Текст книги "Gabriel's Inferno"
Автор книги: Sylvain Reynard
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 37 страниц)
Chapter 15
Old Mr. Krangel looked out his peephole into the hallway and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He’d heard voices, a man and a woman arguing, but couldn’t see anyone. He’d even heard a name – Beatrice. But he was unaware of any tenant called Beatrice on the floor. And now the hall appeared to be empty.
He’d already ventured out once that morning; he’d had to return his anonymous neighbor’s Saturday paper, which had been delivered to his door by mistake. The Krangels didn’t take the Saturday paper, but Mrs. Krangel suffered from dementia and had picked it up and hid it in the apartment the day before.
Slightly annoyed at having his Sunday morning thus interrupted by a kemfnin the hallway, Mr. Krangel opened his door and stuck his aged head out. Not fifty feet away, he saw a man leaning against the closed elevator door. His shoulders were shaking.
Mr. Krangel was immediately embarrassed by the pathetic sight before him but was momentarily mesmerized.
He didn’t recognize the man, and he wasn’t about to introduce himself.
Surely a grown man who would waltz about the thirtieth floor of an apartment building barefoot and casually dressed and…doing whatever it was he was doing, was not the kind of person he wished to know. Men from his generation nevercried. Of course, they never took their socks off in hallways, either. Unless they were – odd. Or lived in California.
Mr. Krangel retreated quickly, closed and locked his door, and called the concierge downstairs to report a barefoot crying man out in the hallway who had just had a screaming kemfnwith a woman called Beatrice.
It took five tiresome minutes to explain to the concierge what a kemfnwas. Mr. Krangel vocally lamented this fact, choosing to place the blame on the Toronto District School Board and their narrow, waspish curriculum.
* * *
It was late October, and the weather in Toronto was already cool.
Julia was without something warm under her coat as she slowly and miserably walked home, because she’d left Professor Emerson’s fouled sweater behind. She hugged her arms tightly across her chest, wiping away angry and resigned tears.
People passed her on the street and gave her sympathetic glances.
Canadians could be like that – quietly sympathetic but politely distant.
Julia was grateful for their sympathy and even more grateful that no one stopped to ask why she was crying. For her story was both too long and too utterly fucked up to tell.
Julia never asked herself why bad things happen to good people, for she already knew the answer: bad things happen to everyone. Not that this was an excuse or a justification for wronging another human being. Still, all humans had this shared experience – that of suffering. No human being left this world without shedding a tear, or feeling pain, or wading into the sea of sorrow. Why should her life be any different? Why should she expect special, favored treatment? Even Mother Teresa suffered, and she was a saint.
Julia did not regret looking after The Professor while he was drunk, even though her good deed had not gone unpunished. For if you truly believe that kindness is never wasted, you have to hold tightly to that belief even when the kindness is thrown back in your face.
She was ashamed that she’d been so stupid, so foolish, so naïve as to think that he would remember her after a drunken binge and that they could return to the way things were (but never were, really) that one night in the orchard. Julia knew that she’d been swept up into the romantic fancy of a fairy tale, without any thought of what the realworld, and the real Gabriel, was like.
But itwas real – the old spark was there. When he kissed me, when he touched me, the electricity was still there. He had to have felt it – it wasn’t all in my head.Julia quickly pushed those thoughts aside, willing herself to stick to her new, non-Emerson diet. It’s time to grow up. No more fairy tales. He didn’t care enough to remember you back in September, and he has Paulina, now.
When she entered her little hobbit hole, she took a long shower and changed into her oldest and softest flannel pajamas – pajamas that were pale pink with images of rubber duckies on them. She threw Gabriel’s tshirt to the back of her closet where it hopefully would be forgotten. She curled up on her twin bed, clutching her velveteen rabbit, and fell asleep, physically and emotionally spent.
While Julia was sleeping, Gabriel was warring with his hangover and fighting the urge to dive into a bottle of Scotch and never resurface. He hadn’t gone after her. He hadn’t run for the stairwell and stumbled down thirty flights to meet her at the lobby. He hadn’t taken the next elevator and raced to the street to catch her.
No, he’d stumbled back to his apartment and slumped into a chair, so he could wallow in nausea and self-loathing. He cursed the roughness with which he’d treated her, not just this morning, but since his first seminar back in September. A roughness made worse by the fact that she had suffered saint-like in silence, all the while knowing exactly who and what she was to him.
How could I have been so blind?
He thought of the first time he’d seen her. He’d returned to Selinsgrove in depression and despair. But God had intervened, a genuine deus ex machina. God sent him an angel to rescue him from Hell – a delicate, brown-eyed angel in jeans and sneakers with a beautiful face and a pure soul. She comforted him in his darkness and gave him hope. She seemed to cherish a sincere affection for him despite his failings.
She saved me.
As if that salvation wasn’t enough, the angel appeared to him a second time, the very day he’d cruelly lost the other strong force of goodness in his life, Grace. The angel sat in his Dante seminar, reminding him of truth, beauty, and goodness. And he responded by snapping at her and threatening to push her out of the program. Then this morning, he was cruel and compared her to a whore.
I’m the Angelfucker now. I’ve fucked over the brown-eyed angel.Gabriel cursed the irony of his name as he walked to the kitchen to retrieve her note.
Holding her beautiful, fragile message in his hand, he saw his own ugliness – not an ugliness of body but of soul. Julianne’s note, and even her breakfast tray, confronted Gabriel’s sin in a manner that was stark, convict-ing, and absolutely unrelenting.
She could not have known this, but in that moment her words from a week ago rang true. Sometimes people, when left alone, can hear their own hatefulness for themselves. Sometimes goodness is enough to expose evil for what it really is.
Gabriel dropped her note onto the counter and buried his face in his hands.
* * *
When Julia finally awoke it was after ten o’clock in the evening. She yawned and stretched, and after making a very sad bowl of instant oatmeal and barely being able to choke down a third of it, she decided to check her voice mail.
She’d turned her cell phone off when she arrived at Gabriel’s the night before because she was expecting a call from Paul. She was not in a mood to speak with him, then or now, even though she knew he would likely cheer her. She just wanted to be left alone to lick her wounds, like a puppy that had been kicked repeatedly.
So it was with a heavy heart that she checked her messages, scrolling through to listen to the oldest ones first, frowning when she realized that her inbox was full. Julia’s inbox was never full, for the only people who ever called her were her father, Rachel, and Paul, and their messages were always short.
“Hi Julia, it’s me. It’s Saturday night and the conference went well. I’m bringing you back something from Princeton. It’s small, so don’t worry. You’re probably at the library, working. Call me later. [Pregnant pause…] I miss you.”
Julia sighed and deleted the first message from Paul and moved to his next one.
“Hey, Julia. It’s me again. It’s Sunday morning, and I should be home sometime tonight. Do you want to meet me for a late dinner? There’s a great sushi place over by your apartment. Call me. Miss you, little Rabbit.”
Julia deleted Paul’s second message and quickly texted him, saying she’d come down with the flu and was catching up on her sleep. She’d call him when she was feeling better, and she hoped he’d arrived home safely.
She did not tell him that she missed him.
The next message was from a local number that she didn’t recognize.
“Julianne…um, Julia. It’s Gabriel. I…Please don’t hang up. I know I’m the last person you want to hear from, but I’m calling to grovel. In fact, I’m standing outside your building in the rain. I was worried about you, and I wanted to be sure you got home safely.
“I wish we could go back to this morning, and I could tell you that I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than the sight of you in my living room, happy and dancing. That I’m incredibly lucky that you rescued me and stayed with me all night. That I’m an idiot and a fuck-up, and I don’t deserve your kindness. At all. I know I hurt you, Julia, and I’m sorry.
[Deep inhale and exhale.] “I should never have let you go this morning – not like that. I should have run after you and begged you to stay. I fucked up, Julia. I fucked up.
“I should have humiliated myself in person, which is what I’m trying to do now. Please come outside so I can apologize. Actual y, don’t come outside – you’l catch pneumonia. Just come to the front door and listen to me through the glass.
I’m going to stand here and wait for you. Here is my cell number…”
Julia scowled and deleted his message, not even bothering to save his number. Still wearing her rubber duckie pajamas, she opened her apartment door and walked across the hall. She had no intention of listening to Gabriel; she just wanted to find out if he was still waiting outside in the cold, dark rain.
She pressed her nose against the glass in the front door, smudging it, and peered outside into the inky blackness. It was no longer raining. And there was no Professor to be found. She wondered how long he’d waited.
She wondered if he’d walked to her apartment without an umbrella. Her spine stiffened, and she told herself that she didn’t care.
Let him catch pneumonia. Serves him right.
Before she turned to go, she noticed a large bouquet of purple hyacinths leaning up against one of the pillars on the porch. It had a large, pink bow attached to it and something that looked like a Hallmark card resting in the middle of it. The envelope read Julia.
Oh really, Professor Emerson? I didn’t know that Hallmark’s greeting cards included the “something for the girl/graduate student I cussed out after telling her I wanted to pet her and later puking on her.”Julia turned on her heel and went back to her apartment, shaking her head and muttering.
Curling up on her bed with her laptop, she decided to perform an internet search on purple hyacinths, just in case Gabriel (or his florist) was trying to send her a subliminal message. On a horticultural website, she read the following: Purple hyacinths symbolize sorrow, the request for forgiveness, or an apology.
Yeah, well if you hadn’t been such a bastard to me, Gabriel, you wouldn’t have to buy hyacinths to beg for my forgiveness. Jackass.Still shaking her head in irritation, Julia put her laptop aside and checked her last and final voice message. It was from Gabriel, and he’d left it a few minutes ago.
“Julia, I wanted to say this in person, but I can’t wait. I can’t wait.
“I wasn’t calling you a whore this morning. I swear. It was a terrible comparison, and I never should have said it, but I wasn’t calling you a whore.
I was objecting to seeing you on your knees. It really…upsets me. Every time.
You should be worshipped and adored and treated with dignity. Never on your knees. Never on your knees, Julia, for anyone. No matter what you think of me, that’s the truth.
“I should have apologized immediately for what Paulina said to you. I just finished setting her straight, and I want to pass on her apology. She’s sorry.
She and I have a…um…(cough)…it’s complicated. You can probably imagine why she jumped to that conclusion, and it has to do only with me and my previous – ah – behavior, and nothing to do with you. I’m really sorry she insulted you. It won’t happen again, I promise.
“Thank you for making me breakfast this morning. Um…[very long pause] seeing the tray you prepared really did something to me. I can’t put it into words.
Julia, no one has ever done anything like that for me before. No one. Not Grace, not a friend, not a lover, no one. I…you’ve been nothing but good and kind and giving. And I’ve been nothing but selfish and cruel. [Clears throat…]
[Voice is husky now.] “Please, Julia, we need to talk about your note. I am holding your note in the palm of my hand, and I’m not going to let it go.
But there are some things I need to explain to you, serious things, and I’m not comfortable doing that over the phone. I’m sorry for what happened this morning. It’s all my fault, and I want to fix it. Please tell me how to fix this, and I’ll fix it. Call me.”
Once again, Julia deleted his message, and once again, she made no attempt to save his number. She turned her phone off, placed it with her laptop on her card table, and went back to bed, trying to put Gabriel’s sad and tortured voice out of her mind.
The next day and the day after that, Julia didn’t leave her apartment. In fact, she spent all her time in various flannel pajama sets, trying to distract herself with loud music and a series of well-worn paperbacks by Alexander McCall Smith. His Edinburgh stories were her favorite because they were cheerful, slightly mysterious, and smart. She found his writing comforting and more than soothing to her soul. The stories tended to make her hungry for Scottish things like porridge and Walker’s shortbread and Isle of Mull cheddar (not necessarily in that order).
Although she had had a truly scarring experience with Gabriel, hard on the heels of spending the night in his arms, she was more determined than ever that she would not let him break her. She’d been broken before; hehad broken her. And she’d sworn in her heart that she would never allow her spirit to be broken again. By anyone.
So she made the following three decisions:
First, she was not going to drop Emerson’s class, because she needed a Dante seminar to demonstrate her competency.
Second, she was not going to quit school and return to Selinsgrove a coward.
Third, she was going to find herself another thesis director and file the paperwork behind Emerson’s back, as soon as possible.
Near midnight Tuesday, she finally turned her cell phone on to check her messages. Once again, her inbox was full. She rolled her eyes when she discovered, not surprisingly, that the first message was from Gabriel. It had arrived Monday morning.
“Julianne…I left something for you last night on your front porch. Did you see it? Did you read the card? Please read it.
“By the way, I had to call Paul Norris in order to get your cell phone number.
I made up some excuse about needing to speak with you about your thesis, in case he asks you about it.
“Did you know that you forgot your iPod? I’ve been listening to it. I was surprised to find that you are a fan of Arcade Fire. I’ve been listening toIntervention , although I’m more than surprised that someone as well-adjusted and happy as you would listen to such a tragic song. I’d like to be able to return your iPod in person.
“I’d like you to talk to me. Scream at me. Curse me. Throw things in my face. Anything but silence, Julianne. Please. [Large sigh…] Just a few moments of your time, that’s all I ask. Call me.”
Julia deleted his message and promptly walked herself and her Scottish tartan flannel pajamas out to the front porch. She picked up the card that was attached to the bouquet, ripped it into a hundred pieces, and threw the pieces over the railing and into the grass. She picked up the now withered purple hyacinths and threw them over the railing too. Then she inhaled the cold night air deeply and ran back inside, slamming the front door behind her.
Once she’d calmed down, she listened to the next message, which was also from Gabriel. He’d called her that afternoon, “Julianne, did you know that Rachel is on some Godforsaken Canadian island? With no access to either a cell phone or her e-mail? I had to call Richard, for God’s sake, when she wouldn’t answer her phone. I was trying to track her down so she can track you down since you are refusing to respond to my messages.
“I’m worried about you. I checked around and no one, not even Paul, has seen you for days. I’m going to send you an e-mail, but it’s going to be formal because the university has access to my e-mail account. I’m hoping you get this message before you read it, otherwise you’ll think I’m being an ass again. But I’m not. I just have to sound like one in an official e-mail. If you reply to me, keep in mind anyone from the administration can read those e-mails. So be careful what you say.
“I’ll see you at my seminar tomorrow. If you aren’t there, I’m going to call your father and ask him to find you. For all I know, you’re already on a bus on your way back to Selinsgrove. Call me, please. I’ve had to restrain myself from coming over every day since Sunday.
[Long pause…] “I just want to know that you’re all right. Two words, Julia.
Just text me two words – tell me you’re okay. That’s all I’m asking.”
Julia quickly turned on her computer and checked her university e-mail account. There, sitting in her inbox like a dirty bomb, was the following message from Professor Gabriel O. Emerson:
Dear Miss Mitchell,
I need to speak to you concerning a matter of some urgency.
Please contact me as soon as possible. You may telephone me at the following number: 416-555-0739 (cell).
Regards,
Prof. Gabriel O. Emerson,
Associate Professor
Department of Italian Studies/
Centre for Medieval Studies
University of Toronto
Julia deleted the e-mail and the voice mail without a second thought, and she typed a quick e-mail to Paul, explaining that she was too sick to attend Professor Emerson’s seminar the following afternoon and asking Paul to pass that information to The Professor. She thanked Paul for his several e-mails, apologized for not answering sooner, and asked if he’d like to accompany her to the Royal Ontario Museum to see the Florentine art exhibit when she had recovered her health.
The following day, she spent the better part of the afternoon composing an exploratory e-mail to Professor Jennifer Leaming of the Department of Philosophy. Professor Leaming was an Aquinas specialist who also had an interest in Dante. Although Julia didn’t know her personally, Paul had taken a class with her and liked her a great deal. She was young, funny, and very popular with her students – the complete opposite of Professor Emerson.
Julia was hoping Professor Leaming would consider directing her master’s thesis, and she stated this hope as a mere possibility in her e-mail.
Julia wanted to consult Paul about the switch and take his advice, but she couldn’t. She knew he would assume that Emerson dropped her and would likely confront him about it. So she sent the e-mail to Professor Leaming and hoped that she would receive it graciously and respond quickly.
Later that evening, Julia checked her voice mail and once again, there was a message waiting from Gabriel.
“Julianne, it’s Wednesday evening. I missed you in my seminar. You brighten a room, you know, just by being in it. I’m sorry I never said that to you before.
“Paul said you’ve been sick. Can I bring you some chicken soup? Ice cream?
Orange juice? I could have those items delivered. You wouldn’t have to see me.
Please let me help you. I feel terrible knowing that you’re in your apartment, alone and sick, and there’s nothing I can do.
“At least I know that you’re safe and not on a Greyhound bus somewhere.
[Pauses – clears throat.]
“I remember kissing you. You kissed me back. You kissed me back, Julia, I know you did. Didn’t you feel it? Thereis something between us. Or at least, there was.
“Please, we need to talk. You can’t expect me to uncover your true identity and not have the chance to talk to you about it. I need to explain a few things.
More than a few things, all right? Just call me back. All I’m asking for is one conversation. I think you owe me that.”
The tone of Gabriel’s voice in his messages had grown increasingly desperate. Julia turned off her phone, deliberately suppressing her own innate empathy. She knew the university had access to Gabriel’s e-mail, but she didn’t care. His messages needed to stop; she would never be able to move on if he kept bothering her. And he didn’t appear to be giving up any time soon.
So Julia typed an e-mail and sent it to his university address, pouring all of her hurt and anger into every single word:
Dr. Emerson,
Stop harassing me.
I don’t want you anymore. I don’t even want to know you. If you don’t leave me alone, I will be forced to file a harassment complaint against you. And if you call my father, I will do just that. Immediately.
If you think I’m going to let an insignificant thing like this drive me from the program, then you are very much mistaken. I need a new thesis director, not a bus ticket home.
Regards,
Miss Julia. H. Mitchell,
Lowly Graduate Student,
On-Knees-More-Than-The-Average-Whore.
P.S. I will be returning the M. P. Emerson bursary next week.
Congratulations, Professor Abelard. No one has ever made me feel as cheap as you did Sunday morning.
Julia pressed sendwithout proofreading her message, and in a fit of rebellion, she took two shots of tequila and began to play the song All the Pretty Facesby The Killers. At a high volume. On repeat.
It was a Bridget Jones moment if there ever was one.
Julia grabbed a hairbrush from the bathroom and began singing into it as if it were a microphone and dancing about the room in her now penguin-decorated flannel pajamas, looking more than slightly ridiculous.
And feeling strangely…dangerous, daring, and defiant.
In the days after Julia sent her angry e-mail, all contact from Professor Emerson ceased. Every day she somehow expected to hear from him, but every day there was nothing. Until the following Tuesday, when she received another voice mail.
“Julianne, you’re angry and hurt – I understand that. But don’t let your anger prevent you from keeping somethingyou earned by being the top master’s student in this year’s admissions pool.
“Please don’t deprive yourself of money you could use to go home and visit your father just because I was an ass.
“I’m sorry I made you feel cheap. I’m sure when you called me Abelard you didn’t mean it as a compliment. But Abelard truly cared for Héloïse, and I care for you. So in that sense, there is a similarity. He also hurt her, as I have hurt you. But he was deeply sorry for having injured her. Have you read his letters to her? Read the sixth letter and see if it alters your perception of him…and me.
“The bursary was never awarded before because I never found someone who was special enough to receive it, until I found you. If you give it back, the money will just sit in the Foundation’s bank account benefiting no one. I’m not going to allow anyone else to have that money because it’s yours.
“I was trying to bring goodness out of evil. But I failed in doing that just like I’ve failed in everything else. Everything I touch becomes contaminated or destroyed…[Long pause…]
“There is one thing Ican do for you and that’s find you another thesis advisor.
Professor Katherine Picton is a friend of mine, and although she’s retired, she has agreed to meet with you to discuss the possibility of directing your project.
This will be a tremendous opportunity, in more ways than one. She asked me to have you contact her directly via e-mail, as soon as possible, at K Picton at U Toronto dot C A.
“I know it’s officially too late for you to drop my seminar, but I’m sure that’s what you want. I will approach one of my colleagues and see if she will supervise a reading course with you, which will enable you to have enough credits to graduate, even if you drop my class. I’ll sign the drop form and work it out for you with the School of Graduate Studies. Just tell Paul what you want to do and ask him to pass on the message. I know you don’t want to talk to me.
[Clears throat.] “Paul is a good man.
[Muttering…] “Audentes fortuna iuvat.
[Pause – voice drops to almost a whisper.] “I’m sorry you don’t want to know me anymore. I will spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that I wasted my second chance to know you. And I will always be conscious of your absence.
“But I won’t bother you again. [Clears throat twice.]
“Good-bye, Julianne.” [Long, long pause before Gabriel finally hangs up.]
Julia was stunned. She sat, open mouthed, with her phone in her hand, trying to wrap her mind around his message. She listened to it again and again, puzzling out the words, but the only part she readily believed was the quote from Virgil, Fortune favors the brave.
Only The Professor could use an apologetic voice mail as an occasion to re-assert his academic prowess and give Julia an impromptu lecture on Peter Abelard. Julia moved past her annoyance, deciding notto follow his suggestion and read Abelard’s letters. Instead, she turned her attention to the more interesting part of his message, his mention of Katherine Picton.
Professor Picton was a seventy-year-old, Oxford-educated Dante specialist who had taught at Cambridge and Yale before she was lured to the University of Toronto by an endowed chair in Italian Studies. She was known to be severe, demanding, and bril iant, and her erudition rivaled that of Mark Musa. Julia’s career would be greatly advanced if she were to write a successful thesis under Professor Picton’s supervision, and she knew it. Professor Picton could send Julia anywhere for her doctorate, Oxford, Cambridge, Harvard…
Gabriel was single-handedly giving Julia the biggest career opportunity of her life, gift-wrapped with a bright, shiny bow – an opportunity worth far more than a messenger bag or the M. P. Emerson bursary. But what were the strings attached to this gift?
Atonement, Julia thought. He’s trying to make up for every wrong he has ever done me.
Gabriel was asking Katherine Picton to do him a favor, for Julia.
Emeritus professors rarely, if ever, directed doctoral dissertations, let alone masters’ theses. This was a tremendous favor that would have required Gabriel to call in all of his markers with Katherine.
All for me.
After she contemplated this new information from all angles, Julia pushed everything aside to focus on the single question that filled her heart with shameful dread.
Gabriel is telling me good-bye?
She listened to the message three more times, and with more than a little self-criticism, she cried herself to sleep. For despite al her defiance, there was a flame in her that recognized its twin in Gabriel. And that flame could not be extinguished, unless Julia was willing to extinguish a part of herself.
Early the next morning, she called Paul under the pretence of making plans to meet him before Emerson’s seminar. She hoped that he would tell her that Emerson had gotten sick or mysteriously left for England or taken ill with swine flu and cancelled his seminar for the rest of the semester. Sadly, he had done none of those things.
Julia decided that she would continue attending the Dante seminar, just in case Gabriel had trouble finding her a reading course as a substitute.
Indeed, if Professor Picton became her thesis advisor, Julia was confident she could tolerate being in Emerson’s seminar for the five remaining weeks of the semester. So that afternoon, she wandered into the office of the department in order to check her mailbox before she was supposed to meet Paul.
She was somewhat intrigued to find a large, padded envelope in her pigeonhole. Removing it, she noticed that there wasn’t a name on it. It was not addressed to her, nor was there a return address or any marking of any kind on the envelope.
She slid her finger through the adhesive, opening it quickly. What she saw inside shocked her. Nestled inside the padded manila envelope, like the feathers of a raven, was a black lace bra. Herblack lace bra. Her black lace bra that she’d left, unfortunately, on top of Gabriel’s dryer.
That bastard.
Julia was so angry her body began to shake. How dare he return it to her mailbox?Anyone, anyone, could have been standing next to her when she opened it. Is he trying to humiliate me? Or does he think this is funny?
(Julia didn’t notice that her iPod was also enclosed.)
“Hey, gorgeous.”
She jumped about a foot off the floor and shrieked.
“Whoa, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She looked up into Paul’s kind, dark eyes and saw him staring down at her with a puzzled expression.
“You’re jumpy today. What’s that?” He pointed to her envelope, hands still raised.
“Junk mail.” She stuffed the envelope into her new L. L. Bean knapsack and forced a smile. “Ready for Emerson’s seminar? I think it’s going to be a good one.”
“I don’t think so. He’s in a foul mood again. I need to warn you not to mess with him today – he’s been out of sorts for two weeks.” Paul’s face took on a very serious expression. “I don’t want a repeat of what happened the last time he was like this.”
Julia tossed her hair and grinned. Actually, I think that you need to tell Emerson not to mess withme . I’ve got a lot of rage, a black bra, and I’m wearing a thong. He’s the one in trouble, not me.
“I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I was really worried about you.” Paul reached out to take her hand in his, spreading wide her palm and placing something cold in it. He closed her fingers in on themselves and squeezed gently. Julia withdrew her hand and uncurled her fingers. Resting on her palm was a beautiful silver key ring, with a striped Pthat swung like a pendulum from the ring itself.
“Now, please don’t say you won’t accept it. I know you don’t have a nice key ring, and I wanted you to know I was thinking about you while I was gone. So please don’t give it back.”
