She wasn’t sure what he meant by letter. Did he mean emails or texts? Or both? If Gabriel was counting the emails, cards, and notes that he’d written to her from the very beginning of their relationship, then by her calculation the sixth letter was a note he’d left her the morning after their horrendous fight in the Dante seminar. Luckily, she kept it.

She pulled out the paper and read it eagerly.

Julianne,

I hope you’ll find everything you need here.

If not, Rachel stocked the vanity in the guest washroom with

a number of different items. Please help yourself.

My clothes are at your disposal.

Please choose a sweater as the weather has turned cold today.

Yours,

Gabriel.

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Julia wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind to embark on a

detective mission or to engage in any elaborate decoding of messages.

Nevertheless, she turned her attention to the fourth paragraph and tried to figure out what Gabriel had been trying to communicate

to her.

He’d lent her the British-racing-green sweater, but she’d returned it. Was he trying to tell her to look at one of the clothing items he’d bought her? Julia pulled out everything he’d ever bought her or that she’d borrowed and placed them all on her bed. She forced herself

to take her time examining each item. But there didn’t appear to be anything unusual about any of them.

Was he trying to tell her to weather the storm? Or was he simply saying that his affection for her had turned cold and this was good-bye?

Her anger burned blue. She stomped to the bathroom to wash

her hands, catching sight of her image in the mirror. The wide-eyed nervous girl who had started at the University of Toronto in September was gone. Instead, Julia saw a pale and upset young woman,

with pinched lips and flashing eyes. She was no longer the timid

Rabbit or the seventeen-year-old Beatrice. She was Julianne Mitch-

ell, almost-MA, and she would be damned if she’d spend the rest of her life simply taking the scraps that others deigned to throw at her.

If he has a message for me, he can damn well say it in person, she thought. I’m not going on a scavenger hunt just so he can assuage his conscience.

Yes, she loved him. Looking at the photograph album he made

for her birthday, she knew that she would love him forever. But love was not an excuse for cruelty. She was not a plaything, an Héloise, to be dropped like a pair of dirty socks. If he was breaking things off with her, she’d make him say so to her face. She was simply going to give him until after dinner to do so.

In early evening, she walked to the Manulife Building, the key

to Gabriel’s apartment in her pocket. With every step she imagined what she would say. She wouldn’t cry, she promised herself. She would be strong. And she would demand answers.

As she turned the corner and approached the front door, she

saw a tall, impeccably dressed blonde exit the building. The woman 236

Gabriel’s Rapture

looked at her watch and tapped her foot impatiently as the doorman waved over a waiting taxi.

Julia hid behind a tree. She peeked around the trunk in order

to take another look.

At first glance, she’d thought the woman in question was Paulina;

upon inspection she realized her mistake. Julia breathed a sigh of relief as she approached the building. Seeing Paulina with Gabriel on this day of all days would have been devastating. Surely, he wouldn’t do that to her. Gabriel was supposed to be her Dante. He was supposed to love her enough to travel through Hell to protect her, not take Paulina back the moment their relationship was threatened.

With some trepidation, Julia entered the lobby and waved to the

security guard, who recognized her. She decided against announc-

ing her presence to Gabriel and took the elevator to his floor. She shivered as she contemplated what she might find in his apartment.

She didn’t bother to knock but simply let herself in, fearing that she’d find Gabriel compromised. But something strange caught her

attention as soon as she’d closed the door. All the lights in the apartment were off and the hall closet was open and half-empty, hangers and shoes haphazardly thrown on the floor. It was very unlike Gabriel to leave things in such a mess.

She switched on several lights and placed her key on the table

where he always kept his keys. His keys were not to be found.

“Gabriel? Hello?”

She ventured into the kitchen and was shocked by what she found.

An empty bottle of Scotch lay on the counter, next to a broken glass.

Dirty plates and cutlery were dumped in the sink.

Steeling herself for what she might find, she walked to the fire-

place, only to discover a mark on the wall and scattered glass shards on the floor. She could see Gabriel flinging his Scotch in anger, but she had a hard time imagining him leaving broken pieces for someone to step on.

Desperately worried, she crept down the darkened hall and into

the master bedroom. Clothes were strewn across the bed, the drawers to Gabriel’s dresser half-opened. His closet was similarly disarrayed, and Julia noticed that many of his clothes were gone as was his large suitcase.

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But what caused her to inhale sharply were the walls. All the

framed photographs of her, and of Gabriel and her together, had

been removed and piled face down on the bed, leaving the wal s

bare except for the hooks on which the photographs had been hung.

Julia gasped in horror as she saw that the reproduction of Holi-

day’s painting of Dante and Beatrice had been taken down and was

now leaning against the credenza, its back on display.

Shocked, she sank down on a chair. He’s gone, she thought.

Julia burst into tears, wondering how he could have so easily

broken his promises. She searched the apartment in vain for a note or some indication of where he’d gone. When she came across the

telephone she contemplated calling Rachel. But the thought of hav-

ing to explain that she and Gabriel were over was too much to bear.

With one last look she turned out all the lights and was about

to walk through the door when she stopped. Something niggled at

the back of her mind. Closing the door, she returned to Gabriel’s

bedroom. Searching with her fingers, she fumbled about, looking for something. When she didn’t find it, she turned on the light.

The photograph that Rachel had taken at Lobby several months

earlier was missing. Gabriel always kept it on top of his dresser. In the picture, he and Julia were dancing, and he was looking at her

with no little heat.

Julia stood for a moment, looking at the empty space. It was

possible, she thought, that he’d destroyed the picture. But a quick inspection of the wastepaper baskets in the bedroom and bathroom

suggested he hadn’t thrown it away.

She didn’t understand why he’d left or why he’d left without

offering her an explanation, but she began to suspect that all was not as it seemed.

As she took one last look at the empty hangers in the closet, she

contemplated taking her clothes with her but only for an instant.

Strangely enough, they no longer felt as if they were hers.

A few minutes later, she was waiting for the elevator, feeling

battered and bruised. Her nose began to run as she wiped away a

few tears. A hasty search of her pockets yielded no Kleenex, only lint.

This made her tears fall faster.

“Here,” a voice at her elbow said, holding out a man’s handkerchief.

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Julia took it gratefully, noticing the embroidered initials S.I.R.

on it. She wiped her eyes and attempted to return it, but a pair of hands made a motion of refusal.

“My mother is always giving me handkerchiefs. I have dozens.”

She looked up into kind brown eyes that were partially hidden

behind a pair of rimless spectacles and recognized one of Gabriel’s neighbors. He was wearing a heavy wool coat and a navy beret.

(Which, because of his age and heterosexuality could only be

explained by the fact that he was French Canadian.)

When the elevator arrived, he politely held the door open for

her before following her inside.

“Is something wrong? Can I help?” His lightly accented voice

cut through her haze.

“Gabriel is gone.”

“Yes, I ran into him while he was on his way out.” The neighbor

frowned at the tears that were still welling up in Julia’s eyes. “Didn’t he tell you? I thought you were his —” He looked at her expectantly.

Julia shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

They were both silent as the elevator continued its descent to the ground floor. Once again, when the door opened, he held it for her.

She turned to him. “Do you know where he went?”

The neighbor accompanied her to the lobby. “No. I’m afraid I

didn’t ask. He was in quite a state, you see.” The neighbor leaned closer and dropped his voice. “He reeked of Scotch and was extremely cross. Not in the mood to chat.”

Julia smiled a watery smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It isn’t a bother. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you he was leaving.”

“No.” She wiped her face with his handkerchief once again.

The neighbor began muttering something about Gabriel in

French. Something that sounded a good deal like cochon.

“I could deliver a message for you, when he returns,” the neigh-

bor offered. “He tends to drop by my apartment when he runs out

of milk.”

Julia was quiet for a moment, then she swallowed hard. “Just tell

him that he broke my heart.”

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The neighbor gave her a reluctant, pained nod before taking his

leave of her.

Julia walked outside into the bracing wind and began her long

walk home, alone.

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Chapter 28

Several hours after the hearing, Gabriel sat in his apartment

shrouded in darkness. The only light visible came from the blue

and orange flames that flickered in his fireplace. He was surrounded by her. Completely surrounded by her memory and her ghost.

Closing his eyes, he swore he could smell her scent or hear her

laughter echoing down the hall. His bedroom had become like a

shrine, which was why he was sitting in front of the fire.

He couldn’t bear to look at the large black and white photo-

graphs of the two of them. Especially the one that hung over his

bed — Julianne in all of her magnificence, lying on her stomach with her naked back exposed, partially wrapped in a sheet, gazing up at him in adoration with sex-mussed hair and a sweet, sated smile…

In every room he had a memory of her — some of them joyous

and others bittersweet, like dark, dark chocolate. He stalked to the dining room and poured himself two fingers’ worth of his very best Scotch and downed it quickly, relishing the burning sensation as it stung his throat. He tried desperately not to think about Julia standing in front of him, jabbing an angry finger into his chest.

“You’re supposed to love me, Gabriel. You’re supposed to support me when I decide to stand up for myself. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? And instead, you cut a deal with them and dump me?”

At the memory of the look of betrayal in her eyes, Gabriel threw

his empty glass at the wall, watching it shatter and fall to the floor.

Shards of crystal like jagged icicles scattered over the hardwood, glimmering in the firelight.

He knew what he had to do; he simply needed the courage in

order to do it. Grabbing the bottle, he walked reluctantly to the

Sylvain Reynard

bedroom. Two more swallows and he was able to throw his suitcase

on the bed. He didn’t bother to fold his clothes. He barely cared