Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno #2) 8

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

Chapter 30

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.

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.”

“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.

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 extremely ordered and tidy.

After taking Julia’s coat, Katherine graciously accepted the Chianti 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 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 nervousness. 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.

“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.