shook his head.
“I know you don’t think very highly of him. But that’s because
you don’t know him. He told me his involvement with Singer was
temporary and that it ended a long time ago. And so we’re clear, Paul, I believed him.” Julia said those last few words with no little intensity.
Paul rubbed at his chin. “I told you that I filed a complaint
against Professor Pain last year. Soraya Harandi was her attorney. I sat in on Singer’s Medieval Torture seminar because I hoped she would
cover material relating to my dissertation. Then she hit on me. At first, I brushed it off. Then I received a strange email from her. She was careful to make her language ambiguous, but anyone from her
seminar would have understood that she was propositioning me. So
I filed a complaint.
“Unfortunately, Soraya Harandi did a hell of a job convincing
the university that I’d misunderstood the email and that I was em-
bellishing my reports of what she said to me in person. It was my
word against Singer’s.
“The only person on my side at the hearing was Dr. Chakravartty.
She brought up emails that Singer had sent to other people and argued 252
Gabriel’s Rapture
that there was a pattern. But Dr. Aras excused me as soon as she
mentioned them. So I have no idea who they were to or what was in
them. Professor Pain was given a warning and told to stay away from me. I never heard from her again. But I always wondered who else
she went after. I was hoping that Emerson protected you from her.”
“He did. I haven’t had any contact with her, and he hasn’t either.
I’m really sorry that happened to you.”
He shrugged. “It still pisses me off that she got away with it. That she’s still getting away with it. That’s why non-fraternization policies are in place — to protect students and their academic careers.”
They were both quiet for a moment, sipping their coffees.
“I’m sorry I lied to you.” She gazed at him with watery eyes.
He held her gaze, then looked down and sighed. “I’d probably
have done the same.”
Then he moved to hold her hand again.
P
By the time Julia returned home, her mood had improved con-
siderably. She didn’t feel well, mind you, or whole. For how could she be whole when her other half had rejected her?
After a productive weekend, Julia was heartened enough by the
progress she made on her schoolwork to return one of Nicole’s telephone calls. Nicole wondered why Julia stopped coming to her weekly therapy sessions. Julia shyly explained that she and Gabriel were no longer together and that he’d been paying for her therapy, to which her therapist responded that Gabriel was continuing to pay for her therapy — indefinitely.
Luckily, both women agreed that it would be inappropriate to
allow him to continue footing the bill, especially since he had effectively created the new, pressing reason for Julia to continue with therapy. So Gabriel’s money was unceremoniously returned to him
and new fees were assessed on a sliding scale, geared to Julia’s income.
In other words, Nicole would charge Julia a ridiculously low fee
in keeping with her fixed income as a student and be perfectly happy to do so. In their appointment on Wednesday, roughly two weeks
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after Gabriel’s departure, they discussed Julia’s heartbreak and the way in which she’d chosen to deal with it. Nicole challenged her to focus on the positive aspects of her life and also, to finish her thesis.
Both aspects of her advice resonated with Julia.
That evening, after having made progress on her writing, Julia
fell asleep. She felt the bed shift and a warm body curled around her like a cocoon, drawing her close. An all too familiar nose nuzzled her neck, and the softest whisper of breath blew across her shoulder.
“Gabriel?”
He hummed into her skin but didn’t answer.
“I missed you so much,” she whispered, tears suddenly streaming
down her face.
Gabriel was silent as he reached up to wipe away her tears, then
he pressed his lips to her cheeks over and over again.
“I know you loved me.” Julia relaxed into their spooned position
and closed her eyes. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t love me enough to stay.”
The hands that held her tightly relaxed minutely until they finally disappeared altogether, leaving Julia alone and cold in her single bed.
P
Julia spent part of the next morning staring out the window,
contemplating the very strange dream she’d had the night before.
Gabriel had returned to her, but he was still silent. He hadn’t offered an explanation or begged for forgiveness. He’d simply rejoined her in bed.
She’d nestled into him, his body familiar and comforting. She’d
sighed in relief at his return, her subconscious unwilling or unable to reject him.
It wasn’t really a dream — just a different kind of nightmare.
After a modest breakfast, she checked her emails and text mes-
sages. As she scrolled through the incoming texts on her iPhone, she received the following from Rachel:
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Gabriel’s Rapture
Hey Julia! What’s up with Gabriel not answering his phone? I tried the landline too, but he wouldn’t pick up. I guess things must still be hot and heavy, otherwise he’d answer his phone once in a while.
I’ve picked out the bridesmaid’s dresses — a dark red that will look great on you. I’ll send the link thru email and you can tell me what you think. You’ll have to email me your measurements so I can order the dress.
By the way, I finally met Scott’s girlfriend! Her son, Quinn, is adorable.
Love you, Rachel.
Julia’s first instinct was to close the text and ignore it. That’s what she did to Rachel after Simon and Natalie humiliated her. But as her therapist had impressed upon her, this time she needed to do something different. Something braver.
She took a deep breath and typed out a response:
Rachel, The bridesmaid dresses sound beautiful. I’ll make sure to send you my measurements. I’m glad you met Scott’s girlfriend. I’m looking forward to meeting her and her little boy.
I haven’t spoken to Gabriel in days. I don’t know where he is. He left. It’s over. J.
It took exactly one minute and forty-five seconds for Julia’s
iPhone to ring, indicating a call from Rachel. Unfortunately, Julia’s courage gave out at that moment, and she didn’t answer. The following text arrived shortly thereafter:
I’m going to kill him. -R
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Chapter 30
Gabriel strode through the misty blackness into the woods be-
hind what had been the Clarks’ house. He brought a flashlight,
but he almost didn’t need it. He knew the woods so well that even
if he’d been drunk or coked out of his mind he could find his way
to the orchard and back again. He was good at navigating the dark.
He stood at the orchard’s periphery, eyes closed, as the chilled
rain washed down. If he opened his eyes and squinted, he could
almost see her — the outline of a teenage girl resting on a man’s
chest, the couple nestled on an old, wool blanket. Her hair floated across her shoulders, her arm rested on his waist. He could barely see the man’s face, but he could tell that the man was besotted with the brown-eyed angel in his arms.
Gabriel stood very still, listening to the echoes of memories that were half-dreams…
“Do you have to le
ave?”
“Yes, but not tonight.”
“Will you come back?”
“I’m going to be thrown out of Paradise tomorrow, Beatrice. Our only hope is that you find me afterward. Look for me in Hell.”
He hadn’t planned to return to the orchard without her. He hadn’t
planned to leave her. He’d broken her heart. Although he was op-
pressed by guilt and regret, he knew he’d make the same decision again.
Julianne had already given up so much to be with him. He’d be
damned if she gave up her future too.
Gabriel’s Rapture
P
Gabriel stood shirtless in his old bedroom, drying his hair with
a towel and fumbling with the stereo. He was in the mood for pain-
ful music. Which meant, at that moment, that he was listening to
“Blood of Eden” by Peter Gabriel. Midway through the chorus, the
telephone began to ring. He’d forgotten to ask Richard to cancel
the telephone service when he moved to Philadelphia, after Gabriel bought the house.
Leaving the call unanswered, Gabriel paced like a restless ghost.
He reclined on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was a passing fancy, he knew, but he swore he could smell Julia’s scent on his pillow and that he could hear the gentle tide of her breathing. He toyed
with the platinum band on his finger, twisting it over and over again.
Lines from Dante’s La Vita Nuova crowded his mind, describing Beatrice’s rejection:
“By this false and evil rumour
which seemed to misfame me of vice…
she who was the destroyer of all evil
and the queen of all good, coming where I was,
denied me her most sweet salutation,
in the which alone was my blessedness.”
Gabriel had no right to compare his situation to Dante’s, since
his misfortune was the result of his own choice. Nevertheless, as the darkness closed in around him, he was stricken by the possibility
that he’d lost his blessedness. Forever.
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Chapter 31
“That son of a bitch!” Tom Mitchell swore loudly into his daughter’s ear. She had to hold her iPhone at arm’s length in order to
protect her eardrums. “When did this happen?”
“Um, in March.” Julia sniffled. “He confirmed it via email.”
“Son of a bitch. What was his reason?”
“He didn’t give me one.” She didn’t have the energy to describe
the events leading up to her separation from Gabriel, and anything having to do with the academic fraud allegations would just make
Tom angrier.
“I’ll shoot him.”
“Dad, please.” The conversation was difficult enough without
having to worry about shotguns being loaded and Gabriel’s lily-white tail being hunted through the woods of Selinsgrove.
Tom breathed heavily into the phone. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hate to say this, Jules, because I know you — cared for him,
but Gabriel is a cokehead. Once an addict, always an addict. Maybe he’s using again. Maybe he ran into trouble with his dealer. Drugs are a messy business, and I’m glad he’s gone. The farther away from you he is the better.”
Julia didn’t cry at her father’s words, but her heart clenched.
“Please don’t say things like that, Dad. For all we know, he’s in Italy working on his book.”
“In a crack house.”
“Dad, please.”
Gabriel’s Rapture
“I’m sorry. I really am. I want my little girl to find someone good and be happy.”
“I want that for you too,” she said.
“Well, we’re quite a pair.” He cleared his throat and decided to
change the subject. “Tell me about graduation. I made some money
from the sale of the house, and I’d like to come to graduation. We should also talk about what you want to do this summer. Your room
in the new house is waiting for you. You can paint it any color you want. Hell, paint it pink.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I haven’t wanted a pink room in a
long time, but thanks, Dad.”
Although Selinsgrove was the last place Julia wanted to go at that moment, at least she had a parent and a home, a home that didn’t
have bad associations with either Simon or Sharon. Or him.
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Chapter 32
On April ninth, Julia walked through the melting snow to
Professor Picton’s house, clutching her printed thesis in one
hand and a bottle of Chianti in the other.
She was nervous. Although her relationship with Professor Picton
had always been cordial, it was never warm. Katherine wasn’t the kind of person to dote or fawn over her students. She was professional
and demanding and decidedly unsentimental. So Julia was quite
concerned when Katherine invited her to submit her thesis in person and to stay for dinner. Of course, there was no possibility of a refusal.
Julia stood on the front porch of Katherine’s three-story brick
home and rang the doorbell. She wiped her palms on the front of
her pea coat, trying to eliminate the clamminess.
“Julianne, welcome.” Katherine opened the door and ushered
her student inside.
If Julia’s small studio was a hobbit hole, then Professor Picton’s house was the abode of a wood elf. A wood elf with a taste for fine, old furnishings. Everything was elegant and antique; the walls were paneled in dark wood with expensive carpets blanketing the floors.
The decorating was aristocratic but spare, and everything was ex-
tremely ordered and tidy.
After taking Julia’s coat, Katherine graciously accepted the Chi-
anti and the thesis, and directed her to a small parlor off the front hall. Julia promptly sat herself in a leather club chair in front of the hearth and accepted a small glass of sherry.
“Dinner is almost ready,” Katherine said and vanished like a
Greek goddess.
Julia examined the large books about English architecture and
gardens gracing the low coffee table. The walls were lined with pastoral Gabriel’s Rapture
scenes interspersed with the occasional severe black and white portrait of the ancestral Pictons. She sipped her sherry slowly, savoring the warmth as it slid down her throat to her stomach. Before she could finish, Katherine was escorting her to the dining room.
“This is lovely.” Julia smiled, in an effort to mask her nervous-
ness. She was intimidated by the fine bone china, crystal, and silver candlesticks that Katherine had set atop a white damask tablecloth that looked as if it had been ironed.
(Not even the linens would dare to wrinkle without Professor
Picton’s permission.)
“I like to entertain,” said Katherine. “But truthfully, there are few dining companions that I can stand for an entire evening.”
Julia felt a sinking feeling in her middle. With as little noise as possible, she took her place next to Katherine, who sat at the head of the long, oak table.
“It smells delicious,” said Julia, trying not to ravenously inhale the scent of cooked meat and vegetables that wafted from her plate. She hadn’t been eating much in the previous days but Professor Picton’s offerings seemed to have stimulated her appetite.
“I tend toward vegetarianism, but in my experience graduate
students never eat enough meat. So I’ve prepared an old recipe of
my mother’s. Normandy hotpot, she used to call it. I hope you don’t mind pork.”
“Not at all.” Julia smiled. But when she saw the lemon zest atop
the plate of
steamed broccoli, her smile narrowed.
Gabriel had a thing for garnishes.
“A toast perhaps?” Katherine poured Julia’s wine gift into their
glasses and held hers aloft.
Julia raised her glass obligingly.
“To your success at Harvard.”
“Thank you.” Julia hid her mixed emotions behind the act of
drinking.
Once a polite space of time had elapsed, Katherine spoke. “I
brought you here to discuss a number of different things. First, your thesis. Are you satisfied with it?”
Julia swallowed a piece of parsnip hastily. “No.”
Katherine frowned.
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“What I mean is, there’s room for improvement. If I had another
year, it would be so much better. Um…” Julia wished a hole would
open up under the floorboards and swallow her.
Inexplicably, Katherine smiled and sat back in her chair. “That’s
the correct answer. Good for you.”
“Pardon?”
“Students these days think they’re far more talented than they
actually are. I’m glad, with all your success, you’ve maintained some academic humility.
“Of course another year would improve your thesis. You’ll be a
better student and a better scholar next year, if you continue to work hard. I’m pleased you realize you have room for improvement. Now,
we can move on to something else.”
Julia tore her eyes from Katherine and focused on her knife and
fork. She had no idea what was coming next.
Katherine tapped an impatient finger on top of the table. “I
don’t like it when people pry into my private life, so I leave others’
private lives alone. In your case, I was dragged into something by David Aras.” Katherine grimaced. “I’m not privy to everything that went on at that McCarthyite hearing, and I don’t want to be.” She
glanced at Julia meaningfully.
“Greg Matthews at Harvard is looking to hire an endowed chair
in Dante studies. I’d hoped that Gabriel would be offered that job.”
Katherine saw Julia move out of the corner of her eye, but quickly continued. “Unfortunately, the chair has been offered to someone
else. They foolishly tried to lure me out of retirement, but I declined.
“How that dreadful Pacciani man ended up on their short list, I’ll never know. At any rate, Cecilia Marinelli will be the new endowed chair. They stole her from Oxford. It would be good if you could
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