Read Long Ride Home for Free Online

young woman quietly return to her seat behind the computer. 
    They worked for the next two hours, both occupied in their own projects. Every now and then, she would glance at him, but he barely noticed, engrossed in his careful transcription. The soughing of the air-conditioner provided background noise to the turning paper, the scratching of his pencil, and the quiet click of the young woman’s keyboard as she typed. 
    Shortly before nine o’clock, she closed her books and walked to his table. He looked up at her, dazed from concentration. He saw her take note of his precise transcription of the characters. They were a near exact copy of the original, down to the thickness of the brush strokes he recreated with the tip of his pencil, over and over again. 
    “Dr. Vecchio, I have to ask for the manuscript now. The reading room is closing in fifteen minutes.” 
    He blinked. “Oh… yes, if I could finish this last character set?”
    “Of course.” She waited for him, and Giovanni smiled politely as he closed the manuscript, repacked it, and put the lid on the box. 
    The girl took the book back to the locked stacks to put it away in the dim room where it was housed. As she locked up the stacks room, she turned back to see Giovanni putting his pencils and notes away in his leather messenger bag. 
    “Well—”
    “Why don’t you like the name Beatrice?” he asked, looking down as he fastened the brass buckle of his bag. 
    “Excuse me?”
    He looked up at her, dark hair falling into his eyes again. 
    “It’s a lovely name. Why do you prefer to be called by your initial?”
    “It’s… old. My name—it sounds like an old woman to me.” 
    He smiled enigmatically. “Yet, you work around old things all the time.” 
    “I guess I do.”
    He leaned his hip against the sturdy wooden table. 
    “She was Dante’s muse, you know.” 
    “Of course I know. That’s why I have the stupid name to begin with. My dad was a Dante scholar.” Beatrice looked down to straighten her own papers on the desk. “Kind of a fanatic, really.” 
    He cocked his head and studied her. “Oh? Does he teach here?”
    She paused and shook her head. “No, he died ten years ago. In Italy.” 
    His eyes darted back to the table, and he pulled the strap of his bag over his head as some faint memory tickled the back of his mind. 
    “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. Forgive my curiosity.” 
    She frowned. “I’m not going to start weeping or anything, if you’re worried about that. It was a long time ago.” 
    “Nevertheless, I apologize. Good evening, Beatrice.” He exited the room, taking care to make as little noise as possible as he slipped down the dark hallway. 
    He entered the musty stairwell, taking a deep breath of the humid air to gauge who else was present. Satisfied he was alone, he rapidly descended to the first floor and made his way through the still crowded student-study area. As he approached the glass entrance, he caught a glimpse of Beatrice in the dark reflection as she stood near the elevator in the lobby, her mouth gaping as she stared at him. Not turning for even a moment, he pushed his way into the dark night and strolled toward the parking lot adjacent to the library. 
    When he reached it, he saw the slight flare of the cigarette as Caspar leaned against the black Mercedes sedan. 
    “A good evening, Gio?”
    Giovanni frowned at his old friend, flicking the cigarette out of Caspar’s mouth as he approached the door. He stood in front of the man, looking down on him as he spoke. 
    “I don’t like the cigarettes. I thought you had given them up.” 
    Caspar looked up with a mischievous grin. “If I’m only living for eighty years or so, I’m going to enjoy them.” 
    Giovanni opened his mouth as if to say something but then shook his head and slid into the dark interior of the late-model sedan. Reaching into his messenger bag, he slid on a pair of leather gloves and crossed his arms