nostalgia and romance. She had no idea of what awaited her now.
As Gabriella unlocked the front door, someone pushed the dead bolt aside, turned a great brass
doorknob, and opened the door. A bearish, dark-haired man with a hooded sweatshirt and a two-day
stubble stood before them. Evangeline had never seen the man before. Gabriella, however, appeared
to know him intimately.
“Bruno,” she said, embracing him warmly, an uncharacteristic gesture of intimacy. The man looked
to be around fifty years old. Evangeline looked at the man more closely wondering if, despite the age
difference, Gabriella could have remarried. Gabriella released Bruno. “Thank goodness you’re
here.”
“Of course I’m here,” he said, equally relieved to see her. “The council members have been
waiting for you.”
Turning to Evangeline and Verlaine, who stood together on the stoop, Bruno smiled and gestured
for them to follow him through the entrance hallway. The smell of Gabriella’s home—its books and
gleaming antique furniture—was instantly welcoming, and Evangeline felt her anxiety dissipating
with each step into the house. The overloaded bookcases, the wall of framed portraits of famous
angelologists, the air of seriousness that fell over the rooms like mist—everything in the brownstone
was exactly as Evangeline remembered.
Removing her overcoat, she caught her image in a mirror in the hallway. The person standing
before her startled her. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her skin had been streaked black by smoke.
She had never seemed so drab, so plain, so out of place as she did now, in the presence of her
grandmother’s highly polished life. Verlaine stepped behind her and put his hand on her shoulder, a
gesture that only yesterday would have filled her with terror and confusion. Now she was sorry when
he took it away.
In the midst of all that had happened, she found it almost inexcusable that her thoughts were drawn
to him. Verlaine stood only inches from her, and as she met his eyes in the mirror, she wanted him to
be closer. She wished she understood his feelings better. She wished he would say something to
assure her that he felt the same shock of pleasure when their eyes met.
Evangeline turned her attention back to her own reflection, realizing as she did how utterly
laughable her dishevelment made her. Verlaine must find her ridiculous with her dour black clothing
and her rubber-soled shoes. The manner of the convent had been etched into her.
“You must be wondering how you got here,” she said, endeavoring to understand his thoughts.
“You fell into all of this by accident.”
“I admit,” he said, flushing, “it’s certainly been a surprising Christmas. But if Gabriella hadn’t
found me, and I hadn’t gotten involved in all of this, I wouldn’t have met you.”
“Perhaps that might have been for the better.”
“Your grandmother told me quite a bit about you. I know that things aren’t all they seem. I know
you went to St. Rose as a precautionary measure.”
“I went for more than that,” Evangeline said, realizing how complicated her motivation for staying
at St. Rose was, and how difficult it would be to explain to him.
“Will you go back?” Verlaine asked, his expression anticipatory, as if her answer mattered a great
deal to him.
Evangeline bit her lip, wishing she could tell him how difficult the question seemed to her. “No,”
she said at last. “Never.”
Verlaine leaned close behind her, taking Evangeline by the hand. Her grandmother, the work before
them, everything dissolved in his presence. Then he pulled her away from the mirror and led her into
the dining room, where the others waited.
There was something cooking in the kitchen—the rich smell of meat and tomatoes filled the room.
Bruno gestured to the table, set with linen napkins and Gabriella’s china. “You’ll need lunch,” Bruno
said.
“I really don’t think there’s time for that,” Gabriella said, looking distracted. “Where are the
others?”
“Sit,” Bruno ordered, gesturing to the chairs. “You have to eat something.” He pulled out a chair
and waited until Gabriella sat. “It will only take a minute.” With that he disappeared into the kitchen.
Evangeline sat in the chair next to Verlaine. Crystal glasses glimmered in the weak light. A carafe
of water sat mid-table, lemon slices floating on its surface. Evangeline poured a glass of water and
gave it to Verlaine, her hand brushing his, sending a shock through her. She met his eye, and it struck
her that she had met him only yesterday. How quickly her time at St. Rose receded, leaving behind the