Provenance

by Carla Laureano

  But he was waiting patiently and she still had no idea what to say, so she crossed the space between them, reached up to hold his jaw with one hand, and kissed him.

  For one brief, still moment, she thought he was going to pull away. And then his arms went around her, pulling her tight against him. She half expected him to devour her mouth, push her back toward the bed, and at least a tiny part of her thought she wouldn’t mind that. But he only kept his hands fixed on her waist, holding their bodies so close that she could feel the warmth pouring off him, his mouth slowly, patiently exploring hers. His restraint was headier than she could have imagined, making her light-headed with need, desperate for more of him. And just when it felt like he might relent and give it to her, he pulled back and stared intently into her eyes. “What was that for?”

  “Because I wanted to,” she said lamely. She tried again. “Because I realized I really like you.” Just as lame, but something lit in his eyes.

  “I like you too, Kendall.”

  She smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.

  “But . . .”

  A tendril of cold quickly crept in.

  “Considering the circumstances . . .”

  She pulled away. “Because of the house, you mean.”

  He looked puzzled. “Well, yeah.”

  Now Kendall escaped his embrace, disappointment washing over her. “I wasn’t trying to persuade you, Gabe. I realize you don’t know me that well, but I thought you’d know me better than that.”

  Now his puzzlement went to full-fledged astonishment, as if she were speaking an alien language. And then his expression cleared. He reached for her and tugged her back into his arms, dipping his head toward her ear. “I mean, because we are completely alone, stranded overnight in a bedroom. Because I can see how easy it would be to lose control with you.”

  Her surprised gaze met his and the heat in his eyes was undeniable. She caught her breath. “I . . . I thought . . .”

  “It would be easier if we were on the same side of the house issue, no doubt, but . . . that doesn’t change how I feel about you.” He smiled and enunciated each word carefully. “Kendall, I really like you.”

  Somehow, those five words meant more than a declaration of love could have. She’d had numerous men tell her they loved her, usually while they were trying to get her clothes off. This was different. This was like him saying he saw her and liked what he saw, even with her drama and hang-ups. It was the very opposite of rejection. Who knew that the thing you said to a sixth-grade crush could mean so much as an adult?

  They were still pressed against each other, and she couldn’t resist sliding a hand up his chest. “I can see the wisdom in what you’re saying, but . . . one more kiss wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

  He grinned. “I really hope not.” And then he kissed her again, until she was thoroughly in like and ready to melt into a puddle at his feet.

  “Well,” she said breathlessly when they parted, “the upside is that both our soups are cold now. Because I really wanted the minestrone.”

  Gabe chuckled. “I don’t understand.”

  “Never mind.” She turned to get their bowls, immediately feeling a chill away from his warmth, but there was a glow in her insides that even the raging storm outside couldn’t extinguish. They seated themselves side by side on the rug again, close enough that their knees touched, and ate their lukewarm soup while they talked. His eyes barely left her face, as if he couldn’t bear to lose that little bit of connection. She found herself telling him stories from her past without the melancholy that usually accompanied them: her regret that she’d gotten a design education without actually getting a degree, how she’d met Sophie their last year of school, how she’d kept in touch via social media and pulled her in as soon as she decided to open her own design studio. The way that Gabe watched her in rapt attention and asked questions at the right times made her feel like she’d accomplished something astonishing, like the adversity she’d faced made her that much more incredible rather than tarnished in some way.

  And for a few moments, she actually believed it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  IT QUICKLY BECAME CLEAR that the storm was not going to blow through as quickly as Gabe had hoped . . . and that the small propane heater couldn’t keep up with the rapidly dropping temperature. Kendall flicked on the LED lamp as night fell, though it wasn’t that dramatic a transition because the snowstorm had blocked out much of the light all day.

  “Why do I think this is going to be a long night?” Kendall asked with a sigh. “I’m not even remotely sleepy at the moment.”

  He wasn’t either, but that had a lot more to do with the fact he was still buzzing from her touch, and it was taking supreme force of will to sit next to her like they were just friends, when all he wanted to do was pick up where they’d left off.

  Which was exactly why he was maintaining a one-foot buffer between them for the rest of the night. Kendall hadn’t seemed nearly as concerned about the prospect of being stuck in a bedroom with him as he would have expected her to be, which made him think maybe she had different views on the subject.

  It also brought up a lot of other questions about her beliefs that he didn’t particularly want to explore tonight. Especially with the way she’d reacted when she thought he was rejecting her.

  “Do we have anything else to sort through?” Gabe asked. The third box had included nothing but medical bills and old insurance policies for a car that appeared to have been sold in 2015.

  “There’s a bunch of jewelry and accessories in her closet,” she said. “I only took a quick glance the other day.”

  Gabe glanced at the ring on her finger. “Is that where you got the ring?”

  Kendall immediately hid her hand. “I just thought—”

  “It’s yours,” Gabriel said gently. “You can do whatever you want with it. I just hadn’t seen it before yesterday, so I guessed.”

  “Right.” She took a deep breath as if resetting herself. He was beginning to notice her habit of reacting defensively when she thought he was criticizing her, and he made a mental note to be more careful with his words and tone. She’d done so well at overcoming her rocky start in life, but every moment he spent with her made clear that she was still holding on to some deep wounds.

  “Do you think you want to take them with you?” he asked.

  “I think so. I’m not sure what they’re worth, but it could be a lot just based on the amount of gold in that drawer. Do you want to help me look through it?”

  “Sure.” He remained seated on the floor while Kendall popped up and retrieved the top drawer from the closet organizer. It slid out easily and she set it between them.

  Gabe reached for a jade brooch. “I remember this one.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He searched his memory, but he couldn’t come up with more than a vague recollection of it pinned to a white silk blouse. “I don’t think she wore it very often, but I saw it on her when she was dressed up one time. Maybe for church.”

  There it was again, a flicker of an eyelash when he mentioned church. He couldn’t let it go. Whether it was a nudge to his spirit from God or simply his own curiosity, he found himself saying, “Should I ask?”

  “About what?” She looked genuinely puzzled, so she probably wasn’t conscious of her reaction.

  “About the church people who hurt you in the past.”

  Kendall looked him in the face. “How do you know about that?”

  He shrugged. “You’re uncomfortable with the subject. Most people are indifferent, or they think I’m weird if I bring it up. But you . . . you look like it hurts you.”

  Kendall studied her hands in her lap and twisted the ring on her finger. For a long moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. And then she said, “It’s because of one of my first foster homes.”

  He just waited, not pressing.

  “I really thought they were going to stick, you know? They seemed great. I
liked their church; they were really nice to me, though now I think it was pity. Then I heard them arguing one night. The husband hadn’t wanted to take in any foster kids, but the wife said it was their Christian duty, and what would everyone think of them if they sent me away? He said that it wasn’t his problem if some druggie got knocked up and couldn’t keep her kid, and he wanted to take a vacation as planned.” Kendall looked up, her eyes glistening. “I was seven. I really thought they wanted me, and to hear that I was just an inconvenience to their vacation?” Her voice broke. “Well, that was it. Not to mention what they said about my mom. She was not an addict. No matter what else I know of her, I know that’s true. I would remember.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, that was the first time I ran away. And that was what they needed to justify sending me back.”

  “Kendall, I’m so sorry.” He reached out and touched her knee, but she didn’t move or look at him. “That was so unfair and nothing that a seven-year-old should have overheard.”

  “That’s not the point, Gabe. There are good foster homes and bad foster homes. I should know; I was in both. My point is, I heard nothing but lies. Well-meaning lies, maybe, but lies. And that’s all Christianity is. It’s there to make you look good and holy, but there’s nothing behind it.”

  The words cut, not because they were directed toward him, but because she’d only had bad experiences so far with his faith. A faith that was supposed to be life-giving and authentic but had cut her down and hurt her. It came down to what his grandmother always said: the only problem with Christianity was the Christians. She’d meant it as a joke, of course, a reference to how they were all sinners, but in this case, he related to its full cutting breadth. He searched for the right thing to say. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way given your experiences. Would it surprise you to know I’m a Christian?”

  She gave him a look that made him feel ridiculous. “Yeah, I kind of guessed that. Because of . . . you know.” She waved a hand that he supposed encompassed the situation and his flat determination that he would not be taking advantage of it. “But I get it. I mean, it’s bad enough that you’re stuck here with me.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, what do you suppose your church is going to say when you don’t show up tomorrow because you were out all night with a stranger?”

  Gabe grinned. “What, are we sixteen or something?”

  She gave him a quizzical look.

  “I’m not worried about my reputation, Kendall. It’s sound, and even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t let what other people might say compromise your safety. What I do in my personal life is between me and God. We know what happened or didn’t.”

  “If you can do whatever you want, then what’s the deal with Christians and sex?”

  Gabe shook his head, trying not to cringe. As if having to be the lone representative of his faith wasn’t scary enough, she wanted him to summarize centuries of sexual mores. “You mean why is everyone hung up on not having it?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, partly because even if people aren’t having it, that doesn’t mean they’re not still thinking about it.”

  A laugh slipped from her. “I can’t believe you just said that!”

  “It’s the truth. When I was a teenager, I always thought the adults were just trying to control us and keep us from having any fun. It wasn’t until I got older, made some mistakes of my own, that I realized sex adds an intensity to a relationship that maybe it’s not ready to bear. And then when the relationship falls apart, you feel like you’ve invested too much of yourself to let it go. Just please don’t tell Luke my explanation because he’ll give me a hard time about being all touchy-feely.”

  Kendall cracked a smile. “I won’t. In fact, we never had this conversation. Besides, I don’t buy it.”

  “I was being serious!”

  “I know you were. But you’re one guy. You’re a unicorn. You’re not the only Christian man I’ve ever met, and trust me, they don’t all hold the same views as you.”

  “Well, there are a lot of people claiming to be Christians who aren’t living it out. And anyone whose Christianity is solely based on who is or isn’t sleeping with whom is missing the point. But it doesn’t make the whole religion invalid. It just makes some of us really sucky examples of it.”

  Kendall shook her head, obviously not buying it. “You’re not going to convince me, you realize.”

  “I wasn’t trying to convince you. You asked! Trust me, that was the last topic I really intended to discuss tonight.”

  “Then what do you want to talk about?” Kendall fired back.

  Gabe had to think about that one. They’d already delved into deep enough topics, and he was both astonished and touched that she’d revealed as much about herself as she had. It had also given him one big reservation about a relationship that he would have to sort through later. Finally he asked, “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done for a guy?”

  “Oooh. You go straight for the throat.” She thought. “I almost married one.”

  “You almost got married? How old were you?”

  “Nineteen. I was working the reception job at the design school. He was an artist there. We took a weekend trip to Las Vegas, one thing led to another, and . . .”

  “You found yourself looking at a justice of the peace in an Elvis costume?”

  Color tinged her cheeks. “That was exactly the case. Fortunately, they decided that we were too drunk to actually know what we were doing and turned us away. Let’s just say when I woke up the next morning, I was really relieved that we hadn’t gone through with it. Especially since I broke up with him the following month.”

  “Wow. Close call?”

  “The closest. How about you?”

  Gabe had to think. “I tried a Say Anything moment outside my high school girlfriend’s window.”

  Kendall laughed. “She wasn’t a fan?”

  “Oh, I’m sure she would have been. I just got the layout of their house wrong, and I was standing in front of her parents’ bedroom.”

  Kendall rocked back with a gale of laughter. “Oh, that’s perfect. I can just imagine you all ready for your John Cusack moment and you get yelled at to get off the lawn.”

  “No, actually, they were really cool about it. Her dad looked annoyed, but I think her mom thought it was cute. She kind of pointed and said, ‘She’s the other window.’ But by that time, the moment was gone and I was so embarrassed I just took my boom box and ran home.”

  “I can’t believe you could even find a boom box. I know someone whose ex tried that, but holding an MP3 player over your head just doesn’t have the same feel.” Kendall wiped her eyes, still chuckling under her breath. “Okay. If you could wake up tomorrow with the knowledge to have a successful career in anything, what would you be?”

  “Doctor.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “No, really. They make bank, and I would have my student loans paid off by now.”

  She squinted at him. “You’re really not answering the question in the spirit I meant it.”

  “Fine then. What would you do?”

  “What I do now. I’ve wanted to be a designer ever since I was twelve and I spent my weekends with my foster mom fixing up the house. It sounds kind of like child labor, but it was actually fun. She let me do my room first, and then we worked on other rooms of the house.”

  He didn’t point out the obvious: she did have some good memories of foster care, at least one particular placement, but she hadn’t realized it because the bad ones overshadowed everything else. “So you’re living your dream?”

  “Pretty much. I just wish I knew everything I don’t know. I don’t even know what I don’t know . . . you know?”

  He grinned at her and she chuckled. “Anyway. I guess we should actually look through these things. I saw some silk scarves in here that might be Hermès.”

  They both knew they were just killing time. Most of the jewelr
y was gold, but it was pretty middle of the road. Smallish diamonds, larger semiprecious stones, a few antique pieces that Kendall set aside for appraisal. But she left the rest in the tray and went back for the second one, this time filled with the many rectangles of silk.

  Kendall took out the first scarf and shook it out, muttering something about Poochie, whatever that meant. The only Poochie he knew was the cartoon dog from a particularly funny episode of The Simpsons. He pulled out a pink-and-green scarf that had a familiar pattern on it—not that he could actually identify it—and then drew in his breath.

  “What?” Kendall asked, whipping her head toward him. “Is that a Lilly Pulitzer?”

  “No, not the scarf. This.” He lifted the wrinkled white packet from the bottom of the drawer, where it had lain hidden by the silk. “I think it might be a letter.”

  Kendall could swear her heart stopped beating for a full five seconds while she looked at the envelope in Gabe’s hand. When it started back up, it was with a thud that nearly knocked the wind out of her. “Can I . . . can I see that?”

  He handed over the envelope, his banter silencing, as if he realized exactly what this could mean. Kendall slid her finger under the flap and it freed easily, the adhesive loosened by age. It wasn’t a letter but letters, plural, at least six of them. They were all on regular lined notebook paper, their edges frayed and frazzled from the spiral binding from which they’d been torn. Even from the outside, she could see swirly handwriting in blue pen, pressed so hard that the impressions showed through to the other side.

  “I . . . I can’t look at them.” She lowered the stack of letters into her lap. Instinctively, she knew this was what she had been looking for, but now that the moment had come, she found she didn’t want to know. What if everything that Mr. Brandt and Gabe had said was untrue? What if they were angry rants at Connie for kicking her daughter out or, worse yet, something about how Carrie didn’t want her kid anymore? She felt faint at the possibilities.

  “Do you want me to look first?” Gabe held his hand out, and after a long moment, she handed them over. As she did, a small, yellowing photograph fell to the floor between them.