No, Gabrielle didn't know what seeing a butterfly in the garden meant, other than the fact that it was hungry and searching for food. Ever since her mother had fated her a dark passionate lover, her psychic predictions were a sore subject. Gabrielle didn't ask about the butterfly.
Claire offered anyway as she handed the envelope to Gabrielle. "You're going to hear good news today. Monarchs always bring good news."
She recognized Francis's handwriting as she took the package from her mother and tore it open. Inside were Gabrielle's monthly utility bills for her home in Boise and various junk mail. Two pieces of mail caught her immediate attention. The first was an engraved envelope with Mr. and Mrs. Hillard's return address scripted on the back. The second was from the Idaho State Correctional Institution. She didn't need to see the address to know who'd sent the letter. She recognized his handwriting. Kevin.
For a few unguarded seconds, joy filled her, as if she were hearing from an old friend. Then just as quickly anger and a spot of sadness replaced her joy.
She hadn't spoken to Kevin since before his arrest, but she'd learned through her attorney that three days after Kevin's arrest, he'd struck a bargain with the prosecuting attorney's office. He'd sung like the proverbial canary, giving information, naming names, and plea bargaining in return for a reduction in the charges against him. He'd named every collector and dealer for whom he'd ever brokered a deal, and he named the thieves he'd used to commit the Hillard theft. According to Ronald Lowman, Kevin had hired two Tongan brothers who'd been out on bail and awaiting trial for some residential burglaries they'd been later found guilty of committing.
For his cooperation, Kevin had been sentenced to five years in prison but would be out in two.
She handed her mother the engraved enve-lope from the Hillards. "You can read this if you're interested," she said, then took her letter and moved across the hall to the morning room. She sat on a lumpy chaise lounge, and her hands shook as she opened the fat envelope. A four-page letter written on legal paper fell out, and she skimmed the slanted script by the light pouring through the windows.
Dear Gabe,
If you are reading this then there is hope you will give me the chance to explain myself and my actions. First let me say that I am extremely sorry for the pain that I most certainly have caused. It was never my intention, nor did I ever imagine, that my other businesses would impact negatively on you.
Gabrielle paused. Businesses? Is that what he called fencing stolen paintings and antiques? She shook her head and returned her attention to the letter. He spoke of their friendship, and how much she meant to him, and the good times they'd shared. She was beginning to almost feel sorry for him when the letter turned in a new and remorseless direction.
I know that a lot of people view my actions as criminal, and perhaps they are right. Receiving and selling stolen property is against the law, but my only TRUE crime is that I have wanted too much. I wanted the good things in life. And for that I am serving a harsher sentence than men convicted of assault. Wife beaters and child abusers have lighter sentences than me. My purpose in pointing this out is that when put in perspective, my crimes seem truly minor in comparison. Who was hurt? Rich people who are insured?
Gabrielle dropped the letter in her lap. Who was hurt? Was he serious? Her gaze quickly skimmed the rest of the letter filled with more rationalizations and excuses. He called Joe a few choice names, hoped she'd been wise enough to realize that Joe had only used her to get to him, and he hoped that she'd dumped him by now. Gabrielle was surprised he hadn't learned of her involvement, and toward the end of the letter, he actually asked her to write to him as if they were still friends. She dismissed the idea, and with the letter in her hand, she walked into the parlor once again.
"What was in your envelope?" Claire asked from where she stood at the worktable, blending fresh lavender and roses with a mortar and pestle.
"A letter from Kevin. He wants me to know that he's sorry, and that he's not really that guilty. And besides, he only stole from rich people." She paused to drop the letter into the trash. "I guess the butterfly that told you I'd hear good news today was full of it."
Her mother looked at her in that calm, composed way she had. Clear of judgement, and Gabrielle felt like she'd just kicked a peace-loving love child.
She guessed she had, but lately she just couldn't seem to help herself. She just opened her mouth, and all the anger she had inside her soul poured out.
Just last week her aunt Yolanda had been raving about her favorite subject, Frank Sinatra, and Gabrielle had snapped, "Sinatra sucked, and the only people who didn't think so are women who paint on their eyebrows."
Gabrielle had immediately apologized to her aunt, and Yolanda had seemed to accept and forget about it, but an hour later she'd accidently appropriated a turkey baster from the IGA market.
Gabrielle wasn't herself at all, but she didn't have a real clear sense of her own identity anymore. She used to know, but having her trust and heart broken by two different men on the same day had knocked her belief in herself and her world out of whack.
"The day isn't over yet," Claire said and pointed the pestle at the small engraved envelope on the table. "The Hillards are having a party. The invitation says they want everyone involved in the recovery of their painting to come."
"I can't go." Just the thought of seeing Joe made her stomach feel all fluttery, like she'd swallowed that mystical monarch from her mother's garden.
"You can't hide out here forever."
"I'm not hiding out."
"You're avoiding your life."
Of course she was avoiding her life. Her life was like a black hole, stretching ahead of her and filled with nothing. She'd meditated and tried to visualize her life without Joe, but she couldn't. She'd always been so decisive in her unconstrained life. If something wasn't working, she turned and headed in a new direction. But for the first time, everywhere she turned seemed worse than where she stood.
"You have closure issues."
Gabrielle picked up a sprig of mint and twirled it between her fingers.
"Maybe you should write Kevin a letter. Then you should think about going to the Hillards' party. You need to confront the men who've hurt you so much and made you so angry."
"I'm not all that angry."
Claire simply stared.
"Okay, I'm a little angry."
She'd dismissed the idea of writing to Kevin out of hand, but maybe her mother was right. Maybe she should confront him so she could move on. But not Joe. She wasn't ready to see Joe, to look into his familiar brown eyes and see nothing looking back at her.
When she'd come to stay with her grandfather a month ago, she and her mother and Aunt Yolanda had talked about Kevin, but mostly she'd talked about her feelings for Joe. She hadn't mentioned that Joe was her yang, though, nor did she intend to. Her mother knew anyway.
Her mother believed that soul mates and fate were intertwined, inseparable. Gabrielle wanted to believe her mother was wrong. Claire had coped with the loss of her husband by changing her life completely. Gabrielle didn't want to change her life. She wanted her old life back, or at least as much as possible.
But maybe her mother was right about one thing. Maybe it was time to go home. Time for closure. Time to pick up the pieces and live her life again.
Joe plugged the tape into the VCR and pushed play. The whir and click of gears filled the silent interrogation room as he leaned his behind against a table and folded his arms across his chest. The film flickered and jumped, then Gabrielle's face filled the television screen.