The Gift Ch. 06-10

Chris seemed to be a few years younger than Elijah, and Luciana wasn't stupid to think he had been sitting around without having a relationship all these years. But the revelation that he had been married affected her more than she would care to admit. From what she had seen of him, he seemed like a kind, caring man. What could have caused the marriage to end?

"Oh," she responded, finding nothing better to say. "You know about it?"

"Everyone knows about it. We saw her moving out."

"Perhaps, she didn't like his long hair," she said. Elijah laughed, nodding.

"That's one explanation, yes. Although only Chris knows what exactly happened."

"He seems like a nice man," she observed. "Everyone at the hospital adores him."

She looked at his face. "He hasn't returned home in two nights," she informed him. "Before he left he mentioned the police being at the hospital. He looked worried."

"How do you know that?"

"He was with me at the time," she admitted quietly. "We were talking."

"Really?" he smirked. "Well, he does seem to like you."

"What makes you think so?" she looked surprised. A hoarse laugh rumbled in Elijah's throat.

"He's a man and you're an attractive woman. We don't have anyone like you around here," he said. "Besides, I can read people a little too well. Don't forget that I started my career as a detective."

When she didn't respond to that, he put a gentle arm around her. "You've been looking out for him, haven't you?" he asked. "You've saved his mail that was mistakenly delivered to my house. You know when he is home and when he isn't. You worry when you don't get to see him."

"I'm not worried," she shrugged. "I'm wondering what could have been wrong at the hospital."

"Probably a serious patient," he said, rising from the couch. "What else could it be?"

"Why are you asking me?" she threw her hands up. "I don't even know him well enough."

"Not yet," he winked at her. "But you will."

---

When Luciana awoke the next morning, she was just in time to see Chris driving in. He was in the same shirt that he had on when she last saw him, his hair pulled back in a small bun. He looked pensive as he got out of the car and let himself into the house, stopping only to untie his boots. When the door had shut, Luciana checked the time on her bedside clock.

It was close to ten, although the sun was mild. The day was windy and cold, dry leaves scattered everywhere. She had heard Elijah raking the leaves from his lawn early that morning but had been too sleepy to go outside and lend a hand. Elijah didn't expect it but Luciana was coming to realize that she needed to busy herself if she wanted to overcome her loss.

After brushing her teeth, and her hair -- the first time in many days -- she changed into a fresh set of clothes and grabbed the mail that belonged to Chris. She had no idea why the mailman had decided to put his mail in Elijah's mailbox, but she found it more responsible to hand them to him instead of leaving them in the mailbox. He did work long hours and couldn't be blamed for forgetting to check his mail.

She slipped into her boots and opened the front door, the air as crisp and sweet as the apples in the orchard she used to pass on her way to school. Although rain wasn't in the forecast, the grey clouds floating by looked ominous. On her way to the house next door, Luciana stepped on every crunchy dry leaf, savoring the sensation, knowing they would be a soggy mess after rain.

Even though she had visited Elijah a lot of times, she had never observed Chris's house. Today, she did. It was a modest craftsman bungalow, full of charm and appeal and plenty of subtle details lending it great character. There were dark-painted French windows, a custom chimney shroud, and a narrow band of wall shingles every fifth course. For a cold-climate house, the bungalow was surprisingly open, with at least one French door on each side of the house. A tall oak tree grew right past the house, almost blending into the maple tree next to it.

She hesitantly pressed the doorbell and waited, debating if she should have just left the mail at the door. When he took a little too long to answer, she made up her mind and bent down to put the bunch of mail on the porch. But at that very moment, the door scraped open, and Luciana almost went red in the face from embarrassment.

Chris simply stared at her, as if he'd lost his voice. He was shirtless, one hand stopped midway through wiping his hair with the towel, while with the other hand he was holding on to the towel around his waist. Luciana looked away, trying her best to not stare at the bulging muscles of his smooth chest, the huge biceps, or the perfectly chiseled stomach. Chris seemed at a loss, unable to decide if he should keep standing there or just run back inside the house.

"Ehm..." she cleared her throat, "I'm sorry... I didn't know..."

"No, it's okay," he answered, finally allowing himself an awkward smile. "Give me a moment."

He disappeared inside the house, leaving Luciana to stand on his porch like a fool for the next two minutes. When he returned, he had pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, while still running his hand through his wet hair.

"I just came to give you the mail," she said, holding out the bunch of envelopes. "They were delivered to Elijah's house."

"Oh," he said fondly, accepting the mail. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

His voice was deeper than the Mariana trench. She used to think Matt and Elijah had deep voices, but Chris's voice was unlike than anything she had heard. It was rich and resonant, and the slight huskiness only added to the appeal of the baritone.

"Would you like to come in?" he asked, stepping aside to clear the doorway. Luciana wanted to refuse; she wasn't fit company and they had nothing to talk about. Besides, he had just returned home and would probably want to rest.

"I have to run the washer," she said instead. "I told Elijah I'd do the laundry today."

"That can wait," he smiled warmly. "Come in, please."

After hesitating for a second, Luciana finally stepped forward, crossing the threshold to enter the foyer. The door gently shut behind her, his tall shadow towering over her petite stature. The house was warm, nothing like the cold, windy day outside. Luciana waited for Chris to lead the way and so he did.

"Isn't it a beautiful day?" he asked, courteously motioning for her to have a seat. "Autumn is my favorite time of year. I feel like I can be a child again."

He laughed at his own words as he put the mail on the table. "Well, actually, my friends do think I'm a five-year-old sometimes," he said. "They say I'm hilarious and ridiculous and never grew up."

Luciana sat in the plush, brown couch, carefully positioned to get the maximum heat from the big, stone fireplace. The house was filled with the warmth of wood and stone, the foyer and the sitting room flowing into each other, with the kitchen and breakfast nook just beyond. She twisted her neck to find double doors that opened to the patio and the outdoor fireplace.

It looked like a house she'd have loved to design.

"I'm sorry, am I talking too much?" he asked, coming up to sit next to her. When Luciana shook her head, he smiled. "How have you been?"

All washed and wet, his hair looked straighter than it was. It skimmed his shoulders, beautiful golden blonde, thick and lustrous, unlike anything she'd ever seen on a man. She was tempted to ask if he had a hairstylist or if it was only genetics.

"Alright, I guess," she said with a shrug. "Getting used to the emptiness."

When he spoke again, his eyes were kind. "It takes time, I know," he sighed. "But nothing is permanent in life, so this too shall pass."

For the first time, Luciana noticed the lines on his forehead, deep and prominent. His face had a lot of character, including the mark right above his left eyebrow. It seemed like a mark from an injury he had sustained in the past. The softness of his eyes combined with the warmth of his voice made her want to cry. She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, willing the tears to go away. Chris must have noticed it because she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder a moment later.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't—"

"You didn't," she assured him. "I'm just an emotional wreck right now."

She gazed around the room, admiration flashing in her eyes. "I like your house," she said. "It's cozy."

"Thank you," he said, following her gaze to the top of the fireplace. "My mother designed it."

"Did she?"

"Oh yes. It baffles me because she used to be a medical assistant, but she has such a creative mind."

"I'm glad not all mothers are like that," she sighed, crossing her legs. "If they were, people like me would be jobless and broke."

"Trust me, not all mothers are like that," he chuckled. "Is yours?"

She swallowed slowly, her throat catching for some reason. Elijah often talked about their parents, but not in this way. He wasn't an emotional person. Luciana had never seen him cry. Matt never talked about it, because it didn't matter anymore. It had been a long time since someone asked her about her parents, and she wasn't sure how to respond.

"I wouldn't know even if she were," she admitted quietly. "I lost her when I was four."

Surprise slid on to his face and he looked remorseful for a moment. "I apologize," he said, looking away. "I didn't mean to bring it up."

"You didn't know," she shook her head. "What's going on with you? You haven't been home in two nights."

His face darkened. For a split second, Luciana thought she saw a tinge of anger in his eyes.

"I...I had a difficult situation at the hospital," he sighed. "It's been crazy."

"What's wrong?" she asked. "You mentioned the police."

He nodded. "They were there."

"Is everything alright?"

"You wouldn't want to know."

"I do," she asserted. "What happened?"

Chris looked at her face and swallowed hard, wondering where to begin.

---

Chapter 8

Chris no longer had any doubt that Luciana wasn't eating well. She did look skinny but when he had touched her shoulder, he'd felt her bones through the sweatshirt. It almost broke his heart.

Over the course of his career, he had successfully treated a multitude of creatures and species, but there were also many that he had failed to save. From injuries to diseases to birth defects, there were several reasons why they often couldn't save certain animals. But it would only affect him as a young veterinarian. After taking charge of the hospital and becoming the medical director, he had learned how to be stronger and not let emotions get in the way.

He couldn't for the life of him put a finger to the reason why Luciana affected him that way. Even as she sat on his couch and nursed the coffee he had made them, Chris noticed she wasn't drinking it. There was also a bag of Doritos right in front of her but she hadn't looked at it. Chris watched her from the kitchen, his gaze never leaving her face. She was evidently suffering from a depressive episode, but he knew he wouldn't be able to convince her to get help. He considered talking to Elijah about it, but he realized that he probably already knew about it and had been unsuccessful like him.

He picked up his coffee and walked back to the couch, where Luciana was still lost in thought. Chris took a moment to stare at her. In the last few days, he had stared at her a lot, but it was never enough. His eyes could never get their fill. He did not know what to call it. Attraction? Perhaps, but one that was laced with wonder and mystery.

He was used to being around women. Most of his staff were female, the young nurses tried to hit on him, and any single woman that came to the hospital with their pets tried their best to rouse his interest in them. But Luciana hadn't done any of that. She was distant and indifferent, and yet when she looked at him with those big, luminous and sad eyes, it made him want to reach over and hold her.

"How many cats did you say?" she spoke, breaking the silence in the room. Chris took a sip of his coffee and sat next to her.

"Almost 200," he said. "To be precise, 197."

He hadn't told her that there was also an equal number of dead cats, stored in freezers and refrigerators, and several feet of cat litter and feces. They were used to such incidents and it had still managed to make their stomachs turn. He didn't want to think what it would do to Luciana.

When she turned to look at him, her eyes burning with questions, he shook his head. "I'm not telling you any more than that," he said. "I don't want to scar you."

"I just lost my cat," she said. "What can be more scarring than that?"

"What these cats have faced doesn't compare to your cat's death," he reasoned, looking away when he remembered all that the cops had told them. "It almost made us sick."

She turned her face away, losing herself in thought again. Although she was still holding the coffee, it seemed like she was using it to merely warm her hands. Chris reached out and removed the mug from her hand, setting it on the table.

"I don't think you are going to drink it," he said when she looked surprised. "It's alright. I understand you've lost your appetite."

Luciana leaned back and sighed wistfully. "I'm sorry," she murmured, pulling up the sleeves of her sweatshirt. "I don't know what to do."

Chris was about to reply but his attention was drawn to the bruise on her arm. He frowned, reaching out to take her hand.

"What's that?" he asked, his eyes still on her arm. "How did it happen?"

"I fell down in the bathroom the other day," she admitted shyly. "My blood pressure dropped."

"Again?" he raised his eyebrows. "That's not a good sign. Did you see the doctor?"

She nodded. "I'm better now," she said, withdrawing her hand and pulling down the sleeve. "I know Elijah is worried about me. I hate to make him worried."

Chris turned himself towards her. His father had worked with animals all his life, and as a result, so had Chris and his brother. When their old dog Jenny died when they were kids, they had experienced the same loss, the same emptiness. He had seen his father cry for the first time. His mother, who could well be the most confident woman on the face of earth, hadn't eaten for two days. Chris and his brother had hidden in the basement, unable to bear the quietness in the house.

They had coped with the grief as a family. But Luciana was alone. Chris didn't know her life, but he could recognize loneliness from a mile off.

"If you would like to talk about anything," he offered. "You have a friend in me. Talking it out is often the best remedy for grief."

Luciana gave him a grateful glance, even as tears sprouted in her eyes. She quickly wiped an errant tear with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, before flicking her hair back. Chris drank the rest of his coffee, set the mug down on the table, and moved closer to her.

"Would you like to have another pet?" he asked gently. Luciana shook her head with conviction. "Why not?"

"Because it won't be Cleo," she replied brokenly. "Because no other pet would be Cleo. It will have a different personality, different quirks and abilities."

When she trailed off, her lips were trembling. She pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to stop the trembling, but the tears made their way down her cheeks all the same.

"I'm also afraid," she continued. "Afraid that the next pet will be a constant reminder of what happened to Cleo. I'm always going to live in the fear that something awful might happen to the new pet too."

She squeezed her eyes shut, the tears raining down her face and drenching the front of her sweatshirt. Chris placed a hand on her knee, giving her time to gather herself.

"I don't want to live in fear of that day in the future when I'd have to go through this hurt again," she sobbed. "Don't want to take that risk."

Chris nodded, taking in every word she said. He then handed her a tissue, and fetched her a glass of water. When she had finished all the water and calmed down, he smiled wistfully.

"Do you know the funny thing about life?" he said, glancing briefly at her. "No matter how much we try, we can never protect us or anyone else from a single moment of hurt or grief. We don't get to choose if we're going to get hurt in life. We're humans, we're vulnerable and we will experience pain and hurt."

Luciana remained silent while he spoke, as if trying to process the words. Chris filled her another glass of water and she drank it all up again. He realized the crying was dehydrating her.

"I've never lost someone I loved," she finally said, moving her hair out of her face. "It was too sudden."

"Didn't you say you lost your mother when you were four?" he asked.

"Both my parents," she clarified. "And five of my siblings."

Chris's mouth dropped open in an inaudible gasp. Luciana briefly glanced at him with her puffy eyes and nodded.

"I don't remember it anymore, though," she added. "Elijah does."

"What happened, if I may ask?"

"Fire. Our house burned down in a fire."

She said it so flatly, it seemed not hers but someone else's story. Chris felt his throat catch at the revelation. What would it be like to lose almost your entire family to a fire as a four-year-old? He didn't know, didn't want to know.

"How did it happen?" he asked cautiously. Luciana shrugged.

"I don't know. Everyone said it was faulty wiring or something. Elijah was 14 then. He managed to climb out of the window with me. The others didn't make it."

"Oh...my god." Chris remained quiet for the next few minutes, simply staring at the floor and playing her words in his head. He couldn't bring himself to imagine how terrible it must have been for Elijah or Luciana, growing up on their own without a family. It was also probably the reason why Elijah was so tough.

"You don't remember it anymore, right?" he asked, crossing his legs and leaning against the armrest. Luciana nodded.

"Not vividly at least," she said. "It's been too long."

"One day, not too far away, your current loss will also be a distant memory," he told her. "Even if you remember it, you won't be saddened by it anymore."

"I can never forget Cleo," she protested. "She was my world, my life."

Chris nodded in understanding, choosing to remain quiet as Luciana tried to collect herself. Outside, the sun was playing hide and seek with the clouds, the dry leaves rustling as the wind picked up. He picked up the coffee mugs and went back to the kitchen, draining Luciana's coffee in the sink.

"You should have listened to me when I said I don't want it," she spoke firmly, making him chuckle.

"It's alright," he replied as he washed the mugs. "It's just coffee."

"You made it in that beautiful coffee maker," she pointed out.

"It's still just coffee." He turned around to find her looking at him. He gave her a smile, even though he didn't get one in return.

"What's going to happen to the cats and kittens?" she suddenly asked. Chris realized she had been thinking about it the whole time.

"When they get better," he replied, coming over to stand behind her against the couch. "We are going to send them to rescue shelters. Later, they will hopefully be adopted by loving families. We are sending the word out on social media. The police is doing their part too."

"Who's paying for it?"

"The rescue shelter that conducted the raid are paying part of it. The rest is being taken care of by the hospital. We have started to receive contributions from people who have learned about it."

"How much does it cost to treat 200 cats?" she wondered aloud.

"Well, the combined cost of vaccines, flea shots, and medications for each cat is around $300. And we're not even talking about the food and litter costs, the incubator and the NICU, and the spaying and neutering of each of them, besides other conditions that we might have to treat as and when they arise."