Finding Isadora(65)

“Yes, we’re just closing,” I murmured back.

“Can I give you a ride home? Or do you have plans?”

Was I meeting Richard, he meant. Why didn’t he come right out and say it?

“I can walk.”

His lips twitched. “Or bus or taxi. Believe me, I’m quite aware of all the modes of transportation you’d rather take than accept a lift from me.” His eyes narrowed, his gaze pinned me. “Feel like company on that walk home? We could get a bite to eat on the way.”

What was going on? He was behaving almost as if he was asking me on a date. Or, I told myself, like a prospective father-in-law being kind to a tired prospective daughter-in-law. Which did I want it to be?

I was so damned confused and upset, seeing Gabriel was the absolute last thing I needed. Glancing down at his muscular brown forearm, I felt a shivery ripple move over my own skin.

My brain told me this was the last man I should spend time with. Even if I did decide Richard and I weren’t right for each other, his father and I had no future. And yet that shivery, dizzy feeling confirmed I wanted him.

I lifted my gaze, met his intense one. If I was a more experienced woman, I’d be able to read his feelings, to know for sure if his interest was sexual or platonic.

Over at the reception desk, Martin and Margarida were chatting, but their conversation sounded stilted and I knew Gabriel and I were the true focus of their attention. I had to decide, and I didn’t have the strength to resist the man. “Let me wash up and get my bag. I’ll just be a couple of minutes.”

“I’ll wait outside.” He was no doubt also aware of our audience.

In the washroom, I sponged off as much of the day as a I could and ran a comb through my hair. The mirror told me my efforts hadn’t effected a miraculous transformation. I was still a rumpled woman with a face that was unadorned except for purple shadows under my eyes.

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.”