(Julia meditated on that thought for more than a few seconds.)

Leaving Gabriel to snore softly in peace, she walked to the kitchen.

As she helped herself to breakfast, she thought back to his behavior the night before.

What had he been doing in his study on a Friday night?

Before she could consider the implications of her actions, she

found herself wandering into his office. She walked over to his desk and saw that his laptop was switched off. All the papers from the

night before had been cleared away, the gleaming oak of the desktop almost bare. There was no way she was going to open his files and

desk drawers in search of his secrets.

137

Sylvain Reynard

However, she found something on his desk that she had not

expected — a small, sterling silver frame with a black and white picture in it.

Maia.

She picked up the photo and held it in her hand, marveling

that Gabriel had progressed so far as to have the ultrasound picture framed. Lost in thought, she stood looking at it for what seemed

like a long time.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

She whirled around to find Gabriel leaning against the doorframe,

arms across his chest, clad only in a T-shirt and a pair of striped boxer shorts.

He stared a little too long at the naked flesh that peeked out

from between the top buttons and at her shapely legs. He glanced

at the picture frame and his expression shifted.

Julia quickly replaced the frame on the desk. “I’m sorry.”

Gabriel strode toward her. “I haven’t decided where to put it.”

He looked at the picture. “But I don’t want to keep it in a drawer.”

“Of course. It’s a beautiful frame,” she offered.

“I found it at Tiffany.”

Julia cocked her head to one side. “Only you would buy a frame

at Tiffany’s. I would have gone to Walmart.”

“I went to Tiffany for quite a different purpose.” He searched

her face.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Did you find what you were looking

for?”

Now his eyes burned into hers. “Absolutely. But I found it long

ago.”

Julia blinked as if she were in some sort of fog until he leaned

down to kiss her. It was a remarkable kiss. He placed his hands gently on either side of her face and then brought his lips to hers, pressing firmly before beginning his joyous movement. Within a moment,

she’d forgotten all about why she’d wandered into the study.

He stroked her tongue tenderly with his, sliding his hands

through her hair to rest on the back of her head. And when he

withdrew, he kissed her cheeks.

138

Gabriel’s Rapture

“I wish I’d known you my whole life. I wish everything had been

different.”

“We’re together now.”

“That we are, my lovely. You look beautiful in my shirt.” His voice was gruff all of a sudden. “I was planning to take you out for breakfast.

There’s a small crêperie around the corner that I think you’d like.”

She took his hand gladly as he led her back to the bedroom so

they could shower together and begin their day.

Later that afternoon they worked in his study. Gabriel sat at

his desk, reading an article, while Julia sat perched in his red velvet armchair, checking her email.

Dear Julia,

I owe you an apology. I’m really sorry I upset you when I ran

into you yesterday. I didn’t mean to. I was worried about you.

If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m just a phone call away.

Hoping we can still be friends,

Paul.

PS. Christa has been asking why Professor Picton is directing

your thesis.

Julia looked over at Gabriel and found him lost in thought behind

his eyeglasses. She quickly typed a response.

Hi Paul,

Of course we’re still friends. The incident in Selinsgrove was

traumatic, and I’m trying to forget about it.

I should mention that my boyfriend saved me — in more ways

than one.

Someday I’d like to introduce you to him. He’s wonderful.

Not sure why Christa cares who is directing my thesis. I’m only

an MA student.

Thanks for the warning.

I’ll put your Christmas present in your mailbox in the

department on Monday.

It’s small but I hope you like it.

And thanks,

Julia.

139

Sylvain Reynard

P

Katherine Picton lived a reserved life. She owned a nice home

in the Annex neighborhood of Toronto, which was within walking

distance to the university. She spent her summers in Italy and Christmas holidays in England. And she spent most of her time publishing articles and monographs on Dante. In other words, she lived the life of the respectable academic spinster, except that she didn’t garden or take lovers or own a bevy of cats. (Regrettably.)

Despite her age, she was very much in demand for public lec-

tures and more than one university had attempted to lure her out of retirement with promises of extravagant salaries and modest teaching responsibilities. Katherine would rather have dug the Panama Canal with her fingernails while suffering from yellow fever than give up the time she could devote to research in order to maintain an office on campus and attend faculty meetings.

So when Greg Matthews of Harvard University telephoned her

in January about an opening for an endowed chair in Dante studies, that’s what she told him.

He reacted in stunned silence before fumbling over his next

words. “But Professor Picton, we could arrange it so you wouldn’t

have to teach. All you would have to do would be to deliver a couple of lectures a semester, have a presence on campus, and supervise some doctoral students. That’s it.”

“I don’t want to move all my books,” said Katherine.

“We’ll hire a moving company.”

“They’ll mix them up and it will take weeks to put them back

in order.”

“We’ll hire special movers — movers accustomed to moving librar-

ies. They’ll take your books off the shelf, pack them in order, and replace them on your shelves here in Cambridge exactly the way they were in Toronto. You wouldn’t have to do a thing.”

“Moving companies don’t know how to catalogue books,” she

scoffed. “What if they mis-shelve something? I have thousands of

volumes in my library, and I might never be able to find what they 140

Gabriel’s Rapture

misplace. And what if they lose something? Some of those books

are irreplaceable!”

“Professor Picton, if you would accept the endowed chair, I’ll

come to Toronto and move your books personally.”

Katherine paused for a moment until she realized that Greg was

serious. Then she burst into peals of laughter.

“Harvard sounds very accommodating.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered, hoping that she would change

her mind.

“I’m not interested. There are lots of younger persons you should

be considering instead of a sixty-eight-year-old retiree. While we’re on the subject of your department, I want to talk to you about my

graduate student, Julianne Mitchell, and why I think you need to

admit her to your doctoral program.”

Katherine spent ten minutes telling Greg why it had been a

mistake for him to fail to offer Julianne adequate funding the previous year. Then Professor Picton impressed upon him the need for

Julianne to receive a lucrative fellowship beginning in September.

Finally, when she finished scolding him and effectively telling him how to do the job of the Director of Graduate Studies (which was

not, in fact, his job), she promptly hung up.

Greg stared at the phone in his hand with a look of incredulity.

P

During the last week of January, Julia was weightless, floating and happy, the skin on her neck now perfect through medical technology.

Her scar removal was healed, and no one would ever know that she’d been marked. Therapy was going well and so was her relationship

with Gabriel, although on occasion he seemed distracted and she

would have to call his name to bring him back to her.

She’d just finished an amiable coffee with Paul, during which

they discussed Christa’s recent inexplicable good mood and was on

her way to the library when she received a telephone call that would change her life. Greg Matthews offered her early acceptance into the 141

Sylvain Reynard

doctoral program in Romance Languages and Literatures at Harvard,

on a very generous fellowship, for the fall semester.

The acceptance was conditional on the satisfactory completion

of her MA at the University of Toronto, but as Professor Matthews

pointed out, given her letters of recommendation and the glow-

ing endorsement offered by Professor Picton, Julia should have no

problem completing her degree. Professor Matthews was eager to

hear Julia’s acquiescence to the offer, but he knew that most graduate students would need a little time to think about it, and so he asked her to telephone him with her decision in seven days.

Julia was surprised at how calm and professional she sounded on

the phone. Of course, she wasn’t doing much talking. After the call ended, she texted Gabriel with trembling, nervous fingers.

Harvard just called — they want me.

Conditional on my MA. Love, J.

A few minutes later, she received a reply.

Congratulations, darling. In a meeting.

My place — one hour? G.

Julia smiled at her iPhone and quickly completed her library

errands before walking to the Manulife Building. She was excited

but worried. On the one hand, her admission to Harvard was the

culmination of her dreams and hard work. On the other, Harvard

represented separation from Gabriel.

Bolstered by Doctor Nicole’s encouragement to be kind to her-

self, Julia decided to have a hot shower in order to allow herself a few minutes to think. She left a note on the hall table where Gabriel always dropped his keys and proceeded to make herself at home in

his spacious bathroom. Fifteen minutes later she was half-asleep

under the tropical rain showerhead.

“This is a welcome sight,” Gabriel whispered, opening the door

to the shower. “A warm, wet, and naked Julianne.”

“There’s room for a warm, wet, and naked Gabriel too,” she said,

grasping his hand.

He smiled. “Not right now. We should celebrate. Where would

you like to go to dinner?”

142

Gabriel’s Rapture

There was a time when Julia would simply have accepted Ga-

briel’s suggestion because she wanted to make him happy. But on

this occasion, she spoke up. “Can we just stay in? I don’t want to be around a lot of people.”

“Of course. Let me change and I’ll be right back.”

By the time Gabriel returned, Julia was standing in the center

of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.

He handed her a flute of champagne and they clinked their

glasses together.

“I have something to give to you,” he said, disappearing into the

bedroom. He returned a moment later with something crimson in

his hands. He held it up so she could read the lettering on the front.

“This was mine. I’d like you to have it.” He took her glass and

placed it next to his on the vanity, then tugged at her towel until it dropped to the floor.

Julia pulled the hooded Harvard sweatshirt over her head, stand-

ing like a nearly naked sorority girl who had just rolled out of bed with her boyfriend.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, wrapping her in his arms and kissing

her enthusiastically. “This is quite an accomplishment, and I know that you’ve worked very hard for it. I’m proud of you.”

Julia grew a little teary at his praise, for apart from Grace, no one had ever expressed pride in her or her accomplishments. “Thank you.

Are you sure you want to part with your sweatshirt?”

“Of course, my smart, smart girl.”

“I haven’t decided if I’m accepting their offer or not.”