by Tyra Lynn
Gabriel
I ran my finger over the letters. It seemed like I could feel them, not from the indentations they left, but feel a heat from them, embedded in the paper. Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel. I repeated the name in my head.
I stopped and looked at my palms. The little red dots were nearly invisible now. They didn’t even bother me anymore. I pulled out my phone, found his number, and pressed the call button. I listened to it ring.
“Jessie.” Said the voice that answered. I didn’t expect to hear my name, and it threw me off.
“Umm, yeah.” I had been all prepared to say something, now my mind was blank.
“Hi. I’m glad you called.”
“Yeah, hi.”
“Hello.” He paused and I didn’t say anything. “Did you—speak to your father?”
“Oh, yes. That’s why I was calling.” What an idiot I sounded like. “Dad said you invited us to dinner?”
“Yes, we did. Did he ask you anything?” He waited.
“Yeah. He said you wanted to know if I could help, in the kitchen.”
“It’s not necessary, but it would be appreciated, if you didn’t mind. My father is a disaster in the kitchen, and I would like to prepare something nice.” His voice went through me; I could feel it touching my bones, tugging at them. What a strange thought.
“I guess I could help. I don’t know how to cook anything fancy, but I can follow directions, if that helps.” Please don’t let it be some strange thing I’ve never heard of, I thought.
“It would help tremendously. Again, only if you don’t mind.”
I guess I didn’t mind. I was curious about his house, and his dad, and him. “Okay. What time?”
“I will make you a deal. If you would like to come now, I will pick you up, and we can talk. I said I would tell you about my mother. We don’t have to wait until Sunday.”
“I could do that. I’m not home yet, though. If you can give me twenty minutes, I’ll be ready I guess.” I started walking again, and at a faster pace.
“Twenty minutes it is. Thank you, I’ll make sure it’s worth your trouble.” I think he meant the dinner, but I wasn’t completely sure.
“Okay. Twenty minutes.”
I hung up, put my phone away and fast-walked all the way home. I tried not to break a sweat, but it didn’t work. I would have to take a super fast bath with the water running if I hoped to be dressed in time.
I took the stairs mostly two at a time, rushed through a bath, fixed my face, and found some clean clothes. Gabriel made me think of white. The white eyelet shirt I had worn the day I brought the mirror home. That’s what I decided to wear. I even dabbed on some perfume. Idiot.
I only had about three minutes to spare, so I checked myself again in the mirror, smoothing my hair. “Breathe, Jessie.” I told my reflection.
Down the stairs, locked the door, and to the porch swing in less than a minute. It had to be a record for me, and it sounded like I was just in time. I could hear the loud motor of a car making a grumbling sound as it pulled into my driveway.
I peeked around the corner of the porch. It was an old Mustang, glossy black, with two thick, white parallel stripes running up the center of the hood, across the top, and down the trunk. When Gabriel put the car in park, it gently rocked from side to side with the sound of the motor. It made me think of a galloping horse.
As I came down the stairs, Gabriel exited the drivers' side and walked slowly around the front toward me. He wore a tight fitting gray tee shirt beneath an open short sleeve button down, and faded jeans. He removed a pair of dark sunglasses, revealing his beautiful blue eyes, and bit his bottom lip, just for a second.
It was as if every movement were deliberate, even the way he blinked his eyes, looking down and back up, unhurried and seductive. I felt like I was watching in slow motion. My breathing changed, deep and measured, but my heart was out of control. I imagined it was visible beneath the fabric that covered it.
“Hi, Jessie.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.
The sound of his voice brought me out of my trance momentarily, and the only two words I could manage to say rushed out, “Hi, Gabriel.”
Once again, his movements appeared slow and deliberate. He stepped closer, close enough for me to notice the scent of his cologne, his eyes never leaving mine. He reached for the handle of the door. “May I?”
I could see his pulse beating rhythmically near the base of his throat. A steady, hypnotic thump-thump, thump-thump. I realized he was waiting for me to step back so he could open the door. “Oh, umm, sorry.” I took a few clumsy steps backwards, and he smiled a slow smile.
He was doing this on purpose!
He opened the door wide and held out a hand. I placed mine in it, and got an instant shock. I jerked my hand away, startled. His hand didn’t move at all, but he shook his head and laughed. “Static electricity.”
Of course. I smiled an apology, and placed my hand back in his, more firmly than before. I could feel my skin tingle as his fingers closed around mine.
I slid into the seat, glancing around at the interior of the car, then back at Gabriel. He still held my hand, and as our eyes met, he turned my palm up. Raising his other hand, he traced the lines with an index finger, lost in some thought. “How do they feel?” He looked up from under his lashes.
My arms had goose bumps, and I could feel a trail of fire every place his finger touched. “Tingly.” I said without thinking.
One corner of his mouth turned up slightly, and his eyes closed just a fraction. “I meant where the splinters were.”
“Oh.” Oh, god, take me now. What a stupid, childish idiot. Send a bolt of lightning, earthquake, explosion, anything. “Th-they’re okay.” I managed to stammer.
He held my hand a second longer. “I liked ‘tingly’ better.” He released me, and with a devilish grin on his beautiful face, closed the door. The car lightly rocked me, side to side.
I watched him walk around the car, crossing in front, sliding his sunglasses back on. I felt displaced, shifted. I wondered if that was how it would feel to be a planet and have your orbit changed by the impact of some object, Gabriel being the object, of course.
He effortlessly slid into the drivers’ seat, pulling the door closed. I forced my eyes to stay away from his face, to look admiringly at the car, the dash, the gauges, the shifter, even the carpeting. “You like it?” He asked.
“It’s beautiful. I love old cars. I love all old things.” I glanced up.
He had a look of absolute satisfaction in his eyes, and a smile that seemed almost—smug? Almost, but not quite. Pleased. He looked very pleased.
He slipped the gearshift into reverse, turned to look over his shoulder, and put a hand on the seat behind my head. His fingers had brushed my hair when they passed, and I felt it all the way to my scalp.
We pulled carefully onto the road, and as he turned and removed his hand from the seat, he once again brushed my hair. I knew it was intentional, and I couldn’t help but wonder why. He knew he was having an effect on me, and it seemed to entertain him. I couldn’t decide if I should be angry or not.
As we accelerated, he shifted smoothly from gear to gear. “Did you have a nice lunch?” He asked casually.
Okay, angry. Sort of. “Yes, I had a wonderful lunch. Did you?” That sounded harsher than I meant.
He winced slightly, and I immediately felt bad. “It was lunch.” He said, placing both hands firmly on the wheel, gripping it tightly.
“I’m sorry. It’s been one of those days. I’m normally easy to get along with, but these last few days…” I let my voice trail off.
“These last few days what?” He kept his eyes on the road, but I somehow knew he was watching me intently with his peripheral vision.
“I don’t know, really. It’s not anything specific I can put my finger on. Well, other than almost falling out of my window this morning and the whole ‘What’s my mom’s real name’ thing.” I laughed and shrugged
.
“There isn’t anything else?” He glanced over, and then his eyes went back to the road.
“Yeah, but—just little things.” I heard air puff through his nose. “I was thinking a few minutes ago I felt like a planet dislodged from its orbit.” I pressed my lips together, neither smiling nor frowning.
“A planet dislodged from its orbit? That would be no little thing.” He took a deep breath.
“I guess you’re right.” I shifted in my seat to better see him, to watch his face. “Have you ever felt like—hmm, how can I explain this—like you were out of step, out of rhythm? Not with other people, but with yourself.”
Some indecipherable expression crossed his face. “I have, quite often.” His smile was paradoxical, both happy and sad.
“I’m not used to feeling this way at all. Maybe after my mom died, for a while, but it still wasn’t like this.” Not until after I saw you, I thought.
“Penny for your thoughts.” He turned his eyes to mine as he said it, and for a moment, I thought I saw two of him, like his movement repeated and overlapped, and his voice did that echo thing again. The car was instantly on the side of the road, stopped. “Are you okay? Are you sick?” He reached a hand across and placed it on my forehead.
“I don’t know.” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.
“You went white as a sheet.” He said, moving his hand from my forehead to my cheek.
His touch was soothing, but stimulating at the same time. “I think I’ll be okay in a second. Are we close to your house?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve been driving too slowly, I suppose.” His hand moved away from my skin and left a void.
I felt the car pull back onto the road, heard the engine, louder than it had been before. I felt myself sink into the seat a little with the acceleration. “Fast car.” I said, eyes still closed.
“Would you prefer I slow down?”
“Nope. I like it.” I imagined we were going a hundred miles an hour, though I knew we weren’t. I opened my eyes a tiny sliver, peeking at the side of his face. It was a beautiful face, almost unreal. I took a deep breath.
“It goes faster.” He chuckled, as if I had no idea. Maybe I didn’t. “We can go for a drive sometime, and I’ll show you what it can do. If you would like.”
“Sounds fun.”
The car began to slow, and he pointed to a gated driveway. It had a high scrolling metal arch, and the double gates were open. I could see the drive winding through tall sentinel trees. The house was not visible from here, but a little farther up the road, nearing the highway, you could catch sight of the mansard roof sometimes.
“These trees are beautiful.” I commented as we drove between them at a leisurely pace.
“They are. They also offer privacy, which my father appreciates.” He smiled an easy smile.
Gabriel pointed to different areas as we drove, and gave me a little history of the house and its builder. He said there was a beautiful gazebo he thought I might like. It was built for the original owners’ daughter, Caroline. Caroline. The name sounded familiar.
After parking at the front of the house, Gabriel insisted I let him open the door of the car for me. Watching him cross around the front once again, I couldn’t help but think how beautifully he walked. There was self-assurance in his movements, a confidence. The breeze lifted a lock of hair, and for a brief moment, I envied that breeze.
“Get a grip, Jessie. Seriously.” I whispered to myself as the door swung open.
He extended a hand, as I knew he would, and I took it without hesitation. I had mentally braced myself for the jolt that came, so my expression didn’t waver when it happened, although I did suck in a breath. I stood slowly, gazing up at the massive house.
“My room is on the top floor.” He said. “Just like yours.”
“It’s a beautiful house.”
“Thank you. We can go inside now, or I could show you the gazebo first. Your choice.” He had pointed it out as we drove up, and his eyes darted that direction and back, locking on mine.
“The gazebo sounds nice.” I wasn’t ready to meet his father yet. That’s the reason I gave myself, anyway.
Gabriel was still gripping my hand. He linked his fingers through mine and started walking in the direction of the gazebo. I didn’t know how to react to that, especially since it felt natural. My eyebrows came together as I tried to figure out why. It may have appeared to him that I frowned, because he immediately released my hand.
“I’m sorry. I-I don’t know what I was thinking.” He looked uncertain for a moment, a distant look in his eyes, but didn’t stop walking.
“It’s okay.” What else was I supposed to say? We walked in silence the rest of the way.
The gazebo was covered in beautiful green Ivy vines that grew in and out of the lattice, across the top, and created a hanging curtain over the entry. Gabriel separated the vines, holding them up and over, allowing me to enter first.
It was cool and shady inside. Spots of sunlight danced across the floor and the breeze swayed the vines and leaves, causing them to whisper. It had a pleasant, woodsy scent, and a secretive feel about it. I wanted to run my hands along the wood; I could imagine it had quite a history.
“I love the feel of this place.” I said, closing my eyes.
“It’s one of my favorite places.” Said Gabriel.
I opened my eyes and he was watching me, looking expectant. I tried to figure out why he was looking at me so closely. It made me feel self-conscious, and I brushed at my face, wondering if there was something on it. He smiled.
“Okay, what?” I asked, my voice a little annoyed.
“Nothing, really.” He looked away, and then walked by me to sit down. He patted the cushion beside him. “I told you I would tell you about my mother.”
I approached slowly, sitting slightly on the edge and then scooting back. His eyes looked sad and cautious. I recognized the grief, but there seemed to be more to it, a depth beyond what even I had experienced, a regret I couldn’t quite grasp.
“Her name was Evangeline.” He began. “I was ten when she died.”
I remembered Gabriel taking my hand sitting at my kitchen table, comforting me. It had given me the strength I needed, and allowed me to grieve as I never had been able to. Without debating the wisdom of it, I offered my open hand. He didn’t grab it, instead he slid his fingers slowly between mine, locking our hands together.
“She and my father were very young when they married, and they wanted to start a family right away. I was born two months after their first anniversary.” He smiled a troubled smile. “The pregnancy was difficult, and she almost—well, she could not have another child after.”
“She was rather frail, and had always been. Such a tiny little thing, she was. My father was so protective of her, even around me.” He laughed. “Whenever I was sick, he tended me himself, and locked her out of the sickroom.” Who said sickroom, I thought.
“She loved old things, like you, and she was captivated by history, by the past. My father had so many fascinating books, books such as you have never seen. He called them ‘hidden history’ books, filled with knowledge of events that few were—are—even aware of. I remember watching them go through them for hours on end, searching for—bits of information helpful to my father and his work.”
He squeezed my hand gently, inspected our linked fingers, and then continued. “When I was ten, my father had to take a trip. He traveled to London for his—work. I became very ill with influenza before his return and my mother cared for me.” That look of suffering returned to his eyes, and I already guessed where this was headed.
“My illness progressed rapidly to bilateral pneumonia, and serotherapy had utterly failed. The physician told my mother there was not much he could do for me. She was distraught, and had no way to inform my father. She never left my bedside.”
He swiped at his eyes with his free hand, and I looked away for a moment. “My father returned to find me on my deat
hbed, my mother nearly insane with panic over my condition. She was exhausted from caring for me both day and night.”
“My father knew of a hospital where therapy existed for cases such as mine. At my mother’s insistence, he took me immediately. She did not tell him she had been feeling ill.”
Again, he inspected our linked hands, turning them over to look at the back of mine. “As you see, my treatment was successful.”
“I’m glad.” I offered, though I knew it was no consolation.
He smiled dispassionately, and only for my benefit. “I have many times thought that if I could have died quickly, my mother might be alive still.”
I was never good at words of comfort or support. I didn’t deal well with pain and guilt of my own, much less others and I silently prayed for something to say that would be helpful. “Your mother would not have made it without you. Your father would have lost you both.” It was the only thing I could think of.
“You sound like my father.” His barely-smile was legitimate this time. “I stayed with my mother until her last breath. I held her hand until the warmth was gone from it, and I kissed her goodbye.”
He fell silent, lost in thought. I had questions, but I didn’t want to ask right now. I wondered if she had gone with him to the hospital. If they could save him, then why not her? I wished I could have kissed my mom goodbye, at least he had that, but it wouldn’t have been worth feeling responsible for her death, as he obviously did.
There was nothing I could say, but I wanted to give him comfort, as he had given me. I had felt better earlier, just being able to let out the pain. He still held his in, and I could see it. I could feel it.
“It wasn’t your fault.” He looked up as if to protest, but I stopped him. “You asked me earlier if I believed in fate. I guess I do more than I thought. My mom used to tell me that when your time was up, it was up, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. It didn’t matter where you were, what you were doing, or who you were with.”
I squeezed his hand a little. “I do think sometimes that you can cause your life to be shorter, though. Like smokers and drinkers. But maybe that all fits in. Maybe that’s why some people smoke or drink and others don’t. Why some can quit and some can’t.” I hadn’t thought about it that much before now.
