Page 34 of The Sun and the Moon
It’s unthinkable what I’m about to do. But it’s the only way.
My cell buzzes again.Sorry, Ranger Girl.
“Moira?” I call out. Heads turn around the room. “Wow, that is you.” I step forward, painfully aware of Duncan edging close, ready to pounce.
Moira turns with absolutely no urgency at the sound of myvoice. Her eyes lock with mine, momentarily searing, before she adjusts her gaze. A smile spreads her cheeks to show off all of her bright, straight teeth.
“What on earth.” She says the words in a tone that I would describe in any wayexceptforhappy to see me. The banker has a few papers laid out in front of him. As I near, she stands to greet me, blocking my view of the desk.
And my eyes catch on the dark form of her daughter entering from the south side of the lobby.
Chapter Fifteen
Cadence
The great thing about banks—universally—is the fact that they always have large leafy plants in their lobbies. Perfect for hiding behind. I slip behind the fiddle-leaf fig to the right of the doorway. It’s healthy, clearly being cared for correctly—I mentally tip my hat to the employee who must be responsible. My fingers brush the lush oversized green leaves that spring from the thin trunk and make a great disguise for my face and hair. Even with it pulled back in a bun, I know I’m recognizable to my mother.
From here, I have a full view of Sydney, but only a rear view of Moira. Sydney’s features have taken on the overexaggerated roundness of a liar. That bright, too-open expression that is trying to look as if it could never conceal anything in an attempt to conceal everything. There’s something happening with the banker who was following close behind her as she stops whatever path they were heading on, presumably because she realized it wouldn’t yield her what she wants and decided on a plan B that is probably more of a suicide mission.
It involves talking to my mother, so it must be.
She hands back a cookie and dismisses him, an action that makes his already pinched features turn in on themselves in a sour expression.
Now it’s a back-and-forth between my mother and Sydney. The man Moira was meeting with stands, moving away from the desk and the papers on it. My eyes quickly scan the space. There is a clear path through the desks to the one directly behind his. If Sydney keeps Moira engaged, I could potentially sneak into it and get eyes on those documents before the banker puts them away.
I don’t have time to wait it out, and I can’t send Sydney a message to keep Moira’s attention focused on her. I just have to hope she and I are on the same page about the goal of today’s mission and that she will instinctively know to act as a diversion in any way she can manage.
She’s talking animatedly, and the banker with the cookie is walking away now. The other one is distracted at a bank of printers and other ancient-looking office machines. It’s now or never. I step out from behind the fiddle-leaf fig and into the fluorescent lights. As casually as possible, I walk toward the nearest empty desk cubicle. There’s a half-wall partition between it and the desk directly beside it, which is occupied. I catch a few words about percentage rates, a snippet of a woman saying “that does seem high,” and then I’m gone, moving diagonally across.
I have to make a quick pivot over to the next desk when I notice there is a woman sitting at the one I was aiming for, silently eating her lunch and scrolling on her phone. She is so absorbed in her yogurt parfait and—I glance at the phone, which is propped up against her desktop computer—a cat-riding-a-skateboardvideo that she doesn’t notice me nearly barreling into the partition separating her desk and the next.
I crouch in this two-sided cubicle, listening. I am closer now to my mother and Sydney, but not so close that I can make out the whole convo over the hum of noise in the bank. There’s something about places that are supposed to be quiet. To me they always feel loud.
Or maybe it’s just the anxiety that I will draw attention to myself in a space where you aren’t supposed to draw attention to yourself that makes the inside of my head feel all buzzy.
“That looks important,” I hear Sydney say, her voice laced with blatant curiosity. I wince. There is no reason to believe my mother’s senses won’t be on alert with the sudden appearance of her future stepdaughter—wow, first time I’ve thought those words. Never want to again.
“Business,” Moira replies. “You and Rick with your day jobs don’t know what it’s like being an entrepreneur.”Insufferable, but okay.
I rise slowly, peering through the little window in the partition between the desks to see that the banker Sydney gave the cookie to is on his way back to Moira and Sydney, leaving his desk—an opportune spot for spying—open. From there, I expect that I will be able to get a look at the papers Moira came here to discuss.
I shimmy across the carpet in a hurry, momentarily squatting, ear to the partition, listening.
“As soon as I know, you’ll know,” Sydney says. I slide up to see Sydney is taking a business card from the banker whose desk I’m currently hiding in—fuck, fuck, he looks like he’s planning to head back this way—when I feel eyes on me and freeze.
But it’s Sydney. Momentarily our gazes meet through the glass.
“Duncan, could you also grab me a water?” Sydney calls after him.
I catch the tail end of a smirk on her face as relief floods through me.
Partners. The word, the pinky promise. The thing we’re somehow doing despite the insane circumstances.
I force myself to focus, immediately dropping my eyes to the papers on the desk. They look vaguelyloan-like. Legal paper size. There at the top is some information about the property address—Kismet’s property address. These could be loan documents about Kismet, which doesn’t make sense to me. As far as I know, my mother doesn’t have an active loan on the place. When I was fourteen, she had a big bash—invited some of her regulars, including Louisa and Lola before Louisa bailed on her whole life.
I remember it clearly because Lola and I hid out on the roof with a thermos full of hot chocolate and some desserts we swiped from the party.
I remember because Moira called it herDebt-Free Dreamand made everyone pull cards about their own financial futures.
