35. George
George
Mrs. Kirkegard plopped a six-inch stack of folders and loose pages on the desk before me. Together, we sorted through the notes from previous banquets.
“Your father has been doing this for a long time. Alone. But your grandfather always had your grandmother’s input for the banquet.”
“You volunteering to help me?” I gave her one of my dazzling smiles.
“Oh, no. I’m only an old lady.”
“More capable than ninety-nine percent of the kids downstairs.” I eyed her over my current page. “Scratch that. One hundred percent. Old lady, my foot.”
She chuckled. “I meant, you should consider asking a special young lady to help.” She passed a list of names to me.
“Don’t have one of those.”
“Handsome young charmer like yourself should have no trouble.”
“Ah, but that’s the problem. Too many to choose from, and not one of them special.”
“Yes, sir. A serious problem.”
“Needle in a haystack. Guess that means the prickly one’s the prize.” I smirked. “Been going about it all wrong.”
She said, “The finding is half the fun.”
“You don’t say.”
I’d never given a second thought to the planning, though I’d attended every banquet. Sarah had been once or twice as Viola’s guest, but not since I’d returned from school. I asked, “What exactly requires female input?”
“Let’s see. It would be at least two trips to the Palmer House for food and wine tastings, and choosing music and decor. And then there is the invitation and the seating chart.”
“Great Scott and all his cousins?—”
“Well, it doesn’t all require input from a lady. You could do it yourself. Like your father.”
“But it might be more enjoyable with a special lady? Very subtle.” I leaned my elbow on the desk and shifted to look into her face. “Say, did my father put you up to this? He’s been wild for matrimony lately.”
“Someone needs to prod you in the right direction.”
I shook my head. “Not even a candy to butter me up.”
She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a twist of candy.
“I knew it,” I said.
Mrs. Kirkegard started to hand me the sweet, but pulled it back. “Think on it. Life is too short to walk alone.”
“Cross my heart.” I could think about marriage—that didn’t mean I had to embrace the idea.
She relinquished the sweet and patted my head. There must’ve been some dust in my eyes from all these old papers.
Itapped my cards, and the dealer flipped over a seven to make twenty-two. Busted.
“Your crazy luck had to run out sooner or later.” Buddy clapped my shoulder. “A mere mortal once again. Cheers, Georgie.” We clinked glasses. “Good to have you back.”
The smoky scotch slid down my throat with a pleasant burn. “What’d I miss?”
“Bergen got himself engaged. Miss Penny Christie.”
“Huh. Who would’ve guessed?” I raised two fingers to the waiter. “When are you going to get yourself paired up? Macy still on the prowl?”
“Like a cat in heat,” Buddy said, pulling a face.
The waiter handed us each another drink, and I nodded my thanks.
I said, “She does swish her tail something fierce when you’re near.”
“That is a fact, and I will not deny it.” He stared down into his drink while I sipped at mine. “I’m considering it.”
I straightened in my chair. “Fantastic. Have always thought you two made a good pair.”
“Don’t get too excited. Haven’t asked her yet.” He tugged at his collar. “You got to wow them for a bit before they’ll agree. Or so I’ve heard.”
“So you are… wowing?”
Buddy drummed his fingers on the table. “Not sure I’ve done any wowing. I’m pre-wowing.” He ran a hand over his face. “You’re always smooth with the ladies. Any advice?”
Not so smooth with Sarah. “I’m good at flirting and fun. But marriage isn’t for me. So I can’t let any of the ladies get too serious.”
“It’s terrifying.”
“Hey, if Bergen can manage it, anybody can.”
“Cheers to that.”
We downed our drinks, and the heat spread outward from my stomach. Buddy leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. Probably planning some wowing. Poor sap had it bad…
I reached into my pocket and came out with a fistful of pennies. Somewhere along the way, I’d started carrying them—never knew when they might come in handy for tossing.
It wasn’t Sarah’s fault. I should’ve done better. My temper and fear had hijacked my tongue. Now I feared she didn’t like me. No one disliked me. Not really. I was blazing likable. And yet…
Maybe I needed a lucky number. Maybe then Sarah would forgive me for snapping at her. Or at least look at me… Yes. A lucky number of lucky pennies. Brilliant.
“Hey, Buddy. What number is the luckiest?”
He glanced at my hand. “Pennies? You trying to find some luck? Don’t think it’s the number. Only supposed to pick up the ones that are heads up.”
“Right. Forgot about that.”
I tossed the pennies into the air. They rolled and scattered when they hit the floor. Buddy and I crouched down for a look, and soon, we were both on our hands and knees hunting for pennies.
“What’s this? You scrubbing the floors now, VanMartin?” Bart Bergen stood at the door to the card room.
Great. My favorite dud.
“Looking for my luck, Bart.”
Bart couldn’t resist coming in to see what we were up to. “Looks like pennies to me.”
“Nothing gets past you,” Buddy said.
“Hey, move those big shoes of yours, Bergen. You’re messing with my luck.” Sure enough, when Bart stepped aside, a single penny had been hidden under his foot. A penny lying face up.
“Did you hear my good news? I am off the market. Engaged.”
“Best wishes, Bart. We’ll toast your future bride when I finish gathering my luck.”
We checked every penny. I picked up those with an Indian Head showing. “Seven pennies.” I straightened and held out my palm to display my collection. “Seven is my lucky number.”
“Ha—seven, lucky indeed.” Buddy slapped his thigh and pointed at the last card I had been dealt, still sitting on the table.
Busted.
But the real game wasn’t on the table.
And I’d need every bit of luck I could scrape together.
Wool filled my mouth, and the stairs spun strangely. Use the rail. Something in my hand. Warm. My lucky pennies. Buddy and I had toasted each one. I think. Maybe not. It’s a bit foggy.
The bartender—excellent chap—remembered you’re supposed to turn over a face-down penny. Change the luck. Flip-flop. I diligently turned them over. Buddy got one. Even Bergen took one. A wedding gift. Ha. He’d need some luck. Should send one to his betrothed.
The top of the stairs. Left turn. I tottered down the hall to my room. Inside, I leaned against the closed door and waited for my floor to stop tilting. Treacherous thing.
Glowing light across the way. Sarah’s window—empty but faintly lit, as if she might be up reading. She liked to read. She liked books, but she didn’t like me. If she would stop ignoring me, I could apologize, and then she would like me again.
I closed my eyes, which didn’t help with the tilting. Or the spinning. Probably likes Higgin-whats-his-name. Stupid bicycle man. Self-important oaf. She swears in Jane Austen. Why does she do that again? Think.
My eyes opened—and there she was. Sarah.
Standing at the edge of her window, pale hair unbound and cascading to her mid-back.
Slippery. Shiny. The details of her face blurred in the dim light, but her silhouette was unmistakable.
I couldn’t breathe. Her stare slid into me.
Rattled my heart. Made it thud in my ears. She would hear.
Shh.
I took a single step away from the door and toward her. Seven staggering steps brought me to the shadow before my window. Hot pennies in my hand. Open the window. Now was a great time to apologize. Why not? She was right there.
But then… she wasn’t.
The curtain swayed, and she disappeared. No… come back. Another night, maybe.