it said you have a Ph.D. What was your field of study there?”
“Medical science related.”
“Medical science related? That’s it? That’s all I’m getting from you?”
John smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh no, I’m not letting you get away with that.”
She took her cell phone from her purse and began searching on the internet. “Let’s see what Harvard University’s website has to say about you.” Amira read and scrolled. She looked up from the small glowing screen. “No wonder you don’t talk about it. Who would believe you? I don’t even understand the titles of any of these papers you wrote.”
John remained poker-faced.
Amira looked down at the screen again and read again. “I assume all these awards are a good thing.”
“They sound fancy but don’t really pay the bills.”
“Like you have to worry about that.”
The waiters came with their plates. Amira put the phone away. The plates of vegetables and potatoes they would share was placed in the middle of the table. One of the waiters refilled their glasses. Without windows to the outside, no indication of the pace of the day or passage of time, only the gentle light from the chandeliers and the candle on the table, reserved intimacy enveloped them. It came somehow with the food.
“Joseph Clarke seems to put a book out about every ten years. Do you like any of his other novels?” John asked.
“Of course, I love them all, but that one is my favorite. Since clearly we can’t talk about whatever it is you do in your lab, I’m afraid you are going to have to tell me about yourself. I already know about your father founding the company and that you’re on the board of directors. Just begin at the beginning.”
“The real beginning happened when I was ten. My father died. We were close. Life was good. That seems like one part of my history frozen in time.
“After he died, my mother never recovered. Soon, I was living with my Aunt Cathy and Uncle Robert. They were great to me. Aunt Cathy couldn’t have children, so they raised me as their own. My mother drifted farther and farther away. I guess she was guilt-free enough, knowing I was with good people. We spent summers in Europe. I love Rome. I think I really fell in love with the city when I was in my teens. It’s alive, yet holds all this culture and history and priceless works of art. The people there work among mankind’s greatest achievements in architecture, engineering, and art and still make time in their day to have a simple lunch at a sidewalk café.
“I acquired a large trust fund at twenty-one, and my ownership in the company when I turned twenty-five. After too many years in school to talk about, I returned to Boston to continue my research at the company. I’ve put in some long hours; it has been years of research, but I still treat myself to a Christmas-season vacation in Rome. I own an apartment there just outside Vatican City. From my second-story bedroom window, I bet you could shoot an arrow and hit the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
They ate their beef medallions, vegetables, and potatoes with small talk and familiarity. John ordered the perfect dessert. She could feel his eyes on her constantly, but never obvious. He poured the last of the wine into their glasses. She could tell John Numen had poured many servings of wine into many a girl’s wine glass. She wondered how many meals in how many restaurants across Boston, Europe, or Rome there had been.
Amira felt good, like she did in her carefree days. However, their empty glasses testified to the length of the evening. The time to go had arrived. He rose from his chair. And moved to pull hers back.
“But they haven’t brought my check,” Amira said.
“I come here often. I’ve an understanding with them. If they see me dining with anyone else, I always get the bill, especially if it’s a beautiful woman.”
Amira blushed and stood. They walked through the tables and out into the wintry air. Amira handed the valet her ticket. His car arrived first. A long, sleek, black BMW coupe. Wide and low to the ground. The valet stopped the car in front of them. The engine purred with power, lazy steam rolling from the tailpipes.
John’s eyes met hers. “Thanks for the conversation and the evening,” he said. “It was very nice. You’re a very lovely, intelligent woman. Treat yourself to a new dress and insist Ethan dine out once in a while. Maybe he isn’t as stupid as I think. Maybe it’ll work out.”
She knew he knew. His words didn’t hurt. She knew he was talking about romance and intimacy and passion. She could tell by his tone. John walked to the open driver’s door.
“Goodbye,” John said. He looked at her for a moment, then he was behind the wheel and shutting the door. The car shot forward out of the parking lot into the street, the red taillights disappearing into the traffic.
OCTOBER 21, 2021
The sun hadn’t come up yet on that Sunday morning. I sat in the dark living room watching the news. It had been a long night. Uncle Robert was getting worse. Aunt Cathy was with him all night. She came in the room, sat down beside me, and laid her head on my shoulder.
“His last coherent sentence was about you,” Cathy said.
“What did he say?”
“He wanted to know when you were coming home again. I think he could feel his mind slipping away and wanted to see you one last time.”
I patted Cathy’s hand. Neither of us spoke, content to let the drone of the television fill the void. The news program came back from commercial. “In international news, Cuba’s dictator Raul Castro died yesterday from what government news sources say was natural causes. He came to power in 2008 when his brother Fidel Castro became ill. Over the last fifteen years, Raul has ruled the country in much the same way as his older brother, even after Fidel Castro’s death in 2016. Many within the U.S. government had hoped for progress in Cuba on the human rights front and progress toward democracy, but little has changed since 1959. News of his death, as with Fidel’s, has resulted in spontaneous street celebrations in Miami among exiled Cubans there.” The screen showed people in the streets of Miami waving the Cuban and American flags. “Now, with the death of Raul, hope is higher in both the U.S. government and in underground democratic organizations inside Cuba that a democratic government will come to power. Raul Castro was ninety years old.”
I turned the volume down with the remote.
“The world is changing,” Cathy said. “You know Robert knew you were doing your research at the company, like your dad. That made him very proud.”
“Mrs. Edward!” called the nurse from the doorway of the bedroom. We rushed into the room to see Uncle Robert motionless on the bed, the heart monitor bedside the bed showing a straight line and solid tone. “I was just in the bathroom for a minute,” the nurse explained.
“It’s okay,” Cathy said.
I walked over and turned off the monitor. Aunt Cathy began to sob. The world certainly was changing, and I would do my best to make it change the way I wanted.
THE GIFT
On a Tuesday afternoon, while Ethan was away at a conference in Baltimore, Amira sat on the couch at her parents’ house watching television. Her cell phone rang. The number was local, but she didn’t recognize it.
“Hello?” Amira said.
“Hi. This is John.” Amira felt butterflies. “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”
“Hi. No, not at all,” Amira answered. She rose from the couch and began casually