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“Good-bye. Thanks for everything. I don’t know what I would

have done without you, all these months — ”

He shrugged. “This is what friends do.”

Paul saw her eyes fill with tears and gave her a very worried

expression. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are.” Julia sniffled. “You’ve been a great friend to me, and I hope that we can still be friends, even though…” She didn’t finish her sentence, and Paul nodded as if he was grateful she hadn’t.

With much hesitation he reached out to stroke her cheek one last

time. Then he walked toward the car where his friend Patrick was

waiting. Patrick was going to drive him back to Vermont.

Suddenly, Paul stopped. He turned around and walked back to

Julia, nervously.

“I didn’t want to mention this in front of your father, so I was

waiting until after he left. Then I thought maybe I shouldn’t say

anything at all.” Paul looked away, up Mount Auburn Street, seem-

ingly struggling with something.

“What is it?”

He shook his head, turning to look at her. “I got an email yes-

terday from Professor Martin.”

Julia looked up at him in surprise.

“Emerson quit.”

“What?” She placed a hand on either side of her temple as she

tried to focus on the enormity of what Paul was saying. “When?”

“I don’t know. He agreed to continue supervising my dissertation,

even though he’s leaving. At least, that’s what Martin said. I haven’t heard from Emerson at all.”

Paul caught sight of Julia’s agitated pose and quickly put an arm

around her shoulders.

“I didn’t want to upset you, but I thought you should know. The

department is starting a search for his replacement, and I’m sure

they’l be recruiting at Harvard. I knew you’d hear about it. I thought it would be better coming from me.”

Julia nodded woodenly. “Where’s he going?”

“I have no idea. Martin was tight-lipped about the entire thing.

I think he’s pissed. After all the shit Emerson put the department through, he up and quit.”

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Julia numbly hugged Paul good-bye and returned to her new

apartment so she could think. That evening, she called Rachel. When she received a voice mail message she contemplated telephoning

Richard, but she didn’t want to bother him. She knew that Scott

wouldn’t have any inside information as to Gabriel’s whereabouts.

So she left a couple of messages on Rachel’s cell phone over the

course of the next few days, then she waited. Rachel never responded.

As the days of June passed, Julia started a part-time job as a sales clerk at Peet’s coffee shop, which was located in a remodeled three-story house across the street. Since Tom covered her rent and her

moving expenses, and since he had demanded that she take some of

the proceeds from the sale of his house back in Selinsgrove, she was able to live simply but comfortably on her part-time job and her

savings until her fellowship began in late August.

She quickly arranged an appointment with the therapist that

Nicole had recommended and began meeting with Dr. Margaret

Walters on a weekly basis. When she wasn’t learning the ropes of the retail coffee market and charming the citizens of Harvard Square, she followed Katherine Picton’s instructions and introduced herself to Greg Matthews, the Chair of her new department.

Professor Matthews received her warmly, and they spent the

better part of an hour discussing their common interest in Dante.

He mentioned that Cecilia Marinelli was arriving from Oxford the

following week and suggested that Julia drop by in order to attend a reception that was being held in Professor Marinelli’s honor. Julia accepted the invitation gladly. Then he walked her to the graduate student lounge and introduced her to a group of students before

politely taking his leave.

Two of the students were cordial but not particularly friendly.

The third student, Zsuzsa, who was from Hungary, welcomed Julia

immediately. She told Julia that a group of them met for drinks every Wednesday at Grendel’s Den, a local pub overlooking Winthrop Park.

Apparently, Grendel’s had a lovely patio and an exceptional beer list.

Julia promised to meet Zsuzsa there the following Wednesday night, and the two women exchanged email addresses.

Despite Julia’s overall shyness, a character trait that she would

never lose completely, she fit into the Harvard landscape like a hand into a glove. She found an undergraduate tour guide called Ari who gave her an orientation to the campus, the library, and the graduate 303

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school. She secured a library card in advance of registration, which would be held in August.

Julia dropped into the graduate student lounge on occasion to see

Zsuzsa and to learn more about the atmosphere of the department.

And she spent long hours in the library, hunting down books that

she would need to read that summer. Exploring the neighborhood,

she found a grocery store and a bank and claimed a particular Thai restaurant, which was just down the street from her apartment, as

her new favorite place to eat.

So by the time Rachel called her on June twenty-sixth, Julia was

completely at home in her new life and happy. Almost.

Julia was in between customers when Rachel called her cell phone,

so she asked one of her co-workers to cover for her and walked out to the front lawn so as not to disturb anyone.

“Rachel, how are you?”

“We’re fine! I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you. Some bastard stole my phone and I had to get a new one. Then I had to

go back through all the messages, starting with the ones about the wedding and —”

Julia gritted her teeth only slightly as she waited for Rachel to

draw breath so she could steer the conversation in a completely different direction. In two or three paragraphs, her patience was rewarded.

“Gabriel quit his job.”

“What?” Rachel almost shouted. “How do you know?”

“A friend of mine was his research assistant in Toronto.”

“That explains it,” Rachel said.

“Explains what?”

“Gabriel sold his condo. He sent Dad an email saying that he

was moving and that he has been staying in hotels while he looks

for a house.”

Julia leaned her back up against the old, gnarled oak tree that

stood in front of Peet’s.

“Did he mention where he was looking?”

“No. Just that he’d hired a company to pack up his things and

put them in storage. But if he quit his job — ”

“He’s in the process of quitting.”

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“Then you should call him! Julia, it’s the perfect time. You have

to call him.”

Julia gritted her teeth. “No.”

“Why not?”

“He broke up with me, remember? I’m not going to be the one to fix this — assuming it can be fixed.”

Rachel grew very quiet for a moment. “I’m not suggesting you

sweep whatever happened under the carpet. But I hope that you

two could talk about what happened. He needs to hear how you feel

about all of this and what happened to you after he left. And frankly, he needs to offer some kind of explanation. He owes you that. Then you can tell him to get lost, if that’s what you really want.”

Julia squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of pain washed over her. The thought of seeing Gabriel — and listening to his explanation — physically hurt.

“I’m not sure my heart can survive his explanation.”

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Chapter 42

Julia buried herself in busyness for the next few days, studying in preparation for her introduction to Professor Marinelli. Since the Professor was the guest of honor at the lavish reception where they met, their conversation was short, but a success. Professor Marinelli was still settling into her new home, but recognized Julia’s name

thanks to Professor Picton’s recommendation and suggested that

they meet for coffee in July.

Julia wafted home on a breeze of optimism. She was so happy,

she decided it was finally time to begin the project she’d been avoiding — unpacking her books and arranging them on shelves in her

small apartment. Until that evening, she’d availed herself of Harvard’s libraries. But every day the collection of boxes nagged at her, and so she finally decided it was time to organize them. The process took longer than she anticipated. She finished about a third of the boxes that evening before walking to the Thai restaurant and ordering take out.

Two days later, Julia was down to the final box. After a very

enjoyable evening with Zsuzsa and a few other graduate students

at Grendel’s Den on June thirtieth, Julia came home determined to

finish unpacking.

As had been her practice, she shelved the volumes in alphabeti-

cal order almost mindlessly. Until she came to the last book in the bottom of the last cardboard box, Marriage in the Middle Ages: Love, Sex, and the Sacred, published by Oxford University Press. Frowning, she turned the volume over in her hands. It took a few minutes for a distant memory to creep back to her — Paul, standing in her studio apartment, saying that he’d retrieved her mail from the department.

“A medieval history textbook,” he’d said.

Gabriel’s Rapture

Out of curiosity, Julia leafed through the volume and found a

business card wedged in the Table of Contents. The card was for Alan Mackenzie, the Oxford University Press textbook representative in

Toronto. On the back of his card was a handwritten note that stated he’d be happy to help her with her textbook needs.

Julia was about to close the book and shelve it when her eyes

alighted on one of the readings.

The Letters of Abelard and Héloise, Letter Six.

It only took an instant for Julia to recall her last conversation

with Gabriel.

Gabriel turned away from Jeremy, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Read my sixth letter. Paragraph four.”

Her heart racing, she turned the pages, shocked to find an il-

lustration and a photograph marking the place where Abelard’s sixth letter was found:

But whither does my vain imagination carry me! Ah, Héloise,

how far are we from such a happy temper? Your heart still

burns with that fatal fire you cannot extinguish, and mine

is full of trouble and unrest. Think not, Héloise, that I here enjoy a perfect peace; I will for the last time open my heart

to you; — I am not yet disengaged from you, and though I

fight against my excessive tenderness for you, in spite of all my endeavours I remain but too sensible of your sorrows and long

to share in them. Your letters have indeed moved me; I could

not read with indifference characters written by that dear hand!

I sigh and weep, and all my reason is scarce sufficient to conceal my weakness from my pupils. This, unhappy Héloise, is the

miserable condition of Abelard. The world, which is generally

wrong in its notions, thinks I am at peace, and imagining that I loved you only for the gratification of the senses, have now forgot you. What a mistake is this!

She must have read the passage five times before its message

began to sink into her agitated mind.

Julia looked at the illustration closely. The title read The Conten-tion for Guido de Montefeltro. The name was familiar, but she couldn’t quite remember its significance. She grabbed her latptop, intent on 307

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looking the image up on the internet but quickly remembered that

she didn’t have internet access in her apartment.

She located her phone, but the battery was dead and she had no

idea where the cord was to recharge it. Undeterred, she returned to the book and picked up the photograph that had been placed next