want to protect her. But all he could do now was listen.
“They were very good to me. I loved it, and I was very happy.”
“Then why did you leave?” There was so much to learn about her. And he wanted to know so much more about her.
“I had to leave. I did a terrible thing, and they couldn't let me stay.” In the past year, she had come to accept that, although she knew she would never be able to forgive herself completely.
“How terrible could it have been?” he said lightly. “What did you do? Steal another nun's habit?”
“A man died because of me. I cost him his life. It's something I will have to live with. Always.”
He didn't know what to say to her for a moment. “Was it an accident?” It must have been. She would never have killed anyone. As little as he knew her, he knew she couldn't. But she was looking long and hard at him, wondering just how much she could trust him. And for some odd reason, she knew she could trust him completely. She could feel it in him, and see it in his eyes as he watched her.
“He committed suicide because of me. He was a priest, and we were in love with each other. I was having his baby.” Peter looked at her in silent amazement. She had been to hell and back, and then some.
“How long ago was that?” Although he was not sure it really mattered.
“A year ago. Eleven months, actually. I don't know how it happened. I'd never looked at a man before. I don't think either of us understood what we were doing, until too late. It went on for three months. We were going to leave together. But he couldn't. He couldn't leave. It was the only life he'd ever known, and he had his own demons to live with. He couldn't bring himself to leave, and he couldn't leave me. So he killed himself, and left me a letter to explain it.”
“And the baby?” he asked, holding her hand tightly in his own, and desperately wanting to put his arms around her.
“I lost it.” It was all a blur now, a surrealistic impression of tragedy that always made her heart feel as though someone had just squeezed it. “It was last September.”
“And now this. This hasn't been much of a year for you, Gabbie, has it?” It hadn't been much of a life for her before that either, parents who beat her, abandoned her in a convent, and a man who committed suicide rather than stand by her and her baby. It was a lot to live with. He was amazed that she had survived it.
“This was different,” she said about Steve. “In a funny way, it was more straightforward. I felt used by him, and betrayed, and it hurt terribly when I first found out, but I don't think I ever really loved him. I was just in a very awkward situation. Looking back, I realize he set me up right from the beginning.”
“You were easy prey for him,” Peter said sensibly, looking at her, appreciating who she was and what she had been through. “I hope he gets a hell of a long sentence.” He was relieved to know that the police seemed to think that was more than likely. “What are you going to do now?” he asked her, thinking about her.
“I don't know… write… work… start over… be smarter… I had a lot to learn when I came out of the convent. I had never been out in the world before, it's such an unreal life in there, so sheltered and protected. I think that's what frightened Joe. He didn't know how to survive without that.” But as far as Peter was concerned, suicide was not an option. Joe had left her alone to face the music herself, and be blamed for his death. It was only a solution for a weak, selfish man, and Peter didn't admire him for it, though he said nothing to Gabbie.
“You need time to heal,” he said quietly, “not just from this. But from all of it. You've already been through ten lifetimes,” and none of them had been easy.
“Writing does that for me. It's been wonderful for me. The professor I told you about really helped me, he opened doors for me I never knew were there, into my heart and my mind, into the places I need to speak from, especially for