35. Chapter Thirty George Devereaux
Chapter Thirty: George Devereaux
B etween the turmoil of my airport interrogation and my hasty resignation from my job, I’d forgotten to charge my phone. I pulled my portable charger out of my bag, thankful that there were an abundance of taxis near the university. I plugged my phone in and waited for the screen to light up. Just when my phone had powered back on, it rang, showing Pastor Tony’s name on the caller ID.
I picked it up. “Hello, Pastor Tony. I’m surprised to hear from you.”
I heard a smile in his voice as he said, “There are no surprises, George. Only Providence.”
Sometimes I got the feeling he would have made a great extra in a kung fu movie starring a wise sage and a foolish young prodigy, but I kept that to myself. I hailed another cab to Georgia’s apartment, inwardly groaning at the amount of traffic in front of us as I held the phone to my ear.
“How have you been? Is there a reason you’re calling?”
“I wanted to hear about your trip to Italy. How was that? ”
“Oh, you know…” I was unsure of how to label my time in Italy. Life-changing sounded too cheesy. Nice was too weak a word for how I felt about it. “It was an experience I won’t forget any time soon.”
“Travel often is.”
I launched into a description of the trip, telling him about the art and architecture we had seen, but glossed over the parts with Georgia. Those felt too personal to share with anyone but her.
“How lovely. It sounds like you and your students all had a wonderful time.”
“That, we did. I even got to chat with my teaching assistant, Hunter. He told me he wants to be a priest.”
Being a Baptist, he probably didn’t approve of Catholics, but he surprised me as he often did with his next words. “The Lord works in mysterious ways. What else did you and Hunter talk about?”
I told him all the fascinating stories and topics of conversation we had discussed—leaving out Hunter’s advice on love—and he listened attentively.
“I have to say, George. You seem different from how you were when you left. Less burdened by life’s troubles.”
“I did have the academic equivalent of an Italian holiday.”
“I don’t think that’s it. I think you sound like I did after I’d met my wife for the first time. At peace. Like all is right with the world because you’re in love.”
“Pastor Tony—” I started but didn’t know how to finish that sentence.
“I think you either fell in love in Italy, or you’ve finally told the woman you were in love with how you really feel about her. Am I wrong?”
I sighed. “Pastor, I’m beginning to think you’re never wrong. ”
He chuckled. “May I never think so! I pray the Lord always keeps me too humble to believe that.”
“There is a woman, whom I’ve wanted to be with for a long time, but the timing was never right for us.”
He chuckled. “If God has brought the two of you together only now, then He must not have wanted you together before.”
I pondered his words. Perhaps I had never been right for her before. Deserving of her before. Not that I was now, but I hoped I could attempt to be.
“That’s enough romantic advice for today. Did you give any more thought to the job I was telling you about before you left?”
“I did.”
“And are you reconsidering?”
I took a deep breath. Was I only interested in applying because I’d turned down the promotion from Dean McCallum—his offer that had felt too much like nepotism and less like I’d earned it on my own merits? And because I knew the police check wouldn’t be a problem anymore?
Or was I interested because I truly wanted to make a difference in the lives of teenagers who needed it—teens for whom art could be both an escape and a tool for channeling their impulses and emotions into beauty?
“Yes,” I said. “I think I’d like to apply, if you’d still have me.”
***
I showed up at Georgia and her mom’s apartment, carrying a bouquet I’d hastily picked up from a florist next to their building. I vaguely remembered Georgia telling me if she had to choose a favourite flower, it would be calla lilies, so I’d gotten a bunch of them in various colours.
As I paused in the lobby, I considered what I was going to say to her. The dean offered me a promotion, but I quit my job instead? I realized it was much too early for the brunch she’d suggested we have tomorrow morning, but I was already here. And I couldn’t stand the thought of waiting another minute to see her.
“I’m George Devereaux, here to see Georgia Philips,” I told the doorman.
He checked that I was on the list, then pushed the buzzer for me and after a few minutes of staticky conversation, he gestured me toward the elevator.
I had too much frantic energy to wait for the elevator, so I ran up the stairs instead, taking them two at a time. By the time I made it to her floor, I was beginning to regret my decision. I was panting, my quads burned, and I was sure my hair was a sweaty mess that kept falling into my eyes.
I knocked on her door anyway, catching my breath as I waited for her to answer.
“George, right? What a surprise,” said Georgia’s mom as she pulled the door open. “Georgia didn’t tell me to expect you.”
“It’s good to see you again, Auntie May.” She’d instructed me to call her that when we’d met at Katerina’s wedding.
“Of course. Let me take those beautiful flowers. And your coat.”
She put the lilies in a vase of water, hung up my coat, and ushered me into the small apartment. I realized I’d never seen where Georgia lived with her mom; I only had the address because Georgia had texted it to me once .
Still shivering slightly with the exhilaration of my run up the stairs and my resignation from my job, I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans to keep from fidgeting.
Looking around the apartment, I saw where Georgia got her eccentricity from. The walls were papered with a unique pattern that reminded me of Greek pottery, while the floor was tiled in a colourful mosaic. Art prints from various artists covered the walls, and to my surprise, I recognized some of them as my own.
“Would you like something to eat or drink?” Auntie May asked, appearing at my elbow like a flighty bird.
I nearly jumped. “I’d love a coffee if you have one.”
It would help me to be somewhat coherent when I saw Georgia again. Even if it was almost ten pm, I wanted to be wide awake when we were together.
“Georgia’s taking a nap. She must be jet-lagged; she was up all afternoon cooking.” She poured water into the coffee pot and let it boil.
I chuckled, surprised to hear that. Still, it was good to hear that the same woman who’d made pasta with me in Italy still enjoyed making her own meals. “I didn’t know she still enjoyed cooking.”
“She’s always been a wonderful cook.” Auntie May took out a mug that read DON’T TALK TO ME UNTIL I’VE HAD COFFEE and handed it to me. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that about her.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of things you could tell me about her that I don’t know yet.” I was surprised by how sincere the words felt. I wanted to sit in this cozily furnished apartment with Georgia’s mom, drinking coffee and talking about what Georgia had been like as a child or what her favourite movies were. I wanted to be part of her family, as she was part of mine .
Auntie May ushered me toward the couch after pouring me a cup of coffee. “I’m sure there will be plenty of time for us all to get to know one another.”
She had a knowing glint in her eye. Maybe Georgia had told her more about me than I thought.
Georgia exited her bedroom, still in her travelling clothes—purple sweatpants and a matching violet NYU hoodie. Though her outfit was far more rumpled now than they had been when we’d parted ways at the airport hours ago. When her eyes fixed on me, all grogginess disappeared, replaced by shock as her eyes widened and jaw dropped. “You’re alive ?”
I blinked, surprised by her strong reaction. “Last time I checked, we got off the same plane.”
“Yeah. But you haven’t answered any of my calls or messages.” She planted a hand on her hip.
I pulled out my phone, only to realize now that I had several unread messages. Clearly I’d missed them in my haste to pick up Pastor Tony’s call. “You’re never going to believe this.”
Auntie May padded into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with another coffee, handing it to her daughter.
Georgia took the coffee, kissed her mom on the cheek, then said, “Could we get some privacy, Mom?”
“Of course. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I fiddled with a throw pillow while Georgia perched on the arm of the sofa. “What am I ‘never going to believe,’ George?”
“Please hear me out. I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone, but I’ve had a crazy day.” I filled her in on how I’d been interrogated at the airport, Sebastian’s rescue, the meeting with the Dean, and how my phone had died and I’d plugged it in right when Pastor Tony had called .
Georgia blinked. “Wow. That story is so unbelievable that I almost want to believe it.”
I sighed. “Georgia—”
“No, I’m just kidding. I do believe you. But next time, would it kill you to respond to one of my texts?”
My shoulders slumped with relief. I squeezed her free hand, the one that wasn’t clutching her coffee like a lifeline. “Thank you. I promise, next time I’m being interrogated by the FBI, I won’t let them take my phone until I’ve talked to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “This is a lot to take in. I mean, Sebastian? Really? The big, bad mafia guy who also does papier-maché turned out to be a restaurant owner?”
“Well, when you put it like that…” I pulled his business card out of my pocket. “I think he offered me a discount on a meal.”
“Does that mean our first date in New York can be at Cavalli’s?” Georgia said, waggling her eyebrows just as her mom exited the kitchen with a tray of what looked like lasagna. After my mad dash around New York from the airport to the university, and now from the florist to her apartment, I was hungry enough that my stomach growled.
“It definitely can. But I was hoping this could be our first date. I did bring you flowers, after all.”
She spotted them on the living room table and smiled. “I love them.”
We all dug into the food, the room growing warm and homey as we made easy conversation. I couldn’t help but think of the last time Georgia and I had been together on American soil. Our conversations had been tense, awkward, and hostile, even.
They hadn’t been filled with real warmth and joy like they were now. Not to mention, real love.