Most of All You: A Love Story(44)

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?

His wise, sensitive, beautiful eyes met mine. “It’s closeness I struggle with. As you know.”

“Oh, yes,” I said softly, feeling suddenly … honored that I might be the only woman on earth who did know that. It felt like a … secret, something personal and private that I alone knew about this man. It made me feel warm and trusted. And I remembered, too, how I had abused that trust, how I’d sent Rita in when he was expecting me. Shame rose up within me, heating my cheeks and making me feel suddenly weak with remorse. “Gabriel …”

His hands stilled and he looked over at me with concern. “What is it?”

I picked at my fingernails for a moment, gathering the words I needed to say. The words that were overdue. “I’m sorry.” It came out as a hoarse whisper, and I blinked up at him. “For what I did at the club … I’m sorry.”

His eyes ran over my face, down to where my hands still fidgeted and back up to my eyes. “I forgive you.”

I tilted my head, my hands ceasing in their pick, pick, picking. “Why?” I whispered.

His smile was slight, sort of sad. “Because what you did hurt me … but I think it hurt you, too.”

I let out a quick rush of breath, the truth of his words running through me. God, yes, it had. How had he known? Still, it wasn’t about me. I’d caused him pain on purpose, and any hurt I felt because of it was well deserved. I shook my head slightly, not able to decide whether I was glad he’d forgiven me or not, wanting to change the subject back to what we’d been talking about. The interview. I cleared my throat. “Well, anyway, it’s nice of you to grant that interview. Sounds like a worthy cause. A contribution to … um, education and all.”

He stared at me for a few heartbeats before smiling slightly again and looking back to William, his hands moving over the cherub’s curls. “I told you about it because I arranged it with her to come here to my house so I’m available if you need me.”

“Oh, you really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to. But I also wanted to let you know in advance so you know what’s going on.”

“Thank you.” It was his house, so he didn’t owe me that. I knew I was disrupting his life in any number of ways, and yet he was so kind and flexible. Why? It was the one question I kept coming back to and didn’t want to ask because I wasn’t sure how the answer would affect me. “I should be able to move back home in a couple of days—”

Gabriel stopped working again, tilting his head. “Why would you, Ellie? Why would you want to manage three flights of steps and an empty apartment where no one could help you if you needed it? You’re still healing. It’s only been two weeks.”

“I don’t want to be dependent on you,” I mumbled.

Gabriel sighed. “Is it really so bad?”

I opened my mouth to say something, when the sound of a vehicle approaching his house dried up the words on my lips. Gabriel put his tools down and removed his gloves slowly. His back suddenly looked stiff, and I wondered if I was imagining it. Whoever it was pulled out of sight of the open garage, and I heard the engine turn off. Gabriel walked outside to meet the person whose footsteps I heard in the gravel.