New York City
April 29
Steady, Cam, Ren, Calliope, and Tox waited forty minutes for the seminar Clara Gautreau was teaching to wrap up. Tox felt like one of those people who buys a painting of dogs playing poker at a flea market for a dollar and finds a Picasso hidden beneath.
He wanted to reach out and take Calliope’s hand so she could absorb and share this energy coursing through him. But he couldn’t trust his gut when it came to these things, so he mentally whacked the bear’s cage with a baton and fisted his hands on his thighs. Then he felt it. Her warm, slender hand covered his fist, her fingers burrowing in and prying his fingers loose. She entwined her own with his and beamed at him. He gave her hand a soft squeeze to reassure her, or maybe thank her. Somehow the warmth of her palm felt better knowing she had given it freely.
“Can you believe Phipps threw that tube in the bin? I mean, can you imagine?” Calliope shook her head in disbelief. “I think about that sort of thing all the time. Winning lottery tickets tossed in the trash, a priceless clock or teapot just sitting at a thrift store, a copy of George Washington’s will shoved in a family bible.”
“One man’s trash, as they say,” Ren commented without looking up from his phone.
“I was going to use it to patch a pipe,” Tox agreed. “They’re pretty beat up but it’s a miracle they survived the last few days much less the last hundred plus years. I mean, they’re just two little pieces of paper.”
“Makes you appreciate the beauty around you. When I was a girl, I lived in so many beautiful places, but I never really appreciated them. You know?”
“Yeah.” He was half-listening, staring transfixed at their joined hands. He didn’t feel a need to grip her tighter, to hold her in place. He simply embraced the warmth of her touch.
“Like Mars. It was cold there but really picturesque.”
Tox met her magic eyes. Her pale irises sparked. “Hmm?”
“Why aren’t you listening?”
“You’re really pretty. It’s distracting,” he grinned.
“Good answer.” She elbowed him but stopped when she made contact with his side and leaned into his body. Out of the corner of his eye, Tox saw Steady elbow Cam and nod in their direction. Before Tox could make a move—pull away or kiss her—the door to the lounge clicked open.
Clara Gautreau was beautiful in a way that was somehow classically French. Even before she spoke, people she encountered anticipated the lilting French accent that imbued her English. Her straight, butterscotch-colored hair was fastened into a low ponytail by a filigree barrette at her nape. Freckles danced across her thin nose, and her ocean-blue eyes held a hint of confusion as she scanned the room. When Ren rose to his feet, a sly grin crossed her face.
“Leo!” Clara stepped into the circle of his outstretched arms.
“Hello, Clara.” Ren embraced her in a brotherly hug. When she pulled back the two began conversing in rapid-fire French.
“Tu reviens quand? J’ai besoin de ton avis sur mon mémoire.” When are you returning? I need your advice on my dissertation.
“Je suis à New York durant l’été mais mon entreprise déménage en Caroline du Sud. J’ai reçu une offre pour enseigner à l’université de Charleston comme professeur associé.” I’m in New York through the summer, but my company is relocating to South Carolina. I have an offer to teach at the College of Charleston as a visiting professor.”
“Je ne pourrais jamais quitter New York. C’est chez moi maintenant.” I could never leave New York. It is my home now.”
“Tu es jeune, tu ne sais pas ce que la vie réserve.” You’re young. You never know where life will take you.
“Ah-hem.” Steady cleared his throat. “If we could skip the frog talk and get to the frog talk…” He gestured to the group. Cam elbowed him in the ribs for the SEAL reference. Steady chuckled. “Sorry, that was too good to pass up.”
If Clara understood the frog comment, she didn’t show it. “What brings you here today?”
Ren scanned the room, his gaze lighting on the older bespectacled man in a well-worn cardigan, fiddling with a pipe, and grading a stack of papers at a small table in the corner. “Can we talk in your office?”
Clara followed Ren’s gaze to the man. A furrow formed between her brows. Directing her attention back to Ren she nodded. “This way.”
Clara’s office was scarcely bigger than a janitor’s closet. Steady and Cam offered to wait in the hall out of sheer necessity. Tox and Calliope huddled around the standard-issue classroom desk while Ren retrieved the sketches.
“You’ll want gloves.”
Clara nodded and pulled a pair of powder-free nitrile gloves from a drawer.
Ren placed the sketches—now wrapped in a breathable cloth—on the desk. Clara unrolled the papers and a string of French fell from her lips.
“Mon dieu. Ça ne peut pas être. Si elles sont réelles, c’est une découverte incroyable.” My God. It cannot be. If these are real, it’s an incredible discovery.