A hot girl who knows shoe repair? What are the odds? “Why’d you leave?”
“My family fell on hard times, so they sent me to live with my rich uncle Sam.”
Rich Uncle Sam? This guy?
“But I miss my family so much,” she says. “Specially my big sister. She’s expectin’ a baby soon. I wish I could at least visit, but there’s no money for bus fare, and I’ve got no car.”
“I’m sorry. I’m away from home too. I know it’s tough.”
She wipes a tear. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with all my stupid problems.” Her arm brushes mine. “But would you mind if I look at your drawing? It reminds me of home.”
“Sure. It’s nothing special. Someday, I want to design really expensive shoes like Ferragamo.”
“Oh, we don’t have anything like that back home. I come from a small town. I never heard of anyone having shoes that cost more than forty dollars before I got here.”
“‘Mama always said you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes,’” I say, quoting the movie Forrest Gump. “‘Where they’re going. Where they’ve been.’”
She laughs. “Where you from?”
I look down at her shoes, flip-flops with no arch support at all. Something tells me to lie, even though she’s so beautiful and sweet looking. “Ah, New York. I go to NYU.” I think I’m old enough to pass for a college student.
“Woo! College boy! That’s why you got on that Yankees cap.” She starts to take it off. I shouldn’t let her, but I do. She’s beautiful. “You’re pretty cute.”
“You too.” It’s dawning on me that this girl, this incredibly hot girl, is interested in me. Not like Victoriana, who just wanted me for what I could do for her, but really interested.
“My name’s Norina. What’s yours?”
“John.”
“John, you want to take me out tonight?”
I start to nod, then remember I have to stay the night. The whole night. And I need to steal the bird. Maybe I can go out with her, then come back. No. Last night, I fell into a trap. I can’t chance it again. “Sorry. I really can’t leave tonight.”
She pouts at me, and I add, “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just need to get up super-early in the morning.”
She shrugs. “It’s okay. You don’t owe me an explanation. I just . . .” She looks at my drawing again. “I felt lonely, and I thought it might be fun to be with someone.”
An inspiration strikes me. “How about tomorrow? I can see you then.”
With any luck, I’ll be gone tomorrow, off in pursuit of the frog. But if I’m still around, it wouldn’t be bad to have a good-looking girl to hang out with.
“Sure,” she says. “I should get going now.”
And then she leaves.
I finish the chicken and fries, leaving the gross-looking slaw. At first, I think I’ll wait for Norina to come back for the plate, so I can see her again. But then I realize that would be a terrible idea. I can’t resist temptation a second time. So I leave the dish outside the door. Still, I look down the hall to see if she’s there. She’s not. No one is.
After I eat, I turn out the lights, pull my chair up to the window, and look out. It’s barely dark out, but there’s not much going on. A few cars in the parking lot, and a motorcycle, but not the motorcycle. I see Norina bringing a bag of trash to the Dumpster. She takes out something and leaves it on a paper plate. So she’s been the one feeding Todd.
She glances up toward my window, and I think she sees me despite the darkness. I pull the curtain closed over my face. When I look a second later, she’s gone. I must’ve nodded off then, because when I look next, the cars and motorcycles are, except for one that might be Sam’s or a lone guest’s, all gone. Out of the window is nothing but stars. I glance at the digital clock on the table where I put the shoe drawings. Four a.m. Time to get going.
Chapter 21
I take everything with me. I won’t be back. I realize I cheated Sam out of his three hundred bucks. I think about leaving it, just because I’m ridiculously honest, but decide against it. I’m stealing his bird, after all. I’m going to need to use the cloak and be good and gone by the time he wakes up.
Now I wrap the cloak around me as I step outside into the hallway.
The motel is too quiet, quiet enough that every step creaks and thunders. I use the cloak to get downstairs, but not into the bar, not yet. If I’m wrong, if the fox was mistaken about the bar being empty, I want to make a quick escape. I stand outside the door. The light above it is burned out, but the moon shines bright. I see my shadow, twenty feet high. The darkness is comforting, but scary. Anyone could be out there, including the person who enchanted me yesterday.
I peer inside the bar. No one there, just like the fox said. No one but the bird. I’m either alone or as good as caught, so I flick on my flashlight and shine it on the cage. It gleams, as golden as morning. Even the bird’s feathers seem like twenty-four karat. I make sure not to shine the light in the bird’s eyes. I don’t want to wake it.
I remember the fox’s instructions: Move the bird from the golden cage to the wooden one. But why? It would be much easier to transport it in the cage it’s in. Still, I remember what happened last time I didn’t follow the fox’s orders.
I use the cloak to wish myself inside. No tricks. When I get in, I stuff the cloak inside my backpack and shine the flashlight along the floor, searching for the wooden cage. Finally, I see it, along the far wall. It’s on its side and latched. I go to open it, but the latch sticks. I pull on it. The door snaps off.
I swear under my breath. How am I going to put the bird in a broken cage? Still, I take it by its carry handle.
The handle falls off too.
How does this guy even keep the bird in this crummy cage? But maybe that’s why he doesn’t keep it there at night. He switches it to the stronger cage, then uses the less flashy one by day.
I take the cage by one wooden side only to find my hand full of twigs.
I swear again.
I glance up at the bird. My eyes are used to the darkness now, so I turn off the flashlight. The bird sleeps soundly. I’m going to have to take the golden cage. What difference does it make? If the fox wants the bird out of its cage, he’ll have to do it himself.
Still, in the dim half-light, it nags at me. If it’s a test of worthiness, I’m unworthy. But with no other choice, I pull a bar stool up to the cage, then balance on it to reach the bird. A touch of moonlight glances off its brilliant bars. With my fingertips, I touch it.
“Squawk!”
I jump. The stool begins to sway. Just in time, I grab the bar for balance. I look up at the bird. Impossibly, he’s asleep. I reach for him again.
“Squawk!”
This time, I’m expecting it, so I don’t jump. But I do let go. The squawking stops, and again, the bird sleeps.
I reach for the cage a third time. The bird begins again to squawk and scream, but this time, I ignore it, removing the cage from its perch. It’s heavy, but not so heavy I can’t handle it. If only the dumb bird wasn’t sleep-squawking in my ear.