“Isn’t it obvious?” He looked at her intensely, and she could feel it then: thepossibility, like a gift whose contents you don’t ever unwrap.
“I suppose I’dliketo believe.”
“Thendo,” he simply replied, and continued with his reading. The answer he delivered was anything but trivial; it was thoughtful and nuanced. And remarkably astute.
Though “belief” is a pill she’s still working on swallowing, she will admit a begrudging respect for the ancient practice of geomancy. (And yes, the space is averygood one.)
Michael now taps at the CAD drawings in her hands. “The only pieces I didn’t take pictures of were the furniture items in the back of the store,” he says. “The ones covered in moving blankets and Bubble Wrap. I wasn’t sure if those were coming or going to the new space.”
Vivian sighs. “Right. I need to figure that out. Those are awaiting refinishing. They’re mostly coming, unfortunately, and very delayed. My go-to antique restorer passed away during Covid, and I haven’t found his replacement yet. I got a little waylaid in the past few months.”
“Understandable.”
“Actually,” she says, cocking her head, “some of those items belong to you, or rather, the Knox.”
“Oh? Let’s take a look, shall we?”
As they unwrap the cloths, their fingers accidentally brush. “Sorry,” Michael says.
“Don’t be.” And then she adds, slyly, “I rather liked it.”
He pauses to look at her. “As did I.”
They continue to work, a silence encompassing them. But it’s a comfortable quiet.
They uncover a nineteenth-century painted Italian chest and a French antique tub chair, both of which are Knox items, and an eighteenth-century rococo giltwood stool, which belongs to a wealthy friend of Vivian’s mother. Then, a random Ming dynasty porcelain vase.Christ.Vivian can’t seem to shake this era.
Michael studies the vase, running his fingers over the blue poppy flower design.
“I used opium during my geomantic readings at the Knox, to open my mind,” he suddenly admits. “It was in our charter, what tradition dictated. But—that reading I did for you, about your new store space—that was the first time I realized I don’t need it to honor the practice.” He gives her an almost enigmatic smile. “Thank you.”
She returns his smile, feeling let in on the secret. She likesthis—feeling a connection to this man.
“Are you planning to still do readings for them?” she asks, as casually as she can.
“I don’t know,” he concedes. “I’m assuming what you are really asking is what I am planning to do in terms of my allegiance to the Knox. It’s complicated. As you are aware, I descend from a long line of members.” He pauses, looking somewhat abashed. “I feel rather silly saying that, since you descend from a long line ofancestors.”
“It’s okay,” she says. She wants him to continue. “So?”
“So, I don’t know.” He shrugs, looking uncharacteristically flummoxed.
She nods; she understands how one’s upbringing can mold you, how even after you’ve long sprung from the cast, you still feel the phantom shape of the plaster. Given all that’s happened with the Knox, this is new territory. He—and perhaps she—will have to sort it out.
As they start undressing the last piece of furniture, labeled “cabinet” on the white masking tape, Michael asks, “Are you still seeing Peter?”
“No. He’s asked if he can see me when he returns from Milan, but I don’t want to.”
The truth of it hits her as it’s leaving her mouth. Shedoesn’twant to see him, she realizes.
Michael’s cocoa-brown eyes meet hers, and a warmth flushes through her. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.
As they pull off the blanket, she’s momentarily stunned. It’s not a cabinet but rather a secretary. From the nineteenth century, and from the Knox.
“Oh! I’d forgotten about this piece,” he remarks.
“I don’t remember this,” she says, shaking her head.
“Your assistant was here the day we brought it in. What was her name?”
