Gabriel's Rapture (26 page)

“What did he say?”

“He told me to stop contacting him and that it was over. He didn’t even call me by name—just sent me a two line email from his university account, and signed it ‘Regards, Prof. Gabriel O. Emerson.’”

“Asshole.”

Julia winced, but didn’t disagree. “After the hearing, he told me I wasn’t sensible of my own distress.”

“Pretentious fucker.”

“What?”

“He stomps on your heart and then he has the balls to quote
Hamlet?
Unbelievable. And he misquoted it, the jackass.”

She blinked in surprise. “I didn’t recognize the line. I thought it was just—him.”

“Shakespeare was a pretentious fucker too. That’s probably why you couldn’t tell the difference. The line is from Gertrude’s speech about the death of Ophelia. Listen:

“When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.”

Julia’s face grew pale. “Why would he say that to me?”

“You are nothing like her.” Paul reiterated his list of favored profane adjectives with respect to the Professor. “Was Emerson worried you’d do something—to hurt yourself?” Paul was growing progressively more agitated as his undergraduate knowledge of Shakespeare came flooding back to him.

(The benefit of a liberal arts education.)

Julia feigned surprise at his question. “I don’t know what he thought. He just mumbled something about me trying to commit academic suicide.”

Paul seemed relieved. Marginally.

“There’s something else I need to mention. I talked to Christa.”

Julia chewed at the inside of her mouth before indicating that he should continue.

“Christa was happy that Emerson was leaving. And she referred to you.”

“She’s always hated me,” said Julia.

“I don’t know what she’s up to, but I’d watch your back.”

Julia looked off into the distance. “She can’t hurt me. I’ve already lost what mattered most.”

Paul and Julia sat across from one another at a hip but retro café on Queen Street. They engaged in small talk before they ordered their meals, falling into an uneasy silence as Julia pondered her situation.

“So how have you been?” Paul’s voice broke into her internal musings.

She wouldn’t say it aloud, because she wouldn’t mention such a thing to Paul. But one of the reasons she had been so upset, apart from the loss of Gabriel, was the loss of what he represented—the attainment of her high school crush, the loss of her virginity, the discovery of what she thought had been a deep and reciprocated love…

When she thought of the first time he made love to her, she wanted to cry. No one had ever treated her with such rapt attention and gentleness. He was so worried about hurting her and making sure that she was relaxed. He was insistent on telling her that he loved her, over and over again as he moved toward his orgasm. The first one that he would have with her,
because
of her…

Gabriel staring into my very soul, moving inside me, telling me that he loved me while showing me with his body exactly that. He must have loved me. I’m just not sure when he stopped. Or rather, when he chose to love his job more than me.

Paul cleared his throat good-naturedly, and Julia smiled her apology.

“Um, I’m upset and angry, but I try not to think about what happened. I’ve been working on my thesis, but it’s difficult to write about love and friendship when you’ve just lost both.” She blew a breath of air out. “Everyone at the university must think I’m a whore.”

Paul leaned over the table. “Hey, you are not a whore. I’d punch someone’s lights out if they ever said anything like that about you.”

She said nothing, fidgeting in her lap with an embroidered handkerchief.

“You fell in love with the wrong person, that’s all. He took advantage of you.”

Julie protested, but he continued.

“The Dean’s office asked me to sign a confidentiality agreement. They’re keeping everything having to do with you and Emerson quiet. So don’t worry about what people think. No one knows anything.”

“Christa knows,” she muttered.

“I’m sure she had to sign the same confidentiality agreement. If she starts spreading rumors about you, you should go to the Dean.”

“What good would that do? The gossip would follow me to Harvard.”

“Professors aren’t supposed to take advantage of students. If you’d said no to him, he would have fucked with your career. He’s the villain.” Paul fumed. “You have a lot of good things to look forward to, like graduation and going to Harvard. And someday, when you’re ready, you’ll find someone who will treat you properly. Someone worthy of you.” He squeezed her fingers. “You’re kind and gentle. You’re funny and bright. And when you’re pissed off, you’re sexy as hell.”

She gave him a half-smile.

“That day you took Emerson on in the seminar room—it was a total train wreck, but I would pay money to see it again. You are the only person I’ve ever seen stand up to him, other than Christa, who is crazy, and Professor Pain, who is twisted. As much as I was afraid of what he’d do in retaliation, your spunkiness was impressive.”

“I lost my temper. It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“Perhaps not. But it showed me something. It showed Emerson something.
You’re a bad ass.
You need to let the bad ass come out every once in a while. Within reason, of course.”

He was grinning now and slightly teasing.

“I try not to give in to the anger, but trust me, it’s there.” Julia’s voice was quiet but steely.

As they finished their meals and savored their coffee, Julia told Paul an extremely edited account of her affair with Gabriel, beginning with his invitation to accompany him to Italy. She described how Gabriel saved her from Simon when she was home for Thanksgiving and that he paid to have the bite mark removed from her neck. Paul was surprised.

Julia had always felt comfortable talking to Paul. He wasn’t as intense as Gabriel, of course, and far less mercurial. He was a good listener and a good friend. Even when he was scolding her for choosing Soraya Harandi as her attorney.

Of course, when she revealed that Soraya had been chosen by Gabriel, his ire shifted.

“I’m going to ask you something personal. If you don’t want to answer, just say so.” Paul looked around to ensure that no one was eavesdropping.

“What do you want to know?”

“Is Gabriel still involved with Professor Singer? Did you see her—socially while you were with him?”

“Of course not! He tried to keep me away from her, even when we went to dinner at Segovia.”

“I can’t believe I never realized you two were together.” Paul 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 embellishing 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 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.

* * *

By the time Julia returned home, her mood had improved considerably. 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 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.

* * *

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 messages. As she scrolled through the incoming texts on her iPhone, she received the following from Rachel:

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

Gabriel strode through the misty blackness into the woods behind 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 leave?”

“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 oppressed 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 stood shirtless in his old bedroom, drying his hair with a towel and fumbling with the stereo. He was in the mood for painful 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.