by Keeland, Vi
The kid pointed to the sign stuck to the glass. “You know they’re still only three twenty-five a ticket, right?”
“I do. But I really need the tickets. Do they expire?”
He shook his head. “Don’t expire.”
I opened my purse and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. Flashing the cash always worked to close a street deal in New York. Well, either that, or they stole your wallet when you took it out, and then they bolted. But that had happened to me only once. I held up the fifty-dollar bill between two fingers.
“Fifty dollars. Won’t take you more than a few minutes to open the register back up, I’m sure. Change is yours.”
The kid plucked the bill out of my hand. “Be right back.”
I felt like I’d won the lottery . . . overpaying for two carousel tickets by forty-three dollars and fifty cents.
Yup, I’d lost it.
After seven hours of traveling through three boroughs, four bad dates, and being stood up, I was giddy as I left the park with the tickets securely in my purse. I felt like I’d won a battle. But really, it was only half a battle. Because how the hell was I even going to get little Birdie to Central Park?
CHAPTER 4
SADIE
I decided to leave the rest up to fate. I know, I know . . . after all that searching for the black horse and bribing a ticket taker at the park, something still felt wrong about writing to this little girl. So I placed the two carousel tickets into a box, wrapped them with the candy-cane-striped Christmas paper, and mailed them off to her. If she went, she went. And even if she did go, there was no guarantee that she’d figure out what I’d been trying to lead her to see. With no letter and almost two weeks having passed, I figured perhaps my days of playing Santa were over for the summer.
Until . . . I saw Devin walking down the hall. She’d become almost as invested in the crazy Santa-Birdie saga as I was. Every day when she brought me my mail, she checked for a letter before she left the mail room. Her long faces told me nothing had come before she stepped foot into my office. But today . . . she was literally skipping to my office wearing a full-tooth smile.
“It’s here!” She held up the envelope and waved it back and forth. “It’s here!”
What the hell is wrong with the two of us?
I wasn’t sure. But figuring it out was going to have to wait until I read the damn letter. I tore it open, and Devin came around my desk to read over my shoulder.
Dear Santa,
I love Central Park! I didn’t know there was a carousel! I asked my dad if he could take me last weekend, but we didn’t get to go because of the flood. Something happened to a rusty old pipe in the kitchen of his restaurant, and Magdalene had to come over. Magdalene’s my babysitter. She asked me if I wanted her to take me instead, but I really wanted to go with Daddy. Last week, my teacher for next year mailed all the kids in my class a welcome letter, so I told him the teacher included the tickets with her card. Anyway, I go to dance class at nine every Saturday morning, and Daddy said we could go right after. So I’ll get to go this weekend! Thank you for sending me the tickets for us.
Also, I wanted to tell you something. Remember Suzie Redmond? The girl you gave the guinea pig to? I told you how she is the worst in my first letter. Well, it was me who cut her hair. She sits in front of me in class . . . and, well, I had a pair of scissors. But I only cut some of it off from the back. It’s not even that much. She might not have noticed it if she hadn’t found some of the red pieces that fell on the floor. Anyway, she deserved it. On Tuesday, I wore these pretty pink Crocs that Dad bought me. Suzie was standing in a big circle with all her friends when I walked up and she said, “Are those Crocs? I can’t believe your mom let you out of the house like that. Oh, wait. No wonder. You don’t have a mom.”
You might be wondering why I’m telling you about Suzie. You see, Dad makes me go to these religion classes on Sunday mornings. Last week, we talked about confession. You go to church, and you tell the priest all the things you did wrong, and then he tells you to say a few prayers, and it makes everything okay again. I was hoping you sort of worked the same way. Because I don’t want you to find out and not bring Dad our special friend.
Thanks!
Love you lots!
Birdie
P.S. I also kept some of Suzie’s hair, and it’s in my jewelry box.
I started to crack up about three seconds before Devin.
“Oh my God. I freaking love this kid!” I said.
Devin laughed. “She thinks Santa works like the Catholic Church. Go murder someone, and Saint Pete still opens the pearly gates. Cut off a girl’s hair and still get gifts from Santa!”
I had to wipe tears from my eyes. “Maybe I should write back and tell her to sing three ‘Jingle Bells’ and two ‘Silent Nights.’”
We both had a good laugh, then Devin sighed. “God, that Suzie is a real piece of work, saying that to Birdie. I bet her mom is a real bitch, too.”
“I know, right? What a little evil brat. I wish I were really Santa. I’d fill her stocking with coal this year and bring her nothing.”
“And poor Birdie’s dad. That guy can’t catch a break. Dead wife, no taste in footwear, burst pipe.” Devin’s eyes went wide, and she held up her finger. The only thing missing from the picture standing before me was the bubble over her head with a light bulb. “I have an idea!”
I chuckled. “You don’t say . . .”
“Let’s go to Central Park on Saturday and stake out the carousel for Birdie and her dad. You’ll get to see Birdie’s expression if she notices the black horse, and I’ll finally get to check out her dad. I just know he’s going to be hot.”
“We can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . it’s . . . I don’t know. Creepy.”
Devin leaned against my desk. “Ummm. Did you or did you not make me go with you to follow that guy Blake you went out with a few times home from work? The one who kept getting texts from someone named Lilly, and he told you it was his mother.”
“It wasn’t his mother! He was freaking married!”
“My point exactly. Sometimes being a creeper is necessary.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Following a child just feels icky.”
“So pretend you aren’t following Birdie. You’re following her hot dad, like me!”
“I almost want to do it just to prove you wrong about her father.” I pictured a guy sort of like my dad looked at the time my mom died. Yet for some reason, Devin thought he was going to be a supermodel.
She knocked her knuckles on my desk. “Prove me wrong, then. I’ll be over at nine so we can get to the park by nine thirty. How long can dance class be? Forty-five minutes? An hour at most?”
“I don’t know . . .”
Devin walked to my door and stopped. “See you tomorrow morning. And if you don’t answer your door, I’m going all by myself.”
“I cannot believe we are doing this.”
Devin and I took the C train to Columbus Circle and stopped at Starbucks before walking over to the carousel. My partner in crime came dressed for surveillance, wearing head-to-toe black, dark sunglasses, and a wool cap . . . in July. We were lucky it was New York or she might look like the weirdo she is. I, on the other hand, had on jeans and an Aerosmith T-shirt. Because . . . you know . . . Steven Tyler and those lips. I didn’t even care he was probably pushing seventy. I’d still suck on those babies.
We took a seat on a bench located to the right of the carousel—not directly in front of it but where we could still see everyone who walked in and out. As we got into position, I started to feel really bad about what we were about to do—invade little Birdie’s privacy.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
Devin put her hand on my shoulder and applied pressure—just in case I tried to get up. “We’re doing this. Don’t even try to make a run for it.”
I slouched back onto the bench. “Fine.”
; We sat for the better part of an hour, sipping coffee, gossiping about work, and looking around for a little girl and her dad. When I caught the time on my phone, I said, “It’s after eleven. I don’t think they’re coming.”
“Let’s give it until eleven thirty.”
I rolled my eyes. But screw it, we were in this far—I might as well go along with the rest of the ride. Otherwise, Devin would never let me hear the end of it. At eleven thirty on the dot, I stood. “Let’s go, Lacey.”
“Who?”
“Cagney & Lacey. It was a show my mom used to watch when I was little. It had two women detectives.”
“Well, which one was hotter? Maybe I don’t want to be Lacey.”
I laughed. “You can be whichever one you want to be.”
I turned to throw out my coffee cup in the basket next to the bench and was just about to start to leave when I spotted a little girl and a man who had just turned into the entrance of the park. They were pretty far off, but I thought it could be Birdie. “Oh my God. Sit! Sit! I think that’s them.”
The two of us planted our asses back on the bench at the same exact time. Devin leaned forward and squinted. “Are you sure?”
I grabbed her arm and pulled her to sit back. “Don’t be so obvious.”
We watched, while completely failing at looking casual, as the man and the little girl moved closer. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and had on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He was holding the hand of the little girl. And she had on . . . a bodysuit and tutu. It was definitely Birdie!
“Oh my God. It’s them!”
Neither of us said a word as the father and daughter approached the carousel. When they got close enough so I could finally see their faces, I gasped. “Oh my God. He’s . . .”
Devin grabbed my hand. “I call dibs. I want to have his babies.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. While I was expecting a modern version of my dad twenty years ago, the man standing before me was anything but. For the record, my dad is awesome, and he’s not too shabby-looking. But this man . . . was . . . drop. Dead. Gorgeous. Wow. Just . . . yeah. Wow.
Sebastian Maxwell had dark hair, bone structure to die for, and full, beautiful lips. I’d joked how Devin thought the guy was a supermodel, but this man could actually be a supermodel. He had that longish, messy hair—the kind that he could drag a hand through, and it would look like he’d been both thoroughly fucked and just finished a photo shoot. Yeah, that was him. I was absolutely, positively speechless.
I’d been so preoccupied with ogling her father that I almost forgot the real reason I’d agreed to come—to see Birdie’s reaction when she found the black horse. It took almost all my willpower, but somehow I managed to refocus my attention on the sweet little girl. The two of them gave the ticket collector their tickets, and I watched as they walked through the gate and toward the carousel. They made it about a quarter of a way around when Birdie pointed to a white horse and smiled. Her father lifted her into the air, climbed up onto the carousel, and swung her over the horse to plant her into the saddle.
Shit. She hadn’t even passed the black horse to notice.
I felt deflated.
Though I got a boost to my morale . . . or something . . . when Birdie’s dad bent to buckle his daughter onto the ride.
What an ass. I was a little jealous of the denim that hugged the curve of that tight derriere.
Sebastian hopped onto the horse next to his daughter, and the two of them proceeded to laugh as they waited for the ride to begin. Birdie giggled at her dad pretending to fall off his horse, and she petted the mane of her own plastic ride.
Once the carousel started to turn, Devin and I sat back into our seats. In all honesty, I forgot my friend was even sitting next to me for a few minutes.
“I think I’m in love.” Devin covered her heart with her hand.
“You should probably let the man who put that obnoxiously huge rock on your finger know, then.”
She smiled from ear to ear. “Say it. Devin Marie Abandandalo was right.”
I rolled my eyes. “I guess he’s kind of cute.”
Devin burst into laughter. “You are so full of shit. You wish he was riding you right now instead of that plastic horse.”
Well, it had been a while. “Shut up.”
She grinned. “Sadie and Sebastian sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. It even sounds great, doesn’t it? Sadie and Sebastian. There’s a ring to it. Like it could be a TV show, even. Sounds better than dumb Corey and Lacey.”
“Cagney,” I corrected.
Devin shrugged. “Whatever.”
I sighed. “Birdie didn’t see the black horse with the blonde mane.”
“Eh. You’ll send her a stuffed one and a live hamster to make up for it. Let’s go back to talking about the hot dad.”
The carousel ride lasted about five minutes, and when it slowed to a stop, the black horse was directly in front of me. I tapped Devin’s arm. “There it is!”
“Maybe she’ll notice it on the way out.”
Birdie and her dad were nowhere in sight, so I figured the ride had stopped with them on the other side. The exit gate was only about two horses to the right, so if they came from the right, she wouldn’t have a chance to even see the black one. I watched as people got off the ride and started to walk toward the gate. Unfortunately, when Birdie and Sebastian appeared, they were walking from the right side. They were the last two people to exit from the group they’d ridden with, and it looked like my attempts to play Santa Claus and God had all been for naught.
Until . . . a butterfly flew by Birdie as she was about to exit. She smiled and ducked under her dad’s arm to chase it. Sebastian called after her as she took off, but she’d already run pretty far. When he called after her a second time in a deeper, more stern voice, she froze . . . directly in front of the black horse.
I literally held my breath.
I swear, the entire thing happened in slow motion after that.
Birdie turned around, seeming like she was going to walk away. But she must’ve caught sight of the black horse as she did. Her head whipped back, and her eyes grew as wide as saucers. Both hands came up to cover her open mouth. She stood there frozen for a long time. At least it felt like a long time. Until her dad walked over and grabbed her hand.
She said something to him I couldn’t hear, and then they started to walk away. Birdie made it about three steps before she wiggled out of her dad’s grip, ran back to the plastic horse, and kissed the mane on the horse that ran like the wind.
CHAPTER 5
SADIE
Watching that butterfly lead Birdie right to the horse had been truly magical. It was like the universe had intercepted to prove to me that if I thought I could control everything, I had another think coming.
Perhaps, somewhere up there, Amanda Maxwell was looking down on me and shaking her head. Maybe she thought it was about time she intervened to show me who really was in charge.
A part of me hoped that Birdie didn’t write back, because it was starting to feel like I was playing God. I didn’t want to have to continue to mislead her as much as I never wanted to disappoint her, either. This was honestly a great time to walk away from the situation—on a very happy note.
The Sunday afternoon after I’d seen Birdie in the park, I’d taken the train to Suffern to visit my father. It had felt like the perfect time to visit Dad. He was always good at offering insight when I felt stuck on something. Maybe he could give me his opinion on whether I’d taken things too far. Well, I knew I’d taken things too far, but I still wanted his opinion. And if I was being honest, I also wanted to pick his brain about what being a single dad had really been like all those years ago. There were certain things I would have never had the courage to ask him when I was younger. But now that I was older, I was curious about whether he dated more than I realized back then. I knew he’d had a couple of girlfriends in recent years, but had there been women I didn’t know about growing up?
My father lived in the same house I grew up in. It was still brown on the outside, although the paint was flaking a bit now. The house had a large front porch with hanging plant pots. While our house certainly wasn’t the biggest in town, we had an incredible amount of land. Dad had the most amazing garden, and this was the time of year he’d be pawning tomatoes off on all the neighbors because he had so many, he didn’t know what to do with them.
Dad would always calculate the exact time it would take for me to arrive based on my train. As usual, he was standing at the door waiting for me.
He gave me a huge hug. “How’s my Sadie?”
Looking up at something dangling near the top of the door, I said, “I’ve been really good. I see you made a new contraption?”
My father loved to create instruments that he believed could predict the weather. Even though there was plenty of technology in this day and age to do so, he preferred to build tools from scratch that he swore were just as good if not better than the best Doppler radar. He would give them cute names, too.
“What’s this one called?” I asked.
“The humbug.”
“What does that stand for?”
“The ‘hum’ comes from the fact that the strip of paper right there expands when it becomes more humid. The more it expands, the more chance for a storm. The ‘bug’ just sounded good with ‘hum.’”
“You’re so funny.” I smiled.
The interesting thing was, I remember the weather-instrument hobby starting not too long after my mother died. It was his way of keeping his mind occupied, perhaps, so that it didn’t wander to things that were too painful.
“I just put on a fresh pot of coffee,” he said as I followed him inside.
“Ohhhh, a fresh pot,” I teased. “To what do I owe this honor? I must be someone special.”