My throat tightened. "What if it's not, though? What if I take all this and then I owe him forever?"
"Then you give it back and walk away. But at least you'll know." Another pause. "Call him. Hear him out. And call me after, okay?"
"Okay." I exhaled slowly. "Thanks, Eleanor."
"Anytime, honey. I love you."
"Love you too."
I hung up and stared at my phone. Eleanor was right. I needed to hear him out. AndthenI could yell at him.
I found Nathaniel's number from last night's call and tapped the dial button. He answered on the first ring.
"Miss Claire." His voice was alert, unsurprised. Like he'd been waiting.
"You paid my rent."
"Yes."
"And my student loans."
"Also, yes."
"And you sent me a job offer and a check for ten thousand dollars."
"I did."
The calm acknowledgment, completely devoid of defensiveness, somehow made it worse. "Do you have any idea how invasive that is? I told you last night I didn't want your money!"
"You told me you didn't want the reward. This isn't the reward."
"Oh, so it's just… what? Adifferentpile of money? That makes it okay?"
"I understand you're upset."
"Upset doesn't cover it!" I was pacing again, my free hand gesturing wildly at no one. "You walked into my apartment, saw every embarrassing detail of my broke, failing life, and then went home anderasedit. Like my struggle was an inconvenience you needed to clean up!"
A pause. "That's not how I saw it."
"Then howdidyou see it?"
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "I saw a woman who gave my daughter her own last meal. Who wrapped her in her only good blanket. Who asked for nothing in return." He paused. "I saw someone who deserved better than what life had dealt her. And I had the means to help. So I did."
His words landed on my conscience; they weren’t annoying me at all, in fact they calmed me, and I hated it. "You didn't ask."
"No. I didn't." A longer pause. "And you're right. I should have. I'm not used to…" He stopped, started again. "I see problems, and I solve them. It's my default setting. I didn't consider that you might not want them to be solved."
The admission, the stark, honest acknowledgment of his own flaw, took the sharpest edge off my anger. He wasn't being malicious. He was being himself, always having something to provide, someone for whom money was a hammer and every problem was a nail.
"I'm not a problem," I said, quieter now.
"I know that. I'm sorry I made you feel like one."
We sat in silence for a moment. I could hear him breathing on the other end, steady and patient, waiting for me. It occurred to me that this was probably how he handled difficult negotiations, letting the other person run out of steam while he remained infuriatingly calm.
"This isn't how normal people say thank you," I finally said.
"I'm aware." Was that a hint of self-deprecation? "Apparently, I'm terrible at it."
