Okay, then: Mom.
Except his mother was stuck in Sweetheart, North Dakota. Yeah, he was stuck, too, but he wasn’t stuck somewhere that sounded like a place you were sent if you lost a bet, somewhere they’d outlawed dancing in the fifties, and where there was only one streetlight. She had problems of her own—boy, did she!—and he sure as shit wasn’t going to add to them. Was this selflessness? Or just the pure natural instinct of a grown man not wanting his mommy to know he was in such a weird dumb mess?
Hey, Mom, you know how I only call you when I need something, and maybe on your birthday? Listen, sorry you’re hip-deep in family problems, here’s another one: Someone stole all my money and I’m stuck in Venice. That’s Italy, not California. Come get me, Mommy? Bring cash and Snickers. Yeah, that was a whole world of no. Also, you’re maybe a grandma! Some stranger dumped a kid on me we don’t know is mine and then ran off. So there’s that. Which needed to be straightened out ASAP.
There was the nuclear option, but he’d have to be a lot more than broke and stranded in a foreign country with shit drying in his hair and saddled with a cute second-grader before he’d take that step. Maaaaaybe if he was in the ICU. Or had lost the use of his legs, brain, and dick. If he was hanging off the edge of a cliff by one hand and his fingers were slipping. Maybe.
The consulate? Nope; they were the reason he’d been appalled to wake up in Venice in the first place. Venice was beautiful, the food was incredible, the gondoliers had the best stories, and still he’d had no plans to come back after his last visit. The misunderstanding had been … extreme. The kind where grim men in uniforms held on to your passport and asked questions ad nauseum, then finally gave it back, only to immediately provide an “escort” to the airport.
The cops?
Maybe. But only if the consulate mess hadn’t spilled over to the local police, and he wouldn’t know that until he talked to them. Which would be a bad time to find out the knives were still out for him at the Consular Agency: when he was surrounded by cops. “You guys better treat me right! I was rich yesterday!” Pass.
He couldn’t linger in the park much longer, either; loitering was frowned upon when you smelled like he did, and there were laws against begging here. Maybe he could find another friendly homeless person. Thanks for the phone, I don’t suppose you can arrange lodging, too, right? Sorry about that whole homeless thing, by the way. Oh, a sandwich? For me? No, I couldn’t. Well, maybe just one bite. And one for the kid on my left. Ugh.
Rake plunged his hands in his pockets past the wrists and tried to think. There had to be something he—
“We could ask Delaney for help.”
He jumped. The kid had a near-uncanny ability to fade from his consciousness; she didn’t fidget or hum or kick her feet or any of the things kids did when they were bored (and which he still did on occasion). No one would ever feel the need to buy Lillith a fidget spinner. She just sort of faded into the background, blending like adorable chubby-cheeked camouflage until …
“That’s an idea.” He felt for the business card he’d absently tucked away after Delaney left, and now he pulled it out and looked at it. Plain white, neat black lettering, nothing embossed: I. C. Delaney. Exactly the kind he’d have if he ever had business cards. Well, maybe with everything in a kind of shrieking red font. And I. C.? What was that supposed to mean? Didn’t she say her name was—God, what was it?—something from one of the hotties in The Breakfast Club. No, not Judd Nelson. Definitely not the geek who grew up and turned psychic—Claire! That was it, Claire Delaney, who for some reason called herself Delaney, except when she was handing out business cards, when she called herself I. C. Delaney.
She’d even told him where she was staying, probably just trying to be nice—never in a hundred years did he think she was trying to pick him up, not after the horrors she’d endured in his company—but still: He had that info in his brain somewhere.
Somewhere he’d never stayed, somewhere cheap, relatively speaking. He even remembered feeling mild sympathy for anyone who had to stay somewhere less than luxurious in a city with the Ruzzini Palace and Palazzina G. Not that her hotel sounded terrible; it simply wasn’t the best—the best—best—Best Western Olimpia! Yessss! Finally things were going his way! His brain was actually engaging and being helpful! He’d actually figured something out without Delaney’s help! For the first time that day! Suck it, Blake!
“We should probably get going,” Lillith the Uncanny was saying. “Her hotel’s a couple of kilometers from here.”
“How d’you even know— Never mind.” He flipped the card over and saw she’d written the name of the hotel on the back, like she knew he’d have trouble remembering, and where it happened to be at the kid’s eye level. Like Delaney figured he’d need a mental nudge. Which was annoying, and not just because she was right.
“You think you’re soooo smart,” he told the card, then put it back in his pocket. “And you…” To Lillith, who once again put her small hand in his. “You’re really smart. C’mon, let’s go to I. C. Delaney.”
Eleven
Fifty miles! Fifty fucking miles from point A to point B, all because Delaney had a hard-on for Best Westerns. Well, okay, three. Three miles in a city that offered at least a dozen ways to get lost with every turn. Three miles during which every step made him worry the top of his skull was going to implode until his brains squirted out of his nose. Three miles during which Lillith never once complained, though she offered to pay for a vaporetto. (He’d been tempted for a few seconds, but then pride—stupid, nauseating pride—won out.) Three miles during which he cursed Past Rake for leaving Present Rake in such a mess. Future Blake needed to get busy on a time machine so he could go back and beat the shit out of Past Blake, and oh thank God here it was.
He couldn’t help but note the irony; the hotel was in the Piazzale Roma, the one place in Venice accessible by car, if he’d had one. And just a few feet from the vaporetto stop, if he’d let Lillith use her lawn-mowing money (was she even big enough to mow lawns?) to buy them tickets. Venice, you cruel, ironic bitch.
He tried not to stagger as he entered the lobby
(dignity, man! where’d you hide yours?)
and almost succeeded. He definitely didn’t look around in desperate hope for a drink dispenser full of water and lemon slices as he didn’t limp up to the front desk and explain what he was doing there. He let his eyes
(I’ll give you a thousand bucks if you don’t throw me out. I just don’t have it on me right now.)
do the abject begging and sniveling for him. And Lillith’s eyes.
But the clerk was ready for him. Them. “Ciao, Signor Tarbell. La signorina Delaney ti ha chiesto di incontrarla presso dietro l’angolo al nostro ingress di carico.”*
“She knew I was coming?” he asked, dumbfounded, and got a polite smile and a shrug in reply before the clerk turned away and picked up a ringing phone. “She knew I was coming,” he said to Lillith, and it was still hard to process. Then: “Did he say loading entrance?”
“Yes.”
Every time. Every time I think this day can’t get weirder … it’s like the day keeps hearing that and accepts it as a personal challenge. STOP accepting the challenge, weird day!
And Lillith doesn’t just speak Italian. She’s fluent—she knew he said “loading entrance,” which is not an expression commonly found in remedial How to Speak Italian texts.
What a cool kid!
“You’re an unnaturally calm child,” he told her. “Which is not a criticism at all.” He’d tried asking her about her mother and how she’d come to Venice and where Delaney fit into the mess, but Lillith had just blinked up at him and politely said, “I don’t want to talk about that right now, please.” He took the hint.
“Thanks. I have really low blood pressure.” When he just blinked, she elaborated: “Hypotension?”
“I know what low— Never mind.” He led her back out and around and found the loading area, and there she was,
helping a few other women load boxes into an SUV, I. C. Delaney in the yummy flesh. “Oh, hey,” she said with a wide smile when he limped up to her (except he definitely didn’t limp). “Was wondering when you two were gonna swing by. Hey, gorgeous.”
“Hi, Delaney!” Lillith waved as if she were afraid Delaney couldn’t see her from three feet away.
“You sound relieved.” He looked around. “What is this?”
“Charity” was the reply as she heaved the last box into the SUV.
“Oh, like a marathon?”
An inelegant snort greeted that. “Marathons aren’t really charities. Well, technically they are, because technically they raise money, but still.”
He grinned, both at her disgruntled expression and her matter-of-fact delivery. And God, that felt good. He hadn’t felt like smiling much today. “So, the literal textbook definition of charity, then.”
She puffed a hank of hair out of her eyes. “Sure. But runners will always run. It’s just, occasionally they’ll do the thing they love to do and would do anyway to also raise money.”
“What, they can’t have fun? They have to raise money and be miserable?”
She blinked and straightened, patted the roof of the SUV, and then stepped back as it cruised off, waving once. None of the women had spoken, just quietly went about loading until they left. “Huh. Well. Didn’t think of it like that.” Then she giggled. Giggled! The delicate sound should have sounded strange coming from the lanky woman, but it was just charming. Like her grin.
“How’s your day been?” she asked Lillith, who shrugged.
“He still thinks I’m a horrible mistake.”
“I do not!” Shocked, Rake stared down at her. “You’re worlds from being a horrible anything. I’m just not your dad, and you shouldn’t be with me. Not that there’s something wrong with me. It’s just—you should be with your mom, uh…”
“Donna Alvah.” This from Delaney and Lillith in unison.
“Yeah, about that.” He fought the urge to jab a finger at Delaney. “How do you know the kid’s mother but I don’t? And where is her mother? Why are you even here with her? Who are you? Are you some sort of one-woman international child-placement agency? What the hell is going on?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I knew you were gonna say that.”
“What other kind of story could it be?” Lillith wondered aloud. “If it was a short one, she could have told it to you by now.”
“Good point. See, Delaney? Lillith’s got your number.”
“Literally,” the kid added, holding up a card identical to the one in Rake’s pocket.
He laughed. “I’m pretty sure she’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. And I’ve met Blake Tarbell.”
“Fair enough. We’re finished here, so.” She spoke briefly with the three remaining women, hugged one of them, then turned back to Rake and Lillith. He was morbidly aware that Delaney’s—friends? coworkers? sisters?—were staring at him. “C’mon with me.”
They fell into step beside her as she left the loading area and headed to the front of the hotel. “You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Rake pointed out. “Us.”
“Nope.”
Now that he was under her steady gray-eyed gaze, he was having trouble finding the words to explain how his day had gone after she’d run off. Am I seriously trying not to sound pathetic? After throwing up on the woman? Twice? “This is going to sound incredible—”
“Try me.”
“—but I’ve been robbed.”
“We’ve been over this. You threw your own wallet into Lake Como. You mugged yourself.”
“Not that!” he snapped over Lillith’s giggles, then had to grin because, yeah, the whole thing was absurd, but he could see the humor in it. Sort of.
“Listen, my bank accounts are empty. I don’t know if it’s an online snafu or an accounting screwup or just a mistake, but technically, I’m broke.”
“And he won’t borrow from me,” Lillith put in. “Out of a misguided notion of—uh—actually, I don’t know why he won’t borrow.”
Because, among other things, you couldn’t go anywhere or do anything in Venice for less than twenty euros. He wouldn’t embarrass her by asking for money she didn’t have. “Keep your snow-shoveling money.” To Delaney: “Like I said, technically, I’m broke.”
“Technically, that must suck.”
“It does suck,” he agreed. “I’m sure it’ll get straightened out in a day or two, but in the meantime I can’t reach my family and … I … we…” He glanced at Lillith, the hotel, and Delaney. The sun was setting, turning the canal gorgeous shades of orange and pink and cream, and tourists rushed around and past them, intent on dinner and, later, the night life. He wanted to be one of them very, very badly.
Come on, Delaney. Pick up on the hint. It’s been the most humbling day of my life, and that’s counting the time I fell asleep in Bio and fell face-first into my dissected frog. I had frog kidneys stuck to my cheek until lunch! Nobody told me!
Nope. No joy. She was opening the lobby door now, and walking toward the elevators. He hesitated, having no clue what to do next, and nearly wept in relief when Lillith said, “He hates borrowing and he’s too proud to ask if we can stay with you tonight. He doesn’t know you’ll say yes.”
“Oh my God I love you,” he muttered under his breath, earning another giggle from Lillith the Great and Powerful.
Delaney glanced back and said, “Well, come on, then.”
“Nice work,” he whispered, and Lillith smiled at him, then let out a yelp as he practically lifted her off her feet as he galloped to Delaney.
Yessssss! She was leading him to her room! Her bed! Oh dear God, her shower! He might never come out. He might sleep in the shower, eat in the shower. He might vacation in the shower, grow old and die in the shower.
Of course, if Delaney wanted him in her bed, that was completely fine. Yes, she spent an annoying amount of time laughing at his troubles, but she was also the only real help he’d had since he woke up (besides the homeless teenager who’d lent him a phone). And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the look of her: those long legs, those clear gray eyes, that wide, pretty mouth, that … um … that mouth …
Oh, but … Lillith.
Right. No nooky with a kid looking on. No anything with a kid looking on.
First things first. He’d beg a shower, they’d figure out sleeping arrangements, he’d eat something, and he’d get the scoop on the kid and finally hear about the sequence of events that led to three strangers bunking in a Venetian Best Western for the night.
Then: He’d get his life back.
Y’know, eventually.
Twelve
“What the hell is all this?” he asked, staring so hard that he thought his eyeballs might dry out.
“Cover,” Delaney said shortly. She had brought them up to her room and, while Lillith used the bathroom, had gone straight to a safe underneath the coffeepot. She keyed in the combo, checked to make sure something was in there
(passport?)
then rummaged around and closed it again; when she stood, her hands were empty.
“What?”
“Cover,” she replied. “Did you lose your hearing along with your money?”
“No, but the way this day’s been, it wouldn’t surprise me if I spontaneously went deaf from full-body exposure to toxic canal water.”
Delaney snorted, because she was a heartless wench.
Rake looked around her room, which was too big to be a standard and too small to be a suite, at the serviceable desk and chair, a lovely big bed with the de rigueur padded headboard, a small kitchen area, and a great big window overlooking the hotel garden. All of which was eclipsed by the Easter baskets, toys, candy, and school supplies on every surface save the bed. And Peeps. Loads and loads of Peeps, pink Peeps and yellow Peeps and blue and lavender Peeps, Peeps as far as the eye could see, a goddamned rainbow of Peeps. He had drowne
d in the canal and this was Hell.
“Cover for what, exactly?” Was Delaney some kind of rogue Easter bunny? With a Peep fetish?
“Never mind.”
“Oh, okay. Not too mysterious.”
The toilet flushed and Delaney lowered her voice. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do about Lillith?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he replied, and he was pretty sure he’d never uttered a truer statement. “And why would I? We don’t even know if I’m her dad! Which I’m probably not, since I never knew anyone named Donna. Where’s her mother? Surely she can straighten this out.”
“Ah. That. It’s a long story.”
“And a mysterious one, too, I’m betting. Because that’s the way things are going.”
“It hasn’t been fun and games for Lillith, either,” she snapped. “You could try thinking about someone who isn’t you. Just for a change of pace. Just to see if you like it.”
He made a concerted effort to stomp on his temper. “This is the third time I’ve asked for details about her and/or her mysteriously missing mother and been put off.”
“Third?”
“I asked Lillith while we were walking over here.”
“You—you did?”
“Well. Yeah. It was a three-mile walk. The conversation was lagging.”
Delaney looked and sounded—could it be?—tentative. “What’d she say?”
“That she didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh. What’d you say?”
“I said okay, and we didn’t talk about it. Then I took a break to dry-heave into a bush, and we continued on until we got here, where we’re still not talking about it.”
“Well.” She leaned against the dresser, knocking packs of Peeps onto the floor as she did so. “You can’t blame her.”
“I have no idea whether or not to blame her, because I don’t know what’s going on! You can’t pop up out of nowhere—twice—and then dump a kid on me you think might be mine and expect me to have her enrolled in Meadows by the end of the day. Especially since, hello, I’m not exactly equipped to do the dad thing, especially today.”
The Love Scam Page 5