Such A Lovely Gift

The man was dressed in a dark suit, and carrying a paper bag. He asked, “Hope Sinclair?”

“Yes?”

“I have a delivery for you. Could I see some ID, please?”

“Some ID?” I stared at him blankly. Is this some...am I in some sort of trouble?” 

I was being served with papers, I thought wildly. Hemi hadn’t paid the hotel bill, and they were demanding...what? The emotions that had been ping-ponging so wildly for days were at it again, and I yanked them fiercely back under control. No. That was ridiculous, because the man was smiling.

“I don’t think you’re in trouble,” he said. “It’s a delivery. I just have to see ID first, and to get you to sign for it.”

“Oh. OK.” I went for my purse and pulled out my driver’s license. “Here you go.” 

He scrutinized it against my face, nodded, and handed me a computer tablet to sign. Once I did, he handed over the bag and said, “Enjoy.” 

I shut the door, opened the bag, and pulled out a rectangular package wrapped in pale-blue paper, tied with a white satin bow. And my heart leaped in my chest.

Tiffany.

I sank down on the couch and pulled the bow off with trembling fingers, then opened the box, pulled out the velvet case inside, lifted the lid, and gasped aloud. 

It was a bracelet, but that word wasn’t nearly enough to describe it. Flowing, sinuous waves of sapphires in varied shades of blue were interspersed with undulating lines of diamonds. It was the sea, exactly the sea, all shifting blues and foaming white. It was beautiful. It was spectacular. It was way over the top. 

The better it’s been, the better the gift. 

I had a sudden thought, scrabbled wildly through velvet case and blue gift box, turned the bag upside down, picked up the ribbon again in search of something I knew wasn’t there.

No card. No note. Because what would a note from Josh say? 

I remembered the note with the shoes. You could call it an apology. The one with the flowers. Can’t wait for Paris. Can’t wait for you. I had a sudden thought, a hysterical surge of hope, rummaged through my purse for my phone, and fumbled for my texts.

Blank.

I didn’t think. I couldn’t. I shoved the impossible thing back into its velvet case, didn’t bother with the gift box or the bag, picked up my keycard, and ran. 

It had to have been at least an hour since Tiffany would’ve delivered it. I’d had my phone off, tied up in an endless meeting with the attorneys and finance people, but surely she would’ve left a message. But—nothing. 

Maybe she’d been out, I thought, and almost slapped my forehead in annoyance. But—wait. She’d told me Martine was coming over that morning to discuss the work. She wouldn’t have gone out. And if she had, I would’ve had a call. I’d left instructions.

I paced from the living room to the bedroom once again, not taking in one bit of my surroundings, unable to concentrate on the emails I should have been answering. The suite at the Four Seasons Milano could have been the Holiday Inn, for all I was aware of it. 

Had she hated it? Had she thought it was over the top? Or had she…I turned on a heel again on the thought as if walking faster would allow me to outrun it. 

Had she decided, after all, that what I was offering wasn’t enough? Now that Karen was out of danger, was Hope looking at her situation clearly for the first time, deciding that she didn’t want a man who could never be there for her the way she needed him, could never say the words she needed to hear? Whose silences and absences were more than she could bear? All Hope’s warmth, the shining force of her spirit—had it hit the wall of my reserve one too many times? 

I should have talked to her before I left, no matter how shattered she’d been. I should never have left her in any doubt. I should have called her more often and said it all then, and the hell with how hard it would’ve been to do it over the phone. I should have gone back sooner, no matter what. Or not have gone at all. 

But this was who I was. This was all I had. My drive, my ambition, my success. Hope had known I wasn’t good at love, that I didn’t know how to do it, and she’d loved me anyway. At least she’d said she had. Once. What if she’d decided it wasn’t enough?

The phone vibrated in my hand, and I glanced at the caller ID. The leaping hope was there for a second, then gone in an instant.

“Te Mana.”

“Mr. Te Mana, this is Charles Farquar at Tiffany,” I heard. And then, damningly, the hesitation, and even before the man spoke again, I knew. I knew. “I’m sorry, sir, but the bracelet came back.”

“Came…back.” My blood was ice. “How?”

“The messenger said…” More hesitation.

“Just tell me,” I snapped.

“Yes, sir. He said that he was still in the lobby when the lady came…flying out of the elevator. Agitated, he said. That she shoved it at him and said, ‘Take it back.’ I’m sorry, sir,” he said again. “We’ll credit your account, of course.”

I didn’t answer. I was already hitting the End button, getting my pilot on the phone. 

“Warm it up,” I said. “We’re going home.” 

Maybe I couldn’t do it. Maybe it was going to be the thing that defeated me. The thing that crushed me.

But I was going to do it anyway, or I was going to die trying.