The Wish Collector
Page 17
“Fun? Who has time for fun?”
Marco chuckled, shooting her a grin. “We should all make time for a little fun. All work and no play . . .”
She raised a brow as his words tapered off, a particular whispery lilt to the word play. She understood exactly the type of fun Marco was referring to. “I have made a little time to get to know New Orleans.” And a man who keeps himself hidden behind a wall . . . a man who collects wishes, who has a voice that wraps around my bones . . . a man who played a part in such a terrible tragedy.
“Sightseeing? That’s what you consider fun?” Marco sighed. “It’s clear how much you need me, Clara.” He patted her knee then removed his hand. “If I’d have known it was such an emergency, I’d have come for you sooner.”
Clara was surprised at the laugh that bubbled up her throat after the sad direction of her thoughts only moments before. “I’ll bet.”
Marco gave her a crooked grin, and they drove on for a few minutes in silence, but it was comfortable.
Clara watched the city go by out the window and wondered what Jonah was doing in that moment and then made herself turn her mind away.
Even after two weeks, she still didn’t know how she should feel about the man who had become her friend, about the man she’d come to care about despite the stone wall that separated them.
“Do you have a date for the Masquerade Charity Ball yet?”
“No,” Clara answered. The Masquerade Charity Ball was an extravaganza that benefitted the ballet, and all dancers were expected to attend, but Clara hadn’t been planning on taking a date. And it was in two weeks. Which reminded Clara that she still needed to find a dress . . . and a mask, though she didn’t figure finding a mask in New Orleans would be a problem. The city was known for its love of dressing up, transforming from ordinary to extraordinary.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll escort you.”
Clara laughed. “I thought we agreed no moves.”
“I agreed to nothing. And if you think these are my moves, you don’t know me very well.”
Clara rolled her eyes but couldn’t resist a smile. “Anyway, that’s not necessary. We’ll all see each other there.”
He glanced at her. “And you don’t date other dancers.”
“That’s right. So really, Marco, I’m not worth your time.”
He smiled as he pulled up to the address he’d plugged into his GPS when they first got in the car. “I think, Clara, that might be exactly why you’re worth my time.”
He grinned as he got out of the car, and she let herself out as well. He came around, handing her the duffle bag he’d taken from the back seat and handing it to her. “I’ll pick you up at seven before the ball?” He inclined his head. “One coworker innocently escorting another.”
Clara opened her mouth to say no, but hesitated. She had a feeling Marco’s whole “one coworker innocently escorting another” shouldn’t be entirely trusted, but the truth was, she’d much rather be picked up by a friend, than take an Uber in a ball gown. That scenario sounded very lonely, and she’d had about all the lonely she could handle recently.
Despite her confusion and turmoil, she’d missed Jonah. She missed feeling like she wasn’t completely alone in this strange city. She missed their talks and their connection. She hadn’t simply imagined that they had one, or she wouldn’t miss it so much.
“All right. Seven. As coworker friends.” She gave him a measuring look.
“Perfect.” Marco turned and headed toward his car. “I’ll see you on Monday, friend.” He winked as he got inside and Clara shook her head on a small laugh as she watched him pull away.
Friend.
We’re friends, right? she’d asked Jonah, and he’d said yes, though so hesitantly she’d held her breath as she’d waited for his answer.
I just regret. I've made a career of it, here, behind this wall.
Oh, Jonah. She still couldn't mesh the man she’d read about, the man who’d sounded ruthless and self-serving with the sensitive man she’d shared her heart with all those weeks. He’d never once come across as selfish or uncaring, but rather intuitive and introspective.
Don’t come back.
And she hadn’t. He’d probably figured she wouldn’t, counted on it maybe. He hated himself; she’d heard the painful self-loathing in his voice as he’d told her a small part of what he’d done. What he felt responsible for. What she still couldn’t come to terms with.
And now that she hadn’t returned, did he think Clara agreed with his self-exile? Or was it self-imprisonment? Both, she guessed.
Rain began to fall, fat droplets that splattered the sidewalk and pinged on the metal roof of the porch. Clara stepped backward under the roof’s cover and watched as the world blurred into muted watercolors. Despite the downpour, rays of buttery sunshine peeked through the dark, heavy clouds, causing the sheets of water to glitter and glisten.
Clara began to step away from the porch and turn in the direction of her apartment when a sound broke through the whooshing rain. It was Mrs. Guillot’s voice that met her ears, the sweet spiciness falling over her like sprinkled sugar with a hint of pepper.
“Amazing Grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”
A wretch.
That’s how Jonah thought of himself, she was certain. And he was, Clara supposed. Or . . . he had been.
“’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved.”
Grace. Forgiveness. Understanding. She’d always considered herself a forgiving person. But could she even begin to understand the things he’d done? The role he’d played?
Again, Clara began walking toward her apartment door, but decided against it, turning and running through the rain to Mrs. Guillot’s. When she got there, Mrs. Guillot stopped singing, smiling widely at Clara and ushering her under the covering of her porch.
“Well now, Clara darlin’, I haven’t seen you lately. How are you?”
Clara joined Mrs. Guillot on her porch, running a hand over her damp hair and sinking into the other rocker. Mrs. Guillot’s smile made her feel warmer inside than a freshly made cup of tea. “I’m okay.”
Mrs. Guillot’s smile wilted into a frown. “How’s your father?”
“About the same. I spoke with him a couple of days ago. Just for a minute, but still . . .”
“Well now, that’s wonderful. So why do you seem troubled, darlin’?”
Clara worried her lip. “Mrs. Guillot, do you think everyone deserves grace?”
Mrs. Guillot gave Clara a long look. “I’d say you’re asking less about everyone than about a certain someone. Am I right?”
Clara nodded. “Yes . . .”
“And is this someone a friend, sweet girl?”
“I thought so, Mrs. Guillot.” Clara paused, amending her answer. “Yes, he was a friend.” Was? Is? Oh, I’m so confused.
“Someone you trusted?”
“I . . . yes.”
Mrs. Guillot leaned forward and patted Clara’s knee. “I believe everyone deserves grace, Clara. What you will have to ask yourself is if you should offer that grace from near or from afar. Offering grace does not mean offering your heart. That, my darlin’, must be protected at all cost.”
Clara nodded slowly, taking Mrs. Guillot’s words in and turning them over. Yes, that was exactly what she’d been struggling with these past few weeks. Should she offer grace but stay away from Jonah, or should she offer grace and remain his friend? She still wasn’t sure . . . but talking about it for a moment with Mrs. Guillot had settled something inside of her.
She needed to go back to the weeping wall at least one final time. They’d been friends, and maybe they still could be.
She needed to speak to Jonah in person about what she’d read. She owed him that much, if nothing else.
CHAPTER NINE
The tree branches swayed in the slight breeze, creating a gentle hushing sound that might have lulled and calmed under ordinary circumstances. But Jonah was too heavy-hearted to be lulled. Too troubled to be calmed.
Marco chuckled, shooting her a grin. “We should all make time for a little fun. All work and no play . . .”
She raised a brow as his words tapered off, a particular whispery lilt to the word play. She understood exactly the type of fun Marco was referring to. “I have made a little time to get to know New Orleans.” And a man who keeps himself hidden behind a wall . . . a man who collects wishes, who has a voice that wraps around my bones . . . a man who played a part in such a terrible tragedy.
“Sightseeing? That’s what you consider fun?” Marco sighed. “It’s clear how much you need me, Clara.” He patted her knee then removed his hand. “If I’d have known it was such an emergency, I’d have come for you sooner.”
Clara was surprised at the laugh that bubbled up her throat after the sad direction of her thoughts only moments before. “I’ll bet.”
Marco gave her a crooked grin, and they drove on for a few minutes in silence, but it was comfortable.
Clara watched the city go by out the window and wondered what Jonah was doing in that moment and then made herself turn her mind away.
Even after two weeks, she still didn’t know how she should feel about the man who had become her friend, about the man she’d come to care about despite the stone wall that separated them.
“Do you have a date for the Masquerade Charity Ball yet?”
“No,” Clara answered. The Masquerade Charity Ball was an extravaganza that benefitted the ballet, and all dancers were expected to attend, but Clara hadn’t been planning on taking a date. And it was in two weeks. Which reminded Clara that she still needed to find a dress . . . and a mask, though she didn’t figure finding a mask in New Orleans would be a problem. The city was known for its love of dressing up, transforming from ordinary to extraordinary.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll escort you.”
Clara laughed. “I thought we agreed no moves.”
“I agreed to nothing. And if you think these are my moves, you don’t know me very well.”
Clara rolled her eyes but couldn’t resist a smile. “Anyway, that’s not necessary. We’ll all see each other there.”
He glanced at her. “And you don’t date other dancers.”
“That’s right. So really, Marco, I’m not worth your time.”
He smiled as he pulled up to the address he’d plugged into his GPS when they first got in the car. “I think, Clara, that might be exactly why you’re worth my time.”
He grinned as he got out of the car, and she let herself out as well. He came around, handing her the duffle bag he’d taken from the back seat and handing it to her. “I’ll pick you up at seven before the ball?” He inclined his head. “One coworker innocently escorting another.”
Clara opened her mouth to say no, but hesitated. She had a feeling Marco’s whole “one coworker innocently escorting another” shouldn’t be entirely trusted, but the truth was, she’d much rather be picked up by a friend, than take an Uber in a ball gown. That scenario sounded very lonely, and she’d had about all the lonely she could handle recently.
Despite her confusion and turmoil, she’d missed Jonah. She missed feeling like she wasn’t completely alone in this strange city. She missed their talks and their connection. She hadn’t simply imagined that they had one, or she wouldn’t miss it so much.
“All right. Seven. As coworker friends.” She gave him a measuring look.
“Perfect.” Marco turned and headed toward his car. “I’ll see you on Monday, friend.” He winked as he got inside and Clara shook her head on a small laugh as she watched him pull away.
Friend.
We’re friends, right? she’d asked Jonah, and he’d said yes, though so hesitantly she’d held her breath as she’d waited for his answer.
I just regret. I've made a career of it, here, behind this wall.
Oh, Jonah. She still couldn't mesh the man she’d read about, the man who’d sounded ruthless and self-serving with the sensitive man she’d shared her heart with all those weeks. He’d never once come across as selfish or uncaring, but rather intuitive and introspective.
Don’t come back.
And she hadn’t. He’d probably figured she wouldn’t, counted on it maybe. He hated himself; she’d heard the painful self-loathing in his voice as he’d told her a small part of what he’d done. What he felt responsible for. What she still couldn’t come to terms with.
And now that she hadn’t returned, did he think Clara agreed with his self-exile? Or was it self-imprisonment? Both, she guessed.
Rain began to fall, fat droplets that splattered the sidewalk and pinged on the metal roof of the porch. Clara stepped backward under the roof’s cover and watched as the world blurred into muted watercolors. Despite the downpour, rays of buttery sunshine peeked through the dark, heavy clouds, causing the sheets of water to glitter and glisten.
Clara began to step away from the porch and turn in the direction of her apartment when a sound broke through the whooshing rain. It was Mrs. Guillot’s voice that met her ears, the sweet spiciness falling over her like sprinkled sugar with a hint of pepper.
“Amazing Grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”
A wretch.
That’s how Jonah thought of himself, she was certain. And he was, Clara supposed. Or . . . he had been.
“’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved.”
Grace. Forgiveness. Understanding. She’d always considered herself a forgiving person. But could she even begin to understand the things he’d done? The role he’d played?
Again, Clara began walking toward her apartment door, but decided against it, turning and running through the rain to Mrs. Guillot’s. When she got there, Mrs. Guillot stopped singing, smiling widely at Clara and ushering her under the covering of her porch.
“Well now, Clara darlin’, I haven’t seen you lately. How are you?”
Clara joined Mrs. Guillot on her porch, running a hand over her damp hair and sinking into the other rocker. Mrs. Guillot’s smile made her feel warmer inside than a freshly made cup of tea. “I’m okay.”
Mrs. Guillot’s smile wilted into a frown. “How’s your father?”
“About the same. I spoke with him a couple of days ago. Just for a minute, but still . . .”
“Well now, that’s wonderful. So why do you seem troubled, darlin’?”
Clara worried her lip. “Mrs. Guillot, do you think everyone deserves grace?”
Mrs. Guillot gave Clara a long look. “I’d say you’re asking less about everyone than about a certain someone. Am I right?”
Clara nodded. “Yes . . .”
“And is this someone a friend, sweet girl?”
“I thought so, Mrs. Guillot.” Clara paused, amending her answer. “Yes, he was a friend.” Was? Is? Oh, I’m so confused.
“Someone you trusted?”
“I . . . yes.”
Mrs. Guillot leaned forward and patted Clara’s knee. “I believe everyone deserves grace, Clara. What you will have to ask yourself is if you should offer that grace from near or from afar. Offering grace does not mean offering your heart. That, my darlin’, must be protected at all cost.”
Clara nodded slowly, taking Mrs. Guillot’s words in and turning them over. Yes, that was exactly what she’d been struggling with these past few weeks. Should she offer grace but stay away from Jonah, or should she offer grace and remain his friend? She still wasn’t sure . . . but talking about it for a moment with Mrs. Guillot had settled something inside of her.
She needed to go back to the weeping wall at least one final time. They’d been friends, and maybe they still could be.
She needed to speak to Jonah in person about what she’d read. She owed him that much, if nothing else.
CHAPTER NINE
The tree branches swayed in the slight breeze, creating a gentle hushing sound that might have lulled and calmed under ordinary circumstances. But Jonah was too heavy-hearted to be lulled. Too troubled to be calmed.
