“Yeah, actually, that’s why I’m calling. My availability is wide open so if you can e-mail me the times that are best for you, that’d be great.”
“Okay, I can do that. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m sort of caring for a friend at my home, and it’s a little hard for her to get around right now. Would you be okay with meeting here at my house?”
“Oh, of course, that’s perfectly fine. Honestly, I’m okay with wherever you feel the most comfortable. And I’d … love to see your home.”
“Thanks, Chloe. Okay, I’ll e-mail you the times that work best for me starting Monday.”
“Awesome. I’ll see you then. Thanks again, Gabriel.”
We said our goodbyes and I hit the end button, continuing to stare out at the trees for a few more minutes, thinking about Chloe and how much things had changed since I’d agreed to be interviewed by her.
Chloe.
Ellie.
In a way, both of them were responsible for the changes beginning inside me. Chloe was the reason I’d allowed myself to dream of possibilities in the first place, of love, of a family like the one I’d had once. I’d had no idea if Chloe was a woman I’d fall in love with once I met her, or if she would be attracted to me. But I had wanted to show up for the situation with her as a whole man, not some scared rabbit that jumped every time someone got in my personal space. And so I’d ended up at the Platinum Pearl. I’d ended up in a room with … Ellie. I let out a sigh. Wasn’t there a saying about making plans being the surest way to make God laugh?
Maybe we were all about to find out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Busy hands, sharp mind. Always keep your edge.
Gambit, the Duke of Thieves
ELLIE
I didn’t know why I kept giving Gabriel small pieces of myself. And I was even more confused about why he didn’t ever seem to look at me any differently. I kept trying to shock him with the reality of who I was. But he just kept coming back with that same placid look on his face, the kindness shining from his eyes as if nothing I said could shake him. What did he want with me? I wasn’t trying to pretend I was someone other than myself, like I had with other men, though they’d left all the same. No, Gabriel still cared for me day after day. Why? Why was I still here in this beautiful house, being watched over, being given rainbows, as if I were someone special?
He obviously didn’t want me for my body. I had nothing to offer in that respect—at least not right now. And he tensed each time he got near me anyway—although I couldn’t help but notice that was lessening by the day. Still, it wasn’t that. It was something else. But what? I couldn’t understand Gabriel’s motives, and I felt lost and confused, almost afraid of him. The fear went deep down into my bones, because I sensed he threatened something vital, only I didn’t know what.
I don’t create beauty, Eloise, I just reveal what’s already there.
After the day I told him about my father, I decided I wouldn’t sit with him on the patio anymore. It was too damn early to get up anyway. And yet the next morning when that golden glow lit my room, and a hundred rainbows appeared, I got out of bed. The lure was too great. I told myself it was the pull of coffee and fresh air, and the peace I felt as I watched the dawn turn into day, and yet I knew I wasn’t being completely honest with myself. The truth was, the thing that drew me to the patio was Gabriel himself. Gabriel with his handsome face, his eyes still slightly squinty from sleep, his broad shoulders, those beautiful artist’s hands, and the strong, gentle air about him.
When I opened the French doors, I expected that he’d look surprised to see me after our exchange the day before, but he didn’t. He just smiled and greeted me as he always did, and we drank our coffee together as the trees swayed in the breeze and the morning sky turned soft pink.
We spent the next few days that way, me still watching him for several hours as he worked on William, revealing the cherub’s small, sweet face feature by feature. The tap, tap, tapping of his chisel was our background music, while small tendrils of dust danced around him and disappeared into the air. I was fascinated as William emerged, almost breathless with wonder to see him take shape. “How do you know?” I asked as he worked.
“Know what?”
“What he’s supposed to look like?”
Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t. He tells me as I go.” He stopped. “Does that sound weird? What I mean is, I have a general idea of his shape and I use it as an outline, but I don’t know what his exact features will look like, for instance.” He went back to work as he spoke. “I imagine it’s similar for many artists. Writers … painters … you start out with a vague vision, and the details emerge through the process. The more you do it, the more you trust your own hands to lead you in the right direction.”
I liked that. I liked the confidence with which he worked, the trust he had in his own talent. And I was jealous. What must it feel like to possess such a gift? To be able to reveal beauty with your own hands? I didn’t have any skills at all. Not unless you counted being able to slide down a pole as an accomplishment. I crossed my arms over my tender ribs, a feeling of worthlessness running through me.
“He’s got curly hair,” Gabriel said, snapping me out of my despondent fog. I watched as Gabriel moved his chisel and hammer to create a smooth wave over William’s forehead. Tenderness replaced the depression I’d been moving toward. I felt almost irrationally attached to William, as if watching him come to life made me somehow responsible for him.
I’d watched William emerge from a square block of stone and now he was a fat, precious little man with laughing eyes and a sweet smile. My heart thrummed with love for him. How stupid! Ridiculous, really. You can’t love a statue. I almost laughed at myself, but I didn’t want to make a sound that Gabriel would question. Yes, not only am I broken and useless, I’m crazy, too. I love that little stone angel you created more than I’ve loved anything in a long, long time.
“Ellie, I wanted to let you know about something.”
My eyes snapped to Gabriel’s at the seriousness in his tone. “Okay.”
“Before you came here, I made plans with a graduate student at the University of Vermont to interview me for her thesis paper. She arrives in Morlea tomorrow.”
I tilted my head, my brow furrowing in question. “Thesis paper?”
Gabriel nodded. “Yeah, it’s about abducted children who subsequently escaped or were rescued.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. “Well that sounds … hard. Will it be? I mean will it be hard for you?” I shivered to think about what it’d be like to answer in-depth questions about the worst parts of my own life. I always tried not to think about the things that had hurt me.
He stopped working for a moment as if he was taking a few seconds to really consider my question. “I don’t think so, no. I don’t often talk about what happened to me, but I don’t find it distressing anymore, either.”
I frowned again, watching him. How in the world had he come to a place where he wasn’t distressed by the memory of being locked in a basement for six years and tortured in heinous ways I didn’t even want to know about? How had he managed that?