Fare Forward (17 page)

Alone.

T
HE LIGHT HAS TRANSITIONED throughout the day, animating the forms of the skylight as the sun completes its arc above our building. I can hear the subtle buzzing of the fluorescent fixtures. One thing I know for certain, I have been waiting for the chance to find Benjamin and speak to him. It's an opportunity that I will not let slip away.

I stand alone in the room that contains the echoes of emotions and energy that suffused it all day. A war zone of paper, coffee cups, notes, and chairs, everything shifted out of alignment. I need to take time to understand everything that has happened, what it means, and what I'm going to
do.
As I mechanically unpin my drawings from the wall I hear a discussion outside the room.

I would recognize that voice anywhere, anytime in my life.

I turn around and run out the door as Benjamin and the dean walk out of Avery Hall and into the cold night. Relief, happiness, and apprehension flood me at the same time as I see him and consider my options.

"Excuse me—" I hear the words come out of my mouth in disbelief. I run toward the two men as I wonder what has come over me, what the
hell
I'm doing. They turn at the same time, Dean Zumi quite surprised and Benjamin—smiling.

"Yes?" The dean turns back to Benjamin."Ah, look who it is. The first-year dreamer, from earlier, I believe."

"I'm sorry to disturb you both. I just—" I realize that I am at a complete loss, exhibiting uncharacteristic almost desperate behavior. I have a thousand questions, yet cannot seem to formulate any intelligent or reasonable words to come out of my mouth.

"Gabriella, there you are," Benjamin says as he reaches his hand out.

"You know each other?" The dean is genuinely surprised.

"This is Gabriella Vogel. I work with her grandfather, the physicist."

Recognition flashes across his face as the dean seems to really see me for the first time.

"Well, so it
is
you. I didn't know until the other day that you were in the program. Trying to fly under the radar are you?"

"No, not at all."

"We really need to be going, Bernard." Benjamin reaches out to take the heavy backpack off my shoulder. "It was lovely spending the day here with your students and their very interesting work. I know Gabriella must be exhausted."

I nod.

"Of course." The dean seems confused as he looks first at Benjamin then back at me, clearly trying to determine what our relationship is. I am doing everything I can to keep my face still and not betray the riot of emotion I am feeling.

"Let me know when you are back in America, Benjamin, and thank you, for coming today."

"Yes, it was quite informative."

As he turns, Dean Zumi stops and looks at me once more with both eyebrows raised.

"I have to tell you, Gabriella, your grandfather is quite remarkable. A very
brave
man."

"I—yes. Thank you."

"Now I understand where you get it from." He walks away, and then Benjamin and I are alone.

I look up at him and into his eyes, at his face. I see everything. The way he looks at me, the shape of his body under the lines of his coat. The way he breathes.

"I need to speak with you." It's the only thing I can manage to say.

His eyes are intense as they search mine. He seems to be struggling with some sort of choice. A decision that he needs to make about which direction this moment will take.

Changing our fate.

"Benjamin?" I am unable to find any other words. And then, as if fighting against a force that can no longer be suppressed, he looks at me and reaches out his open hand for mine.

"Gabriella, come with me."

I
NEED TO REMIND myself that this is really happening. I am not in a dream but,
here,
in the world of the present. Ever since the first day of our unexpected encounter, I've wished for this moment, and, this time, the threshold between waking and sleeping, dream and reality will remain separate.

I want to learn everything about him. I watch as the color in his cheeks changes from the exertion of our walk, the way his hands move as he talks, and, mostly, how he looks at me. The sting on my cheeks is matched by the surprising fire in my body and the excitement of being with him. I have so many questions and an intense need to find answers as I try desperately to piece together the disparate elements of his appearance in my life. The undeniable knowledge that I have seen him before in my premonitions.

There was no mistaking that.

We move through the city as he asks me countless questions. He wants details, memories, and experiences—events from the past that I can barely recall. I can see, for the very first time, what might be buried deep within the layers of my heart. A glimmer of the intense emotion that has remained so closely guarded, hidden, waiting for the right moment to burst forward. Just like my grandmother had predicted.

Trust what your heart is telling you.

"Gabriella?"

I love the way he says my name.

"Yes? I'm sorry, I just realized where we are."

We have traveled across to the most western edge of the city near the river, where industrial buildings have been converted into living spaces. I can see the shape of the wind, made visible through swirling leaves, papers, and the steam rising from the subway grates. There is a rawness to this commercial part of town. Deserted—silenced by night.

He turns to face me, and I see a resolve in his eyes. Slowly he reaches his hand out, I place mine in his, and feel his fingers close. Like the steel door of a vault slamming shut. He turns and leads me up the steps to the landing of a gray, faceless building, indistinguishable from all the others on the street. "This is my home . . . when I'm in New York. Why don't you come in?"

"I don't know if I should, I mean—" I need to think clearly but am confused by the adrenaline rush of the walk and emotions brought on by him. "It's late."

He can barely suppress his smile. His eyes shine in the reflection cast by the streetlamp and the glow of the lights inside the building. Watching me seems to be some form of entertainment for him.

"Come in for a while, then I will take you back."

I think of everything I want to ask him, the questions formulated over the last several weeks, and I know that I can't run away this time. Our eyes are locked on each other as we stand in front of the building. He waits patiently.

"Yes." I look away from him for a moment and then meet his eyes. "After all, you are working with my grandfather."

"As I hoped."

I feel him reach around me to press a code on a small keypad that releases the lock on the large industrial door. As we step inside it's clear that we have entered a private residence, completely contrary to what the outside expression of the building suggests. I catch my breath at the incredible beauty of everything around me: shining stone floors, a tall glass staircase that begins where we stand but then disappears into a two-story space beyond my line of sight. Large contemporary paintings are illuminated by low-voltage lights that grow brighter as we approach, sensing our movement. Everything is made of glass or stone, and digital keypads display an array of information about the status of each room. Benjamin leans against a wall and stands with his arms crossed as he watches me take everything in.

"What is this place?" I ask.

"Please, look around."

Doors open automatically, and I feel myself drawn deeper into the amazing environment. Art and music surround me, and he watches, clearly enjoying my astonishment as I take in the visual feast, a path of discovery through the magnificent rooms. I'm amazed by the explosion of color, form, and shape in paintings I recognize from many of the well-established artists of the world. I return from my brief examination to face him, unable to find anything to say.

"You seem quite surprised, at a loss for words, perhaps?" He laughs. The formal nature of his question is something I have noticed before in his language.

"Yes, wow, thank you." I sound embarrassingly idiotic again.

Put a sentence together, Gabriella,
I say to myself.

"It's so different. Beautiful," I add.

Well, that was better than my incoherent babbling, but it's the only thing that comes out of my mouth. I am trying to talk, walk, and take it all in at once. I really don't know where to look first.

He smiles to himself as he takes my coat and hangs it in a closet. I watch it disappear into the wall surface after it closes on its own. He turns around to look right at me as if he is deciding what to say. As he pushes his hair back off of his forehead, I notice his hand, the flash of his watch, the way he moves his sleeves before he folds his arms. I can feel the path my heart seems to be taking toward the magnetic draw of his.

"How long have you lived here?"

I see his hesitation. "I travel a great deal, Gabriella. I'm not in New York that often, but this is my home when I am here."

I nod, unable to coax any words out of my mouth. I feel his eyes on me, and think about what he has just said. "What exactly is it, that you do in your travels?"

He takes a step back, away from me. It's as if I have wounded him.

His eyes change, and I can see his jaw set in a resolve I have not seen before. "You, Gabriella, are a much more interesting topic." He turns his head away for a moment then moves the conversation away from the intimacy of my questions to a safer subject.

Architecture.

"This design project you are working on is quite a challenge."

I don't want to give up. I want answers from him. "How did you come to be on our jury today?"

"The dean is a friend of mine. We spent several years in Paris working together and given the scientific nature of the project, he thought I would be interested in seeing what ideas the students had."

"I see." But I can't seem to reconcile this new information. Dean Zumi and Benjamin have been together in Paris? The age difference between the two of them is too dramatic for that to be true. Benjamin must be in his early thirties, at most, and the dean was an established architect with grandchildren in the university. Another mystery. Never good at concealing my emotions, the confusion on my face betrays me.

He takes a step toward me, his eyes burn into mine. "Time is a funny thing, Gabriella. The past, present, and future are linked in more ways than people realize, but you know this."

I turn away from him, and wonder how he can know my inner thoughts, things that I have shared with no one. I feel the rushing, pounding feeling I get in my head after standing up too quickly.

"Gabriella." His words pull me back. "After being in the review all day you must be hungry." He eyes me suspiciously, a mischievous look in his eye. Something seems funny to him and he tries to conceal a smile. I have the distinct feeling that the humor is at my expense. My appetite a personal trademark.

"Starving, actually." I'm embarrassed.

He laughs and shakes his head. "I thought so. Why don't you look around, and I'll come find you. I will see if there's anything in the kitchen."

"Yes, fine."

I know that everything here is a clue, a map to the mystery of who he is. I continue to explore and am drawn to the massive glass staircase. My hand moves up the railing that is wrapped in a soft velvet slipcover, designed to protect fingers from the cold metal. I marvel at the incredible attention to detail, where every sense is considered. At the top of the staircase is a huge glass skylight. The stars and sky are framed by the structure of the glass form, a perfect composition that brings moonlight into the core of the building. The beauty that surrounds me takes my breath away.

Through a large wall of windows, I see boxwood hedges that frame a beautiful pool, casting a blue light that illuminates the terrace in an outer-worldly way. Music plays through speakers hidden in the walls of every room. It sounds similar to the piano solo I remember from the cathedral. The haunting sound that had imprinted in my head, another element of the unforgettable day when I met him there. I continue to walk slowly through the spaces, trying to absorb everything I am seeing, while at the same time, feeling a sense of familiarity that is unexplainable. Suddenly I find myself facing a most unexpected sight.

It is my painting.

The one that had sold recently at the gallery in SoHo, reconfirming through the unnecessary checklist of identification that it is mine. The conversation I had with the gallery owner when he called to tell me of the sale floods my mind.

"I can't believe the piece sold so quickly after the opening," I had said, trying to absorb the large sum I would be receiving. A first for me. "Who bought it?" I asked, realizing that one of my paintings was now in the possession of someone I did not know. A strange concept—that my art could have a life of its own.

"The purchase was made through an intermediary. This particular buyer was quite insistent. He wanted to retain absolute anonymity."

I
CAN REMEMBER FEELING shock and discomfort, uncertainty about the anonymous sale of my painting, but had been assured that this was fairly common in the art world. I accepted the gallery owner's rationale as the happiness that I had sold a piece quickly outweighed any concerns I had.

"Bloody hell,
Gabriella," Philip had tried to reassure me at the time. "You don't need to figure everything out. Now you can join those of us not destined to be starving artists."

"Speak for yourself, Philip, I have no clue where
my
destiny is taking me."

And now here it was. In Benjamin's home.

I am so taken aback, that I am pulled into the small room where it hangs on the far wall. I move slowly, feeling that I am entering his private office. The furnishings are a mix of classics, of modern design, and beautiful antiques, icons from the last several hundred years. Dark wood shelves are covered from floor to ceiling with books, photographs, art, and leather-bound files alphabetized by geographic area.