How (Not) to Fall in Love(38)

Lucas tilted his head at me. “What’s funny? God, Darcy, you’re talking about moving and losing all your stuff. Why are you smiling like that?”

I shook my head. “Never mind.” I paused to compose myself. “You guys are awesome. I’m going to need all the help I can get.” I held out my hand. “I need a pen.” Lucas stared at me like I was nuts, but grabbed a pen from his back pocket.

“Give me your hand,” I said. He did and I wrote my cell number quickly on his palm, then I dropped the pen into it. I even managed not to blush too much. “Text me if you hear of any places we can afford.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Absolutely.” He slid his pen back into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair, frowning slightly. I tried to read his expression, but he dropped his gaze, hiding it from me.

I returned to the counter. “Charlie, do you think one of your estate sale connections will sign a contract with a minor?”

He blinked at me. “Your mom will need to sign it.”

I sighed. Surely Mom could do that, at least, even if I was going to be stuck doing everything else. “Okay. But I’ll probably have to do all the meetings myself. Mom’s…um…really busy with work. Will you vouch for me?”

He looked like he might cry. “Of course I will.”

My shoulders sagged with relief. Maybe I could make this work. Maybe I could move a few mountains, with a little help. “No one does anything truly alone. We’re all standing on the shoulders of those who came before us, or leaning on those walking next to us, sharing our load.” Dad’s Greatest Hits, number 1,834.

“What time does your shift start?” Charlie asked.

“Four thirty. Why?”

“I’m calling in a favor from the lovely Liz. You and I are going to get something to eat first.” He glanced at Lucas. “Hold down—”

“—the fort. Got it, boss.” Lucas smiled at both of us, though his eyes were troubled as they lingered on me.

In a booth at Pinky’s Panini World I gorged myself on the most decadent sandwich ever invented—stuffed full of feta cheese, kalamata olives, roasted chicken, and sundried tomatoes. Charlie ate a salad. I didn’t know how he maintained that vegan thing, but he said it was easy. He’d even set up a vegan section in his store, where people could buy shoes and purses that weren’t made out of leather.

“The pile of crap on your plate just keeps getting bigger, doesn’t it?” he said, putting down his fork.

I almost choked on an olive, hearing my Zen uncle swear. He must be serious. I didn’t want to talk serious business, so I kept stuffing my face so I could get away with just a nod.

Charlie fiddled with his straw wrapper for a moment, then reached into his pocket and placed a set of salt and pepper shakers on the table. “These are for you.” One was a black ninja with a white sword; the other was its mirrored twin: a white ninja with a black sword.

I stopped chewing long enough to smile. “Wow, Uncle Charlie. These are cool.”

“They made me think of you.” He resumed eating his rabbit food.

“Me? Why would ninjas make you think of me?”

“Because you’re stronger than you realize. And you have the potential to be heroic.”

Since when did my uncle turn into Samuel L. Jackson and decide to recruit me to join the Avengers? Even worse, he kind of sounded like my dad when he was in hyped-up motivational mode. “I’m not exactly a superhero, Charlie. Not even a sidekick.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “You underestimate yourself, Darcy. I hate to see that.”

Wouldn’t I know it if I were special, or amazing, or heroic? Did Superman need a memo to remind him that he could fly and crush steel with his bare hands? No, he didn’t. I was just plain old Darcy. My dad was the amazing one. Or at least he used to be. Not me.

I picked up the shaker set. They were cute baby ninjas, not exactly threatening warriors of the night. “They’re a great addition for my collection. Thanks, Charlie.” I chewed on my thumbnail. “Why do I get both of them? Don’t you want to keep the salt shaker?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t need to anymore.” He almost looked embarrassed. “Kind of silly, I guess, but I hoped if I kept sending you shakers all those years, one day you’d want to track down their mates. And the guy who had them.”

I wanted to jump across the table and hug him, but I kept it under control because I knew I’d start crying if I did. “Your strategy worked,” I said, tearing up anyway. “I found you.”

Charlie nodded, smiling. “Now tell me about your dad’s latest postcard.”

I thought my fabulous panini might just come right back up. “How did you know I’d gotten one?”

“It’s been a couple of weeks since you mentioned getting one. I just assumed he was due to send another.”

How much could I tell him? Would he think I was overreacting if I told him I thought Dad was losing it? I fished the card out of my bag and slid it across the table. The others were still in my drawer at home. I carried this one with me because I was still thinking about it. Obsessing, maybe.

Charlie read the card, rubbing a hand thoughtfully across his beard. It seemed like hours before he looked up.

“Well?” I asked, when he finally did.