by Fox, Susan
Why did I care? I should politely tell Gabriel I wanted to be alone. I should spend the evening musing over the issues Grace and I had discussed. And after all, I was a woman who lived by shoulds, not by impulse.
When I came out of the washroom, Martin and Margarida had both gone. Gabriel was outside on the sidewalk, leaning against the clinic wall, one hand in a pants pocket. It was the same stance as the first time I’d seen him, across the room at the Hotel Vancouver.
He straightened, pushing himself away from the wall. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said softly, acknowledging to myself in that instant that I really didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be with Gabriel, even if the notion terrified me.
“Walk or ride?” he asked.
“Let’s walk. There’s not likely to be parking around my place and it’s only a few blocks.” Besides, there was more safety on the bustling sidewalk than alone in his car.
“Food?”
I was getting used to Gabriel’s conversational style, which alternated between full, moderately complex sentences and short, abbreviated ones. “Pogo needs to go out.”
We set off together, walking side by side, not touching.
“Gabriel, why are you here?” Was I hoping he’d say he wanted to see me?
“I was ready to head home from work, and remembered something. Called the clinic and found out when it closed, and drove over.”
“The thing you remembered was Valente’s bill?”
“That was one thing.”
Scents of curry and coconut wafted out the door of the Banana Leaf as we went by and Gabriel groaned. “God, I’m starving. What’s this place?”
“A Malaysian restaurant. It’s good. But Pogo really does need to go out.” I wasn’t going to call Mr. Schmidt two nights in a row. Nor was I going to have a sit-down dinner with Gabriel after I’d already turned Richard down.
“Malaysian,” Gabriel said. “Sounds good. A change from the ubiquitous Korean. You can sure track the trends in immigration by the number of restaurants that spring up. I remember, my mother’s favorite used to be Polynesian.”
“Polynesian?”
“With tiki torches, and drinks served in coconut shells with those little paper umbrellas, and—” He broke off. “You wouldn’t know. You probably hadn’t been born when those places were popular.”
Subconsciously, I’d realized it had to happen. One of those do you remember conversations that would emphasize our age difference. That was fine. There was no reason to minimize the gulf between us. In fact, emphasizing it would remind me of all the reasons it was stupid to be interested in him.
So I said, “And I hadn’t been born when John Lennon was killed.”
He gave a rough laugh. “Believe it or not, I barely remember that either.”
“Grace and Jimmy Lee and their friends still talk about it sometimes. He was one of their heroes.”
He nodded. “He was another person who wanted to make the world a better place.”
“A visionary, Grace says.”
“Yeah. That’s a good word.”
I tilted my head to look up at him as we walked. “And what are you, Gabriel DeLuca?”
“A realist.”
“But you don’t accept the status quo. You try to change things.”
He shook his head impatiently. “You can’t accept the status quo.”
He couldn’t, and my parents couldn’t. Nor, I suddenly realized, could I. It was one of those moments of epiphany, and I knew I wanted to make a change in my life. Not to please my parents or impress Gabriel, but because it was important to me.
I didn’t know what, exactly, I’d do, but I knew that from now on I’d spend less time knitting and watching TV, and more time working for causes I believed in. I’d been so busy trying to be different from my parents that I hadn’t realized the ways in which I was, and wanted to be, similar. Feeling as if one weight had been lifted off my shoulders, I smiled.
We were walking past a Wrap Zone. I gestured toward the window. “This place has good wraps. We could eat while we walk.”
“Good idea.”
Inside, we studied the choices. “How strict a vegetarian are you?” I asked him. “If you like seafood, the salmon, avocado, and sprouts combination is great.”
“Yeah, I eat seafood. I’m kind of surprised you do.”
I shrugged. “I’ve never warmed to cold-blooded creatures, so I don’t mind eating them. I’m sure there’s some kind of moral inconsistency there, but I don’t give a damn.”
He grinned, and we both ordered salmon wraps. As our server began to assemble them, we stepped aside to wait. Gabriel’s smile faded and he said abruptly, “There were two things.”
“Pardon?”
“Two reasons I came to the clinic tonight.” He reached in his pocket and handed me something. A small paper bag.
“What’s this?” I slid the contents onto my palm and saw a cardboard card with a pair of earrings dangling from it. Silver cats, with eyes made of a sparkly purple stone. They were utterly charming.
“Saw those today and they had your name on them. A thank you for last night.”
A young woman in a suit, waiting beside us, must have overheard his words because she subjected Gabriel and I to quick scrutiny, then gave me a wink.
Last night. She must have thought…
I wanted to enlighten her, but she was studying Gabriel with obvious approval. It was flattering that she thought a sexy man like him would pick a woman like me.
She moved away to collect her order and I handed the earrings back. “Thanks, but no.”
“Don’t you like them?” he demanded.
“I love them.” It was true. They captured the essence of cat in a few clever lines. Was it a coincidence that the cats’ eyes were close to the color of my own? I longed to take off the painted-wood dalmatians I was wearing and substitute the cats. “But I can’t let you buy me a gift.”
He tossed them casually back into my hand. “Already bought. And it’s not like they’re expensive. Those aren’t real amethysts.”
“I don’t like gem stones anyway.”
“Except diamonds. Or were those fakes in the ring and earrings?”
Slowly I shook my head. “They’re diamonds. But that was Richard’s idea, not mine. Something traditional, because that’s how we want…”
“Your marriage to be,” he finished for me.
Marriage. To Richard. It was seeming more and more impossible. And yet, Richard was still the same man. But everything had changed. I’d changed. All because I’d met Gabriel DeLuca.
He moved away abruptly. Startled, I stared after him. Then I realized our order number had been called, and he was collecting our wraps. Slowly I walked over to him and he held one of the wrapped packages out to me. Before I could take it, I had to do something with the earrings.
I wanted them. Partly because I loved them and partly for reasons that added to my confusion. Unable to resist, I murmured, “Thank you,” as I tucked them back into the paper bag and put the bag in my purse.
When I looked up, he was grinning. Careful not to brush fingers, I took my wrap from him and said, “Pogo will be getting anxious.”
“Then let’s go.”
Gabriel was a fast walker with a long stride, but so was I, and I matched his pace as we headed for my apartment. The evening sky was overcast and the air cool, but exertion kept me warm. We ate rather than spoke, until Gabriel said, “That was good,” and tossed his take-out wrapper into a trash container. He’d finished his wrap before I was half-way through mine, and now he began to munch on a chocolate chip cookie.
“Do you ever eat regular meals?” I asked.
“Sort of.”
A typical Gabriel answer. Undaunted, I said, “What does that mean?”
He chuckled. “You really need to know? Okay, in the morning Miki picks up coffee and bran muffins or bagels on her way in. She makes sure there’s fruit and juice in the fridge. If I’m ther
e at lunch time she gets something for both of us. As for dinner…” He shrugged. “I grab something when I can. Depends if I’m working late. Sun-Hi, my housekeeper, stocks the fridge and freezer every Monday, so there’s always something at home. I eat out fairly often and I’ve memorized the phone numbers of all the good places that deliver.”
“I get the impression you work late a lot.”
“Each day’s different, but I’m not a workaholic. I hang out with friends, work out at the gym in my apartment building, and usually get a fair night’s sleep.” He muttered something I didn’t catch. It could have been “until recently.”
Hmm. It seemed he led a pretty balanced life, and with the help of Miki and Sun-Hi took decent care of himself. Why had I assumed otherwise? I remembered I’d also been surprised to learn he had a pretty good notion of how to run a business. Normally I didn’t believe in leaping to conclusions about people, but with Gabriel I always seemed to want to think the worst.
A defense mechanism. An increasingly futile attempt to not like, not respect, not be attracted to him.
I glanced sideways. He had a striking profile, with his strong features and flowing hair. He was probably dating some exciting woman. Maybe Sun-Hi or Miki. Or both of them. Perhaps that’s why they took such fine care of him.
“Are most of your friends lawyers?” I ventured.
“God, no. They’re a mixed bag. A few family friends from way back—like a Portuguese woman, Maria, who was a close friend of my mother’s. But most of the others I met through some cause or other, and somehow the relationships stuck.”
I really, really wanted to ask if he was dating, but I couldn’t even think how to phrase the question. I was sure words like dating, girlfriend, or seeing would make him laugh, but I could hardly ask if he was sleeping with anyone. Besides, I had no legitimate excuse for asking.
We’d reached the front door of my building, so I said, “Well, thanks for the earrings, Gabriel. You shouldn’t have.”
He studied me, his head tilted to one side. “Feel like company walking Pogo?”
“Uh, sure, if you want.” More time with Gabriel. Just what I didn’t need. And yet when the man was beside me, I couldn’t bear to send him away.
“Been sitting all day,” he said. “Could use a stretch.”
It was harmless. Everything we’d done had been harmless. But nothing felt that way.
I unlocked the front door. “Come on then.”
Out of habit I took the stairs, and our arms brushed as we walked up. The stairwell had never seemed so narrow before.
He cleared his throat. “Lucky to find a building that takes dogs.”
“It’s one of my basic requirements. Grace and Jimmy Lee’s place doesn’t, but at least they can have cats. And once I gave them an injured boa constrictor, a little guy who wasn’t a danger to the cats. Grace loved him but he made Jimmy Lee nervous.”
And speaking of nervous, thank heavens we’d reached the top of the stairs. The corridor was wider, and I promptly stepped away from Gabriel. “Luckily, one of Grace’s students—she tutors special needs kids—fell in love with Captain Crunch and took him home.”
“Captain Crunch.” He gave a snort of laughter. “I’d be nervous, too.”
“He was really a very friendly snake.”
“That’s what I’d be scared of. Tell me you don’t have any boas in your apartment.”
“Not at the moment.”
As I unlocked my door, I heard Pogo whuffling and snorting on the other side. He’d learned not to bark inside the building, but he was always so eager to greet me that his joy needed a verbal outlet.
The moment I stepped inside, he jumped up and down, landing on my toes more often than not. Then, as Gabriel came in, Pogo landed on all threes and froze. But only for a minute. Clearly, he recalled Gabriel’s scent because soon he was leaping all over his feet, too.
Gabriel bent down to pat him. “Hey, Pogo, how’s it going?”
Owl called, “‘Bout time you made it home, cutie,” and Gabriel jerked.
“Be nice, we have company,” I called. To Gabriel I said, “Don’t mind him. That’s Owl, my parrot.”
“I thought— Never mind.”
He stood straight again and suddenly seemed too big, too close, too real. Gabriel, in my apartment. I took a step backward and said nervously, “I should just check my cell. I keep it turned off at work. I’ll only be a minute. Uh, go on in and make yourself comfortable.” What would he think of my tiny living space, so different from his? Thank god I’d folded my hide-a-bed back into a couch this morning.
I went into the bathroom and smoothed lotion into my face and hands, and dabbed on lip gloss, telling myself it was because my skin got so dry at the clinic. Then I checked messages. Only one, a text from Grace, saying she and Jimmy Lee had taken Alyssa to the hospital and both mother and daughter had dissolved in tears of joy.
When I went to find Gabriel, I saw he’d settled in my reading chair with a purring Alice on his lap, looking far too much as if he belonged.
I reported the news from the hospital, then told him I’d met Alyssa and she was a great little girl. “My parents have always done this. Taken in strays.”
“Not like anyone else I know.” He gestured toward my feet, where Pogo panted up at me with a hopeful expression on his face.
I laughed, conceding the point. “Between their stray people and my stray animals, our homes were always packed full. It took me some time to get used to living by myself with only a few animals for company, but I admit I like the space.”
Although Richard and I were planning to move in together. Why hadn’t I told Gabriel that? Maybe because I was having so much difficulty envisioning it myself.
“Not many people would consider this place spacious,” Gabriel said. “You could fit your whole apartment into the bedroom at my place.”
The word bedroom hung between us.
I took a quick step past him and said breathlessly, “By the way, the cat you’re petting is Alice. And did you say hello to Owl?”
My parrot was perched on a coat rack, and I transferred him to my shoulder, where he promptly nibbled on my ear. My short haircut made my ears highly visible and Owl could never resist temptation. I could feel one of my earrings swing as Owl nipped his way around its hook.
Gabriel stared at the parrot—or my ear—for a moment then surged to his feet. “Let’s walk the dog,” he said brusquely.
“Right. I’ll get a sweater.” I transferred Owl back to his favorite perch and opened the wardrobe, a thrift shop purchase I’d painted off-white and stenciled with butterflies and birds. From it I took a cream-colored Irish fisherman’s knit sweater.
“Nice,” Gabriel commented. “Used to have one of those myself.”
“Thanks. It’s one of my knitting projects that actually turned out.” And if Gabriel was my man, my lover, I’d knit him one for his next birthday. But he wasn’t.
“Christ, you made that? All those cables and diamonds and stuff?”
“Just takes a lot of concentration.”
“I’d never have the patience.”
Not about to let him get away with that, I said, “Oh? And it doesn’t take patience to prepare a lawsuit like that medical malpractice one you were talking about the other day?”
He studied me a moment. “You’re too damned quick, Isadora.”
And he was too damned disturbing, always watching me with that intense expression I couldn’t—or didn’t dare—read. “Talking about patience, we’re straining Pogo’s. Let’s head out.”
Gabriel hadn’t said a word about my apartment. As I locked the door behind us, curiosity made me probe. “Guess my apartment seems pretty cluttered after yours. You seem to like a, uh, sparse look.”
He gave a quick bark of laughter. “Now there’s a diplomatic word.”
As we stepped into the elevator, he said, “I don’t pay much attention to my environment. So long as it’s functional, that’s all I need
.”
“And yet you value art.”
“Got me again, counselor. And you value plants and bright colors and of course anything to do with animals.”
So he had paid attention to my décor.
“It’s nice,” he said. “Your apartment suits you. It’s attractive, and functional too. Somehow I was expecting—”
The elevator door opened and we walked into the lobby. “What?” I asked.
The corner of his mouth kinked up. “Something off the cover of one of those magazines on your coffee table.”
Ah, so he’d seen the latest set of home design magazines I’d borrowed from the library. “You see me that way?” I asked, desperately curious.
“Not until you started talking about proper furniture last night. I’d never have figured Grace and Jimmy Lee’s kid for a woman who was into designer homes.”
“I’m not,” I protested automatically, then remembered all the photographs that made me salivate. What, exactly, was my image of the perfect home? Did perfection have to do with designer rooms, or with creating my own warm, colorful living space? With financial security, or with love?
The latter question was an easy one. I wanted both: the love that had characterized the homes I’d grown up in, plus the security of knowing the roof over my head was paid for and I could never be evicted.
Outside the front door, Gabriel and I waited while Pogo made good use of a telephone pole. “The magazines give me ideas,” I said. “But I like shopping at garage sales and thrift shops. That’s how my friend Janice and I furnished our apartments, poking around and bringing home things we could refinish, paint, cover with pretty fabrics.”
“Turning someone’s garbage into your treasure. That sounds more like you than reproducing some slick photograph.”
He was right. I realized that the glorious houses I’d been drooling over were rich in furniture and appliances, but not, at least not obviously, in love. So, why did they make me salivate?
Thinking it through as I spoke, I said, “It’s more what the photos represent. Security, stability. People with kitchens and living rooms like the ones in those magazines don’t rent, they don’t move every couple of years. Each child has her or his own room, and privacy.”