Grave Phantoms
Page 90
Bo stopped in front of a bookcase filled with titles about spiritualism and coping with bereavement, and then he turned to face her, dropping her hand to cross his arms over his chest.
“So,” he prompted.
“You know, I haven’t seen you in two days. I was hoping for a ‘Hello, dear wife. I’ve missed you while I was upstate buying a new boat.’”
“I did miss you,” he said, looking unfairly handsome in the slatted light spilling in from the shades. He’d returned from his trip while she’d been in her meeting that morning, and was still dressed casually for travel in slacks and an argyle sweater vest, the brim of his cap pulled down tight. But when she reached up to straighten the necktie peeking above the vee of his vest, he grabbed her hands. “Tell me what Girl Friday decided. I haven’t slept the entire trip.”
She hadn’t, either. Over the past ten years, she’d gone from the girl who broadcasted out of Hale Brothers department store to one of the highest paid voices in the NBC studios on Sutter Street, heard all over the West Coast every week. Her sponsor paid dearly for their corporate name tacked to her show. Her face was on the cover of Radio Stars magazine a few months back. And that was what caused all the trouble.
A rival station in Los Angeles wanted her. They offered her a considerable pay raise and a guaranteed coast-to-coast broadcast. A tempting offer, to be sure. But she’d have to move to take it—not an option for Bo. He and Winter had survived the worst years of the Depression and turned the fishing company into a success that rivaled their bootlegging days. He couldn’t leave that. His blood and sweat were in that business.
Which meant that Astrid’s only option, if she took the job offer, would be to spend a great deal of time away from her family. And though she and Bo had spent days talking over the pros and cons, he’d left the matter in her hands. Her career, her choice, he’d said. But word of the offer had leaked out, and her station manager had called a meeting in the studio that morning, forcing her to give them a decision sooner than she’d anticipated.
“Stars, Bo,” she murmured. “The last time I was in Los Angeles, I spent my days pining away for San Francisco instead of attending class. You think I’d really want to go through that again?”
One day, three autumns. All she had to do was look at her wristwatch and she remembered it all.
“No?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving. I signed a new three-year contract here in San Francisco. So you’re stuck with me.”
He briefly squeezed his eyes shut and pulled her against him, sighing into her hair as she wrapped her arms around his back. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Very sure,” she said. “I’m not dragging my beautiful babies across the state, and I’m not leaving you here. I can’t sleep when you’re not in the bed.”
“Me, either,” he admitted. “The shipbuilder made fun of me. He said I’ve either been married too long or not long enough.”
“Ten years.” He felt warm and solid beneath her arms, and his thumping heart picked up speed when her hands skimmed a path down his back.
“Ten years tomorrow.” His nose grazed her ear as he placed one warm, lingering kiss on her neck. “But if you can’t wait, we can start the celebration a little early.”
“Here?”
“The shop’s bathroom has a lock on the door.” He lifted his head to glance out the front window. “The marching band’s still playing. That means Gum Lung is at least ten minutes away.”
Gum Lung: the Golden Dragon, star of the parade. It took a hundred men and women to move the big festive dragon down Grant.
“Ten minutes?” she complained.
“Fifteen, if we’re lucky,” he whispered, kissing her neck with more fervor and sending a waterfall of goose bumps over her skin. He followed their path with his mouth until it met hers.
“Gung Hay, Fat Choy,” Astrid murmured the popular Lunar New Year phrase against Bo’s lips. Congratulations and be prosperous. Good luck.
“I don’t need luck,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “I already have you.”
“So,” he prompted.
“You know, I haven’t seen you in two days. I was hoping for a ‘Hello, dear wife. I’ve missed you while I was upstate buying a new boat.’”
“I did miss you,” he said, looking unfairly handsome in the slatted light spilling in from the shades. He’d returned from his trip while she’d been in her meeting that morning, and was still dressed casually for travel in slacks and an argyle sweater vest, the brim of his cap pulled down tight. But when she reached up to straighten the necktie peeking above the vee of his vest, he grabbed her hands. “Tell me what Girl Friday decided. I haven’t slept the entire trip.”
She hadn’t, either. Over the past ten years, she’d gone from the girl who broadcasted out of Hale Brothers department store to one of the highest paid voices in the NBC studios on Sutter Street, heard all over the West Coast every week. Her sponsor paid dearly for their corporate name tacked to her show. Her face was on the cover of Radio Stars magazine a few months back. And that was what caused all the trouble.
A rival station in Los Angeles wanted her. They offered her a considerable pay raise and a guaranteed coast-to-coast broadcast. A tempting offer, to be sure. But she’d have to move to take it—not an option for Bo. He and Winter had survived the worst years of the Depression and turned the fishing company into a success that rivaled their bootlegging days. He couldn’t leave that. His blood and sweat were in that business.
Which meant that Astrid’s only option, if she took the job offer, would be to spend a great deal of time away from her family. And though she and Bo had spent days talking over the pros and cons, he’d left the matter in her hands. Her career, her choice, he’d said. But word of the offer had leaked out, and her station manager had called a meeting in the studio that morning, forcing her to give them a decision sooner than she’d anticipated.
“Stars, Bo,” she murmured. “The last time I was in Los Angeles, I spent my days pining away for San Francisco instead of attending class. You think I’d really want to go through that again?”
One day, three autumns. All she had to do was look at her wristwatch and she remembered it all.
“No?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving. I signed a new three-year contract here in San Francisco. So you’re stuck with me.”
He briefly squeezed his eyes shut and pulled her against him, sighing into her hair as she wrapped her arms around his back. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Very sure,” she said. “I’m not dragging my beautiful babies across the state, and I’m not leaving you here. I can’t sleep when you’re not in the bed.”
“Me, either,” he admitted. “The shipbuilder made fun of me. He said I’ve either been married too long or not long enough.”
“Ten years.” He felt warm and solid beneath her arms, and his thumping heart picked up speed when her hands skimmed a path down his back.
“Ten years tomorrow.” His nose grazed her ear as he placed one warm, lingering kiss on her neck. “But if you can’t wait, we can start the celebration a little early.”
“Here?”
“The shop’s bathroom has a lock on the door.” He lifted his head to glance out the front window. “The marching band’s still playing. That means Gum Lung is at least ten minutes away.”
Gum Lung: the Golden Dragon, star of the parade. It took a hundred men and women to move the big festive dragon down Grant.
“Ten minutes?” she complained.
“Fifteen, if we’re lucky,” he whispered, kissing her neck with more fervor and sending a waterfall of goose bumps over her skin. He followed their path with his mouth until it met hers.
“Gung Hay, Fat Choy,” Astrid murmured the popular Lunar New Year phrase against Bo’s lips. Congratulations and be prosperous. Good luck.
“I don’t need luck,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “I already have you.”
