CH 91 Words

"No," Bonnie protested. "That's not possible!"

"I know," Gabby said. "Incredible, right? Dr. Cummings had to show me the resignation letter before I'd believe it. One month's notice." She shook her head. "Cummings can't get over it."

"But why? What reason did he give?"

"The usual: he's taking another job. At the Winterbourne Museum. You know the place? Just outside Baltimore?"

The Winterbourne Museum… Bear had a friend there. "Piers Vanderhoven. He's Chief Curator."

"You know him?"

"Not personally. I attended one of his lectures." And she'd been introduced to him some weeks before when he'd stopped by Bear's office. She remembered his friendly smile, his large, bony hand…

"Well, by all accounts, he and Baer go way back — he was Baer's thesis advisor or some such thing. Anyway, the Winterbourne's Head of Conservation's retiring effective the end of December, and Vanderhoven's been after Baer — for months, apparently — to take the position. Cummings knew, he said, but he never in a million years expected anything to come of it."

"How'd he find out?"

"Oh, Vanderhoven didn't try to hide it. In fact, he joked with Cummings at the gala about trying — and failing — to lure Baer away."

"So, Bear turned him down."

"That night he did. Obviously, though, Vanderhoven didn't give up, and here we are. God!" Gabby scrubbed a hand over her face. "I need a drink."

"But," Bonnie persisted, "none of this makes sense! Why would Bear have changed his mind?"

"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? And the real reason Cummings asked to see me, I think. Not that the promotion isn't for real, but mainly he was hoping I had some clue, that I'd picked up on some tension or bad feelings in the workroom, some internal issue he could deal with and resolve." She puffed out a sigh. "Damn. I feel sorry for the guy. Everybody knows he was grooming Baer to take over when he retired, and now this."

"Are you positive Bear knows?" Bonnie's voice was small, as befitted such a pie-in-the-sky question.

"If he didn't know before, he does now. Cummings spelled it out for him, even offered him a raise in pay; still no dice. Baer wants out."

Kiki Ghebo, one of the Friday Night Regulars, came over to join them, and, with a questioning glance at Bonnie, bent solicitously over Gabby. "Hey, Gabs," she said softly, laying a hand on Gabby's shoulder. "You okay? What's going on?"

Gabby launched into the news again, and, at Kiki's exclamation, heads bobbed up and swiveled across the workroom. More people wandered over, and before long, Gabby was surrounded by a crowd, the late arrivals pressing in from the edges to better catch her words. Bonnie made way for them, fading ever further back until she was free of the crush and commotion. The buzz of voices followed her as she retreated ever further, but all that looped through her mind was There's been some mistake, there has to be. She crossed silently to the door, and, unobserved, slipped out.

Bear's office door was open; he was at his desk, drumming a pencil against its surface while he frowned at an x-ray image on his screen. Bonnie's heart was beating a tattoo as well, and, when he looked up at her knock, she didn't wait to be acknowledged, but burst out, "Is it true?"

He dropped his gaze, set his pencil down, and when he raised his eyes again, said calmly, "Could you be more specific?"

Bonnie could have screamed. "Are you leaving the Jeff? Did you quit?"

"Ah. That didn't waste any time making the rounds. How'd it get out?"

What does that matter? Bonnie wanted to shout, but she answered shortly, "Gabby. Is it true?"

He stiffened at her tone, but then, relenting, motioned her to a seat. When she'd dropped into a chair, he said, "Yes, it's true. I've been offered the job of Head Conservator at the Winterbourne Museum, and I've decided to accept."

Bonnie gave her head a helpless shake. "But why? It doesn't make sense, not on any level. The Winterbourne's an excellent museum, but it's small and highly specialized, not in the same class as the Jeff by a long shot. And their conservation department's a fraction of the operation here. They probably have fewer conservators, total, than we have in the painting division alone."

"That's about right," he allowed neutrally, "but there's something to be said for heading up an organization, being in charge."

"But you can have that right here at the Jeff! You have to know Dr. Cummings plans to hand you the reins when he retires."

"Which won't be for several years yet. Charles is still at the top of his game, and I'm not going to breathe down his neck. Besides, it's not like I'm burning my bridges. If he still wants me for the job down the road, we can always revisit the matter."

"But, if that's really how you feel, why didn't you take the job back in September when Vanderhoven first approached you? He came to the gala especially to recruit you, didn't he? And you turned him down flat."

Surprise flickered in Bear's eyes, but he recovered quickly and affected a shrug. "The idea grew on me over time. Piers… well, let's just say it's not in his nature to admit defeat. He kept sweetening the pot: another bump in salary, more vacation time, paid moving expenses…"

"What?" Bonnie jumped forward in her seat. "You're moving? You can't move!"

Bear eyed her from under lowered brows, a muscle leaping in his jaw. It cost him a visible effort, but after a moment, he said in a careful voice, "I can hardly commute to Baltimore every day, not when it's anywhere from one to two hours each way, depending on traffic."

"I see that, but… what about Danny?"

"What about him?"

"He's in school here. He has his friends, his routine."

"I admit it's not ideal, changing schools halfway through the year, but he's young. He'll adjust, make new friends. There's a great private boys' school not far from…"

"No!" The word broke from her, too forceful, but still she carried on, "You can't mean it! He's in a great place right now. He's happy. Thriving. He loves his teacher, his classmates, and he's got the best after-school care you could ever hope to find." She breathed in sharply. "Oh, my God! Luc and Caro, do they know?"

"Not yet, but it'll be all right. We'll still get the boys together…"

"When? On weekends? After they've gotten used to spending nearly every day together? Danny and Luc are each other's best friends. They'll be miserable apart. And Caro! She loves Danny like a son!"

This outburst was met with an ominous silence and a hard-eyed stare. "Are you seriously implying right now," he bit out, "that I don't know — or what's worse — don't care about my own son's best interests? My son? Is that what you're saying?"

"No! Of course not! I would never…!"

"No? Because, I have to tell you, that's exactly what I'm hearing. And, what's more, in your infinite wisdom, you don't seem to think I can be trusted to know what is, and isn't, to my own professional advantage. Do you have any idea, any conception at all, how presumptuous it is for you, an intern, to come in here and question my decision, as if I'm too lamebrained to weigh the pros and cons for myself?"

"No! I…" Bonnie felt her cheeks go cold, her heart race in her chest. She'd seen Bear in a range of black moods before — bitter, sour, disgruntled, annoyed — but she realized looking into his livid face that she'd never seen him furious. "I never meant… It's just… I'm trying to understand…"

"And you feel entitled to an explanation, do you? I have to meekly submit to being grilled and justifying my choices? Why is that, can you tell me? What gives you the right?" When, too shocked for words, Bonnie didn't answer, he went on, "Gabby spread the news, you say, but do you see her in here giving me the third degree? Do you see anyone in the workroom, for that matter, taking it upon themselves to stroll in here and demand answers? No. And do you know why? Because they all know where the lines are drawn, and, unlike you, they don't cross them!"

If he'd struck her a physical blow, Bonnie could not have been more stunned. The little blood remaining in her face drained away, leaving her chilled to the bone and dizzy. Bear, seeing her blanch, shot to his feet, and, pacing a few steps away, turned his back to her and buried the fingers of one hand in his hair. He remained in this attitude a long minute, unmoving but for the heaving of his chest, while Bonnie sat, equally frozen, trying — with only bare success — to breathe. At length, he lowered his arm, and, turning back to her, said heavily, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown up like that." He resumed his seat, his movements slow, defeated. "It's my fault. I never had any intention of being honest with you. I'd've done better, turns out, to tell you straight out that my reasons were none of your business, but, ironically, I didn't want to be rude."

Bonnie held herself very still, waiting for the rest of the apology, for Bear to take back his cutting words, to assure her that, of course, he hadn't really meant that she was arrogant and pushy; it had been the fury talking. She took heart from his hangdog expression, but what he said was, "I tried to discourage you, to signal you were going too far, stepping out on thin ice, but you wouldn't get the message, and the frustration just kept building 'til I snapped. I regret it more than I can say. I'd give anything to turn the clock back and do things over."

But time flowed in only one direction, and the damage was done, irreversible. Bonnie saw with sudden clarity what was obvious in retrospect: Bear's professional reasons had always been pure crap. They'd never been meant to convince but only to serve notice that his true reason was personal and, as such, not fodder for discussion. He might as well have been flashing a giant PRIVATE DO NOT ENTER sign, but she'd been too blindly intent on her own goal to see. Dr. Cummings, now, he'd caught on at once. He'd put feelers out to check for possible friction or dysfunction in the workroom. Inevitably, Bonnie's thoughts scrolled back over the preceding few weeks, over Bear's puzzling withdrawal, his confining himself religiously to work-related matters, his walling her off from Danny… Lines he'd kept drawing for her, lines she hadn't blithely ignored so much as consistently challenged. She squeezed her eyes shut against a swift stab of pain and then, though her lips trembled, forced out, "You're leaving because of me?"

He regarded her with infinite regret. "I can't work with you, Bonnie. Again, it's my fault, not yours. I know it's an awful cliché," he said, when she made an impatient noise, "but that doesn't make it less true. I'm the one who's to blame. I can't be who you want me to be. It shouldn't be beyond my power — you're not asking for the moon, not for any more than you deserve." He briefly cut his eyes away, then continued, "I even thought, for a while, I had it in me — you saw that, I think — but I don't, Bonnie. I just don't. I wish to God I did."

Tears brimmed in Bonnie's eyes, spilled over. She swiped at them with shaky fingers. "So…" Bitterness rose in her throat, adding an edge to her voice. "You don't have my open heart, is that it?"

Bear frowned in confusion. "I don't know that I'd put it like that, but, yes, you do have an incredibly big heart. You take everyone as they come, see the best in them, trust their good intentions." He shook his head. "You amaze me. I'm so different from you, so closed-off and suspicious, we could be polar opposites. I don't know if it's the way I was raised, or just how I'm wired, but I can't let people in like you do, and I don't know that I'm ever going to change."

Bonnie swallowed hard, and nodded. He wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know. Hadn't she despaired at times of his ever lowering his defenses and running up the white flag? Hadn't she had moments so low she'd had to pump herself up and redouble her commitment to being steadfast and patient? She'd persisted in the absence of all encouragement, which made her, at best, a hopeless romantic and at worst, a delusional fool. "I can change," she choked out, the words little more than whisper. "My behavior, I mean. Now that I know…" She was obliged to break off, blink back tears. "I won't presume again. You don't have to resign."

But Bear shook his head. "It's for the best. Things between us were already awkward, but now… I just don't see how we come back from this. We could try to put a good face on it, pretend this never happened, but we'll be walking on eggshells from here on out, and that's a strain that'll tell on us in time, never mind the effect on the workroom. As it is, it'll be painful enough just getting through December, but I expect we can tough it out and be professional that long." He looked at her, his expression more appeal than question. Bonnie bowed her head and nodded.

"We can stay mostly out of each other's way," he offered. "You could get a start on those videos Cummings wants for La Coupe d'amour's return, or I can assign you to the Conservation Station. Kato can use an extra pair of hands on that huge painted scroll. You could report to him tomorrow."

Bonnie nodded again. "But not tomorrow," she said hoarsely. "I… I'm going to need a day."

"Right. Of course. Wednesday, then. And I still have vacation time owed me. I can take off the last two weeks."

At that, a little sob escaped her. She pressed a hand to her mouth, and averted her face, desperately wishing she were anywhere else. The silence from across the desk was total, deafening, and, as it stretched, Bonnie's throat grew tight to bursting with the swell of unshed tears. Then, mercifully, "I'll give you a minute," Bear said, and, rising, slipped quietly from the room. When the door clicked shut behind him, she buried her head in her arms and wept.