me with her free arm and then turned to my parents and Kate. Jutting her chin up, she said, “Just so y’all know, if I had my way, you’d be strung up by the heels from the top of the Strat. Shame on you.”
“Well, I never,” my mother gasped.
I motioned for her to shush and said, “Thanks Dot, but it’s fine. They feel terrible and are eager to help. Aren’t you?” I asked them pointedly.
“Well, of course,” my mother said stiffly. “She is our daughter, after all.”
“You sure as hell don’t deserve her,” Dot said. “Kat—or whoever the heck you are—you’re going to be right here.” She pointed to the giant mahogany desk set behind us. “And you two will be stationed in the common room. Amber can take you there, ’cuz if I’m alone with you, I might not be able to keep from saying a few choice words.”
My dad had the good sense to look abashed. But judging by the expression on my mom’s face, she was ready to throw down. I intervened, taking her arm and saying, “C’mon, Mom. You wanted to get into character, right?”
My mother nodded stiffly, saying loudly as I escorted her from the room, “I must say, Emily, some of your friends are very rude.”
I gritted my teeth and led her through an arched doorway, down a short hallway, and into an enormous common room. It was filled with round tables draped with expensive-looking linens. Elderly folks were seated everywhere, working on puzzles, playing cards, and eating pudding. Paintings hung along the walls at regularly spaced intervals, and a small café counter set against the rear wall featured a coffee and juice menu. Ambient classical music was being piped through the speakers tucked discreetly in the corners behind potted plants.
“It’s perfect,” I said, feeling somewhat awed.
“Impressive,” my dad said, nodding approvingly.
“I don’t know,” my mom said with a sniff. “I still think our setup in Columbus was better.”
Choosing to ignore her, I guided them to a table by the café counter. Motioning to the chairs that faced the back wall, I said, “Those are for you.”
“Make him work for it,” my dad said with a nod. “Smart.”
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered. He was right, though. This way Grimes would have to navigate the entire room before getting close enough to see my mom, which was a critical aspect of the plan.
Just as I was getting them settled, the door beside the café counter opened and Marcella emerged, carrying a bakery box. She tilted her chin at me and started putting muffins into the display case. I nodded back and said to my parents, “Now just stay here, okay? When it’s time, Marcella will signal you.”
“Who’s Marcella?” my mom asked, craning her neck and peering around the room. “My, there are an awful lot of people. Not all getting a cut, are they?”
“Nope. Everyone else is helping out of the goodness of their hearts.” Pointing, I added, “That’s Marcella behind the coffee counter.”
“Oh, is there coffee?” my mother said, perking up. “Your father and I are ravenous. The breakfast buffet at your friend’s motel is just disgraceful.”
“I could murder a muffin,” my dad agreed.
“And perhaps a scone? Or if there’s hot food, an omelet would be even better.” My mother tugged at her wig of tight gray curls.
“Stop messing with it,” I said, annoyed. “It looks fine.”
“Honestly, I don’t know why this is necessary,” my mom complained. “Plenty of older women dye their hair. Who am I supposed to be again?”
“Someone with that color hair,” I said pointedly. “All you have to do is sit there and look like you have dementia.”
My mom eyed me. “You said this was a Joliet ragtime.”
“It is, with a little pig in the poke thrown in,” I said. “Okay?”
“I don’t see why this is so complicated,” she grumbled. “Or why I can’t talk. We all know that patter is my greatest gift.”
“She is a true siren,” my dad chimed in.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” my mom said. “Now listen, Emily, what if I tell him that I’m an heiress, and—”
“Just do what I tell you to, okay?” I snapped. “For once in your life?”
“Well. There’s no need to get snippy.” My mom settled into the chair and crossed her arms. “I am a professional, after all.”
“Yeah, I know. Thank you.” I clenched my hands into fists to keep from wrapping them around her throat and strangling her. I needed all of them to go along with the plan, and for that, my mother had to be kept placated. “Now hang tight, and I’ll get you something to eat.”
Pushing back from the table, I stomped to the café counter and braced myself against it with both hands.
“You okay?” Marcella asked with concern.
“Not really,” I said. “I need a couple muffins for my pain-in-the-ass parents, preferably with arsenic sprinkled on top.”
“Two arsenic muffins, coming right up,” Marcella smirked. As she set them on plates, she continued, “So those are your parents.”
“Yup.”
“Explains a lot.”
“Thanks. Grimes better hurry up and get here before I kill them myself,” I muttered.
“What are we talking about?” my mom said brightly, popping up in the space between us.
“None of your damn business,” I said.
“No need to be rude,” my mom said with a frown. “I appreciate a little levity before a job as much as the next person.”
“Get back to your place, Mom,” I snapped. “He could be here at any minute.”
“I just wanted to see why the muffins are taking so long,” my mother said plaintively. “Your father is feeling faint.”
“Here,” Marcella said, shoving the two plates across the counter. “Hope you choke on it.”
“Everyone here is so unpleasant,” my mother said, taking the plates. “I never would’ve agreed to help if I’d known how poorly I’d be treated.”
“Take comfort in the thought of all the money I’m paying you.”
She rolled her eyes at me and walked away regally.
Marcella was smirking at me. “What?” I demanded.
“The way she rolled her eyes was kinda familiar.”
“Don’t start.”
A walkie-talkie crackled behind the counter. We exchanged a look, then Marcella held it to her mouth and pushed the talk button. “Yeah?”
Dot’s voice was shrill with nerves and excitement. “Bambi just saw them pull in!”
I checked my watch: seven-thirty a.m. They were early, just as I’d expected. Good thing we’d planned for that. I reached for the walkie, and Marcella passed it to me. Clicking the button, I said, “I’ll meet you in the security room.”
“You got it, kiddo. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Dot.”
A beat, then she added, “This is going to work.”
I couldn’t tell from her tone if it was a statement or a question, but I repeated firmly, “This is going to work.”
Handing back the walkie, I said, “All right. I guess we’re doing this.”
“Guess we are,” Marcella agreed. Then she held her hands up to her mouth and called out, “Okay, everyone, get your shit together. It’s time!”
The energy in the room ticked up a notch. I turned to go, but Marcella caught my arm and pulled me in to her.
“What—” But before I could finish the question, she’d grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me, long and deep. I was gasping for breath when she pulled back and said, “For luck.”
“Thanks,” I said weakly, still buzzing. Then I staggered back to my parents’ table. My dad had already finished his muffin, and my mom was picking at hers like a bird. “My,” she said archly. “ That certainly was friendly. It’s a good thing Kate wasn’t here to see it.”
“Go to hell, Mom,” I said, shaking it off. I drew a deep breath and shifted my attention to my dad. “You all set?”
“All set, sweetheart.” My dad threw me a salute, adding, “See you on the other side!”
I felt a surge of emotion; that’s what he’d always said before a con. It should’ve made me feel dirty, or angry, but instead it spurred an unexpected wave of nostalgia. I nodded and said, “See you on the other side.”