Chapter Fifteen

Raspberry Night

Veda

Salinger’s text explained that they had closed the store, ordered pizza, and were planning to eat at Pearl’s.

When I knocked on Pearl’s door, she let me in with a flourish. “You would not believe what Salinger says about you,” she hissed in my ear as I came in.

I wiped my ear out with the collar of my shirt and replied, “It’s probably boring.”

“Maybe you’ll be more interested in what he says about me,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “He says I should study tarot reading. That's his big idea for the store. We're going to make a two-person carnival tent in the corner of the shop and let people have a five-minute tarot reading with every purchase over fifty dollars. They can pay to extend the reading if they are interested and Salinger says I should be the reader. Isn't that exciting?”

That was a good idea. Everything he suggested was brilliant and I was annoyed at myself for not being bold enough to get the ball rolling myself. The place already looked less crummy with his painting, but if the right touches were put in the right places, it could be a real cash cow. People were often curious about what a tarot reader might say.

I tugged at her sleeve. “I’ll help with your outfit.”

She giggled. “Salinger knew you would feel that way. He says he and Antony will make the tent while you and I will figure out a dress.”

I paused. That had been very considerate. Salinger knew that much about what I liked to do? Did he really have me figured out?

Antony came up behind us and said, “But not tonight. I'm bushed. When is the pizza going to get here?”

Pearl left me and went to see if the delivery man was outside.

I didn't see Salinger and went deeper into the house to find him. Pearl's house was built in the year 1911 and that meant two things. Firstly, the place was about two seconds off of being condemned, and secondly, that it had dozens of beauty spots. Specifically, there was a sunroom in the back of the house that was perfect for laying out magical objects to gather solar and lunar energy.

That was where I found Salinger. He was setting a table.

“What are you doing out here?”

He was placing a collection of ancient candles between the two place settings. “Pearl and Antony are planning to watch something on Netflix, but I didn't think you were the type of girl to sit on the couch and let pizza crumbs fall on your dress.”

“It's a skirt,” I corrected. “A real Scottish one that was woven in the highlands.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Then I'll get napkins.”

I put up my hand. “I'll get them. You don't know where they are and you are tired. Sit down.”

Back in the house, the pizza had arrived and Antony handed me the one Salinger had paid for, his expression acidic. I was about to walk past him, but remembering the napkins, I paused to riffle around Myra’s kitchen. Since Pearl wasn't in the room, I took the chance to talk smooth things over with him.

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“Antony,” I whispered, leaning forward. “I'm sorry about what happened before.”

“I'm sure you are,” he said, turning away from me and lighting a stick of dragon's breath.

“I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“It was unavoidable,” he drawled, smoking. His expression read, 'We’ll get along better if you stop talking.'

I grabbed the napkins and moved away.

“I feel sorry for that poor new bastard you have on the line. He'll be disappointed too.”

I flicked an impudent look back at him. “I keep telling him that. Maybe you can help persuade him to leave me alone.”

Antony smirked, “It wouldn't work. He wants you too much. It’s as obvious as this smoke.” He blew a line of orange vapor in my face.

It wasn’t like tobacco smoke and instead smelled like cotton candy. I smiled, breathing it in. It was a happy bit of magic and I felt so proud of Pearl for making it. It was so potent, I forgot completely that Antony and I were at odds. I bent closer to him. “Hey Antony, give me a drag.”

He extended his slim brown hand and handed it to me between his fingers. I took it between mine and was about to take a puff when I felt something. Antony’s hands were in plain sight. One was resting on his abdomen and the thumb of his other hand stroked his bottom lip, but again I felt his hands on me. The feeling was not the feeling of two fingers lightly caressing my thigh. It was the feeling of four fingers on my collarbone, touching my throat carefully and tenderly. Then he was touching me with five fingers. Then I felt a second hand on my back, soothing, slowly moving downwards.

Sick, I handed the dragon’s breath back to him without inhaling. “Can’t she make it pink, like her hair, like her clothes, like her heart?” I said acidly to repay him for the insult of touching me with invisible fingers.

We glared at each other in a face-off, neither of us softening until we heard Peal call to us from the living room.

Finished with him, I flicked my hair in his face and left the room.

When I got back to the sunroom, Salinger was pouring something into two goblets.

“What's that?” I asked.

“Don't get too excited. I haven't landed on what our drink should be yet, and tonight I didn't have time to prepare a proper audition. This is just ginger ale with raspberries mushed in.”

“If you were trying to impress me, you would say 'ginger ale with a raspberry infusion.'”

He smiled.

“'Our drink?'” I repeated.

“Sure. We've got to have a drink. I know you had that one thing when you had lunch with Antony, but when you're with me we should drink something different. You like something bubbly, so it should be something that starts with carbonation, but what about the exact flavor?”

“If you want it to be unique, it should be two flavors or maybe even three,” I suggested as I dished out the pizza.

Salinger took a sip. “I like this just fine, but fresh raspberries that I stole from the back of Intarsia's house are not always available.”

“Let's see. Raspberry-lemon, raspberry-peach, raspberry pear, raspberries, and...”

“Cream,” he finished.

Almost at once, the idea of raspberries and cream flooded my mind with the most incredible vision of late summer and the old days where I used to pick raspberries by the basketful. I could feel the golden wind of the sunset toss my hair over my shoulders and the feeling of the berry bursting in my mouth. Out of absolutely nowhere, the words sprung to my lips, “I love you.” I said it in a hushed whisper. I didn't even realize I had said it out loud.

“What did you say?” Salinger interrupted.

Whipped out of my daze, I bumbled, “Did I say something?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?” I faltered, knowing exactly what I had said.

He didn't answer me but leaned forward. The sun was setting, though not like the sunset of my vision, it provided enough light to see that Salinger's eyes were amused and provoked at the same time. “Say it again,” he drawled.

The look in his eyes was too inviting. Something was wrong. I couldn't remember why we weren’t supposed to be together. When I said I loved him, I couldn't have meant it. It had to have been a blurt, like a hiccup or a sneeze. That was the only thing that made sense.

“I'm not sure what I said,” I lied.

“Someday, you'll say it again,” he said confidently.