Page 42 of The Sun and the Moon
“You were telling me how you became a tour guide,” I say in that leading way that hopefully gets him going again.
“Ah, right!” he says with a snap. “The whole consulting gig paid well but was pretty inconsistent, as you can imagine, and while I had my 401(k) for retirement and I had money socked away, I got restless between jobs and wanted something more to fill that time.”
“And your mind went to tour guide at Universal Studios?”
“I was on a set—I’ll point it out when we pass by today—and the tour came by. I could hear the guide chattering about thehistory of the studio, saw all those happy faces, and it reminded me of my wife and me bringing Sydney here every summer break. It felt like a link to the past, simple as that.”
The welcome video starts playing, introducing the ride, and I know we won’t have much more time to chat before he has to turn on the mic and charm the customers.
“What was she like as a kid?” The question blurts from my lips, surprising me. This is not the kind of investigation I’m supposed to be doing right now.
“Birdie?” he asks, chuckling.
Birdie. His nickname for her.If she was a bird, she wouldn’t be easy to catch.The thought makes my stomach seize. As if I want to catch her, hold her in my hand, hold on to her forever.
“She was a spitfire,” Rick continues. “Smart, but not just with her academics—which she, of course, excelled at. She had this keen ability to notice details, never missed anything, never let it go if you tried to pull one over on her. Transparent to a fault, horrible liar.” I bite back a laugh and pass it off as a cough. Her skills have improved only slightly as she has gotten older, but I don’t see that as a bad thing. Normally, at least. For the purpose of our scheme to root out Moira’s motive for marrying Rick, I wouldn’t mind a bit more finesse.
“Did she always know she wanted to be a pilot?” I ask. I’ve wondered how much of that decision was for herself and how much was because she felt guilty her dad retired early. I can’t see Rick’s eyes behind his aviators, but the set of his jaw goes rigid at the question.
He’s saved from answering by the sound of the instructional video winding down. Time to turn on the charm. He flicks on the mic, and his lips rise into an automatic, larger-than-life smile.
“Hello, hello, everybody, and welcome to the world-famous Studio Tour at Universal Studios in beautiful Hollywood, California!” This greeting gets a chorus of cheers from the audience, which feels like the appropriate word for the people taking this tour. “Are we excited to be here, everybody?” More cheers. I glance around at the family on the front bench seat. The Rosalina stan is clapping animatedly, her father and brother look like they’ve started to fall asleep, and Mom is nursing a cup that is likely full of one of the park’s many alcoholic beverage offerings.
Smart woman. I wish I had thought to grab one on the way in.
Rick goes through his own safety and housekeeping brief, and once everyone has more than thoroughly assured us that they all have a pair of 3D glasses, we’re off toward the lot. He removes his aviators now that the camera is on him, and with every bit of history he reveals (most of which I somehow still remember from the one visit in the eighth grade), the mood of the audience becomes more unified. Everyone listens, laughing at his jokes—which are plentiful. Even that sleepy dad and boy in the front start to perk up.
But for me, watching him charm the audience only dampens my mood.
He’s more than a nice guy who’s worked hard all his life. He’s a man who approaches the world, despite all its flaws and all the ways he’s been wounded, with the hopeful optimism of a dreamer. If I weren’t absolutely certain Moira was up to something, I’d almost believe they were made for each other.
I inwardly kick myself at the urge to give in to the idea that soulmates aren’t just a ruse my mother uses to make money. But entertaining the idea that soulmates might really exist isn’t something I can let myself do. Then, my mother would be right, and allher pushing, prodding, and manipulation would come into question. Fit beneath that rose-colored light, I would have to start to question whether running from Moira’s premonitions was really the right path for me at all.
?An icon of the Universal Studios backlot tour, the 3D Fast & Furious—Supercharged portion is a favorite of most people, but I have a tendency toward motion sickness. We’re midway through the chase sequence when I finally have to lift the glasses from my nose for relief.
My eyes immediately catch on Rick’s cell phone, lit up in his hand, as he types out a message rapid-fire with both thumbs. I shouldn’t peek. No matter the objective, a person’s texts aren’t the business of a prying onlooker. Even if I’m trying to help with my nosiness.
But I do look, knowing full well that a text he feels the need to reply to in the middle of a tour is probably urgent. Might even contain a clue.
The text thread is withGREGand from the fast glance I can manage to get of the screen, I see it’s about money.
The word alone is a cold block in my stomach.
Greg:Hey bud—Pam and I are a go for this weekend, but she’s on my case again.
Rick:She has the right.
Greg:She does, she does. Where are you at on that loan?
Rick is typing his response, so I read it in real time.
Rick:I’m grateful for your help, you know that, but we’re not to any firm numbers yet—though should be soon.
He sends it. Waits. And then when he sees those telltale three blinking dots, he adds:Moira promises it will all sort out.
And then he signs the text with his name like it’s an email.
If there was a pit in my stomach at the mention of money, this last exchange feels like a fist clenched around my throat. They’ve known each other for three months. What financial situation could the two of them have gotten tied up in during that time? Rick doesn’t seem like an impulsive individual—speedy engagement to my mother notwithstanding.
