by Nicole Baart
Angela threw back her lovely head and laughed, tickling the back of Lucas’s hand with the curled tips of her glossy hair. He yanked away and tucked his fingers deep into the pockets of his coat. “So,” he began, fumbling. “How does this work?”
Mr. Kane took a few steps into the store and moved behind the display case along the wall. “I have a few samples that you may browse through,” he told them, indicating the meager offerings beneath the glass. “But I specialize in custom-designed jewelry. Most people have an idea of what they want when they come in.”
Lucas followed Angela’s lead and bent over the counter, pretending to study the pieces inside.
“I have my own on-site gemological laboratory,” Mr. Kane said, launching into a well-rehearsed speech about the finer details of his business. “And I work directly with a manufacturing facility that features a complete casting room as well as four jewelry benches. I oversee the entire process, and when the piece is cast and assembled, I personally set the gems and do the finishing.”
“Satisfaction guaranteed,” Angela quipped, looking up at him through the soft curtain of her hair. It cascaded over her shoulder and glowed like white gold in the muted light as she bowed over the glass.
Mr. Kane smiled gently and nodded. “I like my customers to be happy.”
They had only been in the store a few minutes, but Lucas could already tell that Mr. Kane was enamored with his alleged wife-to-be. It was almost impossible to discern the exact reason for her magnetism, but Lucas suspected it had something to do with her disquieting mix of forgotten innocence and beauty, her easy smile but somehow burdened eyes.
“Does anything strike your fancy?” Mr. Kane asked, still watching her as he opened the sliding door of the cabinet with a tiny gold key. The movement was instinctive, as if he had done it many, many times.
“They’re all very pretty,” Angela told him, straightening up. “But I did actually have something in mind.” She unzipped her purse and pulled out a cream-colored box from deep inside. Easing off the cardboard lid, she fished around in a shallow bed of cotton until she emerged triumphant with a delicate ring between her thumb and forefinger.
“I know all your designs are original,” she said, “but I just love this.”
Mr. Kane squinted at the ring in her hand and she offered it to him without pause. Lucas held his breath as the older man studied it, wondering if he’d recognize the piece, if he knew its rightful owner. He both dreaded and anticipated the implications of that possibility. Was she close? Would he be able to give them a name for their mysterious Woman? And, either way: Where would they go from here?
A full minute unraveled as Mr. Kane studied the ring from every angle. He tsked at the broken stone and tried to use the filed point of his fingernail to dislodge some stubborn dirt, but in the end he gave up and a certain satisfaction settled itself over his features. “It is pretty, isn’t it? Even so abused.”
“Beautiful.”
“But I didn’t make it for you,” he said.
Lucas’s heart stumbled in his chest.
“I would have remembered if I made it for you,” Mr. Kane continued, unaware of Lucas’s silent reaction. “May I ask where you got it?”
Though Lucas wanted to ignore the jeweler’s question and demand to know who had commissioned the piece, he swallowed his questions and served up a portion of the story that he and Angela had agreed upon in the car. “We found it.”
“We were hiking in the Black Hills when I saw something glitter in the dirt just off the path.” Angela gave the tale flesh, crinkling her nose at the false memory of finding such a treasure in the dust.
“She liked the design, so she googled your initials and voilà. Here we are.” Lucas waited, skin prickling as he prayed that Mr. Kane would buy their fabricated story. But the old man didn’t seem suspicious. He merely smiled blandly and handed the ring back to Angela.
“Well,” he said, “no two pieces are the same. I can’t duplicate this one.”
“I don’t want you to,” Angela assured him. She held out the ring and indicated different points along the gold band. “I want a small topaz here, princess cut, and one leaf on either side of the stone. Oh, and I’d love it if you could make the band look like a branch. Can you do that?”
“Certainly,” Mr. Kane said, apparently warming to the idea of a new project. He leaned forward, eager to look more closely at her proposed alterations. “And what about your fiancé?” The old man met Lucas’s eye and winked conspiratorially. “Are you happy with her creation, sir?”
Lucas tried not to look painfully uncomfortable. “Whatever will make her happy,” he murmured, sounding like a fool.
But Mr. Kane didn’t notice or didn’t care. Though his store was situated in prime retail territory, Lucas doubted the old-fashioned jeweler entertained much business as of late. Maybe his styles were considered out-of-date. Maybe people preferred buying tennis bracelets from sparkly emporiums with gentlemen in well-pressed Italian suits. Whatever the reason for his noticeable lack of current success, Lucas did not like Angela’s taking advantage of Mr. Kane’s situation by stringing him along in the hope of a lucrative sale.
He was just about to call Angela off, to make some excuse about their present inability to commit to a commission, when she reached into her purse again and took out a sleek leather pocketbook. She snapped it open and counted out a few denominations, then laid them on the counter in front of Mr. Kane. Five crisp, one-hundred-dollar bills fanned across the glass. “How about we consider this a down payment?” she purred. Pulling a homemade business card from another compartment in her wallet, she placed it on top of the money. “This is my information. Call me if you need anything and we’ll settle the account when the ring is finished. You do ship, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Kane said, obviously flustered by her decisiveness and the money on the counter.
“Is it adequate?” Angela demurred, intentionally misreading his hesitation. She reached into her wallet again, but Mr. Kane shook his head firmly.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Perfect, in fact. The topaz . . . ?”
“A half carat should do it,” Angela smiled, discerning his question before he asked it.
Mr. Kane tapped his fingers against the display case in what Lucas surmised to be quick calculation. He picked up the five hundred dollars and smiled doubtfully. “This should be just under one-third?”
It was apparent that he didn’t want to startle her with the estimated amount, but Angela smiled and stuck her hand out to seal the deal. “I can’t wait to see it,” she said.
Lucas was incredulous, but the money was legit and so was her card. Mr. Kane was holding it carefully, reading the fine print, and Lucas scanned the address upside down. Angela Webb, San Luis Obispo. She had just bought a ring from Michael Kane Designs. He almost leaned down to breathe a question in her ear, but Angela wasn’t done yet.
“I’m so happy to be working with you, Mr. Kane,” she said.
“Please, call me Mike.”
“Mike,” she amended. “But there is one small thing I would like you to do for me.”
“Anything.” He grinned.
Angela held up the ruined ring and gave her features a doleful cast. “I’d like to find the rightful owner of this ring. I’m sure she’s beside herself that it’s gone. Do you know who you made it for?”
Mike looked hesitant. “I don’t remember who commissioned it.”
“But you told me that you kept records.”
Stunned by her boldness, Lucas watched Mike’s expression shift slightly. The older man seemed to be wrestling with himself, but either he was giddy from his recent sale or he was smitten with Angela, because he shook his head indulgently and wagged a finger at her like she was a naughty child.
“You’re the one who called me.”
Angela tipped her chin in acknowledgment.
“You’re early. I didn’t expect you for another hour.”
“We were eager to meet you,” Angela hummed, still working him.
“Well, I don’t normally share my records. They’re my own personal scrapbook. I like to keep track, you know.”
“But you will share, just this once,” Angela coaxed him. “It would mean so much to me to be able to return this ring.”
He balked. “The ring may have changed hands, or the contact information might be obsolete. What if they threw the ring away on purpose? Maybe they don’t want it anymore.”
Angela laughed. “We both know that’s not true.” She gave the jeweler’s forearm a gentle squeeze, but Lucas could see that her gesture was unnecessary. He had already made up his mind.
“Give me a minute,” Mike sighed. “I’ll see what I can find.”
When he had disappeared behind the curtain, money and business card clutched firmly in his hand, Lucas spun on Angela and gave her a hard look.
“What?” she whispered, smirking.
“You just bought a fifteen-hundred-dollar ring if his estimation is right. I hope you don’t expect me to fork over the difference, honey.”
“I’m buying it for myself, sweetheart. Jim wasn’t rich, but he left me all he had. I see this as a gift to myself. A present in precelebration of proving my father’s innocence. After all, he’s getting the records!”
Lucas couldn’t stop the wide smile that broke across his face. He knew that she was wrong about her father’s innocence, but he didn’t care. They were actually going to learn something! A name, an address, maybe more.
Mike came back only a few minutes later, clutching a three-ring binder that was bursting at the seams. It was spread open in his arms with approximately half of the slick pages on one side and half on the other. Lucas wondered what gave the sheets their wan glow, but as Mike approached, he realized that the binder was filled with plastic page protectors, each seeming to house just a simple leaf of paper.
With an air of unmistakable pride, Mike said, “The ring is my design. Someone bought it off the rack, so to speak.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, most people come with a design in mind, but this one is all mine. In addition to custom designs, I make my own pieces and sell them in the store.”
Lucas and Angela leaned in, studying the pencil sketch that had been affixed with scotch tape to a piece of white paper. The lines were confident, the shading perfectly subtle. In addition to being a master jeweler, Mr. Kane was an artist. In just a glance Lucas could tell that it was indeed the ring he had found with the Woman. “Who bought it?” he demanded, surprising himself. “There’s no information here.”
“Patience, patience,” Mike warned. “I keep details on the back.” He flipped the page over with a flick of his wrist.
Lucas could see a yellow invoice in the pocket behind the picture. He craned his neck to catch a name, a telephone number, anything, but before he could make sense of the scrawled writing, Mike slapped a palm on the sheet.
“I don’t feel right giving out personal information.” Angela gave a sad shrug and took the small box out of her purse. “I’ll leave this with you, then. You’ll contact the owner, won’t you?”
Mike wrinkled his forehead at the thought. It was evident he found the idea of playing the part of an unwilling detective distasteful. “I don’t really have time to track down strangers,” he sighed, “but maybe just this once.”
There was a hushed moment as Mike’s finger trailed the smudged invoice. He had written in pencil and the lead was obscured in some places. Lucas sent up wordless prayers and crossed his fingers for good measure. “Got something to write with?” Mike finally asked.
“Mm-hmm.” Angela produced a pen from her purse and positioned her hand to scribble the information on the lid of the jewelry box.
“Looks like the person who purchased it was a Mr. Jess Langbroek.” Mike blew an amused breath between his teeth and glanced up at them. “Bought it just over a decade ago for a hundred fifty dollars.”
Angela and Lucas were supposed to be entertained at the bit of trivia, but the jeweler’s joke backfired on him, because suddenly he realized that Angela might not appreciate buying a similar ring at such an inflated price. “It had an opal,” he rushed to explain. “A very tiny stone. Flawed. And that was ten years ago . . .”
But Angela couldn’t have cared less. “Do you remember him?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Lucas could detect the slight strain in her voice, but he was convinced Mike didn’t notice a thing. “Was he young or old?”
Mike lifted one shoulder toward his ear, seemingly relieved that Angela wasn’t going to make a stink about his prices. “I’ve had hundreds of clients, ma’am. I have no recollection whatsoever of a Jess Langbroek.”
“Is there an address?”
He gave her a shrewd smile. “Can’t say I’m comfortable giving out that kind of information. He’s more or less local, I’ll tell you that. But if you’re serious about finding him, you’re going to have to do the rest.”
“A telephone number? An e-mail address?”
“Nope,” Mike said, heaving the book closed and laying his hands on top of it with a decidedly protective air. “Anything else I can do for you folks?”
Lucas watched as Angela slid the jewelry box back into her purse and dazzled the man across from them with another of her luminous smiles. “No,” she purred. “You’ve been so helpful. Thank you.” And then she leaned over the counter and kissed him lightly, European style, on each cheek.
As they left, Lucas had no doubt that when Michael Kane bothered to recollect their unusual visit to his store, the edges of his memory would be blurred by the brilliance of the woman who had brushed his stubbly wrinkles with her kiss. The fact that they had solicited information about the ring would be completely overshadowed by the fond impossibility of her.
During the brisk but silent walk back to the car, Lucas could feel the excitement bounce between them, a red-hot ball of energy that made him want to shout. But they contained themselves, remembering even to walk close in case the jeweler chose to watch them retreat. When they were behind closed doors, however, all their careful calm erupted in a disbelieving frenzy of celebration.
“We have a name!” Angela shrieked.
Lucas grinned. Without thinking, he raised his hand palm out and Angela slapped it in triumph. The smack of their high five echoed through the car, and she hit him again and again, pounding at his hand with her fists until he laughed and told her that he was a pencil pusher, not a boxer. “My patients would appreciate it if you wouldn’t damage the goods.”
She smiled at that, a wide, toothy look of delight that slowly faded into something softer. There was a moment of utter stillness in the car, and then Angela dropped her eyes and reached for his hand. This time, she wove her fingers through his, and when he didn’t immediately pull away, she pressed the tangle of their twined knuckles to her lips. In a heartbeat, she was beyond the barrier of their hands, breathing against his cheek, her lips grazing the spot where the corner of his mouth fell into a shallow dimple.
Spurred out of immobility, Lucas jerked his fingers from her grip and banged his head on the driver’s-side window of his frost-covered car in his rush to get away. He brushed his cheek with his thumb, trying to erase the evidence of her lips, and then clutched his hands in his lap as if she had stung him with her tender kiss. He didn’t know how to react, what to do or say, and his mouth slowly opened and closed in a caricature of a dumb fish.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her quiet voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to do that. It was an accident.”
“An accident?” Lucas exclaimed, much louder than he meant to. “An accident is something that just happens, that sneaks up on you, that you can’t stop.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Exactly.”
“Exactly what?”
Angela covered her face with her hands and moaned. “Are you really that stupid, Lucas? ’Cause I’d rather not spell it out for you.”
Sweeping her hands through her hair, she ducked her head and sighed. Then she took a deep breath and gathered the strength to look him straight in the eye. “No. Some things are better left unsaid.”
Lucas felt his jaw drop but couldn’t seem to lift it.
“Oh, come on.” Angela rolled her eyes. “It’s your run-of-the-mill victim transference. Isn’t your wife a social worker? Don’t you talk about these things? My daddy didn’t love me and I never had a strong male role model . . .” Her words were bitter, and as Lucas watched, her eyes filled with angry tears. “You’re a great husband, Lucas. You love your wife. You’re gentle and handsome and kind. You were the first man in my life who wasn’t completely messed up. And I’ve always wanted to be a part of that. A part of something whole and healthy.”
“I’m not . . . whole and healthy. I’m messed up,” Lucas said, surprised to hear himself speak.
Angela managed a thin smile in spite of the wetness shimmering at the corners of her eyes. “Yes, you are,” she agreed. “Very messed up. Just like the rest of us. And I’m not really in love with you. Not anymore. That’s what a good counselor can do for you.”
“You were in love with me?” Lucas stammered.
She snorted and carefully dabbed at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “You are so clueless.”
“You just told me that you’re in love with me!”
“Was,” Angela corrected. “I was in love with you. Or I thought I was. Maybe I’m still getting over it a little. Maybe I’ll always be getting over it.”
“I don’t get it.”
She gave him a wicked half grin. “I was in love with Jenna, too.”
“You’re a lesbian?” Lucas croaked.
At this, Angela laughed so hard, the tears that had threatened to spill streamed down her cheeks.
“You’re not a lesbian?”
“No,” she finally assured him, still chuckling. “I mean that I loved the both of you. Like parents in a way, but you weren’t old enough to be my parents. And like mentors, I suppose, because all my life I wanted to be just like you. And sometimes I loved you like friends, and sometimes I loved you because you were the only people that God put in my life to love me back. Get it?”
