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Outside, the air smells of the numerous flowers that now decorate the patio. Stone clicks under my heels as we descend the three-tiered stone patio, down the walkway, and out to the bunting where several enormous tents are set up, one for dancing.
“You should’ve asked for a pony, not this shit,” Tony says.
I laugh as we hit the makeshift dance floor. “Shut up and keep up, old man.”
Lights are strung along the inside of the tall, circus-high tent. The beat of the music thrums under our feet as we circle the dance floor. We’re not the only people dancing. It’s magical out here. There’s nothing in the world like a Parish party.
Tony puts a hand at my waist and draws me closer. He’s warm and comfortable and has a smile that goes from ear to ear. “J, remember when we’d play wedding when we were kids?”
I laugh. “Yeah, I remember.” When Tony had first been adopted, I told him we were going to get married one day. I’d even forced him to practice the wedding. He’d been an extremely patient twelve-year-old. He’d never complained or tried to reason away my delusions. It’d been Gracie, sharp as nails, who’d clued me into the plain realities.
“You,” I scold, pitching my voice like Gracie, “can’t get married. You’re related. Losers.”
We laugh. Tony shakes his head. “But we ain’t related.” His gaze slides away. “Not like Jules and Rome. Or me and Leland.”
“What?”
Laughing, he twirls me around, drawing me back a little too quickly so that I nearly bounce off of his chest. My balance isn’t the only thing off. What is he saying about him and Leland? “Tony?”
He stares at me, not really seeing me, and says, “Manipulative fucks.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Last year…” His voice trails off. His eyes widen as he looks over my head at something coming up behind us.
I spin, searching for what’s putting that look on his face, and then I see her.
Gracie strolls across the dance floor in a deep-red gown. Her hair and body seem on fire as fast as she’s moving.
My heart leaps, skips, and avoids the next beat.
As ifit could leap, skip, and avoid the truth coming at us. Gracie on the dance floor? She hates dancing. Something is wrong.
Gooseflesh slides across my skin like someone has ghosted past my window, screaming into the night.
She’s almost here. Tony sees it, too. We both tense.
“My turn,” Gracie says when she’s still two steps away and then swings herself at Tony.
I just manage to jump out of the way, but Tony’s so shocked, he nearly bobbles her.
His arms come up even as they release me, and Gracie laughs as if it’s a game we play. She turns her head away, but gives directions most definitely meant for me. “Don’t panic. Go to Momma and Leland’s office.”
Already panicking, I thread my way through the growing crowd of dancers and take note of some of the agents along the perimeter moving, too. My heart picks up speed. My feet do, too. No one has to say it. I know.
Sandesh.
48
JUSTICE
Willing myself not to run, I step into Momma and Leland’s shared office on the main level of the Mantua Home. More sedate than Momma’s office underground, it’s twice the size, has two desks, one for her and Leland, and two sitting areas, each containing a couch and four leather chairs.
My hands are slick with sweat. My heart’s so high in my throat I can barely breathe. My gaze jumps around the room until I spot… Leland.
He’s on the phone.
I cross to his desk.
