Chapter 12 - No FlowersNathaniel left Newport that evening without asking Clare to dinner.
He didn't send flowers.
He didn't call.
He didn't text Margaret asking what Clare had said about him.
Nothing happened.
And Clare found herself strangely annoyed by that.
“You’re irritated because he respected your boundaries?”
Maya asked three days later.
Clare nearly dropped her coffee.
“I am not irritated.”
“You've checked the parking lot seven times today.”
“I check the parking lot constantly.”
“You've worked here for eighteen months. I've never seen you check the parking lot.”
Clare pointed toward the front desk.
“Don't you have insurance forms to destroy?”
Maya grinned.
“Deflection.”
Clare walked away.
That afternoon, another surprise arrived.
Not flowers.
A refrigeration unit.
The clinic’s medication refrigerator had been failing for months. Clare had applied for three grants to replace it.
The new unit was commercial-grade and expensive.
Clare stared at the delivery paperwork.
Donor:
Anonymous.
She immediately called Margaret.
“Did you buy my clinic a refrigerator?”
Margaret sounded offended.
“Darling, if I were buying something anonymously, I wouldn't use a company whose chairman attended my seventieth birthday.”
Clare closed her eyes.
“Nathaniel.”
“Possibly.”
“Margaret.”
“All right. Yes.”
Clare hung up.
Five minutes later, she found Nathaniel’s number.
She had never deleted it.
She stared at the contact.
NATE.
Eleven years compressed into four letters.
She called.
He answered after one ring.
“Clare?”
“Take it back.”
Silence.
Then:
“The refrigerator?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Nathaniel.”
“The clinic needs it.”
“That isn't the point.”
“What is the point?”
“You cannot buy your way into my life.”
His answer came immediately.
“I know.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because you lost six thousand dollars in temperature-sensitive vaccines last month.”
Clare froze.
“How do you know that?”
“Your clinic publishes quarterly financial reports.”
“You read our financial reports?”
“I fund rural medical facilities, Clare. I read dozens.”
She wasn't sure whether she believed him.
Nathaniel continued.
“The refrigerator wasn't for you.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It was for children who need vaccines.”
Clare rubbed her forehead.
“You could have asked.”
“You would have said no.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
Despite herself, Clare almost laughed.
She caught it.
“This doesn't become a habit.”
“It won't.”
“No anonymous donations.”
“Understood.”
“No showing up without warning.”
“Understood.”
“And don't use Margaret as an intelligence network.”
Nathaniel paused.
“That one might be difficult.”
“Nathaniel.”
“I’m kidding.”
Clare went silent.
He had changed.
But apparently not completely.
“Thank you,” she finally said.
His breathing changed subtly.
“For the refrigerator?”
“Yes.”
“You’re welcome.”
Neither hung up.
Seconds passed.
Clare could hear wind on his end of the call.
“Where are you?”
“Outside Rochester.”
“At one of the centers?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing?”
Nathaniel looked across the construction site.
“Trying to convince an electrician that I understand electrical wiring.”
“You don't.”
“I’m discovering that.”
Clare smiled.
“Don't electrocute yourself.”
“I'll do my best.”
Another silence.
Then Nathaniel said something that tightened her chest.
“Thank you for calling.”
Clare stared through the clinic window toward the harbor.
“Goodbye, Nate.”
“Goodbye, Clare.”
She ended the call.
Nathaniel remained standing beside his truck for almost a minute afterward.
He looked at the dark phone screen.
Two years.
May you like
That was the first time she had called him.
And for once, Nathaniel understood that the smallest things could mean more than grand gestures.
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