“He mentioned something about Peter Abelard, but it wasn’t comforting. Abelard kept his relationship with Héloise secret so he wouldn’t lose his teaching position. Then he sent her to a convent.”
Rachel reached over to pick up a pillow and threw it at her friend’s head. “He isn’t going to send you to a convent. He loves you. And I refuse to believe otherwise.”
Julia clutched the pillow to her chest as she reclined on her side. “If he loved me, he wouldn’t leave me. He wouldn’t have broken up with me via email.”
“Do you really think that Gabriel was stringing you along for fun?”
“No. But that doesn’t matter now.”
Rachel yawned loudly. “Whatever he did, he screwed up. I’m wondering if he isn’t trying to protect you in some way.”
“He could have texted me and said just that.”
Rachel threw an arm over her eyes. “That’s the part I don’t understand. He could have asked us to give you a message. He could have written you a letter. Why didn’t Gabriel tell the university to shove it?”
Julia rolled onto her back, asking herself a similar question.
Rachel retrieved her cell phone from the coffee table. “Do you want to call him?”
“No.”
“Why not? Maybe he’ll answer, thinking it’s me.”
“It’s the middle of the night and I’m drunk. It’s not exactly the best time to have a conversation. Plus, he told me not to contact him.”
Rachel shook the phone in front of her. “If you’re hurting, so is he.”
“I left him a message saying that if he ever wants to talk to me, he needs to do it face to face. I’m not calling him again.” Julia downed the last of her wine in one swallow.
“Maybe he’ll be at graduation.” Julia sighed, a wistful look on her face. All her anger and frustration hadn’t eliminated her longing for him. At least, not all of it.
“When’s graduation?”
“June eleventh.”
Rachel swore obliquely at the lateness of the date.
After a few minutes of shared silence, Julia decided to voice one of her other, greater fears.
“Rachel?”
“Uh huh?”
“What if he sleeps with her?”
Rachel was quiet for a moment. So quiet, Julia began to repeat the question, but her friend interrupted. “If Gabriel were cruel, then maybe he’d screw someone else. But I can’t imagine him doing that and thinking that you’d forgive him.”
“If he’s with someone else and you find out about it, tell me.” Julia gave her friend a pleading look. “It would be better to hear it from you.”
* * *
“Darling, open your eyes.”
His voice was warm and thick as he moved inside her, distributing his weight to his forearms. He leaned down to draw the delicate skin from the inside of her bicep into his mouth, kissing and sucking on it. It was just enough to tease her and perhaps to leave a gentle mark. He knew this drove her mad.
“I can’t,” she gasped, in between moans. Every time he moved it sent the most wonderful sensations coursing through her body.
Until he stopped.
Suddenly, her eyelids fluttered open.
He rubbed his nose against hers and smiled. “I need to see you.” His gaze was gentle but intense, as if he were holding back the flame of desire momentarily.
“It’s hard for me to keep my eyes open.” She groaned a little as he moved inside her once again.
“Try for me.” He kissed her softly. “I love you so much.”
“Then why did you leave me?”
Gabriel looked down on her with dismay, his blue eyes narrowing. “I didn’t…”
* * *
That same evening Gabriel was lying in the center of the bed, eyes closed, while she trailed leisurely open-mouthed kisses across his pectorals, pausing reverently to kiss his tattoo, before extending her attentions to his abdominals. An oath left his mouth as she ran her fingers lightly up and down the well-defined muscles before swirling a tongue around his navel.
It has been so long…
That was the thought that came to mind as she gently traced the skin and strands of hair before reaching a hand down to grasp him firmly. He shifted his hips. She was stroking him now, and he was panting, begging. She teased him unhurriedly as her long, silky hair caressed the tops of his thighs, before taking him into the warm wetness of her mouth.
Gabriel muttered a surprised expletive as he gave himself over to the sensations, before weaving his fingers into her hair.
He froze.
A sick feeling bubbled up in his stomach as he remembered what happened the last time he’d done this. He withdrew his hand immediately, worried that he’d frightened her.
“I’m sorry.” He extended a single finger to trace her cheek. “I forgot.”
A cold hand caught him by the wrist before forcing him to grasp her head roughly.
“What did you forget?” she taunted. “How to enjoy a blow job?”
Gabriel’s eyes flew open. In absolute horror he looked down into a pair of laughing blue eyes.
Paulina was naked and crouched over him, smiling triumphantly as she held him close to her mouth. Gabriel recoiled, cursing and crowding backward against the headboard while she sat on her heels, watching him.
She laughed and pointed to his nose, indicating that he should wipe the traces of cocaine from his nostrils.
What have I done?
He scrubbed his face roughly with both hands. As the enormity of his depravity sunk in, he retched, dry heaving over the side of the bed. When he came to himself, he held out his left hand to show her his ring—but there was none.
The wedding ring was gone.
Paulina laughed again and began crawling toward him, eyes feral, her naked body brushing against his own.
Chapter 35
Gabriel struggled and flailed before jolting awake. He tore at the bedclothes, earnestly looking for any sign of her. But there was none.
He was alone in a dark hotel room. He’d extinguished the lights before retiring, which was his first mistake. Neglecting to place the framed photograph on his nightstand was his second, for it served as a talisman against the darkness.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and placed his face in his hands. Enduring rehab all those years ago had been excruciating but nothing compared with losing Julianne. He would have suffered the nightmares and haunting memories of old sins gladly if he could hold her in his arms every night.
As he gazed with contempt at the half-empty bottle of Scotch, he felt the darkness closing in. His desperate pursuit had placed a great deal of pressure on him. When that pressure was coupled with a striking sense of loss, it made it almost impossible for him to function at a high level without some kind of crutch.
Every day the drinks grew larger. Every day he realized that he needed to do something before he became trapped by his old coping mechanisms and ruined his future. He knew that if he didn’t do something, quickly, he’d relapse.
Impulsively, he made two telephone calls before gathering his belongings and shoving them into his suitcase. Then he directed the concierge to secure him a cab that would take him to the airport. He didn’t bother to ensure that his appearance was neat and professional. In fact, he didn’t bother looking into the mirror at all, for he knew that what he saw would disgust him.
Many hours later, he arrived in Florence and checked into the Gallery Hotel Art. It had been short notice, but he’d persuaded the manager to give him the same suite in which he and Julia had consummated their relationship. It was either that or a rehabilitation program, and he was convinced his connection to her would prove far more redemptive.
As he walked into the room, he half-expected to see her, or at least, signs of her. A pair of tangerine stilettos carelessly kicked off under a coffee table. A taffeta dress pooled on the floor next to a blank wall. A pair of seamed black stockings strewn across an unmade bed.
But of course, he saw none of those things.
After a relatively restful sleep and a shower, Gabriel contacted his old friend Dottore Vitali at the Uffizi Gallery and met him for dinner. They spoke of Harvard’s new chair of Dante Studies. They spoke of Giuseppe Pacciani and Gabriel was marginally gratified to learn that although Giuseppe had been offered a campus interview while Gabriel had not, Giuseppe’s lecture had been regarded as poor by the Harvard faculty. It was cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
The next day Gabriel sought to distract himself from his troubles by engaging in pleasurable activities—breakfast on a piazza, a walk along the Arno, a lengthy afternoon at his tailor’s in which he ordered a hand-made black wool suit, and an hour or so spent looking for the perfect pair of shoes to match his finery. His tailor joked that the suit was so fine Gabriel could be married in it. The tailor had laughed, until Gabriel held up his left hand and showed him his ring.
“I’m newly married,” he explained, much to the tailor’s surprise.
No matter where Gabriel walked in the city of Florence, he was assaulted with memories of her. He would stand on the Ponte Santa Trinita, hugging the sweet and sour feelings tightly to his chest, knowing that they were preferable to chemical alternatives.
Late one evening, slightly drunk, he wandered by the Duomo, retracing the path he’d taken with Julianne months earlier. Tortured by his memory of her face when she accused him of fucking her, he stumbled across a familiar looking beggar, who sat in the shade of Brunelleschi’s dome.
Gabriel approached him.
“Just a few coins for an old man,” the beggar cried in Italian.
Gabriel grew closer, eying the man suspiciously. The scent of unwashed flesh and alcohol assailed him, but he grew closer still. Recognizing the beggar as the same man who’d inspired Julia’s charity back in December, Gabriel stopped, swaying on his feet.
He felt for his wallet. Without bothering to look at the denominations, he withdrew several bills and held them in front of the man.
“I saw you last December. Yet, you’re still here.” Gabriel’s Italian was only slightly accusatory.
The man eyed the money hungrily. “I’m here every day. Even Christmas.”
Gabriel dangled the Euros closer to the man. “My fidanzata gave you money. You called her an angel. Do you remember?”
The man smiled toothlessly and shook his head, never allowing his eyes to leave the cash.
“There are many angels in Firenze, but more in Assisi. I think God favors the beggars there. But this is my home.” The man hesitantly held out his hand, uncertain that Gabriel would actually give him the money.
In his imagination, Gabriel could see Julia’s face as she compassionately argued the beggar’s case. She wanted to give him money even if there was a strong possibility that he’d waste the money on drink.
As Gabriel regarded the beggar, no better off than he’d been before Julia’s generosity, he was struck by the fact that she wouldn’t have hesitated to donate again and again. She would have given the man coins every day, because she thought the act of charity was never wasted. She would have lived in hope that one day the man would realize that someone cares for him and try to get help. Julia knew her kindness made her vulnerable, but she was kind anyway.
Gabriel placed the bills in the man’s hand and turned sharply on his heel, the echoes of the beggar’s joy and blessings ringing in his ears.
He wasn’t deserving of a blessing. He hadn’t committed an act of charity the way Julianne would have done it, out of compassion and kindness. He was simply doing justice to her memory, or purchasing an indulgence.
As tripped over a cobblestone, he realized what he had to do.
* * *
The next day he tried to secure the house in Umbria that he’d shared with her, but it was already occupied. So he traveled to Assisi where he checked into a small, private hotel that was simple in its furnishings and populated with pilgrims.
Gabriel had never styled himself as a pilgrim. He was far too proud for that. Nevertheless, there was something in the air in Assisi that allowed him to sleep peacefully. In fact, it had been the best sleep he’d had since leaving Julia’s arms.
He rose early the next morning and made his way to the Basilica of St. Francis. It was a place of pilgrimage for persons of all faiths, if only for its medieval frescoes and the peaceful atmosphere that pervaded it. It was no little coincidence that he found himself retracing the steps he’d taken with Julianne prior to Christmas. He’d taken her to Mass in the Basilica superiore or upper part of the church, and had even waited patiently while she went to confession before the Mass began.
As he wandered through the upper Basilica, admiring the images and drinking in the comforting quiet of the sanctuary, he caught a glimpse of a woman with long, brown hair disappear through a doorway. Intrigued, he decided to follow her. Despite the crowd of tourists and pilgrims, it was easy to pick her out, and so he found himself descending to the Basilica inferiore.
Then she vanished.
Distressed, he searched the lower church. Only when his search proved fruitless did it occur to him to descend deeper into the bowels of the Basilica toward the tomb of St. Francis. There she was, kneeling in front of the crypt. He slipped into the last row of pews and out of respect, knelt. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
It wasn’t Julianne. The young woman in front of him was a little fuller in the hips and wider in the shoulders and her hair was darker. But she was beautiful, and her beauty reminded him of how much he’d lost.
The room was small and primitive, a studied contrast to the wide-open and elaborately frescoed upper Basilica. Gabriel was not alone in finding that the simplicity that was St. Francis’s life and mission was more accurately reflected in the unassuming tomb. It was with such thoughts in mind that Gabriel found himself leaning against the pew in front of him and bowing his head. Before he could form the intention to do so, he began praying.
At first they were just words—desperate utterances and whispered confessions. As time wore on, his prayers took on a more repentant shape, while unbeknownst to him, the young woman lit a candle and departed.
If Gabriel’s life had been a major motion picture, an old, weathered Franciscan brother would have stumbled across him as he knelt in prayer, and seeing his distress, would show him compassion, offering spiritual guidance. But Gabriel’s life was not a motion picture. So he prayed alone.
If you had asked Gabriel afterward about what occurred in the tomb, he would have shrugged and evaded the question. Some things cannot be put into words. Some things defy language itself.
But there was a moment in his prayers in which Gabriel was confronted with the magnitude of all his failings, both moral and spiritual, while at the same time feeling the presence of One who knew the state of his soul and embraced him anyway. He was suddenly aware of what the writer Annie Dillard once referred to as the extravagance of grace. He thought of the love and forgiveness that had been lavished on the world and more specifically, on him, through the lives of Grace and Richard.
And Julianne, my sticky little leaf.
The magnet for sin found something very unexpected underneath the floors of the upper Basilica. When he left the church, he was more determined than ever not to return to his old ways.
Chapter 36
For Julia, the rest of April was a vortex of activity. There were final revisions to be made to her thesis, meetings with Katherine Picton and Nicole, and Friday nights to be spent with Paul.
Katherine ensured that Julia’s final draft was error free and something that she could be proud of. Then she telephoned Cecilia Marinelli in Oxford to ask her to look for Julia at Harvard in the fall.
Paul secured a studio apartment in Cambridge for her to sublet. She began working through a list of texts Katherine had suggested she read in preparation for Professor Marinelli’s seminar.
At the end of April, Julia received a very official
looking letter from the Office of the Dean of Graduate Studies. Dr. Aras requested her attendance at his office in a week’s time. He assured her that their appointment had nothing to do with a disciplinary matter, and he stated that Professor Martin would also be in attendance.
With great trepidation, she trudged across campus on a Monday afternoon, clutching her L.L. Bean knapsack. She took comfort in it, in the fact that it had been her companion for almost a year. Paul had offered to accompany her, but she’d declined, arguing that she needed to face the Dean alone. Still, he’d hugged her and promised to wait for her at their favorite Starbucks.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Mitchell. How was your semester?”
Julia gazed across the desk at Dean Aras in surprise. “It was—interesting.”
The Dean nodded, his eyes shifting to meet Professor Martin’s. “I know this academic year has been challenging for you. I asked to speak with you simply to find out if you have had any other problems since the hearing.”
Julia looked between the two academics, measuring them. “What kind of problems?”
“Dean Aras is wondering if Professor Emerson bothered you at all after the hearing. Did he call or email you? Did he try to meet with you?” Professor Martin appeared friendly, but there was an undertone to his demeanor that made Julia suspicious.
“Why do you care? You got what you wanted. He left the city.”
The Dean’s expression tightened. “I’m not about to retry the case with you, Miss Mitchell. This meeting is a courtesy, an attempt to ensure that you have been able to proceed with your education free of interference. We’re trying to determine if Professor Emerson kept his word and left you alone.”
“I received an email from him a few days after the hearing. He told me to stop contacting him and that we were over. That’s what you want to hear, right?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Professor Martin exchanged a meaningful look with the Dean. “I’m sure you’re glad to put this matter behind you.”
Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy Page 89