67

Sylvain Reynard

She’d become addicted to this, to him. She adored the way he

looked at her in these intimate moments and the way in which the

world fell out of focus around them. She longed to feel him loving her, moving inside her, for he always made her feel beautiful. She would have said that any orgasm was an extra gift in addition to the way she felt when they were conjoined.

Making love, like music or breathing or the tempo of one’s heart-

beat, was based on a primordial rhythm. Gabriel had come to read

her body and to know the pace that matched it, like a glove that fits a lady’s hand. It was the sort of knowledge that was at once personal and primary, the kind of knowledge King James’s translators had been referring to when they wrote of Adam knowing his wife. The mysterious sacred knowledge that a lover had for his beloved — knowledge

that was perverted and maligned in less holier couplings. Knowledge that deserved a marriage in more than name.

Julia put her new knowledge to good use, delighting Gabriel with

her body again and again. And the way it felt when he was inside

her — warm and thrilling and tropical and perfect.

He was close, oh, so close. He searched her expression and saw

that her eyes were opened. Every motion of hers was reciprocated by him. Every motion brought both of them pleasure.

As they stared, a great moan erupted from her chest, and then

in a twinkling instant she was throwing her head back and calling

his name. It was a glorious thing for him to see and hear. Julianne finally called his name. Soon he was falling, groaning aloud as his body tensed and then released, the veins in his forehead and neck

straining and relaxing.

A joyful, tender coupling.

She didn’t want to let him go. She didn’t want to feel him leave

her body, and so she curled on top of him, watching his expression.

“Will it always be like this?”

Gabriel kissed her nose. “I don’t know. But if Richard and Grace

were any indication, it will only improve with time. I’ll see the reflection of all our shared joys and experiences in your eyes, and you will see the same in mine. Our history will make it better, deeper.”

She smiled at what he said and nodded; then her face grew sad.

“What is it?”

“I’m worried about what will happen next year.”

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Gabriel’s Rapture

“Why?”

“What if I don’t get accepted into the PhD program at Toronto?”

He frowned. “I didn’t know that you applied.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“I don’t want you to leave me either, but Julianne, the Toronto

program is not for you. You’d have no one to work with. I can’t

supervise you, and I doubt Katherine would take on a multi-year

commitment.”

Julia’s countenance fell.

Gabriel stroked her cheek with his finger. “I thought you wanted

to go to Harvard.”

“It’s so far away.”

“Only a short flight.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “We can see

each other on weekends and holidays. I applied for a sabbatical. It’s possible that I could come with you for the first year.”

“I’ll be there for six years. Or more.” She was close to tears now.

Gabriel saw them swimming and shimmering in her eyes and his

heart ached.

“We’ll make it work,” his voice grew rough. “Right now, we need

to enjoy the time we have together. Let me worry about the future.

I’ll make sure we aren’t separated.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her.

“The advantage to dating an older, more established man is that

he can give you room to focus on your own career. I’ll find a way to make my job fit around yours.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“It would be grossly unfair to expect you to give up your dream

of being a professor or to have you enroll in a program that is subpar.

I won’t let you sacrifice your dreams for me.” He grinned. “Now kiss me, and let me know that you trust me.”

“I trust you.”

Gabriel held her in his arms, sighing as she rested her head on

his chest.

69

Chapter 7

Christa Peterson sat in her parents’ house in north Toronto,

checking her email a few days before Christmas. She’d been

ignoring her inbox for a week. A relationship she had cultivated in addition to her pursuit of Professor Emerson had run its course, which meant that she wouldn’t be skiing in Whistler, British Columbia,

with her erstwhile lover over the Christmas holidays.

The banker in question had broken up with her via text message.

This was in poor taste, to be sure, but what would be in even poorer taste would be the follow-up email that was sure to be waiting for her, like a ticking bomb lurking in her inbox.

Having steeled herself with a glass or two of vintage Bollinger

champagne, which she had purchased as a gift for the schmuck who

was supposed to take her skiing, she checked her account. And there, sitting in her email, was a bomb. However, it was not the bomb

she’d expected.

To say that she was surprised by the content of Professor Pac-

ciani’s email would have been an understatement. In fact, she felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under her.

The only Canadian woman she had ever seen Professor Emer-

son show even restrained affection to was Professor Ann Singer. Yes, Christa had seen Emerson with various women at Lobby, but never

the same woman twice. He was friendly with other female professors and staff, but only professionally so, greeting them always and only with a firm handshake. Professor Singer, in contrast, was rewarded with a double kiss when he greeted her after his last public lecture.

Christa did not want to rekindle her relationship with Professor

Pacciani. He was sorely lacking in a particular physical respect, and she had no wish to return to the previous intimate encounters that had always left her frustrated and wanting. She had standards, after Gabriel’s Rapture

all, and any man who did not measure up to at least the size of her personal service accessory was not worth screwing.

(And she would have said you could quote her.)

Since she wanted more information about Professor Emerson’s

fiancée, she feigned interest in a spring rendezvous with Professor Pacciani and subtly asked for the fiancée’s name. Then she went

downstairs and finished off the rest of the champagne.

P

The day before Christmas found Julia sitting at the counter of

Kinfolks restaurant in Selinsgrove, having lunch with her father.

Gabriel was doing some last minute shopping with Richard while

Rachel and Aaron drove to the grocery store to pick up the turkey.

Scott was still in Philadelphia with his girlfriend.

Tom had faithfully delivered Julia’s gift from Paul. She’d placed

it on the floor at her feet, and now it was staring up at her, begging for attention like a puppy.

She opened it, deciding it was better to display its contents to her father than to her boyfriend. She gave the bottle of maple syrup to Tom with a smile, she giggled at the toy Holstein and kissed it, but when she unwrapped the Dante and Beatrice figurines her face grew

pale. It was almost as if Paul knew. And yet, he couldn’t have known that Gabriel and Julia were Dante and Beatrice, at least to each other.

While Tom ate his blue plate special — turkey with stuffing and

mashed potatoes — Julia opened Paul’s card. It displayed children

engaged in a snowball fight and the typical Merry Christmas emblazoned on the front. But it was the words that Paul wrote in his own hand that brought a lump to her throat.

Merry Christmas, Rabbit.

I know it was a rough first semester and I’m sorry I didn’t do a

better job of helping you when you needed it. I’m proud of you for not quitting. With a big Vermont hug

from your friend, Paul.

P.S. I don’t know if you’ve heard Sarah McLachlan’s “Wintersong,”

but part of it made me think of you.

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Sylvain Reynard

Julia didn’t know the song that he was referring to, so the lyrics he omitted did not run through her mind as she examined the card’s artwork more closely. In the center of the image of a snowball fight stood a little girl with long, dark hair in a bright red coat, laughing.

The quotation, the picture, the card, the gift — Paul had tried

to keep his feelings secret, she thought, but he’d betrayed himself.

It was all in the picture of the laughing girl and the song that she would listen to later.

Julia sighed and placed everything back in the box and set it at

her feet.

“So, Gabriel treating you right?” Tom broached the topic of Julia’s relationship in between bites of turkey.

“He loves me, Dad. He’s very good to me.”

Her father shook his head as he reflected on how Simon had had

the appearance of being good and Gabriel had the reality of being

good — and how he had failed to recognize the difference.

“You let me know if he isn’t,” he said, tasting the mashed potatoes.

Julia almost rolled her eyes. Yes, it was a bit late for Tom to play the part of the overprotective father, but better late than not at all.

“When Gabriel and I drove into town this morning we went by

the house. I saw the sign on the lawn.”

Tom wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I put it up for sale a couple

of weeks ago.”

“Why?”

“Why not? I can’t live in a place where my daughter doesn’t feel

safe.”

“But you grew up in that house. What about you and Deb?”

He shrugged and hid his expression behind a cup of coffee. “It’s

over.”

She gasped. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Tom sipped his coffee stoically. “We had a difference of opinion.

And her kids don’t like me.”

Julia fidgeted with her silverware, lining them up so their ends

were even.

“So Deb sided with Natalie and Simon?”

He shrugged again.

72

Gabriel’s Rapture

“It was a long time coming. Truth is, I’m relieved. It feels good

to be a free agent.” He winked at her conspiratorially.

“I’m looking to buy a smaller house. I’d like to use some of the

money I make to pay for your education.”

Julia was surprised. Then she was angry. Her conflict with him had cost her and her father so much — too much to be remedied by

a criminal record and some community service. She was scarred and

her father lost his prospective wife and the Mitchell family home.

“Dad, you should use the money for your retirement.”

“I’m sure there will be enough for everything. And if you don’t

want to use my money for school, then use it to buy beer. From now on, it’s just you and me kid.” He reached out a hand to ruffle Julia’s hair, his preferred gesture of affection.

He excused himself to use the men’s room, leaving her alone to

contemplate her half-eaten cheeseburger and her changed father. She was deep in thought, fingering the glass of ginger ale in front of her, when someone moved to occupy the stool next to her.

“Hello, Jules.”

Startled, Julia turned and found her former roommate, Natalie

Lundy, sitting next to her.

There was a time when Julia had laughingly called her former

friend Jolene, for her beautiful and voluptuous features perfectly matched those described in the song. But that was before Natalie

had betrayed her. Now her beauty seemed harsh and cold.

As Julia stared at her, she noticed something painful about the

way she was dressed — the vintage designer coat with the slightly

frayed cuffs, the expensive boots that were worn and second-hand. On first glance, she looked rich and well dressed. But Julia glanced twice and saw what others could not see — the small town girl who was

ashamed of her blue collar roots and wished to leave them far behind.

“Merry Christmas, Natalie. What can I get for you?” Diane, the

waitress, leaned over the counter.

Julia watched as Natalie transformed from cold and sul en to