Page 32 of The Sun and the Moon
“No, you don’t have to be sorry,” I fumble through. “No one’s ever asked me what I thought of it.” Her eyes droop as understanding registers. It blasts through me like a warm breeze. I have to swallow the frog of feeling in my throat. “I’m just surprised.”
She nods, waiting for me to pull myself together. Giving me space to put years of loneliness and isolation into words.
I look back to the house because it’s easier than looking directly into Sydney’s eyes.
“It was lonely, even though it was always full of people,” I start, surprising myself with how easily the words do come. “None of them really paid attention to me, and if they did, it was only because they were interested in Moira and the guidance she offered them.” It’s hard to dam the flow of feeling now that the water’s broken free. “I was just another component to her mythology, like a talisman she would sell in the shop. Her daughter,surely magical herself.” I furrow my brow, telling it as if it were a direct quote. My eyes sting; I don’t know why this is making me want to cry. “They were always disappointed when they were wrong.”
The front door swings open.
Moira steps out, dressed in a loose-fitting linen pants-and-blouse combo. I’m jolted back into myself and immediately slouch down into the seat out of view. Sydney ducks with me, her head coming close to mine as we try to pretzel behind the dash. We listen for signs she’s leaving. I chance a look at Sydney as we wait, anxious and uncomfortably aware that I just bared my soul without an ounce of hesitation in a truly out-of-character brush with vulnerability.
I’m surprised to see her eyes bright with the remnants of moisture—they almost glow. I’m terrified when they land on mine, her breath and mine so close that they mingle, the flush in her cheeks robust.
“Showtime,” I say before she can show me just how deep her own empathy goes.
There’s the sound of Moira’s engine, the screech of her tires peeling away from the curb.
“Ready, Ranger Girl.” Sydney has the decency to let the moment rest. Even if I may never recover from the aftershocks of allowing so much honesty to shake loose or how easy it was to entrust her with it.
?The bank is a deco building right next to a West Elm and a California Pizza Kitchen. Sydney and I parked at a meter around the corner before slinking out of the car to follow her inside.
“I should have worn something more incognito,” Sydney says as we approach the doors. The windows are heavily tinted like most bank buildings, so it’s hard to see inside. I stop Sydney at the door, tugging her around to the row of begonia bushes that flank this side of the building. The magenta blooms waterfall over her head, reaching around her like a hug.
I can understand the inclination.
What?I shake the thought out of my head.
Focus. I twist my hair into a tight bun in the hopes that hiding the curls will help hide me from Moira inside.
“How do we want to do this? One at a time? Together?” Sydney asks, sounding simultaneously nervous and exhilarated. She’s wearing these square Chanel sunglasses in a gray tortoiseshell,the lenses almost as dark as the windows of the bank. It’s impossible to see her eyes.
Moira is observant when she’s in control of her surroundings, but out in the world,aloofwouldn’t even begin to describe the level of untethered she is. When I was growing up, she regularly got distracted by existing and ended up being late to everything from school pickup to swim meets to my graduation ceremony.
“She won’t be looking for a tail,” I say, convinced we can get in without her noticing.
“I don’t think we should both go in, even so. Two of us lurking around the corners of a bank? They’ll think we’re casing the place.”
“Us?” I give her a look of disbelief.
“It’s a bank. They keep money in there. They’re weird about anybody standing around glaring at their customers,” she argues. “We could easily be a Zillennial Thelma and Louise.”
“I am not a Thelma or a Louise.”
She grins. “You sure about that?” I roll my eyes and she barrels on. “I can go in as the eyes and ears.”
“You’re going to draw the eye a lot more than I would.” I flick my eyes up and down over her. Impossible to look away from, easy to notice.
“You’re her estranged daughter who lives out of town,” she counters, hooking the curve of her waist with her hand in a pose of indignance. “If she sees me, I can just say that I bank here.”
I don’t like the idea of her going in alone and potentially getting caught in the jaws of the beast, but I can’t deny the validity of her argument. Moira might be suspicious of her story, but she’s less likely to question her on it since she’s trying to impress her as part of whatever con she’s working on her dad. She wouldn’t wantto make waves with Sydney, at least not in the obvious way. Waves with Sydney would spell trouble with Rick—of that I am certain. He may be smitten, but he’s been her devoted dad, widowed and raising her on his own, a lot longer than he’s been worshipping at the altar of Moira.
“Okay”—fuck—“okay, you’re right,” I have to concede. She buzzes, her body doing a shimmy of glee that is almost pornographic with her standing so close to me. She tugs her glasses down, tossing me a devilish look.
“Wish me luck,” she says, brushing past me toward the entrance.
“Text me,” I call after her. “Updates.” She turns, glancing over her shoulder, giving me modern Jessica Rabbit.
“Aye-aye, Ranger Girl.”
