whole person, and a very strong one. Despite all her efforts to destroy her, her mother had never been able to kill her spirit. And he said as much to Gabriella as they walked home to Mrs. Boslicki's.
“That's why she hated me so much,” Gabriella said, walking tall next to him. She was proud of what she had done for the child in Baum's Restaurant. It had cost her her job, but to Gabriella, it was worth it. “I always knew she wanted to kill me.”
“That's a terrible thing to say about one's mother, but I believe you.” And then, with a worried frown, “Where is she now?”
“I have no idea. I suppose San Francisco. I never heard from her again after she left me.”
“That's just as well. You should never contact her again. She's caused you enough pain for one lifetime.” And he could understand even less the father who had never stopped it. They sounded like animals, worse than that, to Professor Thomas.
They walked into the boardinghouse together, hand in hand, and Mrs. Rosenstein saw them as soon as they walked in. She knew it was too early for Gabriella to come home, and she looked instantly worried. She thought maybe something had happened to him, and Gabriella had brought him home, but it was Gabriella who had had the problem.
“Are you all right?” she asked both of them with anxious eyes, and they both nodded.
“I just got fired,” Gabriella said calmly. She wasn't shaking anymore. She was strangely calm, and Professor Thomas went to his room to pour both of them a brandy.
“How did that happen?” Mrs. Rosenstein asked, as he returned with a small glass for her too, but she declined it, and he volunteered to drink it for her. “I thought everything was going so well for you there.”
“It was.” Gabriella smiled, feeling suddenly very free and very powerful, as she took a sip of the brandy. It burned her tongue and her eyes and her nose, but after it had burned her throat as well she decided that she liked it. “Everything was going fine, until I shot my mouth off, and threatened to slap one of their customers tonight.” Gabriella suddenly smiled, it almost sounded funny to her, except she and the professor knew that it wasn't.
“Did someone get fresh with you?” She imagined it was a man, and she was outraged that someone would do that to Gabriella.
“I'll explain it to you later,” the professor said, as he downed the second shot glass, just as Mrs. Boslicki appeared, having heard the stir in her hallway.
“What's happening? Are you having a party out here, and did you forget to invite me?”
“We're celebrating,” Gabriella said, laughing. She was beginning to feel a little tipsy, and she didn't mind it. It had been a hard night for her, full of ugly memories, but she had come through it feeling stronger.
“What are you celebrating?” Mrs. Boslicki asked happily, anxious to share it.
“I just lost my job,” Gabriella said, and then giggled.
“Is she drunk?” she asked, with an accusing look at the professor.
“Believe me, she's earned it,” he said, and then remembered that they had real cause for celebration. It was why he had gone to the restaurant to see her. And looking at Gabriella, he pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. It had only taken two weeks. He had thought it would take much longer. “If you're not too drunk,” he said to Gabriella lovingly, “read that.”
She opened the envelope, and then the letter carefully, with the exaggerated gestures of someone who'd been drinking a little. She had never before tasted brandy, but it had actually calmed her, as well as warmed her. But as she read the letter he handed to her, her eyes grew wide, and she was instantly sober. “Oh my God… oh my God! I don't believe this. How did you do it?” She turned to him with a look of amazement and then started jumping up and down like a child, holding the letter.
“What is it?” Mrs. Boslicki asked. They were all crazy tonight. Maybe they'd been drinking for a long time in the hallway. “Did she win the Irish Sweepstakes?”
“Better than that,” Gabriella said, throwing her arms around her, Mrs. Rosenstein, and then finally the professor.
He had sent her most recent story to The New Yorker without telling her, and they had agreed to publish it, in their March issue. They were informing her