Page 15 of The Sun and the Moon
I can’t pass up this chance to get her to talk about Rick, get some clues about who he is, what he does, whether he’s a gullible sap or just a fool.
“Rick, right.” I take a step toward the island, tugging one of the stools out to sit on. This concession will play well. Make her think I’m at least not about to bolt at any second. “How did you two meet?” Her lips twitch into a smile, but I can’t tell if it’s a reaction to my question or to my ass hitting the stool.
“You’ll think it’s silly of me,” she says. Is Moira seriously trying to be coy with me right now? This is a new game. I crunch Lola’s snickerdoodle between my teeth and chew. “I wasn’t getting any younger or less lonely.” Her eyes dart to mine.Subtle, Moira. Really. “And Louisa was always trying new men on for size, bringing them around here.” Moira’s eyebrow cuts up in a hook of annoyance.
“To be fair, Louisa abandoned her daughter and vanished without a trace. Maybe she shouldn’t be your role model,” I cut in. Moira smirks, a bit malicious, definitely conspiratorial. My face goes neutral. Can’t let her get any ideas—I am not trying to be friends here.
“Well,Ithought—what’s stopping me from having a little fun?” She flourishes her hand in the air. “Lola helped me get on the app—”
I cough, spitting snickerdoodle crumbs from my lips as I exclaim, “You got on a dating app to find a guy?” The shock ripples through me.
She straightens, looking almost offended.
“Are you trying to say you aren’t on dating apps?” she asks. I can’t dignify that curiosity with a response, because it’s not an innocent question. Moira wants me to open up about my life, to let her in on the status of everything, and—most importantly—to ascertain if I’ve found love outside the narrow parameters she gave me in that tarot reading when I was sixteen.
“I date,” I say. “But we’re talking about the love of your life here, not mine.”
“Oh, Cadence,” she says, her tone downshifting to something almost gentle. “He’s not the love of my life.” Her eyes sheen. My stomach clenches as the meaning of her words sinks in.
You are the love of my life, she might as well say.
The air in the room feels thin, as if we’ve just stepped up to a different altitude.
I push through the threat, zeroing in on a question to redirect us.
“What does Rick do?” My voice wobbles only slightly. Moira used to have a dramatic dimple at the right-side corner of her lip. It’s mostly folded into the smile lines that have deepened in her skin, but I can still make it out as her lips quirk.
“He was a pilot for years before he lost his wife.” Pilots make good money. In college I had a friend whose dad worked for Delta. “But when he became a single dad, he decided to quit so he could stay home to raise his daughter.” Her eyes mist up, as if this story somehow makes him a hero and not just a decent human being capable of putting the needs of his offspring before his own desires.
Unlike some people.
“He works as a tour guide at Universal Studios right now and is studying to become a magician,” she continues with a crackle of glee. “He’s such fun, even if he still dresses like the manager of a furniture store most days.”
I immediately imagine khakis and a pin-striped short-sleeve button-up. She pulls her phone out and shows me the two of them on her lock screen.
Rick is handsome in aclassically dignified white dudetype of way. He’s got a clean-shaven face, close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, a strong jaw, bright blue eyes, and a charming, effervescent smile. It’s a selfie, so I can’t see if he’s wearing khakis, but I can confirm, the beige-and-light-green button-up is right in line with my imagination.
She pulls the phone back, turning it around to look at for another beat. Her face squishes up, her eyes adoring in a way that most people would callswoony, but I know better. Moira doesn’t swoon. She doesn’t feel vulnerable emotions likeneedordependenceor…love. Narcissism means she may think she feels those things, and she may be able to convince the unsuspecting of the fact, but I’m not one of them. I’ve been smart to her ways far too long.
Rick looks kind. Despite my continued desire to flee, I’m glad I came. Hopefully I can save this sap from being swindled or having his heart smashed to bits when he inevitably loses his usefulness.
I’m about to ask her when I’ll get to meet him when I hear ading-dongfrom the foyer. The chime that indicates someone has entered Kismet. Moira’s eyes blink as she snaps out of one performance mode, readying for another.
“That’ll be Gordon,” she says, tucking her phone back into the folds of her dress where I assume a pocket must be hidden. “He comes once a month to get his energy cleansed. He works at a hospital.” She leans in, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Morgue.”
Our eyes lock. “Lucky he has you.”
“Come to dinner with us tonight,” she says. It isn’t a request, technically, but it somehow doesn’t sound like a demand. There’s a waver in her voice. An uncertainty that makes a shiver shoot up my spine all the way to my ears. Moira wants something from me. “Rick will be there, and his daughter, Sydney.” She emphasizes theSat the start of her name. “She’s a pilot, just like Rick used to be. I haven’t met her yet.” Her hand flinches, like she’s considering reaching out, but fortunately she doesn’t. “I’ll be outnumbered.”
As if having me there would mean she has someone on her side.
I search her face. This close, I can see every freckle and line, the subtle shifts in tone, the hint of foundation and the pop of color in her cheeks. It all comes together to form a map of my mother’s life in her face, a face that I used to search for any resemblance to my own.
Despite not wanting to offer an olive branch, I know I have to take her up on dinner. The sooner I meet Rick, the sooner I can figure out what’s going on between them for real and find a way to drive a wedge there. Save him, or at least shorten his stay in Moiraland.
The sooner I can get back to my life.
“Count me in,” I say just as Lola bursts through the kitchen door. Moira can’t resist now. She grips my hands in hers, squeezing.
