Twenty-Six

VALERIA

Seeing him seated there in his office, all cultured and refined looking, dressed in a spiffy suit, it was hard to reconcile him with the man who had gone ballistic at the hospital yesterday. There was no anger in his eyes now, but I had detected more than just a little frostiness when they fell on me this morning.

Dimitri pointed to a spot on the right of his desk.

"Just drop the documents there," he said.

His tone was brisk and cold, the way his manner had been to me this morning. I did as he asked. I dropped the files on the spot he had indicated. I did this slowly, hoping he would at least look up at me, willing him to say something about yesterday. But he just kept staring at his computer with fixed concentration. I started to leave, but stopped. Guilt at what I had said to him yesterday kept twisting my insides.

"I wanted to talk about yesterday," I said.

Slowly, reluctantly, he dragged his eyes away from the screen of his computer and fixed them on me. "I'm sorry about