Gabriel's Rapture (25 page)

Gabriel ducked into the men’s room as soon as Julia left. He couldn’t risk calling her, since Jeremy might enter at any moment, but he was far from satisfied that she understood what was happening. Turning on a faucet in order to make noise, he quickly tapped out a short but explanatory email on his iPhone.

Having sent it, he turned off the faucet and exited, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket. He tried very hard to look grim and defeated.

As he walked over to the two men, Jeremy’s cell phone chirped.

* * *

When Julia awoke the next morning the numbness had worn off. Sleep would have been a welcome respite from reality, except for the nightmares. She’d been haunted by various dreams, all involving the morning she woke up alone in the orchard. She was frightened and lost and Gabriel was nowhere to be found.

It was almost noon when she crawled out of bed to check her messages. She’d expected at least a text or a one line email, offering some kind of explanation. But there was nothing.

He’d acted so strangely the day before. On the one hand he’d told her he hadn’t fucked her; on the other, he’d called her
Héloise
. She didn’t want to believe that he was so cruel as to flaunt the fact that he was ending things with a play on words, but he’d used the word
good-bye
.

Her feelings of betrayal ran deep, for Gabriel had promised that he would never leave her. He was far too eager to go back on his promise, she thought, despite the fact that the university had no jurisdiction over his personal life, so long as she was no longer his student.

A dark thought occurred to her. Perhaps Gabriel had tired of her and decided to put an end to their union. The university had simply handed him an opportunity to do so.

If her falling out with Gabriel had occurred a few months earlier, she would have stayed in bed for three days. As it was, she dialed his cell phone with the intention of demanding an explanation. He didn’t answer. She left a terse and impatient voice mail, asking him to call her.

Frustrated, she took a shower, hoping that the time to herself would afford her the opportunity to see her situation with clarity. Unfortunately, all she could think about was the evening in Italy when Gabriel showered her and washed her hair.

After she dressed, she decided to search for Gabriel’s sixth letter, so she could read paragraph four. He’d given her a clue, she thought, as to what was really happening. All she needed to do was find his words.

She wasn’t sure what he meant by
letter
. Did he mean emails or texts? Or both? If Gabriel was counting the emails, cards, and notes that he’d written to her from the very beginning of their relationship, then by her calculation the sixth letter was a note he’d left her the morning after their horrendous fight in the Dante seminar. Luckily, she kept it.

She pulled out the paper and read it eagerly.

Julianne,
I hope you’ll find everything you need here.
If not, Rachel stocked the vanity in the guest washroom with a number of different items. Please help yourself.
My clothes are at your disposal.
Please choose a sweater as the weather has turned cold today.
Yours,
Gabriel.

Julia wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind to embark on a detective mission or to engage in any elaborate decoding of messages. Nevertheless, she turned her attention to the fourth paragraph and tried to figure out what Gabriel had been trying to communicate to her.

He’d lent her the British-racing-green sweater, but she’d returned it. Was he trying to tell her to look at one of the clothing items he’d bought her? Julia pulled out everything he’d ever bought her or that she’d borrowed and placed them all on her bed. She forced herself to take her time examining each item. But there didn’t appear to be anything unusual about any of them.

Was he trying to tell her to
weather
the storm? Or was he simply saying that his affection for her had turned cold and this was good-bye?

Her anger burned blue. She stomped to the bathroom to wash her hands, catching sight of her image in the mirror. The wide-eyed nervous girl who had started at the University of Toronto in September was gone. Instead, Julia saw a pale and upset young woman, with pinched lips and flashing eyes. She was no longer the timid Rabbit or the seventeen-year-old Beatrice. She was Julianne Mitchell, almost-MA, and she would be damned if she’d spend the rest of her life simply taking the scraps that others deigned to throw at her.

If he has a message for me, he can damn well say it in person
, she thought.
I’m not going on a scavenger hunt just so he can assuage his conscience.

Yes, she loved him. Looking at the photograph album he made for her birthday, she knew that she would love him forever. But love was not an excuse for cruelty. She was not a plaything, an Héloise, to be dropped like a pair of dirty socks. If he was breaking things off with her, she’d make him say so to her face. She was simply going to give him until after dinner to do so.

In early evening, she walked to the Manulife Building, the key to Gabriel’s apartment in her pocket. With every step she imagined what she would say. She wouldn’t cry, she promised herself. She would be strong. And she would demand answers.

As she turned the corner and approached the front door, she saw a tall, impeccably dressed blonde exit the building. The woman looked at her watch and tapped her foot impatiently as the doorman waved over a waiting taxi.

Julia hid behind a tree. She peeked around the trunk in order to take another look.

At first glance, she’d thought the woman in question was Paulina; upon inspection she realized her mistake. Julia breathed a sigh of relief as she approached the building. Seeing Paulina with Gabriel on this day of all days would have been devastating. Surely, he wouldn’t do that to her. Gabriel was supposed to be her Dante. He was supposed to love her enough to travel through Hell to protect her, not take Paulina back the moment their relationship was threatened.

With some trepidation, Julia entered the lobby and waved to the security guard, who recognized her. She decided against announcing her presence to Gabriel and took the elevator to his floor. She shivered as she contemplated what she might find in his apartment.

She didn’t bother to knock but simply let herself in, fearing that she’d find Gabriel compromised. But something strange caught her attention as soon as she’d closed the door. All the lights in the apartment were off and the hall closet was open and half-empty, hangers and shoes haphazardly thrown on the floor. It was very unlike Gabriel to leave things in such a mess.

She switched on several lights and placed her key on the table where he always kept his keys. His keys were not to be found.

“Gabriel? Hello?”

She ventured into the kitchen and was shocked by what she found. An empty bottle of Scotch lay on the counter, next to a broken glass. Dirty plates and cutlery were dumped in the sink.

Steeling herself for what she might find, she walked to the fireplace, only to discover a mark on the wall and scattered glass shards on the floor. She could see Gabriel flinging his Scotch in anger, but she had a hard time imagining him leaving broken pieces for someone to step on.

Desperately worried, she crept down the darkened hall and into the master bedroom. Clothes were strewn across the bed, the drawers to Gabriel’s dresser half-opened. His closet was similarly disarrayed, and Julia noticed that many of his clothes were gone as was his large suitcase.

But what caused her to inhale sharply were the walls. All the framed photographs of her, and of Gabriel and her together, had been removed and piled face down on the bed, leaving the walls bare except for the hooks on which the photographs had been hung.

Julia gasped in horror as she saw that the reproduction of Holiday’s painting of Dante and Beatrice had been taken down and was now leaning against the credenza, its back on display.

Shocked, she sank down on a chair.
He’s gone
, she thought.

Julia burst into tears, wondering how he could have so easily broken his promises. She searched the apartment in vain for a note or some indication of where he’d gone. When she came across the telephone she contemplated calling Rachel. But the thought of having to explain that she and Gabriel were over was too much to bear.

With one last look she turned out all the lights and was about to walk through the door when she stopped. Something niggled at the back of her mind. Closing the door, she returned to Gabriel’s bedroom. Searching with her fingers, she fumbled about, looking for something. When she didn’t find it, she turned on the light.

The photograph that Rachel had taken at Lobby several months earlier was missing. Gabriel always kept it on top of his dresser. In the picture, he and Julia were dancing, and he was looking at her with no little heat.

Julia stood for a moment, looking at the empty space. It was possible, she thought, that he’d destroyed the picture. But a quick inspection of the wastepaper baskets in the bedroom and bathroom suggested he hadn’t thrown it away.

She didn’t understand why he’d left or why he’d left without offering her an explanation, but she began to suspect that all was not as it seemed.

As she took one last look at the empty hangers in the closet, she contemplated taking her clothes with her but only for an instant. Strangely enough, they no longer felt as if they were hers.

A few minutes later, she was waiting for the elevator, feeling battered and bruised. Her nose began to run as she wiped away a few tears. A hasty search of her pockets yielded no Kleenex, only lint. This made her tears fall faster.

“Here,” a voice at her elbow said, holding out a man’s handkerchief.

Julia took it gratefully, noticing the embroidered initials
S.I.R.
on it. She wiped her eyes and attempted to return it, but a pair of hands made a motion of refusal.

“My mother is always giving me handkerchiefs. I have dozens.”

She looked up into kind brown eyes that were partially hidden behind a pair of rimless spectacles and recognized one of Gabriel’s neighbors. He was wearing a heavy wool coat and a navy beret.

(Which, because of his age and heterosexuality could only be explained by the fact that he was French Canadian.)

When the elevator arrived, he politely held the door open for her before following her inside.

“Is something wrong? Can I help?” His lightly accented voice cut through her haze.

“Gabriel is gone.”

“Yes, I ran into him while he was on his way out.” The neighbor frowned at the tears that were still welling up in Julia’s eyes. “Didn’t he tell you? I thought you were his —” He looked at her expectantly.

Julia shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

They were both silent as the elevator continued its descent to the ground floor. Once again, when the door opened, he held it for her.

She turned to him. “Do you know where he went?”

The neighbor accompanied her to the lobby. “No. I’m afraid I didn’t ask. He was in quite a state, you see.” The neighbor leaned closer and dropped his voice. “He reeked of Scotch and was extremely cross. Not in the mood to chat.”

Julia smiled a watery smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It isn’t a bother. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you he was leaving.”

“No.” She wiped her face with his handkerchief once again.

The neighbor began muttering something about Gabriel in French. Something that sounded a good deal like
cochon
.

“I could deliver a message for you, when he returns,” the neighbor offered. “He tends to drop by my apartment when he runs out of milk.”

Julia was quiet for a moment, then she swallowed hard. “Just tell him that he broke my heart.”

The neighbor gave her a reluctant, pained nod before taking his leave of her.

Julia walked outside into the bracing wind and began her long walk home, alone.

Several hours after the hearing, Gabriel sat in his apartment shrouded in darkness. The only light visible came from the blue and orange flames that flickered in his fireplace. He was surrounded by
her.
Completely surrounded by her memory and her ghost.

Closing his eyes, he swore he could smell her scent or hear her laughter echoing down the hall. His bedroom had become like a shrine, which was why he was sitting in front of the fire.

He couldn’t bear to look at the large black and white photographs of the two of them. Especially the one that hung over his bed—
Julianne in all of her magnificence, lying on her stomach with her naked back exposed, partially wrapped in a sheet, gazing up at him in adoration with sex-mussed hair and a sweet, sated smile…

In every room he had a memory of her—some of them joyous and others bittersweet, like dark, dark chocolate. He stalked to the dining room and poured himself two fingers’ worth of his very best Scotch and downed it quickly, relishing the burning sensation as it stung his throat. He tried desperately not to think about Julia standing in front of him, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.

“You’re supposed to love me, Gabriel. You’re supposed to support me when I decide to stand up for myself. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? And instead, you cut a deal with them and dump me?”

At the memory of the look of betrayal in her eyes, Gabriel threw his empty glass at the wall, watching it shatter and fall to the floor. Shards of crystal like jagged icicles scattered over the hardwood, glimmering in the firelight.

He knew what he had to do; he simply needed the courage in order to do it. Grabbing the bottle, he walked reluctantly to the bedroom. Two more swallows and he was able to throw his suitcase on the bed. He didn’t bother to fold his clothes. He barely cared about taking the essentials.

He thought about what it was like to be banished. About Odysseus’s tears at being so far away from home, from his wife, from his people. Now Gabriel understood exile.

When he was finished, he placed the framed photograph from atop his dresser in his briefcase. Stroking a tender finger over the face of his beloved, he downed more Scotch before staggering to the study.

He ignored the red velvet wing chair, for if he turned to look at it, he would see her, curled up like a cat, reading a book. She’d worry her lower lip between her teeth, her adorable eyebrows scrunched in thought. Had any man ever loved, adored, worshipped a woman more?

None but Dante
, he thought. And he was seized by a sudden inspiration.

He unlocked one of the drawers of his desk. This was the memory drawer. Maia’s picture was there, along with the scant remnants of his childhood—his grandfather’s pocket watch, some jewelry that belonged to his mother, her diary, and a few old photographs. He removed a photograph and an illustration before locking the drawer again, placing the items in his pocket. Pausing only to open a black velvet box and withdraw a ring, he headed for the door.

The chill in the Toronto air sobered Gabriel as he walked determinedly to his office. He only hoped he would be able to find what he needed.

The building in which the Department of Italian Studies was housed was dark. As he switched on the light in his office, he was assaulted by memories. Memories of the first time Julia visited his office and he’d been unspeakably rude. Memories when Julia stood by the door after that disastrous seminar, telling him she wasn’t happy. Telling him she didn’t want Paul. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if he could block out the visions.

He packed his fancy leather briefcase with only the files he needed and a few books, before searching the shelves. Moments later, he found the simple textbook and breathed a sigh of relief. He penned a few words, added his bookmarks, then switched off the light and locked the door.

All faculty in the department held keys to the departmental office, where Mrs. Jenkins’s desk and the mailboxes were located. Gabriel used the light from his iPhone to find the box he wanted. He deposited the book, stroking his fingers lovingly across the name labeling the mailbox. He noted with satisfaction that other textbooks were in other boxes, then with a heavy heart, he exited the office.

* * *

Paul Norris was angry. His anger was directed at the most evil man on the planet, Gabriel Emerson, who had verbally abused and seduced his friend before dumping her.

If Paul had been a fan of Jane Austen, he would have likened Professor Emerson to Mr. Wickham. Or perhaps, to Willoughby. But he wasn’t.

Nevertheless, it was all he could do not to pummel Emerson senseless and give him the ass whipping he’d been in desperate need of all year. Additionally, Paul felt betrayed. For God knows how long, Julia had been involved with a man she called
Owen
.

Gabriel Owen Emerson.

Perhaps she wanted Paul to figure it out. But it had never crossed his mind that Owen was, in fact, Professor Emerson. He’d cursed the man and told her secrets about him, for God’s sake. Secrets about Professor Singer. And while she was accepting his sympathy, she was sleeping with
him
. No wonder she’d sworn up and down that
Owen
hadn’t bitten her neck, that it was some other asshole.

Paul thought of Professor Emerson doing depraved things to Julia, and her small, small hands. Julia, who was sweet and kind, with blushing pink cheeks. Julia, who never passed a homeless man on the street without giving him something. Perhaps the true pain of betrayal was the realization that sweet Miss Mitchell had shared a bed with a monster who got off on pain, who had been a plaything of Professor Singer. Perhaps Julia
wanted
that lifestyle. Perhaps she and Gabriel invited Ann into their bed, as well. After all, Julia had picked Soraya Harandi to be her attorney. Didn’t that mean she was
familiar
with Professor Pain?

Clearly, Julia was not who he thought she was. But his suspicions morphed into something else when, on the Monday after the hearing, he ran into Christa Peterson as she exited Professor Martin’s Office.

“Paul.” She nodded at him smugly, adjusting the expensive watch on her wrist.

He jerked his chin in the direction of Professor Martin’s door. “Having some trouble?”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly, smiling altogether too widely. “In fact, I think the only person who’s having trouble is Emerson. You’d better start looking for a new dissertation director.”

Paul narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“If Emerson drops me, he’ll drop you too. If he hasn’t already.”

“I’m dropping him.” She tossed her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m transferring to Columbia in the fall.”

“Isn’t that where Martin came from?”

“Give my best to Julia, would you?” Laughing, Christa brushed past him.

Paul jogged after her, catching her elbow with his hand. “What are you talking about? What did you do to Julia?”

She wrenched her arm free, her eyes narrowing. “Tell her she fucked with the wrong woman.”

Christa walked away as a stunned Paul stood, wondering what she had done.

* * *

Julia didn’t respond to Paul’s worried messages or emails. So on the Wednesday after the hearing, he stood on the front porch of her building, buzzing her apartment.

She didn’t answer.

Undeterred, Paul waited, and when a neighbor exited the building, he went inside and knocked on her door. He rapped several times until a hesitant voice called to him. “Who is it?”

“It’s Paul.”

He heard what sounded like the thud of Julia’s forehead against the door.

“I wanted to check on you since you aren’t answering your phone.” He paused. “I have your mail.”

“Paul—I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Let me see that you’re all right and I’ll go.”

He heard the shuffling of feet. “Julia,” he called to her softly. “It’s just me.”

A scraping sound echoed in the hallway, and the door slowly creaked open.

“Hi,” he said, looking down into the face of a woman he did not recognize.

She looked like a girl really, white skin against dark hair that was messily pulled up into a ponytail. Purple circles rimmed her eyes, which were bloodshot and glassy. She looked as if she hadn’t slept since the hearing.

“Can I come in?”

She opened the door more widely, and Paul walked into her apartment. He’d never seen it so disordered. Dishes were abandoned on every surface, her bed was unmade, and the card table was straining under the weight of papers and books. Her laptop was open as if she’d been interrupted while working on it.

“If you came to tell me how stupid I am, I don’t think I can handle that right now.” She tried to sound defiant.

“I was upset when I found out you’d been lying to me.” Paul shuffled her mail from one arm to the other and scratched at his sideburns. “But I’m not here to make you feel badly.” His expression softened. “I don’t like to see you hurting.”

She looked down at her purple woolly socks and wiggled her toes. “I’m sorry for lying.”

He cleared his throat. “Um, I brought your mail. You had some stuff in the mailbox outside, and I also brought your mail from the department.”

Julia looked at him with a worried expression.

He held up a hand as if to reassure her. “It’s only a couple of flyers and a textbook.”

“Why would someone send me a textbook? I’m not teaching.”

“The textbook reps put exam copies in the professors’ mailboxes. Sometimes they give books to the grad students too. I got one on Renaissance politics. Where should I put everything?”

“On the table. Thanks.”

Paul did as he was bidden while Julia busied herself by retrieving the cups and bowls from around the apartment and stacking them neatly on top of the microwave.

“What kind of textbook?” she asked, over her shoulder. “It isn’t about Dante, is it?”

“No. It’s
Marriage in the Middle Ages: Love, Sex, and the Sacred.”
Paul read the title aloud.

She shrugged, for the title didn’t interest her.

“You look tired.” He gazed at her sympathetically.

“Professor Picton asked me to make a lot of changes to my thesis. I’ve been working around the clock.”

“You need some fresh air. Why don’t you let me take you to lunch? My treat.”

“I have so much work to do.”

He brushed at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You need to get out of here. This place is depressing. It’s like Miss Havisham’s house.”

“Does that make you Pip?”

Paul shook his head. “No, it makes me a nosy jerk who interferes in someone else’s life.”

“That sounds like Pip.”

“Is your thesis due tomorrow?”

“No. Professor Picton gave me a week’s extension. She knew I wouldn’t be ready to turn it in April first because of—everything.” She winced.

“It’s just lunch. We’ll take the subway and head to Queen Street and be back before you know it.”

Julia looked up at Paul, into concerned dark eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because I’m from Vermont. We’re friendly.” He grinned. “And because you need a friend right now.”

Julia smiled in gratitude.

“I never stopped caring for you,” he admitted, his eyes unexpectedly gentle.

She pretended she didn’t hear his declaration.

“I need a minute to get dressed.”

They both looked at her flannel pajamas.

Paul smirked. “Nice rubber duckies.”

Embarrassed, she disappeared into her closet to find some clean clothes. Not having done laundry in a week, her choices were limited, but at least she had something halfway presentable for a casual meal.

While she was in the bathroom, Paul took it upon himself to clean up her apartment, or at least, to tidy it. He knew better than to touch her thesis materials, choosing rather to straighten her bed and pick up things from the floor. When he was finished, he shelved the textbook and sat down in a folding chair to look over her mail. He quickly disposed of the flyers and junk and stacked what looked like bills into a neat pile. He noticed there weren’t any letters of a personal nature.

“Thank God,” he muttered.

After she dressed, she covered the circles under her eyes with concealer, and pinked up her pale cheeks with blush. When she was satisfied that she no longer looked like a youngish version of Miss Havisham, Julia joined Paul at the card table.

He greeted her with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around her chest. “I’m sure you have things you want to say. You might as well get it over with.”

Paul frowned and gestured to the door. “We can talk over lunch.”

“He left me,” she blurted, looking pained.

“Don’t you think that’s a good thing?”

“No.”

“Jeez, Julia, the guy seduced you for kicks, then dumped you. How much abuse do you want?”

Her head snapped up. “That’s not how it was!”

Paul looked at her, at her sudden show of anger, and was impressed. He’d rather have her angry than sad.

“You should probably wear a hat. It’s cold out.”

A few minutes later they were outside, walking toward the Spadina subway station.

“Have you seen him?” she asked.

“Who?”

“You know who. Don’t make me say his name.”

Paul huffed. “Wouldn’t you rather forget about him?”

“Please.”

He glanced over to see a pinched look on Julia’s pretty face. He stopped her gently. “I ran into him a few hours after the hearing. He was coming out of Professor Martin’s office. Since then, I’ve been trying to finish my dissertation. If Emerson dumps me, I’m screwed.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“In Hell, I hope.” Paul’s voice was cheerful. “Martin sent an email to the department saying that Emerson was on a leave of absence for the rest of the semester. You probably saw that email.”

Julia shook her head.

Paul looked at her closely. “I guess he didn’t say good-bye.”

“I left a few messages for him. He finally emailed me yesterday.”