More Than Words
Page 53

“Good, good. It’s what I want to talk to you about.” He smiled, and I sat forward. “An offer.” I released the breath I’d been holding, and Dr. Moreau chuckled. “Good news?”
“Yes, very.”
“Good. Your work, Jessica, is wonderful. The way you interpreted Adélaïde’s voice was not only technically accurate, but contained a level of intuition that not every translator has. Words are so”—he rubbed his fingers together as if he was thinking of them as a tangible thing—“powerful. And language, if not translated properly, never perfectly conveys the meaning of the writer. It does not speak from their heart as they meant it to do. It does not give us the essence of them. You, Jessica, helped to bare Adélaïde’s heart, and in turn, a small part of Jehanne’s as well. For a moment in time, you brought them back to life.”
His compliment made my heart thrum with joy, and I let out a soggy-sounding laugh. “Thank you, Dr. Moreau.”
“You’re very welcome. Now, about the offer. There is a position in our ancient documents department I believe would be perfect for you. I’ve recommended you for it, but you’ll have to meet with the head of the department as a formality. If you’re interested, of course.”
“Interested?” I sputtered. “Yes.”
Dr. Moreau laughed. “I hoped for as much. Here is her card. She’s expecting you tomorrow morning at nine.”
“Thank you, Dr. Moreau. I … really, I can’t thank you enough. For everything.”
“The feeling is mutual.” I started to stand, when Dr. Moreau smiled in a way I thought was just a bit mischievous. “Oh, just one more small thing.” I sat back down and looked inquiringly at him as he took a folder from his desk drawer. “Two of the writings you were meant to work on were misfiled at the field.” He shook his head. “An unfortunate mistake, though they were written on a different type of parchment and used a different color ink, so they were assumed to belong to a different project. These are copies. I’ve only glanced over them briefly. I know how disappointed you were not to have the completion of the story, and I would love for you to do the honors and translate them as you’ve so skillfully translated the others. But please send them to me the minute they’re completed.”
Oh my God. I released a startled breath as I met Dr. Moreau’s eyes. My heart thumped with surprised elation. “Oui,” I breathed as I took the manila folder and opened it to peek inside. I immediately recognized Adélaïde’s beautifully formal script, and my heart leapt as if spotting an old friend coming toward me on the street. Oh. “Thank you, Dr. Moreau.” I struggled not to tear up. “Thank you so much. I’ll e-mail the first one tomorrow,” I said, my voice breathless with the surge of emotions filling my chest.
Dr. Moreau stood. “Très bien. And remember to attach an invoice for the work.” He came around the desk and took my hand in both of his, kissing me on each cheek once again. “Bonne journée, Jessica.”
* * *
I saved my excited squeal until I’d made it halfway from the Louvre to the train station, stopping on a street corner and releasing the joyful sound. A permanent job. At the Louvre. I leaned back against the building behind me, the warmth of the stone seeping into my blouse and heating my skin. I turned my face toward the sun and felt the warm rays on my face. “Thank you,” I whispered. I clutched the smooth manila folder tightly to my chest, hugging it as if it were Adélaïde herself and she were experiencing this moment with me. I was dying to read what was inside, but I wanted to sit by myself in a quiet room so I could absorb every word. So I could return to the fields in the Loire Valley. To my heart.
I felt more at peace than I had since I’d left the château. It would take time to move on from the pain of losing Callen, but eventually I would. I’d taken a chance on love and I’d lost. Despite how it had ended, I wouldn’t regret the time we’d spent together. That, too, had been a gift, and I would try to ensure the loss changed me for the better. I had no idea what that meant at the moment, but it was a goal and goals were vital. Dreams were vital.
The half-hour trip home seemed to take longer than usual. Frankie was at work, and I normally wouldn’t relish spending the rest of the afternoon alone, but I had Adélaïde to keep me company and knew her familiar voice would bring me comfort.
When I rounded the corner of my street and looked up, the sight of a man walking directly toward me caused me to halt. I gulped in a breath.
My heart clamored with fear as Nick approached me slowly. “Is he okay?” I asked, rushing to him, my first thought that Callen was hurt and Nick had come to deliver the bad news.
“What? Oh yeah, he’s fine.”
I put my hand over my heart, and Nick grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t consider you’d think I was here to bring bad news.”
“His lifestyle doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in the state of his health.”
“No, it doesn’t, does it?”
I looked at him in silence for a moment. He was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt with some website design company logo on it—his probably, though the T-shirt design was faded and I couldn’t make out the exact company name. He looked good, not like Callen had when I’d seen him. “I’m surprised to see you.”
“Yeah … I know. I’m sorry I walked off on bad terms that day after the interview.”
“I don’t blame you for that, Nick. I deserved it.”
Nick shook his head. “No, Jessica. You said it was an accident, and I believe you. Whatever happened, I don’t think you meant to hurt Callen, especially publicly.”
“No. I didn’t.” My apartment was at the end of the block, and I gestured toward it. “Do you want to sit down and talk?” I asked.
“I really only have a short time. Callen and I are flying back to California this afternoon.”
“Oh, I see,” I said softly.
“But, um, I saw a coffee shop a block over, if you wouldn’t mind joining me for a cup? I spotted some delicious-looking cake in the window.”
I smiled. “Sure.”
We walked the block over to the coffee shop I knew well, entering and taking a seat at a small table. The scents of rich coffee and sweet desserts hit my nose and made my stomach roil. Nick’s visit had obviously shaken up my system. “Can I get you something?” Nick asked.
I shook my head and waited while he ordered a cup of coffee and a piece of decadent chocolate cake.
“Does Callen know you’re here?” I asked after he’d polished off half the dessert in two bites.
He sat back. “No. I just … I don’t even know exactly why I came.” He let out a small, embarrassed chuckle and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ve worried about Callen for a long time, and I guess I’ve come to the conclusion that he has to start worrying about himself if he’s going to move on. What happened at that interview—awful as it was—maybe it will be the thing that will finally make that happen. They say you’ve gotta hit rock bottom before you start to climb out.” He picked up his cup and took a sip of coffee.
I breathed out a huff of air. “I came to the same conclusion, Nick, and I hope you’re right about Callen figuring out how to move forward.” But it’s none of my business anymore, as much as that hurts.
He tilted his head, watching me for a moment, then setting his cup down and crossing his arms. “He used to go to this boxing ring in L.A. where they let amateurs spar. I went once to watch. Wasn’t my thing. It reminded me of my past, and unlike Callen, I’d never liked being hit.”
Oh. Both parts of that statement filled me with sadness, but Nick didn’t seem to be there to talk about himself, and I didn’t know him well enough to ask more. “Callen enjoyed it.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t know if enjoyed is the right word, but yeah, he sought it out. He wants to hurt himself, Jessica. The drinking, the women, it accomplishes two things at once—it numbs him for a while, and it hurts him because he hates himself for it.”