“I…” She began to say something to him, and then thought better of it. She wanted to, but she was afraid to, and it still hurt too much to say it. “I was very much in love with someone once.” She admitted it to him like a terrible secret, and in their case, it had been. But he suspected immediately that there was a great deal more to it than she was saying.

“At your age, Gabriella, once is pretty fair. You'll have a few more of those before it's over.” He had never loved anyone but Charlotte, but they had been both rare and lucky. Most people weren't. “I take it it didn't go well.” It sounded to him as though the affair was over, and she nodded, and took a sharp breath before she continued.

“He died in September.” It was barely more than a whisper. She didn't offer to tell him more than that, and he didn't ask her. He only nodded. “I thought it would kill me, and it very nearly did.” She remembered the miscarriage, or what she knew of it, all too vividly, and she still hadn't recovered completely, although she was feeling a great deal better.

“I'm very sorry to hear it.” He had known there was a tragedy in her life somewhere, perhaps even several. He could smell it. “Love doesn't always end that way, and it never should. It leaves everything so unfinished. Even after forty years, I still had so much left to say to Charlotte.”

Gabriella nodded, understanding what he meant, but she couldn't go on talking, and he covered for her for a while, chatting about his wife, and Gabbie's writing. He wondered how the man had died, he assumed an accident, but he would never have asked her. He was gone, and she was heartbroken, that was all that mattered. But he couldn't begin to imagine the tragedy it had been, or the toll it had taken. Gabriella knew that even he couldn't have written that story, it was far too ugly for his gentle imagination.

They took a cab back to the boardinghouse that night. It was cold and he was feeling flush, his social security check had just come in, and he knew it had cost her a lot to tell him about the man who had died two months before. He wanted to do something special for her, and she was grateful to him as they got out in front of Mrs. Boslicki's tired old brownstone. And they both looked up at the sky at the same time. It was snowing. The first snow of the winter, and suddenly she remembered how beautiful the first snow had always looked in the convent garden. As a child, she had loved to play there, and the nuns had always let her. She said something about it as they walked inside, and she smiled at the memory, and he was happy for her. She needed something happy to cling to. They all did.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” she said softly as she stopped outside his room. “Thank you, Professor Thomas.”

“Not at all, the pleasure is always mine, my dear,” he said, executing a little bow as she smiled. She couldn't begin to imagine how he looked forward to these evenings, now more than ever. She was almost becoming a daughter to him… or a beloved grandchild, especially after she had shared her confidence with him that evening. It was a sign of trust, which he cherished deeply. “I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving,” he said gently.

“So am I,” she said, still smiling at him, and meant it. Before that, she'd been dreading it, but it didn't seem quite so bad now. She had lost a lot, but she had found something, like a diamond sparkling in the snow. And as she walked slowly upstairs, thinking of him, she thought of how sad it might have been if she had missed it.





Chapter 17




THANKSGIVING WAS BEAUTIFUL for all of them. There was a thick blanket of snow outside, and the entire city stopped moving. People skied in Central Park, and children played in the streets, made snowmen, and threw snowballs. And Mrs. Boslicki made a turkey no one would ever forget. It was so large she barely got it into the oven. And as he did every year, Professor Thomas carved it. And everyone seemed to have funny stories to tell about Thanksgivings that had gone wrong, appalling relatives, or silly things about their childhoods.

They all went for a walk afterward, and everyone said they felt as though they were about to explode. Baum's Restaurant was closed that day, and Gabriella was happy to be at home with all of them. She was like everyone's favorite daughter or niece or grandchild. In the two brief months she'd been with them, they had all come to love her.

And for the rest of the weekend, they talked about Christmas shopping, and there were suddenly decorations everywhere. Mrs. Boslicki and Mrs. Rosenstein went downtown to go shopping at Macy's and reported on the crowds with amazement. And for the entire weekend that she was off, Gabriella stayed in her room and worked on a story, and on Sunday night she dropped her notebook in the professor's lap with a smug expression.

“There! Now stop complaining!”

“All right… all right… let's see what you've got here.” But even he was amazed this time. Her story was brilliant. It was a Christmas story of sorts, filled with pathos and moments that brought tears to even his eyes, but it was beautifully done, elegantly written, and the surprise turn at the end was nothing short of brilliant. He let out a whoop of admiration and glee when he finished. She had been watching him with her arms crossed from a comfortable old club chair in the comer.

“Do you like it?” she asked nervously, but she could see he did. He was ecstatic about it, and he insisted it had to be published. This time he wouldn't allow her to deny it.

“Like it? I love it!”

“I still need to do some work on it,” she said anxiously when he talked about getting it published.

“Why don't you let me do some editing first?” he suggested, cleverly putting her notebook in his pocket before she could argue with him about it, and then offering her a game of dominoes to distract her. But she was so pleased he liked it that she would have done anything for him, particularly tonight. She had worked hard on it, and was very happy with the outcome. Even she had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that it was her best story. She even beat him at dominoes that night, and had a general feeling of victory when she went to bed, relieved to have completed the story. She had stayed up working on it until well past three that morning. It was the first time that she had felt a total mastery of her subject, and the feeling was both heady and addictive.

And the next day she was still excited about it when she went back to work. After being closed over the long weekend, Mr. Baum had decided to open on Monday. Professor Thomas still came in to see her there every day, sometimes with one of the others from the boardinghouse, or sometimes alone, and when he left that afternoon, Gabriella warned him to be careful going home. The slushy snow had become icy. But he was extremely independent.

All the customers that came in were in high spirits that day, and were all talking about getting ready for Christmas. Even the Baums were more expansive than usual, after spending Thanksgiving with all three of their daughters, and greeted their customers with a little more cheer than normal. They asked her how her holidays were, which was unusual because they only looked at her as a worker and never seemed interested in getting to know her.

And when Gabriella got back to the boardinghouse that night, Mrs. Boslicki stuck her head into the hallway when she heard her. She beckoned Gabriella to come closer, and Gabbie was instantly worried about the professor, but Mrs. Boslicki looked to be in too good a humor to be the bearer of bad tidings.

“We have a new boarder,” she said triumphantly. She had been trying for weeks to replace the traveling salesman.

“That's wonderful.” Gabriella congratulated her, relieved that her news had nothing untoward to do with the professor. He had become enormously important to her. In a short time, he had become the only family she had, and sometimes she worried about him so much, she had nightmares about him. She still slept at the bottom of the bed, as she always had, even more so lately, since leaving the convent.

“He's very handsome,” Mrs. Boslicki added about her new boarder.

“That's nice,” Gabriella said blankly, not sure what that had to do with her. But Mrs. Boslicki seemed pleased, and Gabriella smiled, wondering if her landlady had a crush on her new tenant.

“He's twenty-seven, and very smart. He went to college.” Gabriella smiled at her, only mildly amused. She had no interest in any man, of any age, no matter how smart or attractive he was. The only man she needed in her life now was the professor.

“Good night, Mrs. Boslicki,” Gabriella said firmly. It had been a long night for her, but the tips had been good. She had been able to buy herself some new clothes recently, and she suspected the Baums were relieved too. They had made several comments about her two hand-me-down dresses from the convent. Most of the time now she wore skirts and sweaters. She had even bought a strand of fake pearls, and once when she looked in the mirror, she was afraid that she was beginning to look like her mother, but the Professor loved the way she looked and never hesitated to say so. He always said that she looked exactly like Grace Kelly.

Gabriella walked upstairs, relieved to know that the room that had been vacant was on the second floor, and she didn't have to share a bathroom with the new man. The bathroom she did share was only used by women. And she hoped it would be a while before she had to see him.

But she ran into him the next day for the first time, as she was leaving for work, bundled up against the cold, in her heavy gray coat, which was one of her purchases, and a pair of white earmuffs. He was standing at the door, helping Mrs. Boslicki with a bag of groceries, and he smiled pleasantly at Gabriella.