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ELIZABETH
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I LOVE YOU, ELIZABETH.
Brian’s voice, thick with emotion, still echoed in my head.
He loved me! My heart was singing, making bearable a nearly equally intense sensation: the deep ache of our temporary separation.
It’d caught me by surprise with its intensity. It wasn’t like I was leaving for good; I’d return in a few days, and for a while, I’d travel back and forth between Rosenthal and Copper Ridge. This was what my reason was telling me, but my body and my soul had a different opinion. They missed Brian so fiercely as if a part of me had been taken away. Everything inside me screamed to go back to him.
I took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. Once again, my uneasiness retreated. We loved each other, I reminded myself. Everything was going to be fine.
I leaned toward the oval window. We were flying above the mountains. My eyes scanned over the crested peaks covered with snow glimmering under the sunlight. Here and there I could see bluish-green glaciers sloping down, brooks running for a short while and then disappearing under rocks. Thin, tall waterfalls, dense green forests that looked decisively docile from above: almost warm against the crystal-clear snowy background and soft like a thick carpet.
The voice of the pilot, Luke, over the speaker interrupted my admiration of the scenery. “Elizabeth, why don’t you sit here beside me? You’ll have a better view.”
Even more than the spectacular view, I welcomed Luke’s company. He asked me about the Baker Block renovations, redirecting my thoughts from the recent past and still uncertain future to something more concrete.
Somewhere between his interesting questions and my enthusiastic answers, I’d come up with a plan: I’d focus on my project now and leave all the big decisions for later. They didn’t depend only on me, but also on the man I loved. My job was my sole responsibility. No matter what I became, or where I lived, I was determined to make a name for myself in architectural restoration.
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“SO, FRIDAY AT NOON?” Luke asked as he helped me out of the plane after we landed in Rosenthal.
“Sounds good,” I said and thanked him. “Have a safe flight back.” After refueling, Luke would return to Copper Ridge.
Dr. Ned Prentice and Jacob came to pick me up from Rosenthal’s small airport and drove me to Ned’s house, which he now shared with Lottie. A small welcoming committee—Sam, Molly and Andy Prentice waited for us. Being among my friends lifted my mood.
Dusk was drawing down when I walked to my house with a lightness in my heart I hadn’t felt since I left Copper Ridge. Spring had long ago come to Rosenthal. The sweet aroma of acacia and bergamot with a touch of ocean breeze and pine wafted through the mild air. Trees had new leaves, deep green, thick and shiny under the long, golden shadows of early evening. The grass was young, moist and soft, and flowers bloomed everywhere.
I looked up at the darkening sky, sprinkled with the first stars on the western horizon. The moon was swollen and silvery-yellow, like a giant melon. Brian and I had watched it once rising above Copper Ridge. It was huge and so close that I’d been sure I could feel its touch on my skin, like a gentle, balmy hand. I’d said that to Brian. “Don’t be surprised,” he’d told me with a smile. “You’re one of us. You’re touched by the moon.”
I thought about the same moon over the tinselhouse and felt a similar sensation: soft, the warm brush of its opalescent light on my face, gentle like Brian’s kiss on my sleepy eyes.
I pulled out my phone and called him.
“What are you doing right now?” I asked without any preamble.
He wasn’t surprised by my question nor was I with his answer.
“I’m in front of the house watching the moon and thinking about you,” he said.
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I SMILED AT THE SIGHT of a bouquet of two dozen red roses on the front porch of my house, with Brian’s note typed on a simple card by a local florist: Sweet dreams, B.
I put the flowers in a crystal vase I’d found in the storage room and set to unpack my suitcase.
The house was spotless. Lottie had sent her house helper to tidy it up. The fridge was filled up with a pot of minestrone soup, assorted cheeses and cold cuts, vegetables and fruit. A bag of fresh ground coffee and a package of loose-leaf black tea lay on the kitchen counter.
Brian skyped me around eight. We talked about the job, but we didn’t even try to conceal the longing in our voices. By the time we finished, I had enough energy to take a shower and brush my teeth before I dragged myself across my singing nightingale floor and, bone weary and emotionally drained, drifted away.
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THE NEXT MORNING, I became aware of how much Brian had already done to help me have a smooth start. He’d rented an office in downtown, near the renovation site. A pickup truck was parked in front of it, the keys on my desk. And then he phoned and informed me that I’d gotten an assistant, none other than Christian Enescu. If I agreed, of course, Brian added quickly.
What else could I do but agree? Christian was due to arrive in about a week.
I didn’t know if I should be thankful or upset. The assistance of another expert would be more than welcome, but I wished Brian had checked it with me first.
“Enescu was a logical choice because we already worked together,” Brian said with a chuckle, alluding to Lily’s little email deceit to confirm Brian’s false identity.
“Only he doesn’t remember it,” I’d said, irritated.
“We used him, true. It was necessary at that time. This is a way to clear my conscience. Enescu wants to open an American branch, and I promised to support him.”
Brian had hired a small army of people, from a secretary to technicians, drivers, heavy machinery operators, construction workers, carpenters, trade workers, security—all local people. It was more than we needed, but his explanation was that people needed jobs more than ever.
Months of preparation work had paid off. I was able to organize the workflow quickly and efficiently. I’d dealt with the excess of the workforce by expanding the work from eight to eleven hours per day and from five to six days per week. Supplies were coming on schedule. All legal aspects had been either taken care of or promptly resolved. Azem had stepped down as the legal aid and Mr. Townsend, a local barrister, had taken over.
The restoration of the Baker Block and its crown jewel, the Cosmopolitan Hotel, had energized the entire town. There was a constant flow of people bringing coffee, food and drinks for the workers, even though Brian provided more than sufficient funds for their meals. When all the details of the plans for the future usage of the buildings became public, showing Rosenthalers that Brian Canagan had respected their wishes, his status as a mysterious owner had evolved into that of a local hero. His name was on everyone’s lips—Brian Canagan, that is, of course, for no one recalled the name of his predecessor, Khalid Nouri. They knew about our relationship, which only confirmed their opinion that I was the perfect person to execute the job. Not that they had doubted me before, but, in their opinion, the fact that Brian Canagan put me in charge of the renovations gave me additional credibility.
Friday came before I blinked. I had to leave everything in the hands of my foreworker, hoping nothing would arise during the weekend that would need my presence. I was now glad Christian was coming. With him in Rosenthal all the time, the job would continue without interruption and I wouldn’t feel guilty for spending weekends in Copper Ridge.
It was, I assumed, Brian’s plan from the beginning.