Page 11 of Tamiko and the Two Janitors
Joe finally looked comfortable, and Melissa was glad forhim. But that couldn’t be the source of this sense of … ofhaven. Itreminded her of being inside the heavy wards of their cove. Carefully tuned. Perfectlybalanced.
Uncle George noticed her distraction and caught her eyebefore solemnly tapping his heart.
She blushed, realizing she’d inadvertently done the samething earlier. And she knew that he knew that she knew the meaning of thesimple gesture. And that—in a slightly different way—it applied here as well.
He adores her.
SIX
Flickering
“You’re quite the morning lark!” Flootie Dabrowski leanedthrough Tami’s door. “What are you up to with all that? Some kind of craftproject? Did you see last night’s kiss? For pity’s sake, what’s going on withyour light?”
Tami laughed at the sudden barrage. Her secretary was one ofthe few people who could out-chatter her, and she liked the change of pace. “Firstoff, what’s a morning lark?”
“Opposite of a night owl.” Mrs. Dabrowski trundled into theroom and planted her hands on her hips, her gaze fixed on the humming,flickering light fixture. “Was it doing that yesterday?”
“Not at all.” Tami looked up. “I thought if I jiggled thebulbs it would stop, but I couldn’t reach, even when I stood on my desk.”
“Saints above, don’t you dare be risking life and limb whenwe have a proper crew for that kind of thing. I’ll let the boys know it’sacting up.” Her gaze swung back to the desk. “You’re scanning leaves?”
Tami fiddled with the double row on the glass pane of herscanner, fitting a range of sizes and colors together. “They’re from one of ourtrees at home.”
Flootie picked up one that was beginning to turn yellow andtwirled it by the stem. “These are practically round! What kind of tree do theycome from?”
“Not sure.” Tami placed a sheet of white paper over theleaves and carefully lowered the lid, punching the scan button. “We call it ourmystery tree. My brother and I have been trying to track it down since we werekids, without any luck.”
“I don’t know the first thing about trees.”
Tami said, “I know fruit trees, but that’s my limit. I foundan arborist’s website, though. I’ll post these scans and the basic facts ontheir forum. One of their experts will probably know it at a glance, which willsave me from scrolling through endless near-misses and mismatches.”
“You’re a smart cookie.”
Tami switched the white paper for a sheet of blackconstruction paper and took another scan, unsure which background would makethe leaves easier to identify. “I’m counting on the smarts of those botanists. Itlooks like the regulars on the forums include growers and hobbyists and universityprofessors. And they jump on these kinds of questions. I’ll probably have myanswer in a day or two.”
“I’ll leave you to it. Good luck!”
Offering distracted thanks, Tami flipped the leaves so shecould scan their undersides. In a matter of minutes, she was logging into theforum and prepping her post.
Help us identify our mystery tree.
Horizontal branching, smooth bark, twisting roots, roundleaves, offset placement, delicate as rice paper. First bloom this past spring,white flowers, nine petals, highly fragrant. No discernible fruit, nuts, orpods. Autumn foliage is yellow-gold, a beautiful tree, but lonely, no otherslike it anywhere in our area.
She signed the post PrinceTam and made a note on hercalendar to check back for responses.
A soft rap on her door pulled her attention to the time. Wasshe late for her meeting? No, it was still early. The buses wouldn’t arrive foranother half hour. “Yes?”
The door opened a few inches. “Your light?”
“Oh! That was quick. Thanks.”
Tami gathered the leaves strewn across her desk while the janitorsilently set up his ladder. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but she wascurious. This was theotherjanitor, the one she hadn’t met.
He had a lean build, high cheekbones, and sharp features. Itwasn’t often she met someone with hair similar to her own—straight and black. He’dpulled it into a careless ponytail at the nape of his neck, but its lengthboasted an enviable gloss. Like Kip, he wore drab coveralls in a shadesomewhere between gray and green. From this angle, she couldn’t quite read thename on the embroidered patch.
“We haven’t met,” she said.
“Guess not.” He ran lightly up the ladder, tool belt jinglingat his waist.
