As if he read my thoughts, he squeezed my hand. “You rethinking that kid thing?”
I nervously laughed. “No, why?”
“Matthew’s kids are adorable, I wouldn’t blame you.”
Overhearing our conversation, Matthew spoke. “Don’t do it! Your freedom will be gone forever.”
Kelly bounced her daughter on her hip and nodded her agreement. However, the adoring smile that played on her lips as she smoothed down her daughter’s hair said she wouldn’t trade it in for the world. That same stupid ache flared. I needed to get away from these kids before my ovaries exploded.
“Is everybody ready to go?” I asked.
My question started the process of buttoning coats, finding keys, and finally getting out the door.
The party was in full swing when we arrived. A middle-aged woman with streaks of purple in her hair whisked Andrew away immediately, claiming his adoring fans were waiting to meet him. He rolled his eyes at me over his shoulder. Waiters made their rounds with caviar and champagne. I took advantage of both and wove through the crowds to a less crowded spot. I was dying to see the pieces of artwork Andrew completed mere days ago. However¸ where they were located in the expansive space eluded me. A younger couple stood before the painting featured on the inventory list. Their heads were mere inches from the canvas, whispering in short bursts. Eavesdropping, I slipped next to them and pretended to study the art.
“I can’t believe Andrew is actually here.”
“I know. Nobody has heard from him the past eight months.”
“I heard he moved to Montana and became a rancher.”
“My friend who is friends with his cousin said he joined a Mexican gambling ring.”
The rumors were so ridiculous, I giggled into my champagne, drawing stares from them. I moved on to an adjoining area of the art gallery. People packed the room like sardines in a can, which made it near impossible to see Andrew’s art. Standing on my tippy-toes, a bald shiny head blocked my view. Jesus, I knew Andrew was well known, however, I had no idea to what extent. Based on the couple’s gossip, I had to wonder if these people were drawn to his talent or Andrew’s mystique. Pulling a page from short people’s handbook, I used my elbows to make my way to the front. Glares were thrown, curses were muttered, and a drink was spilled. It worked though. I gawked in awe at a painting titled ‘Girl’ and my previous doubts at why these people were here diminished. Andrew wasn’t just talented. He was gifted. Bold strokes of yellow blended with orange created a fiery sunset that dipped into a clear blue ocean. A lone woman in a rowboat looked like a speck against the limitless water. She was drawn in charcoal and smudged around the corners as if she was about to drift away. Sadness poured out of the painting.
“What do you think it’s about?”
Turning my head, a man dressed in a navy suit stared at the painting with his hands clasped behind his back. He seemed familiar.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
He glanced at me and a chill ran down my spine. His eyes were the color of soot. “I thought you might, but let me reintroduce myself.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Nigel.”
The last thing I wanted to do was shake his hand. I felt like if I did, I would be making a deal with the devil. Ignoring his gesture, my gaze wandered the room, searching for Andrew.
“Your boyfriend is on the patio,” Nigel said. “He can’t always protect you.”
“What does that mean?”
An ugly smirk stretched his thin lips. “So naïve you are.”
“Whatever.”
I turned to leave, but people on all sides blocked my exit. Shit. I didn’t want to stand next to this creepy guy longer than I had to. Nigel looked as if was enjoying my plight.
He casually sipped his champagne and eyed me over the rim. “Your mother would be disappointed in you, H.”
My body jerked as if an electric wire struck me. Nobody else called me that nickname except my mother. Who was Nigel really? Angered at being cornered, my hand lashed out and aimed for the champagne glass. He grabbed my wrist mid-air, his fingernails digging into my skin.
“How dare you show up here, whoever you are,” I whispered ferociously.
“You really don’t remember me?”
My lips curled. “What can I say? Your face isn’t memorable.”
Instead of showing anger, Nigel broke into a gap-toothed smile and dropped my wrist. It was then the missing puzzle piece snapped into place. Nigel, otherwise known as Gums, used to be Big Ted’s right hand man until he was arrested and sent to prison. I hadn’t seen him in almost ten years. His complexion had hardened, but those cold merciless eyes remained the same.
“I love how feisty you are,” Nigel purred as he leered at me. “And those boobs you have grown into aren’t so bad either.”
Disgust crawled over my skin as I slapped my hands over my chest. “You always have been quite the pervert, Gums.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t. Now let me guess why you’re here.”
Nigel reached into his pocket, pulling out a small envelope. “I’m not here to play guessing games with you, sweetheart. What we want is pretty cut and dry.”
Big Ted had the tenacity to stick one of his goons on me after he torched my apartment. He was lucky nobody died or else I wouldn’t be standing here talking calmly to Nigel. Blood would be splattered across Andrew’s painting, ruining his art show.
“Tell Big Ted it was the wrong move to set my apartment on fire.” I looked around and lowered my voice. “He is fucking with the wrong girl.”
Confusion flashed across his face. “What fire?”
“I thought we weren’t playing games.”
Nigel blinked at me as if he had no clue what I was talking about. Was it really a case of bad luck and faulty wiring? Jesus, if so then I needed to break about ten wishbones and hope my luck improved.
Nigel rubbed the back of his neck. “That sucks, girl. My apartment once burned to the ground. Of course it was my own doing, fell asleep smoking a cigarette. Almost didn’t get out alive.”
Getting sympathy from a convicted conman named Gums wasn’t very soothing. I changed the subject. “What’s with the envelope?”
“Oh, right.” He shoved it into my hands. “Big Ted says you have twenty-four hours. You can drop off the money at his house eleven sharp tomorrow morning.”
There was a threat attached to the end of that sentence. Nigel blended into the crowd before I could ask what additional debauchery Big Ted had up his sleeve. My finger ripped open the envelope. Inside was a used heroin needle. My pulsed raced in my ears and the crowd dimmed to a low buzz. The threat became clear—twenty-four hours until Sumiko ended up dead the same way my mother did—by overdose.
My favorite fairy tale as a child was the one about how my mom and dad met. My mom would turn off the lights, sit at the end of my bed and weave a story fraught with romance. Back then her melodic voice was as clear as a bell. I would lay in bed entranced, hanging onto her every word. I can still recount the story verbatim.
It was a scorching August day and my mom was working at the convenience store as a cashier. She was trying to save up enough money to leave Dayton, Ohio for New York. She dreamed of becoming a Rockette even though her mama told her she danced like a donkey. No amount of criticism would stop my mom; she had stars in her eyes. Ringing up an order, the bell tinged over the door. She glanced up and saw a man who looked like he belonged in an old western. Dirt dusted his hair, cowboy boots decorated his feet, and his emerald green eyes twinkled with mischief. My mom knew in that moment she had to have him. Call lust, call it love, whatever it was knocked her sideways. The cowboy perused the aisles, settling on a Twinkie and a packet of corn nuggets. He dumped his haul on the counter.