As though he can sense my hesitation, he inches closer. “We can talk about the rest after the meeting,” he says and steps aside, indicating for me to walk ahead of him.
I realize now that I have never seen him lead the way or walk through a door first. He is always the last through. Is this just his manners or something else? I tuck this question away for now and focus only on my own steps, the battalion of lawyers waiting for me and, above all, some answers. The lights flicker one last time as we cross the library threshold.
Chapter Twenty-Five
For Sale
The law firm’s receptionist, a beautiful woman who looks like Adriana Lima, blooms and flutters and melts and smiles the moment she sees Aiden. I think even her tongue is wagging a little. It’s not until the clearing of his throat that she comes back to earth and leads us to a large conference room, her hips swaying a little more than natural movement allows.
Six lawyers stand up in unison the moment Aiden enters. They’re all in suits and I’m sure they’re quite wealthy in their own right. Yet, by the way they simper at the sight of him, he owns them. Aiden keeps his customary physical distance even when they shake hands. He introduces me as “Elisa Snow, a friend”.
I memorize the lawyers’ names, especially the oldest, Bob Norman, who is the chair of the firm’s immigration law department. He has a Santa Claus belly and fluffy white hair, and is about seventy years old. His smart gray eyes twinkle in his gentle face. The others seem to be regular suits, probably surprised to be called into this urgent meeting only to face a young woman instead of an army of immigration police.
Aiden leads me to the wall side of the enormous, black marble table, and we all take our seats. Another pattern chooses this moment to fall into place. I’ve never seen him sit with his back exposed. Not even in his home. Hmm… I file this observation under the ever-expanding Aiden Hale file for later.
“So, Elisa,” Bob starts with an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, and I can see if we can help.”
“Thank you, Bob. And thank you to the rest of you,” I say, grateful that my voice is calm and betrays nothing of the jungle inside.
I tell the lawyers everything. The hundreds of forms, the tens of applications, the three visa types, even my illegal modeling at Feign Art. They scribble furiously, Bob nodding most of the time, his eyes wide. In the end, there is a very long pause. I look at each of their faces as they stare at the download of information on their notepads. Finally, Bob speaks.
“My dear girl! You’ve really done your best, haven’t you?”
I don’t know why my throat tightens all of a sudden. Perhaps it’s his twinkly eyes, his wheezy voice that reminds me of Grandpa Snow or his kind words. Whatever the reason, I cannot talk without my voice shaking so I simply nod and doodle atomic orbits on my notepad.
“So that leaves one mystery,” Bob probes gently. “Surely if you know enough to have done all this, I suspect you know the only options left.”
“I think so, but you’re the experts.”
Aiden speaks for the first time. “I insisted, Bob. I don’t know the options and I’d like to be thoroughly briefed on all alternatives.”
Bob nods again. “Well, in a nutshell, she’s in a real bind. She came here on an exchange student visa, which makes sense because she was partially funded by Oxford, but it deprives her of some avenues open to other students. So now she only has some temporary options and three permanent options.”
“What do you mean by that?” Aiden’s voice is hard. It’s obvious that he is out of his depth and that this is rare for him.
“Well, temporary visas are for those who don’t intend to live here and, like her student visa, eventually they’d all expire. And when they do, she would have to return.”
“That sounds ludicrous.” Aiden states the obvious. “Why go through all that if she’ll be in the same spot down the road?”
Bob turns to me. “Elisa, am I right that you want to live here forever? Immigrate, as it were? Instead of these temporary options?”
“Yes, that’s what I want. But if I have to leave, I’d rather do it now. Later would be much harder. More connections…” I don’t risk looking at Aiden, but I can feel his eyes boring into me as my voice trails off.
“On the other hand, it may buy you some time. Time to pursue one of the permanent options,” Bob suggests kindly.
“What are the permanent options?” Aiden demands again.
Bob looks him squarely in the eye. How much has he guessed about our relationship? “Marriage to a U.S. citizen, Mr. Hale, a million dollars or an act of Congress.”
Silence follows his words. I peek at Aiden.