Reuben looked at her lovingly now. And you are safe. He will not let anything bad happen to you. He stopped himself to reassure you. He saw how beautiful and gentle and pure you are. You are not me. I am not you. He will not go back on his word.
He ordered a big Italian meal, salad, minestrone soup, cannelloni, veal, French bread.
He was crunching through his salad, still going over the entire conversation to Laura, when Celeste texted: "SOS. About us."
He texted back: "Tell me."
She wrote: "Are we together or aren,t we?"
"The main thing I want," he patiently tapped out with his thumbs, "is for us to remain friends."
If this was brutal, he was so sorry, so very sorry, but he had to say it. It was completely unfair to her to continue as they were.
"Does this mean you don,t hate me," she wrote, "for being with Mort?"
"I,m happy you,re with Mort." He meant it. He knew Mort was happy; Mort had to be. Mort had always been fascinated by Celeste. If she,d finally accepted Mort in his dusty and wrinkled genius clothes with his bushy hair and forgetful expression, well, this was terrific for both of them.
"Mort,s happy too," she shot back.
"Are you happy?"
"I,m happy but I love you and I miss you and I,m worried about you and so is everybody else."
"Then you,re still my friend."
"Forever."
"What,s new on the Man Wolf?"
"Just what everybody knows."
"Love you. Gotta go."
He put the phone in his pocket. "That,s over," he said to Laura. "She,s happy; she,s having an affair with my best friend."
A little bit of gladness crept into Laura,s expression and she smiled.
He wanted to say that he loved her. But he didn,t.
He drank his soup now as slowly as he could force himself to drink it.
Laura was actually enjoying the meal too instead of picking at it. Her face now had that steady sweet radiance he hadn,t seen in her for days.
"Think about it, what it all means," he said. "We just left a man who - ."
He shook his head. He couldn,t talk. Tears again. He,d cried more in the presence of Laura than he had ever cried in his whole life in front of his own mother. Well, not quite. "I just want him to help me with this," he insisted. "I want him to ..."
She reached across the table and took his hand.
"He,s going to do that," she said.
He looked into her eyes.
"You,d accept the Chrism, wouldn,t you?" he whispered.
She flinched, but her eyes remained fastened on him.
"You mean risk death for it?" she answered. "I don,t know." She had a very grave expression on her face. "I share the power because you have the power."
That,s not enough, he thought.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
LAURA WAS DRIVING. With his head against the window of the Porsche Reuben slept.
They,d gone by the house before leaving San Francisco. Reuben positively knew that Simon Oliver would find some way to tell Grace or Phil that he,d been in town, and of course it turned out that he was right.
Grace had been fixing dinner, with Phil already at the dining table, and Celeste was there with Mort, standing around in the kitchen, all of them enjoying a glass of wine. A doctor friend of Grace,s, a brilliant oncologist whose name Reuben could never remember, was there too, setting the table with another female doctor Reuben had never seen before. The Stan Getz - Charlie Byrd Jazz Samba had been playing in the background, and the entire group was obviously having a good time.
Reuben had felt an acute longing for them all, for the cozy house, for the convivial life he,d left behind, but other than that it had been perfect: too many people for an interrogation or an intervention. Everyone greeted Laura graciously, especially Celeste, who was plainly relieved that Reuben was already with someone else, though Mort seemed predictably and loyally miserable, at least when he glanced at Reuben, who just made a fist and punched Mort lightly on the arm. Rosy threw her arms around Reuben.
Grace wanted to corner him, yes, but she couldn,t leave the steaks on the broiler, and the broccoli she was sauteing with garlic, and she settled for being kissed tenderly by him and the confidential whisper that he loved her.
"I wish you,d stay, of all nights, I wish you,d stay."
"Mom, we already had supper," he whispered.
"But there is someone coming tonight."
"Mom, I can,t."
"Reuben, will you listen to me? I want you to meet this man, Dr. Jaska."
"This isn,t the night, Mom," said Reuben and he made for the stairs.
With Rosy,s help, Reuben had been able to collect the very last of his books, files, and photographs and load them into the Porsche.
Then he,d taken one last look around the pretty dining room with its many candles on the table and on the mantel, and with a kiss thrown to Grace, he,d started to head out. Phil had given him an affectionate wave.
The doorbell startled him, and he opened the door to see a tall gray-haired man there, not a very old man, really, with hard gray eyes and a square face. He had a curious but very slightly hostile expression.
At once, Grace appeared, drawing the man into the house with one hand while she held fast to Reuben with the other.
The man didn,t take his eyes off Reuben. Clearly, he hadn,t expected to come face-to-face with him just yet.
A strange stillness settled over Reuben. A scent came from the man, a very faint scent that Reuben knew only too well.
"And this is Dr. Akim Jaska, Reuben. I,ve spoken to you about Dr. Jaska," Grace said quickly, awkwardly, uncomfortably. "Come in, Doctor. Rosy, please get the doctor his usual drink."
"Very pleasant to meet you, Dr. Jaska," said Reuben. "I wish I could stay but I can,t." He glanced around anxiously for Laura. She was right behind him. She pressed his arm.
The scent was growing stronger as he looked into the man,s strangely opaque eyes, and what if the scent triggered the change?
Grace was conflicted, not herself. She seemed to be watching this little exchange intently. "Good-bye, Baby Boy," she said suddenly.
"Right, love you, Mamma," said Reuben.
Laura glided out of the door in front of him.
"Have a pleasant evening, Doctor. Mamma, I,ll call."
As he walked down the steps, he felt the faintest spasm in his gut. It was like a warning, the spasm. He wasn,t changing. No, he must not change. And he knew he could hold fast against it, but the scent was still in his nostrils. He looked back at the house, and he listened. But all he could hear were pleasantries, and meaningless words. And the scent lingered. The scent even grew a little stronger.