CHAPTER FOUR
How could you convince someone that their life was in danger, that an Obeah woman’s curse was supposed to send them hurtling off a cliff in less than six weeks, when you didn’t have a pinch of evidence to back up your claim? When their life was on the upswing, while yours was speeding steadily towards the ground? After one week of being in New York, Manda was at a loss. Sierra was the epitome of life and energy. She usually slept late in the mornings, then she would get up and go for a jog along the East River. When she came back, she would have a yogurt or some other insufficient breakfast, and then spend the next two hours bathing, putting on her makeup and dressing for work. And she had mastered the method of doing all of these activities while talking non-stop on the telephone. She would finally leave for the radio station by early afternoon. Then in the evenings, she would often call Manda to come and meet up with her at a restaurant, or a function where she was sometimes required to make an appearance. There, Manda would see her in full Sistah Britain regalia, fabulously sexy clothes, heels so high that Manda worried for her safety, and always the rhinestone-studded hat sitting like a white crown on top of her head.
Nik was usually by her side. He obsessed over Sierra and stuck closer than a bodyguard. He didn’t like anyone else doing things for her, or taking away her attention from him for too long. Even Manda could barely talk to Sierra for five seconds, before Nik would interrupt them. And he loved to surprise Sierra with gifts – pretty pieces of jewelry and other trinkets he thought she might like. Manda could see why Sierra couldn’t resist him. She was drawn to men who showered her with gifts and loads of attention.
Sierra had never been without a boyfriend since she was fourteen, and Manda had always envied her for it. There was the commercial airline pilot who offered Sierra the World. Literally. Followed by the bloke with bigorexia who lived in the gym and had an unnatural obsession with his body. He was constantly getting people to squeeze his arms to see how hard his muscles were. And the list of Sierra’s men went on and on.
But unlike Manda, Sierra was the one who usually tired of her boyfriends after a short while. Manda remembered several broken-hearted men who had come and begged her to get Sierra to take them back. Maybe it was age, but she seemed to take Nik far more seriously than she had her previous boyfriends. She actually seemed to love him.
Now Sierra had both Nik and Manda keeping watch over her every move. As a nurse, Manda was used to working long hours, but this was more exhausting than anything she had ever done. Except for the one night when Nik insisted on bringing over his homemade pizza for Manda to try, they had gone to a restaurant for dinner nearly every single evening. Manda thought it was all a bit too expensive and extravagant, this new Manhattan lifestyle Sierra had slipped into with so much gusto. Her sister was a local celebrity, a true social butterfly and like all such members of that species, she flitted around the city, never alighting in any one place for very long. Sometimes as they sat in a restaurant finishing a meal, Sierra’s mobile would ring and soon they would be leaning back on someone’s sofa, sipping wine and admiring the person’s collection of swords from around the world, or their albums from the 1930s.
In a week’s time, Manda had learned a lot about Sierra and her life in New York. Sometimes more than she cared to learn. Sierra seemed to have so many friends, if you could call them that. A friend was someone who knew even the uglies about you, but still managed to like you anyway. But around her friends, Sierra was always Sistah Britain, light-hearted and witty, the glowing center of attention. She hid her uglies from them, and they seemed to do the same. It was all as surface as the light kisses they planted on each other’s cheeks in greeting. Manda and Sherrie shared everything with each other, and Sherrie had become more like a replacement sister since Sierra moved away. There was hardly anything Sherrie didn’t know about her. Yet it surprised Manda to know that Sierra’s friends hardly knew anything about her family. Not even a woman named Carmen Rodriguez, who was supposed to be Sierra’s closest friend.
On Saturday night, they were at a book launching party, when Manda and Carmen got into a long conversation about family. Carmen started complaining about her mother’s knack for making her feel guilty. Manda started to say how her mother had gotten down on the floor, hoping to guilt her out of coming to New York.
That was when Carmen stopped her and said, “Wait. You and Sierra must have different mothers then. Sierra’s mother is dead.”
Dead. Manda confronted Sierra about it as soon as they got home. Instead of feeling guilty, Sierra treated the whole thing as if it hardly mattered.
“Manda,” she said, as if talking to a clueless foreigner. “You can’t go round telling everyone your personal business here. It just gives them ammunition to use against you.”
“For goodness’ sake, Sierra, so what if they know you have a mother?”
“You don’t understand,” was all that Sierra would say.
“I don’t understand what?” Manda kept asking her. “What wouldn’t I understand?”
But Sierra wouldn’t say, and finally Manda felt so infuriated, she grabbed her bag and went out to burn off her anger in the streets. There were enough distractions in the East Village to make anyone forget their own troubles. This time her thoughts were the biggest distractions. She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Sierra. If their mother had done something that hurt Sierra so much that she felt compelled to mentally kill her off, Manda wanted to know what it was. How else could she help her? In her frustration, Manda bumped into a homeless man and spilled his cup of change. Some of the coins rolled into the sewer grate and disappeared. The man’s face was red as a hot water bottle and he was obviously smashed, but she felt so bad that she gave him five dollars instead.
By the time she returned to the flat, Sierra had locked herself away in her room. Manda watched an old film on television and then went to bed.
Sierra stood near the edge of a cliff. Above her, the sky was full of clouds, except for a few jagged blue holes. Tears ran down her face. On her head was a white scarf with butterflies printed all over it. The edge of the scarf flapped in the breeze. Then Sierra stepped back and stumbled on something. She flailed her arms, trying to catch her balance. Then she fell backwards, a look of horror on her face. A shout cut through the air...
Manda lurched up in bed. She could still hear shouts bouncing around the room. It took her a moment to realize she was awake and somewhere in the flat Sierra really was shouting. Manda hurtled out of bed and raced out of the room, her heart pounding. She threw Sierra’s bedroom door open and it banged loudly against the wall. In the early dawn light, she saw something spring sideways off Sierra’s bed.
“What the hell?” the thing said. It was Nik’s voice. He stood by the bed panting. He grabbed up the blanket and started to drape it around his body.
Oops. Manda took a step back.
“Manda, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Sierra sat up in bed naked, her arms crossed over her breasts.
“No, nothing…nothing’s wrong.” Manda backed away, her face burning with embarrassment. “Thought I heard something, that’s all. So sorry.” She pulled the door shut after her. She hurried back to her room, and even though she couldn’t go back to sleep, she stayed in bed until after she heard the front door slam and knew Nik had left.
Sierra thought the incident was hilarious. So funny in fact, that she mentioned it on the air during her Sistah Britain broadcast. This time it was Manda who screamed, but in fury. How could Sierra do that? How could she take something so sensitive, so embarrassing, and spill it out to the city for entertainment? Here she was, still shaken up by the second horrific vision she had had about her sister falling off a cliff. And here was Sierra having a laugh, taking the piss. Making Manda look like the lunatic sister who had arrived from London, clumsy and cross-eyed, with one eye looking at the soup pot, the other fixed on the clock.
Manda turned off the radio. These next few weeks were gearing up to be a battle, but her biggest obstacle would be Sierra herself. Well, this battle wasn’t something she could win alone. She needed help. She needed someone on her side. Someone who would take her seriously. Aunt Beryl said that Angie would know a lot about Obeah curses, since she had spent most of her life in Jamaica. There had even been talk that some of Angie’s cousins on her father’s side were Obeah people.
“I want to go pay cousin Angie a visit,” Manda told Sierra when she came home that night.
“What for?” Sierra picked a green apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it. A spray of juice shot into the air.
The scent of apple filled the air in the kitchen. It reminded Manda of the time she and Daniel had gone apple picking, and poor Daniel had been stung on the lip by a bee. She had taken a jar of ointment from the little medical kit in her bag and rubbed it on his bulbous lip. When he went up to do his sermon that Sunday, no one could understand a word he said.
Manda winced. Each memory of Daniel was like the twist of a knife in her gut. She shook her head and told herself not to think about him, as she always did. “I promised Aunt Beryl I would go visit Angie. Besides, she’s our cousin. It seems wrong to be here and not even reach out to her.”
“Well, whatever you do, don’t invite her here,” Sierra said.
“Why not? What have you got against her?”
“She’s too backwoods,” Sierra said. “The woman doesn’t even shave her legs.”
“Loads of people don’t shave their legs.”
“Even when they’ve got so much hair, you can see it through their stockings? She’s been in New York for five years, and you’d think she just arrived yesterday.”
“There’s nothing wrong with holding on to your roots,” Manda said.
“Yes, but shave them off your legs, for goodness’ sake.” Sierra bit another chunk out of the apple, exposing the tiny black seeds of its heart.
“But that’s no reason to hate Angie,” Manda said.
“I don’t hate her,” Sierra said. “I just don’t want to be around her. So if you want to see her, you’re just going to have to find your way out to Queens alone.”
“Sierra, she did let you live with her when you first got here, remember? When people put their own lives on hold to help you, you should be a little more grateful.”
‘What are you getting all knarky about?” Sierra said. “Anyway, we don’t have time for this. Nik will be here any minute.” She tossed her apple and the subject of Angie in the rubbish bin. “We’re going to a vegetarian restaurant for dinner, so I hope you won’t have a problem with that.”
“I’d rather stay home tonight. I’d be happy to cook,” Manda said.
“No, that wouldn’t work,” Sierra said thoughtfully.
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, there’s no food here. And I’ve been really eager to try out this restaurant. It’s supposed to be…amazing.”
“Why? You’re not even a vegan.”
“I eat all kinds of food, love. Anyway, let’s go find something for you to wear, shall we?”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Manda looked down at the hand-made blouse she had thrown over a pair of loose-fit blue jeans.
“The shirt is great, but those jeans…” Sierra said. “I just thought you might want to look like you’ve got hips for once.”
She talked Manda into swapping her jeans for a pink silk skirt from Bergdorf Goodman. Then she insisted that Manda sit down while she applied foundation to her face, fattened her lashes with mascara, and then teased, tormented and finally wrestled her hair on top of her head with a gold barrette that was wrapped around it so tight, it made Manda’s eyes bulge. And then right before they left the bathroom, Sierra maced her with a spray of perfume that made Manda sneeze all the way to the restaurant. Manda felt it was all a bit much, but Sierra said the restaurant was quite upscale.
Ophelia’s Garden was supposed to be the most popular vegetarian restaurant in the East Village. On the walls were pictures of landscapes made entirely of vegetables. Sweet potato mountains rose up behind broccoli forests and some sort of river made of green juice coursed through the sceneries. The sun was a slice of yellow squash dangling in the sky. When their table was ready, Nik and Sierra sat down facing each other and Manda sat beside Sierra. They studied the drinks menus the waiter had brought them. Manda and Sierra ordered carrot juice, while Nik ordered tomato juice. Nothing on the food menu looked appetizing to Manda. She was a carnivore in an herbivore’s world. She chose a dish of tofu and seaweed over brown rice, with tahini sauce on the side, and Nik and Sierra chose mushroom burgers for themselves. They waited for their dinners in silence. Sierra kept glancing alternately between the door and her watch, and Manda briefly wondered if she was expecting someone. Nik drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. He seemed agitated about something.
“Oh, hello,” Sierra said to someone who had just appeared by the table.
Manda looked up, expecting to see the waiter again. But instead she saw a tall, candle-stick of a man standing by their table. He was dressed in blue jeans, a white shirt and a tie speckled with yellow flowers.
“Noah, I’m glad you could make it,” Sierra said, standing up and giving him a hug. “Come on, then. Have a seat.”
The man sat down and lowered a big black briefcase onto the floor beside his chair. Nik smirked at him and the man nodded back and smiled. They seemed to have a history, and an unpleasant one at that. Manda studied the new arrival. He looked familiar and she wondered where she might have seen him before. He had a tanned complexion and almond-shaped eyes that gave his face a slightly Asian look, but his black hair had just a hint of Mother Africa in its curls. Ah, she remembered where she had seen him. It was a few days earlier, when she was going up to Sierra’s flat. He was hurrying down the stairs, carrying that same briefcase. He had given her a quick hello as they passed each other, but when she glanced back, she had caught him doing the same.
But what is he doing here now? She thought, as the waiter came by and took his order.
“Manda, you’re sitting across from one of the most inspirational, the most amazing writers in this entire country,” Sierra said, as if hearing her thoughts. “Every other person I know has a copy of his new book, Faith Your Fears, isn’t that a great name, Manda? Not only is he fantastic looking, but he’s also a bundle of talent. He’s even been on Oprah.”
“Yippee,” Nik said, clapping his hands together daintily. Sierra glared at him.
“Manda, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Noah said, smiling at her.
It took Manda a moment to get it. She shot Sierra a look, but Sierra chose to ignore it. So that was why she had made such a fuss about Manda’s clothes.
“How did your reading go?” Sierra asked, turning to Noah.
“Believe it or not, I had a heckler,” he said.
“You’re joking. Who would heckle you?”
“A priest. Can you believe it?”
“Maybe it was your tie,” Nik said.
“Nik, behave yourself.” Sierra shot him a look. She reached over and held up Noah’s tie. “I think it’s lovely. Don’t you, Manda?”
Manda gave her a smile that said, I know what you’re up to. She had this all planned, the sneaky wretch. Pretending they were going out for a quiet dinner, when all along Sierra had just wanted to set her up with some bloke.
“Noah, what do you think of Manda’s blouse? Would you believe she made it herself?”
“You did? It’s beautiful,” he said, smiling at Manda. “You’re very talented. Are you a designer?”
“No, nothing like that,” Manda said. “Just a nurse, really.” She sipped at her carrot juice.
“Noah is part Jamaican,” Sierra said, as if she was announcing the breeding of a studhorse she had for sale.
All of Manda’s past boyfriends had been Jamaican, and she knew Sierra was trying to use this as her selling point.
“Yes, my mother is part Jamaican and part Native Indian, and my father’s a mixture of White and Japanese.”
“Damn, how do you keep track?” Nik asked.
Noah laughed.
“Manda is a big reader,” Sierra said. “She was once nearly arrested for walking out of a store with a book. She was so engrossed in it, she forgot to pay.”
“Sierra,” Manda said, horrified. “I’m sure he doesn’t need to know that.”
“Why don’t you tell her about your books,” Sierra said to Noah.
“I write inspirational books,” Noah said, bending down to open his briefcase. He took out a book and put it on the table.
Manda picked it up and studied the cover. Faith Your Fears.
“I write the kind of books that’s supposed to motivate people to stop whining and start helping themselves.”
“Do self-help books really work?” Manda asked. “It’s hard to believe a person could find salvation in a few words.”
“I think there’s a lot of power in words,” Sierra said. “At the station, I get countless letters from people who want to let me know how much my advice has helped them.”
“I agree.” Noah said. “There is a lot of power in words.”
“No, I’m with Manda on this one,” Nik jumped in. “People can’t change. Self-help books just feed them a load of crap and make them think they can. No offense, Noah.”
“Well, that’s not what I meant, but-” Manda started to say.
Noah waved away the offense. “You’re right,” he said. “Many people aren’t ready to change. But that’s why in my book, I try to help people identify the source of their fears, because that’s always at the heart of what’s holding them back. And then I give them a strategy for using faith to overcome those fears. I give people faith-lifts.”
“And it works,” Sierra said. “I used to be afraid of heights, but after reading Noah’s book, I’ve overcome that fear.”
Manda reared back and looked at Sierra. “No, I don’t remember that,” she said. What else didn’t she know about this new copper-haired Sierra?
The meals arrived, and everyone paused to dig into their dishes. Then Sierra brought up Noah’s book again, and for most of the dinner the discussion was all about the book and Noah’s theories on fear. Nik interrupted and started to talk about a cabin he had bought upstate that was undergoing renovations, but Sierra switched the topic back to Noah. Nik finally gave up and entertained himself by pouncing all over Noah’s theories, while Sierra defended them. Fear was Noah’s food. According to him, he had spent years researching everything there was to know about fear, its myriad sources, its religious, psychological and scientific significance, and its potent, often deadly effects on the human body. Like a wild dog encountered in the wilderness, Noah could sniff out a person’s fear.
At first Manda just listened, trying to learn a thing or two about Noah. She found herself drawn to his eyes. She thought about Daniel, with his big, watery-looking eyes that would tear up even when he was happy. Weeper’s eyes, she called them. Like Aidan Quinn’s. Daniel felt everything deeply, and his depth of compassion made him very popular with his congregation. The women, in particular, just worshipped him. But while Daniel could feel people, Noah seemed to be able to see them with a clarity that reached beyond the obvious. His eyes held the kind of objective wisdom Manda had only seen in certain old men. That was why, whenever Noah tried to meet her eyes - which he did quite often - she couldn’t help looking away.
But then Noah started to name some of the more bizarre fears that people had.
“You have heliophobia,” he said. “That’s the fear of sunlight. And there are women with androphobia, that’s a fear of men. And cibophobics are afraid of food, can you believe that? They can’t even go into a restaurant. And then you have phasmophobics, who see ghosts everywhere.”
Manda looked up from her dish. “Phasmophobics?” Was he talking about her? Had Sierra said something to him?
“Yes, phasmophobics,” Noah repeated.
Manda cleared her throat. “Is it possible they really might be seeing ghosts? Or do you think it’s just their fear?”
“It’s fear, of course,” Noah said. “Fear does funny things to the mind.”
“But…” Manda put down her fork. “What if the person didn’t fear ghosts until she…he started seeing one?”
Noah gave her a curious look. “Then that person would have to ask herself what changed in her life. What could be psychologically triggering these sightings?”
“Like loss,” Sierra piped in.
Manda shot her a warning look.
“I don’t know,” Nik added. “I think some people really do see ghosts. Didn’t you see that movie, Sixth Sense? That kid saw dead people. I believe there really are people like that. And hey, after my great-grandfather went down on the Titanic, my grandfather claimed he saw him many times.”
“Your great-grandfather went down on the Titanic?” Noah asked, looking amazed.
“Yes-.”
“Noah, please don’t get him started,” Sierra said, clapping a hand over Nik’s mouth. “I can’t listen to this story any more.”
Since arriving in New York, she had heard the Titanic story several times herself. Sierra was right. Nik loved to tell it to anyone who would listen.
The waiter came by and took orders for tea and coffee. When he had returned to the table with their orders, Manda turned to Noah.
“Are you afraid of anything?” she asked, pouring milk into her tea.
“No, I’m not,” Noah said. “I’ve spent so much time analyzing fear that I know how to squash it as soon as it appears.”
“Really?” Manda had never met anyone like him, so absolutely self-assured.
Noah shook his head. “As I say in my book, fear is just an illusion. It’s subjective. Do you know there are even people in this world who are afraid of tin foil?”
“Are you serious?” Sierra laughed and turned to Nik. “Can you believe that, hon?”
“It takes all kinds,” Nik said. He was busy tearing the rest of his bread to shreds.
“What about bigger things, like the future?” Manda asked, thinking about her vision. Now that she had seen the same thing twice, she was more afraid than ever. “What about the unknown, or things beyond your control?”
Noah gazed at her. “Mystery doesn’t scare me,” he said. “Faith and love are the biggest armor you can hold up against fear. I have faith that the universe is built on a foundation of pure love. And everything I encounter will somehow add to my ultimate good, even if I can’t immediately see it.”
“What about things that could possibly kill you, or the people you love?” Manda asked. She could hear the tension in her own voice.
“Being afraid of death doesn’t stop it from coming, and we only fear it because we don’t understand it. Ignorance is the base of all our fears.”
“Manda,” Sierra said, making her jump. “Why are stirring your tea with your fork?”
“What? Oh.” Manda pulled the fork out of her cup and laid it beside her plate. There were now grains of rice spinning around in her tea.
Nik snickered. “Would you like some grated parmesian with that?” he asked.
“Nik.” Sierra gave him a warning look.
Noah called over the waiter and ordered fresh tea for Manda. It would strike her only minutes later that something about Noah frightened her. She didn’t know what exactly. It was just a tiny ball of feeling that started in the pit of her stomach, and then rose up to her chest as she finished up the last of her tofu and seaweed. At first she had mistaken it for gas, but belching softly into her napkin didn’t get rid of it. She tried belching again, but gave herself the hiccups. It was only when Noah picked up her glass of carrot juice and held it out for her, that she had looked into his gray eyes and realized what that ball of feeling was. It was fear, and he was, for some unfathomable reason, the source of it. She had never in her life felt intimidated by any man. Except possibly Mr. Herzog, her old biology teacher who used to get more joy out of dissecting his students and exposing their insides to the class than he did those boring dead frogs.
Noah held the glass closer to her. Manda took it from him, but her hand was shaking so much that juice splashed out of the glass and onto his book.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping at the cover with a napkin. “I’ve ruined your book.”
“That’s okay, it’s just an extra copy,” Noah said, smiling kindly. “Anyway guys, I’ve got to run. I have a whole bunch of notes to go through.”
“I’m glad you could make it,” Sierra said, reaching out and taking his hand.
“Thanks for the invite,” Noah answered. “Hey, I’m doing a reading at the Barnes and Noble at Union Square on Friday. Why don’t you guys stop by? Manda, will you be around?”
“Well, I’m sort of busy. I-.”
Sierra kicked her under the table. “We’ll be there,” she said.
“Great.” Noah gathered up his briefcase and stood up. “Manda.” He reached for her hand.
She put her hand in his and he held it firmly.
“It was great meeting you,” Noah said. He winked at her as he left.
Manda felt herself flush. She turned to see Sierra smiling a little too hard at her. She cleared her throat and studied the picture on the wall above them. She had a feeling that Noah Kato, with all his fear theories and gray-eyed wisdom, wasn’t going to go away so easily. But whether he would be a help or a hindrance to her…a blessing or a curse…well, that remained to be seen, didn’t it?
Manda sat on her bed the next morning, sorting through a box marked “Goodwill” that she had found in Sierra’s front closet. It was full of Sierra’s old clothes, and Manda was trying to see which ones could be made into other outfits. She was also thinking about the things Noah had said at the table. Sierra claimed she hadn’t mentioned anything to Noah about the ghost. Manda wondered if he had somehow seen it in her eyes. He seemed capable of it. But if she had admitted it, he would have thought she was phasmophobic. But if it was simply fear that was causing her to see Dar, then why had the old woman first appeared before Daniel arrived at the flat? Why not after, when he had already done the damage?
The Daniel doll sat by her pillow, watching her with its two big eyes. After coming home from the restaurant, she had pulled it out and hugged it to herself. At nights, she had started sleeping with the doll clutched against her body, its cool plastic face smothered in the space between her breasts. Then in the mornings, she would hide the doll back in a drawer, where Sierra wasn’t likely to come across it and announce her finding to her radio audience, who must have already thought Manda was mad. Did Noah think she was mad? Manda dismissed the thought. Why did she care anyway? He obviously didn’t know everything. Had he even heard of Obeah? Speaking of which, she remembered she had planned to give Angie a shout. Manda dropped the clothes back in the box. She went into the living room and rang up Angie.
“Hello, this is your cousin, Manda,” she said when Angie came on the phone.”
“Yes, cuz. Beryl told me I should be hearing from you,” Angie said.
Angie hadn’t grown up with Aunt Beryl. That, and the fact that Aunt Beryl was only thirteen years older than her daughter, gave Angie the privilege of being able to refer to her mother by her first name. After answering a series of how’s this one, how’s that one, and who’s my madda fornicating with now, Manda cut off Angie’s questions and got to the point.
“I’d like to come and see you,” she said.
“Uh-huh. It’s about time,” Angie said. “Come Sunday. I’ll be cooking up a big pot of ackee and saltfish. You can bring Sierra if you want. I haven’t seen her in a long, long time. The gal never even give me her number.”
“I think she already has plans for Sunday,” Manda said.
“Uh-huh,” Angie said again. “She no’ want to come. That’s alright, man. More ackee for us.”
That evening, Manda walked over to Barnes and Noble in Union Square. She wanted to see what books she could find on Obeah, and possibly pass by Noah’s reading for a bit. Sierra had nagged her into going, and Manda finally gave in and decided to kill two birds with one stone. The evening was warm and Union Square buzzed with life and color. At the Farmer’s Market, vendors were busy taking down their tents and loading crates of fruits and vegetables into trucks. College kids milled around the square in hordes, and Manda had to jump out of the way of a boy who came flying over the stone steps in the middle of a skateboard stunt. It was bad enough that she still felt somewhat clumsy whenever she walked the streets alone, like an octopus on dry land. More than once she had almost gotten herself run down by a car, because she had looked the wrong way before crossing the street. She supposed this disoriented feeling would pass once she got used to the chaos and frenetic pace of the city. It was worse than London.
Just as she entered the store, she saw the billboard fixed onto a stand that was halfway between the two sets of double doors leading into the store. Manda stopped in her tracks so suddenly, a girl bumped into her from behind and dropped the plastic bag of tomatoes she was carrying. Manda mumbled an apology and helped the girl gather up her tomatoes. Some of them were badly bruised and by the time they were finished, Manda had a big splotch of red, slimy tomato juice on her white blouse.
“Bullocks,” she whispered to herself. She took a tissue from her bag and tried to wipe it off, but it only made the stain spread. She turned back to the billboard. On it was a black and white photograph of Noah, and under the picture was the caption,
“Come Faith Your Fears with Noah Kato.”
Even in the poster, Noah’s eyes seemed deliberately fixed on hers. For some inexplicable reason, Manda felt herself growing ner